Power. At a glance, I have more of it than anybody else in this world. After all, I can bend the world to my whims. It doesn’t pan out like that though, does it? This power doesn’t bend to my whims, so to whose will is this world truly bending to? Only the Obelisk would know the answer.

…

Ten minutes have passed since Kaito left the ruins I created. I am still. The Scourge, they still breathe. Most of them are unconscious. Shula is the only one holding on. She’s been calling me since he left, in between wincing. Her hand is pressed tightly into her wound, but it’s still bleeding on the other side. “Tedd. Tedd!” She yelled out, with all the volume she could muster.

Her voice shocked me into action. I stepped quickly over to her and knelt. My face hovered over her fiery red eyes, and her silky blonde hair. I couldn’t say she has fair skin. Some scarring, likely from combat, and poor skin-care. Not like Brighton, who always boasted about his pristine healthy skin. “Shula. Please tell me what to do. Everyone is hurting and most of them are passed out. I’m scared.” I pleaded. Puddles of tears formed at the bottom edges of the visor secured into my face. One dripped down to my lips, and it tasted mildly like salt.

With the little strength she had, or does she have more than I think, Shula reached a hand up and lightly smacked my face. “Contact emergency services. You can use my phone. The passcode is 1337. H-here.” She directed me before removing a small, thin black device from her pocket. She placed it on my lap. It lit up, and on the screen was a timestamp reading 6:37 PM in white text, over an image of Shula and the other Scourge members, standing around a bright yellow Barnum sports car. “Why can’t you? You know how to use your phone, right? Please, I can’t use this!” I cried out. But reality sunk in quickly. She’s out from blood loss. She didn’t have enough awareness to call them, that took all her strength. Everyone else is out too. They don’t have long before brain death occurs. I have maybe 5 minutes. But how?

At the moment panic set in, something else intruded in my mind. A memory or a vision? A perception. I’ve never met this person before. The Obelisk. Who are they, where are they, and why can I see them so vividly? Tall, pale skin, piercing black eyes. Neat black hair, long and braided in the back. I sometimes feel more machine than I am human, but the Obelisk perverts both the concept of humanity and machine.

…

“Just tell me what happened. I’ll hear no excuses, no reasoning, and no theories.” The Obelisk asked. His voice is smooth and cut clear like polished granite.

The response of his subjects is unclear. I can’t hear them, and I can’t tell where they are, or who. But they felt cornered, and afraid. Slightly angry, maybe confused.

The Obelisk silences his subjects with the formation of a fist. “To my understanding.. he spoke to the machine, using what he calls, full conscience? This doesn’t bode well for Deca Machina, if you’re telling the truth. The Owl was meant to be released from his cage in time. Not on his own.”

…

As the vision faded, I remember my friends are in front of me, dead. Five minutes have passed, right? That vision felt like an eternity, with how much information– 6:37 PM read the screen, not even enough time for the screen to turn off. Air rushed into my lungs as I inhaled sharply, and my eyes shot wide open, so wide I could see the technological etchings on the back of my visor, right in front of my eyes, lit up brightly by my will to save them all.

“One Three Three Seven.” I mumble. Her phone unlocked, without even bringing up the keypad. Not voice activated.. No, talking to myself just helps me focus on it. “Every phone comes with a distress signal.. this will get them to us quicker than dialling via phone.” I mumbled once more. The phone blared out a loud tritone alarm, and radiated radio waves a hundred times stronger, carrying lightning speed information through the airwaves. Directly to Pharmatech’s emergency response team.

I can already hear the air vibrating up above, as the emergency drone screams through the sky teetering just below the speed of sound. The drone came to a stop above the wrecked warehouse, not making a sound, not even acknowledging our presence. But it’s a machine, it doesn’t need to. One by one, it plants itself over their bodies. Adjusts them flat on their backs. Removes foreign materials from their bodies using hardlight tweezers, and sews up their wounds using a hardlight thread. When hardlight thread is done its work, your skin is patched together, essentially woven into itself. It heals on its own within a day, like a tiny papercut.

The drone restarted the hearts of any who had stopped, and out came a receipt for the service bill, separate for each Mindcloud ID.

