Chapter Fifty-One - Gothic Public Relations

“It’s all about the memes.”

--Emoscythe Mordeath Noir, Seventh-Annual PR Specialist Conference, 2049

***

“So what’re you doing here?” I asked.

Emoscythe stared at me. For some reason her lack of armour was bothering me. I mean, she was her own girl, and if that big ship was anything to go by, she could afford some pretty nice shit if she wanted to.

I couldn’t even toss that many stones from my glass house, I had been reluctant to get armour for myself for a while. I’d learned better since, especially after my gear had likely saved my ass a few times.

“I’m here to kill aliens,” Emosycthe said. “And to keep an eye on you.”

“Me?” I asked.

She nodded. “I have access to the records. You’re the third newest samurai in the city. The newest who didn’t become a Vanguard in the last forty-eight hours.”

“Alright,” I said. “But I think I’m doing okay for myself.”

“You think that?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

She looked me up and down. “I suppose it could be worse.”

“Thanks,” I said flatly. “Look, I don’t mind keeping someone company, but I don’t do babysitting and I don’t need to be babysat. I’m guessing you can pull your weight, if you’re acting so self-confident.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she nodded. “I can handle myself, Stray Cat.”

“You sure do have a stick,” I said with a gesture to the staff she held next to her.

Emoscythe’s thumb ran along the shaft. “It’s my preferred weapon. Maybe you’ll get to see it in use. But... that can wait. What are your objectives now?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I got side-tracked when I heard that Grasshopper needed help. Wasn’t doing much before that. Well, that’s not true. I was setting up chokepoints and ambushes to take out as many aliens as possible before they reached the front.”

She nodded. “Invisibility and explosives. I remember. You have both of those and the cat gimmick going on. You’re spreading yourself a little thin, I think, but you’re new enough that some experimentation’s normal.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” I said. “Anyway, the building I was in collapsed and I got pinned at the bottom. Had to get a new arm.” I wiggled my hand around.

I was expecting some sort of reaction from that. What I’d just described had been kind of metal, but Emoscythe didn’t seem either surprised or impressed. “We should probably head back to the wall. We can plug any gaps in the formation there, and it’s possible that they need the assistance we could provide. Two samurai not assisting is a huge loss in firepower.”

“You’re a bit more... no-nonsense than I was expecting,” I said.

She stared at me. She had a good stare going on, what with the eyeliner. “I’m a goth, not an idiot. Sure, I accept and understand that every action I take, no matter how hard I work, will likely amount to very little in the end, but I’m not a coward. I’ll fight against the void until the very end.”

That would have sounded a lot cooler if it wasn’t delivered in a monotone. “Okay then,” I said. “Front lines?” I asked.

She nodded. “Front lines.We can discuss personal style and how one's attitude and appearance play a role in shaping others perception of you.”

I raised a hand in a ‘wait a moment’ sort of gesture. “What?”

“Would you rather talk about something else?” Emoscythe asked. “You have my attention, might as well use it.”

“I got that part, but why would I... how do I politely say that I don’t know what you’re on about without sounding like an ass?”

“Grasshopper didn’t explain,” Emoscythe said. She looked away from me and took a deep breath. “I should have known. Yes, that’s very much like her. Grasshopper’s a good woman, but her communication skills sometimes... well, it doesn’t matter I suppose.” She bowed in my direction. “I’m Emoscythe Mordeath Noir. I cut things.”

“Yeah, uh, Stray Cat. I... blow shit up and kiss cute girls. Pleased to meetcha.”

Emoscythe rolled her eyes. “Your introduction could use some work.”

“Yours was fantastic. Never expected the bowing. Ten outta ten.”

She didn’t seem amused. “At least the sarcasm fits your cat persona.” My what? “My job, more often than not, is to help new samurai find their place. Not so much in combat but within society. To make them recognizable, so that when they inevitably die we have something to remember them by.”

