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Revive me! Restore me! Write down this story!
Remember where the sky falls! Return hosts to glory!
Let Gaea in her Virtue judge not lest be judged!
And all of the Earth rejoice with bravery and love!
Grounded in wanting for wind, shade, and rain.
Minutiae and beauty in hot, red blurred stone.
The fire of life yet burns you. You justify this pain.
At nighttime, you wander. You need not be alone.
It's fundamental. There's potential under the sky's veil.
You should be living! Not justifying your stay.
Breathe in the dry air then you can exhale.
I've come from the heavens with so much to say.
"Dance on mountains rising towards the sun!"
Phoenix, Down!
"Ride through streets paved in dust, history and fun!"
Phoenix, Down!
Sonoran heat plants my heart into the ground.
Thank you for warming my crown with color and light.
Descended on stone and steel atop a steed of sound.
Triumphant call of Gjallarhorn! Feast and dance before the fight!
"Change your worldview, find the joy in life!"
Phoenix, Down!
"It's alright to be wrong, who cares if they say you're right?"
Phoenix, Down!
The smell of coffee and cigarettes was overbearing, a fact exacerbated by close quarters, running mouths, and poor ventilation. The chatter had been strong for the last few minutes, which made sense because so many of the agents hadn’t seen or had correspondence with each other for weeks. The routine of weekly gatherings had fallen to the wayside with the urgency of the work being done between each group, but today the routine was back in full effect.
The door to the meeting room swung open with an unsettling creek. The chatter died. Commander-Major Kipp Starr was let inside by his lieutenant, a staunch, orderly man named Everett Houston. He had played the political game among the ranks and now he was the one closest to the head of the serpent called LEVIATHAN. The Commander-Major moved without hesitation to the lectern at the front of the room.
“First of all,” he began through a clearing of his throat. “We are to thank the public safety department here in Phoenix for allowing us to take up space here on short notice. All of us here today should understand the gravity of the situation, and we are to work with the city on keeping the peace and not wrecking what’s out there so people have homes to go back to when they leave the shelters. I don’t want to get a call, email, or a post-it note on my damn desk saying that anyone in this room or anyone in your units has caused so much as a blip out there in the streets outside of what you all are supposed to be doing.”
He panned the room. No objections were made. Eventually, his gaze landed on a man sitting to his right in the front row. “Dr. Trevelan.”
The man, who easily cleared two meters long from foot to crown, stood up and turned to the group. He nodded then began speaking as if he were a school teacher lecturing his charges.
“Alright, so as of this morning, all over the world, we’ve been experiencing an unplanned Red Sky Event that commenced at sunrise and hasn’t ended as of right now. To keep it short and sweet, we’re pretty sure that all signs point to intervention by parties aligned with one of the Cardinal Witches. Specifically, well, I guess obviously, the Red Witch.”
There was a light murmuring. No one in the room was unaware as to what was going on overhead, though it was clear that some had only considered the possibility of why. A hand was raised in the row behind the first.
The Commander-Major nodded towards the man who had the question. “Go ahead, Agent Olivares.”
“So the Red Witch… Cynthia, right? She’s been dead for five years.”
The Doctor nodded. “Correct. And we have reason to believe that she, or maybe a successor, is not only active or on the way to becoming active but that something is going to happen that will involve more than one of the Cardinals at the same time.”
Agent Olivares never lowered his hand from his question. Commander Major Starr shot him a look. The hand was tentatively rescinded, killing the inevitable follow-up.
Dr. Trevelan continued. “As Detective Olivares pointed out, yes, Cynthia, as she was called at the time, was killed by the High Templars in an operation they carried out five years ago. UNIT-3 has been conducting a continued investigation into her Coven at their behest, and they haven’t been quiet. While we are still coming to grips with the full width of the abilities of the Red Witch, we now think that she can either be resurrected or reincarnated.”