I collapsed onto my back and I wanted to sigh and rest. My body is telling me to stop and leave the rest in the hands of circumstance. My hands want to scratch my face until I bleed if not for these cages. But if I focus even slightly, it’s clear none of them were treated properly. The way those wounds were treated, they’ll open again in a few minutes. They only have enough time for another emergency service to get to them. But why? Wouldn’t it be easier to give them full treatment on the spot? We have the technology and resources for it, and then some. The entire medical fleet is comprised of automated drones- “Tedd.” Claive called firmly. I roll my head on the ground to face him. “Tedd. The rest are going to die in give or take thirty minutes. I’m in no shape to stand. I’m going to dial up a friend for help, okay? I need you to help her when she gets here. Please.” Claive explained, staring directly into my eyes while he pulled out a strange device. It flipped open and had a keypad to operate it, and a small screen with barely any pixel density. To my surprise though, it’s a phone. He punched in a phone number, each press of the keypad returning a satisfying muffled click. It sent out a communication signal, up to standard with all modern protocols despite its archaic appearance. The other end picked up at the 13 second mark.

The drone’s voice came through faintly. “Lynn’s aid solutions. How can I assist you?” the Drone greets. I heard Claive about to speak, then the drone cut him off before he could say a word. “Again.” The drone- Lynn deadpanned. This is the first time I learned one of their names so quickly. I heard Claive’s teeth grit before he responded. “I’m not in the mood for an attitude today. The scourge is on death’s door. 8811 Beetle Street, Barnum Storage Warehouse 3. Either get here as soon as possible or just, don’t bother.” Claive growled. “We’re gonna talk about how high demand my services are with you later. For now, just keep me on the line and make sure no one dies before I get there.” Lynn griped. It comes as a surprise to see someone has a conflict with Claive, he’s the most composed of them all, by far.

While we wait, I notice the strength of his grip on the phone increasing as time passes, and I can hear blood flow in his hand almost slowing to a halt. I truly thought I’d never see him lose his composure, but the pressure on his teeth is growing as long as the silence as we wait for Lynn to arrive. Maybe it’s just me, but I think she’s taking this long on purpose. Beneath my visor I close my eyes again and listen for the machine. It says only 30 seconds have passed since he called. It feels like it’s been at least 30 minutes. What is this? Why does time feel so slow when it always feels so fast?

“Tedd, buddy. You’re shaking like a wet dog. Calm yourself down.” Spoke Claive, as he roughly patted me on my shoulder. That snapped me out of it. I think.

The ambulance rolled onto the scene. Arguably the most manoeuvrable piece of automotive design in Deca Machina, Brighton once said. He did design it. Draws directly from Ferrum’s power cloud, one of three services that are allowed to do so. Moves on a set of six wheels all of which can steer as needed, and lowerable tracks in the centre chassis for uneven terrain. For air or water access emergencies, it can hover a foot off the ground, or fly using hardlight propellers and pulse jet steering.

This one must be illegally owned though, with the pink and white abstract design painted on and the two side mounted gun turrets. Inside is a woman I feel I’ve seen before. And startling enough, I think she’s seen me. But that’s insane. No one has seen me. Jet black hair, waist length. Blonde around the roots. Wonder why you would ever dye blonde hair-

“Hey! I need your help loading the wounded, we need to get them on life support stat!” Lynn shouted. Is she shouting at me? Or to Claive, or did she bring someone? She’s already moving as she shouts to me, rolling a stretcher out of the tall back and pulling it to Demi. All by herself, she heaves him on, and runs him back…

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“What the fuck are you doing, aren’t these your friends!? Help me, gearbox!” She shouted to me. In reference to my XB-ARS. Why does that nickname feel so familiar? Like I’ve heard it before. I’m pathetic, aren’t I? My body isn’t moving, even though I’ve been given direction. Just do what she says. Come on. Come on, Owl. You perfect example you. You’re capable, more than capable, oh it’s so revolting!

I tucked myself into the back cab, body secured against the doors from the lurching speed. Where my injured friends are secured in place, my injured friends which I watched her haul in all by herself, while I didn’t move a single muscle. The Obelisk must be looking down on me with shame. Or maybe it’s comical to a perversion of both humanity and machine like him?

I am so overstimulated. I cannot think. Just allow me to retreat into my pool once more. Sink, envelop in liquid, become uniform. I am nothing.