“Wait, you’re a samurai PR person? Who’s also a goth?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I said. I thought about it for a moment, then decided not to anymore. “Can you at least fight?”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Obviously. I’m a samurai. We can talk while we move.”

“I haven’t agreed to getting my image or whatever poked at,” I pointed out.

She shrugged. “Consultations are free and compulsory.”

“What?”

“You don’t have the strength to stop me,” she said. “Not that I’d push to that extent. I’m depressive, not a bitch.”

I chuckled. “Alright, fine. If it’ll make you happy. Can you fly at all? I don’t plan on staying on ground level for any longer than I need to.”

Emoscythe looked up the nearest building. Seven, maybe eight floors of concrete and glass. “I can’t fly, but I can make it up there with no problem,” she said. With a flick, she spun her long staff, and it somehow split apart into two shorter sticks. She stopped their spinning motion, then tightened her grip on their handles.

The ends of the sticks unfolded and a pair of foot-long blades snicked out at ninety-degrees from the handles.

“Mini-scythes?” I asked.

“These are kama,” she said before she stepped right past me and up to the wall of the building. She tensed, then took off sprinting towards the wall before launching herself into the air. Emoscythe ran three steps vertically with heavy crunches as her knee-high boots dug into the concrete, then she stabbed into the wall with one of her kamas and pulled herself up to the ledge a floor above.

I watched as she easily climbed up the vertical surface, using her mini-scythes as handholds whenever she needed one.

There was no way her body wasn’t modified. Especially not when her knees shifted and more blades slipped out from her legs to turn her climb into a skitter.

“She’s pretty fucking weird,” I muttered.

Her record as a Vanguard is impressive. Several years of constant effort, though it seems that she has discovered what she wanted to accomplish and has turned her focus onto that rather than improving overall or becoming more powerful.

“Is that a bad thing?” I asked.

No. A Vanguard is free to choose how they will develop. If they find a level where they are comfortable, there’s nothing stopping them from staying there.

I jumped up and fired my jetpack thrusters, propelling me into the air and past Emoscythe just as she reached the top of the building and rolled onto her feet on the rooftop. I landed next to her and glanced around for any trouble that might be waiting for us.

“Straight to the wall?” I asked.

“We don’t need to rush back. Not if a detour might mean more dead xenos or living civilians.” Emoscythe pointed towards New Montreal proper, the city acting as a landmark that was impossible to miss.

I glanced at the map again. We weren’t too far from a few spots that were darker orange. A few blocks at most. “Myalis, can you plot a course over the worse areas while heading back to the gap? I can drop some ordinance from above to thin out the worst of the wave while we pass.”

“Not a bad idea,” Emoscythe said. “Artillery won’t strike so close to the city and the wall. The tremors from it and the shrapnel from any big explosion could damage the parts of the city we’re trying to safeguard.”

Myalis drew a line across the map which zig-zagged a bit on its way back to the gap. “Thanks,” I said. “You got a copy of that?” I asked Emoscythe. At her nod, I gestured ahead. “Well then, let’s go.”

“While we’re going, we’ll continue that talk about your image.”

“Really?” I asked. “In the middle of a warzone?”

“You don’t seem the type who sits on her laurels and has long discussions about style and public perceptions,” she said. She wasn’t wrong, but it still felt like this wasn’t the place for it. “So, why the cat theme?”

“I’m not the one who named herself Stray Cat,” I said. “Longbow gave me that name.”

“Oh. I named him actually.”

I paused. “Wait, really?”

“That was several years ago,” she explained.

“How long have you been a samurai for?” I asked.

“Ten years in a few months,” she said. “So, you seem to have really leaned into the theme. I’ve seen some examples of your armours. It does seem to fit in with your stealth specialisation, which is handy. People think of cats as quiet, nocturnal hunters, so the association is easy to make there.”

I had a hard time keeping up with what she was saying, mostly because I couldn’t stop thinking about how long she’d been a samurai for. That made her something of a veteran. Which also made her scary.

And here she was, talking about cat memes while jogging next to me on a rooftop.

***