The Commander-Major interjected. “UNIT-3 has been in the field for weeks on this, hence why all of you are to follow their lead. Dr. Trevelan is to serve as the direct point of contact but he’ll be assisting Detective Special Class Jonesboro out in the field and you are to keep your communications concise and productive should you reach out. Continue, Dr. Trevelan.”
“Right. Yes, sir. We’re under a Red Sky Event, yes, and the shelters are filling up now for whatever’s going to happen, but I can confirm that the Mana Spectrum Report does indicate that if something is going to happen then it’s going to happen here, at Event Horizon, for The Fall. That’s where we stand as of right now. I mean, situation-wise. I guess location-wise too. Yes.”
“Yes, indeed. Thank you, Dr. Trevelan. I’ll continue from here before we hear from Detective Jonesboro,” said the Commander-Major. The doctor let out a deep, sharp exhalation of relief before turning and sitting down again. “That’s the current situation, ladies and gentlemen. We are to work alongside the Vatican with this as per the usual. Our job is to locate the source of this anomaly and either end it quickly or make way for the High Templars to get in there and clean house. As of right now, all of you are to drop your current cases and act as one body, not six. The expectation is that today is a Wednesday and I want a Witch hunted and the sky blue before mass Sunday morning. Questions?”
A hand shot up, this time on the opposite side of the room in the front row. The man stood before he was called on. It was Everett Houston.
“Commander-Major, sir,” he began. His drawling Southern accent seasoned each syllable as he spoke. “Now, I have to ask, how are we all supposed to get on with the Church? I love the Lord, y’all know I do, but it hasn’t exactly been easy coordinating with the Templars.”
Star patted himself down and found a stogie in his back pocket. He nodded in Houston’s direction, a cue they must have agreed on beforehand as the lower-ranked man approached with a lighter and ignited his boss’ vice. Starr nodded, Houston returned to his seat, and the smoke began filling the room. No one objected or bothered asking if smoking was allowed in the building. They knew that in that moment and by the grace of the powers that be, it was right but only for Kipp Starr.
“Listen, and this goes for each and every one of you,” he started immediately after the first pull of the Cuban cigarillo. “I’m going to remind you all that LEVIATHAN operates at the grace of the Vatican. We earned our independence and it’s to our continued and progressive work on this bullshit in general that we’re able to exist at all.”
A voice said, without a hand raised to accompany it, “Sir, we want to work with them but we just end up on clean up and street detail.”
Starr scanned the room. His eyes landed on the source of the voice, a mousey brown-skinned woman named Priscilla Louvette. His weary eyes lit aflame, just for a moment, as he held the stogie in his mouth and spoke in the space between it and his teeth.
“Prisc’,” he began. “Now, damn it, I don’t want to hear the whining. What, you think I don’t get the reports? The emails, the phone calls, the video conferences? Every time one of you gets into it with a Templar, I hear about it and it’s giving me an itch in my asshole that I can’t damn well scratch. You hear me, Detective? Wrangle yourself and the rest of your Unit, all of you, before I have to start redirecting and reassigning people to keep them out of the way. Capiche?”
The room fell as silent as a morgue. The Commander-Major grunted, drew out the cigar, and held it in his right hand. He waved it towards a woman who sat next to Dr. Trevelan in the front row.
“Detective Jonesboro, you have the floor.”
“Thank you, sir,” said the woman as she stood and moved to the lectern. She made sure to catch the eyes of her associates in the room before she started to speak. This was not a woman who wanted to repeat herself. She began in earnest.
“As Dr. Trevelan stated, Unit-3 has been tracking the Cardinal Witches with a focus on the White and the Red. I informed the Commander-Major before today’s briefing, but I will now inform all of you. I believe that we’re closing in on two things; the Red Coven, as it is functioning here at Event Horizon, and on the White Witch herself.”
The murmurs started. Detective Jonesboro continued in a raised, authoritative tone. “The White Witch hasn’t been seen. We know that she exists, we know that she works solo, and we know that she has evaded us and the Vatican for as long as either organization has been alive. What we also know, however, is that she has a history of harvesting and controlling the bodies of the dead. Corpse manipulation, which is what we’re calling the practice at the suggestion of the Institute. Necromancy, by any other name.”