…

This feels wrong. I was supposed to die there. This wasn’t supposed to happen to the scourge. They’re all supposed to be alive, still supporting me and fighting alongside me even now, in my final moments. If they’re here now, why does it feel like they’re about to be ripped away? Reliving my own life should come with a sense of awareness, knowing what happens next. It did at first. Why does it feel like these aren’t even memories? Am I even here? No, asking that kind of question will make me lose myself. I need to stay focused on these memories, or else I won’t make it out of this alive.

…

Brighton adjusted his tie as he stepped out of the elevator. Klara hung her head in anticipation. Shoulders scrunched, heart racing faster than my own. The Obelisk sat upon its rightful podium overlooking Deca Machina, and these two handlers charged with carrying out his divine order. Judging by the Obelisk’s expression, his granite lips and obsidian eyes, his mood is foul. “Now, I’m not saying this is her fault. But I have made it clear to you that new hires are not welcome. This is a solo operation. And this happened the very same day she got here. Now I’m not implying a correlation,” Brighton ranted with his teeth near closed, staring down the Obelisk as if to sin in front of the very Machine that allows him to breathe.

“You’re joking right?” Klara interjected, raising her posture. All the anxiety, the tension, all of it melted away once she understood Brighton planned to pin the entire event on her. “I did exactly as instructed. It’s completely unacceptable that YOU were not prepared for this scenario. Why would you bring in a new hire into a situation like that? I walked into that room and there was writing on the walls, and I watched you use a machine on him that folded his body in a way I’m surprised didn’t fucking KILL him!”

Brighton ran his fingers up his face, nails leaving red marks on his pale skin. His eyes were closed firmly, as if he’s struggling not to lose his shit. But there was an anger surpassing his in the room, thus his reason for holding it in.

The wolf stood by the Obelisk’s side with a visor near identical to mine. It’s not bolted into his head. It’s coated with lead, and stays on his face with magnets implanted in his skin. Pools of dark red blood were building around the bottom edges of his visor like bloody tears. The gritting of his teeth was audible, and the room fell silent. “I would highly recommend that you two begin making sense, now.” The wolf snarled. The tips of his jet black spiky mess he calls hair curled and stood on end.

The Obelisk doesn’t exude the aura of a patient man, yet he bears no discipline to the Wolf’s aggravation. Xavier’s thin fingers comb through his hair in a feeble attempt at managing his own stress, and he grips his forehead as if trying to tear out his own skull. “Begin making sense? You’re joking, right? We as handlers are tasked with raising an adolescent with supernatural powers and a type of neurodivergence I can’t even understand. The Owl is the most difficult project we’ve undertaken yet. And you call OUR actions into question when this disaster happens?” Xavier chastised, slowly walking towards the Obelisk as his ever so icy demeanour shattered like crashing ice caps. This only angered the wolf further, previously snarling he was now ready to tear bloody throat. “Wipe up that gory mess under your visor. It’s disgusting. And mind your manners, your teeth are baring.” The Obelisk spoke down to the wolf, before turning his cast iron attention back to Xavier. “You mean to say this situation is my doing then, Dr. Brighton?” He asked the handler with utmost respect, despite Xavier’s uncontrolled anger. “What of you, Dr. Mckenna? Your input is required, on the cause of this event.”

Klara looked into his obsidian stare. I could tell by her shaking knees she felt she was being judged by Deca Machina itself. But that’s who he is to them. He is to me as well, and I have never seen him. The Obelisk’s towering significance is something I can only hear echoes of from afar, in times like this where the world is faded from my reality, and the reality of others is-

…

“Tedd! I don’t know where in that brain you are right now but snap out of it,” yelled a muffled voice from behind. Lynn was banging on the door. She couldn’t open it. My weight on the door was tripping the automatic lock to secure people inside in the event of a crash. As her voice brought me back to the moment I stood off the back of the cab and the doors swung open behind me.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to lose focus right nnn, right now.” I stuttered. I placed my hand cages on a stretcher’s pull bar and attempted pulling it out for her. I couldn’t get it to budge, silly considering it only takes 8 pounds of force to pull, “Move it gearbox.” Without hesitation, Lynn reached up and grabbed a handle between my shoulders and yanked it. I fell crashing down to the ground, the impact jarring my head. How did she know about that handle? It’s what the handlers would use to transport me. It requires authorization, but it activates my power and makes me weightless for easier transport. How does she know about that?

Claive shot a disgusted glare over to Lynn, yet he didn’t say a word. He grabbed the handle of Demi’s stretcher and rushed him into a medbay. It was astounding how he’d hook everything up by himself, almost like he’s used to doing this all on his own. “Agh-.. Fuck-” Claive winced as he staggered half way back to the vehicle. Pools of blood form across his chest, and a small stream trickles from his mouth. I know this feeling very well, and I’d guess he has spots in his vision about now. This is my fault isn’t it? Because I can’t activate it on my own, I’m stuck weighed down with these wires in my body, and I can’t help. I’m a dead weight and he’s getting hurt because of me. “Lynn. We need to talk, now.” Claive called out weakly, just as Lynn was walking to her control room. “What. If it’s about me throwing gearbox over there onto the ground I don’t wanna hear it.”

“That’s too bad then. You’re not going to touch him like that again, do we understand each other? Nor are you going to yell at him or call him that dumb ass nickname. And may Deca Machina help your soul if you purposely delay your services again, now help my family. Do your thing, and I’ll take care of Tedd. Capiche?” Claive snapped as he staggered over to Lynn and stood over her, pointing to the back of the vehicle. Something I never thought I’d see. He actually defended me.

Lynn scoffed at him, “Yeah. Whatever. This is the last time I’m gonna help you if you’re bringing him around, so I’ll make it count.” with anger bottled in those soulless silver eyes of hers. Silver eyes. I remember them being brown the last time I saw them. Wait, last time?

Lynn’s body moved fluidly and with purpose as she offloaded the Scourge. But the empty look on her lips said she didn’t care whether they live or die. So what’s motivating her as she rolls up her grey sleeves, bunching up the skin tight material above her elbows. What motivates her as she hooks up wires into those metal slots inside her grey skin, each marked by a number and letter tattooed in white, from 1-A to 5-C?

Claive’s fingers tap me twice on the cheek. He’s been looking for my attention for a while, hasn’t he? “Huh? Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” I monotoned. “You’re not getting off scot free either.” Claive reminded me, and with one hand on my shoulder, he pointed to the last empty bed. “My wounds opened up. Just walk me over there. I can take care of myself after that, I know how these machines work.” He assured me. And with trembling legs, I acted as his crutch and guided him to the bed. I watched him with a fumbling hand, close the white half-dome over his body, and under the bed lit up green. I could faintly hear his voice beneath it, “I’ll be out for a few days, bud. Take care.” Before the machine put him to sleep, and began the full recovery process with a gentle hum.

And once again I am alone. This loneliness, it’s not like the calm that my pool gives me as the cold water holds me so gently. It’s as if a pit is forming in my stomach, and my whole body wants to collapse in on itself. Thi- this is normal though. Everyone in Deca Machina suffers. Feeling like this is what life is really supposed to be, maybe?

…

Klara interlocked her fingers in silence, staring below the Obelisk’s eyeline as she finished contemplating her words. “Sir. May I speak freely?” The Obelisk nodded in response, laying his palms flat on the table and looking directly into her eyes. The lump in Klara’s throat went away, and she took a long breath before speaking. “Through the six years I’ve been charged with handling The Owl, I’ve learned a lot about him. His personality is either nonexistent or so undeveloped he couldn’t even tell you who he is. He doesn’t even know what his own power is aside from what we tell him. The level of psychological control we’ve instilled is inhumane, and personally I’m glad he escaped, no one deserves to live like that. But, that said. There is no feasible way he could have consciously done that. He just doesn’t know how.” explained Klara, her scarlet eyes flickering as her mindwire implant assisted her in recall. The Obelisk leaned back in his seat. The Wolf swallowed his anger and turned to face the wall. “Your assessment is correct, Klara. I understand. Go on.” the Obelisk prompted.

“This can only mean one thing. An entity outside of the facility knew what we were doing, and influenced the Sky’s final operation without our knowledge. The problem is out of our hands, sir. It’s up to you at this point.” She finished, with a hint of hesitation as she threw the blame onto the Obelisk himself. But he had no sign of anger or disagreement on his titanium face, only a half nod, before his mouth opened briefly to say, “Xavier, Klara. You are dismissed.”

…