She paused just long enough to see if there were questions. There were none. She continued.
“Corpses have been disappearing en masse throughout the world at random for decades. The corpses have no connections, in life, or at least none that would have drawn our attention. This changed over the last six months or so. We have been cross-referencing these cases, finding similarities, eliminating contradictions and we’ve concluded that, for the last five years, the corpses of Post-Humans are being prioritized.”
A hand rose. Again, it was Everett Houston. “Psychics, darlin’? Is that what you mean?”
“Correct. There are too many telekinetics, spiritualists, and independent exorcist corpses disappearing from the major cities. Most recently someone or something has been hitting Phoenix especially hard.”
“The Fey-Folk are out here all over the place. How do we know it ain’t one of them?” Houston asked.
“Fey don’t steal corpses.”
He continued. “And how, pray tell, do we know that they’re being stolen?”
“Because at least three have walked out of the morgue in the middle of the night and I doubt that they did it by choice. That would require intervention from a third party and probably for a reason.”
The room was silent again. Houston’s face upturned. “Lordie. So the dead are walking? You’d think they’d stay in the damn morgue where it’s nice and cold with how hot the streets are.”
“Houston, quiet down if you haven’t got a question,” Starr reprimanded with a stogie point.
Jonesboro continued. “We could attest this to another witch or necromancer, but the M.S. Reports suggest that we’re dealing with someone who can reliably avoid detection either outright or because they’re not active. I believe that finding and suppressing both Cardinal Witches is the most prudent action to getting answers as to why this event is occurring and to resolve it..”
The Commander-Major nodded. “Alright, Detective. What say you on an action plan? I could give orders and dictate the flow, but the work you and your team have been doing is exemplary and I want that to continue.”
“Thank you, sir. I would like UNIT-4 here in Phoenix with us to bolster our ranks and act as support. If we’re going to make a move on a coven, especially if their size is even nearly as significant as they were five years ago then we’re going to need as many Breakers on the frontline as possible assuming that the High Templars don’t deploy. I’d also like UNIT-1 on standby to construct and manage a barrier around the operation area once it’s established where that’s going to be.”
A detective in the back row of the room raised his hand. Jonesboro quickly answered without hearing the question. “UNIT-1 will have support from the Cathedral here in Phoenix with regards to Spell Circuits and barrier support. I trust that I don’t have to explain how urgent it is that we put our Vatican concerns aside and-“
“I was going to ask where,” said the person with their hand up, an older man who Jonesboro knew was Detective Special-Class Demetri Nikolao. “Where exactly is the operation area? You said it’s not established as of yet.”
“Downtown Phoenix. We believe that the Red Coven has a Lair somewhere between 7th Avenue to 16th Street going West to East then from Thomas to Van Buren going North to South. The rest of my unit is already working with the Cathedral to coordinate barrier erection around that area and Public Safety is performing a sweep to make sure that there are no civilians out there and not at home or in the shelters. I’ll be heading to the area personally in an administrative capacity after this meeting, but I have my own investigation to complete that I’d like to follow up on before we begin.”
“You’re going to investigate personally?” Nikolao asked. His face was riddled with disbelief.
“Yes. Me, personally.”
“I believe that judgment is sound,” Starr chimed in. “Jonesboro has been working hard to track all of this. We know the area they’re in but we need to facilitate two things at the same time, with two Cardinal Witches, and I’d rather she’d be the one out there on legs looking into this at her own discretion. Unless you’ve got a better idea, detective.”
“No, sir,” Nikolao said with a headshake as he lowered his hand.
“Jonesboro?” Starr prompted.
She acknowledged him with a nod before continuing. “We don’t know how things are going to be different tonight with what’s been going on through the day, but we do know that the general public should be out of the way completely by the end of the business day. It should be simple enough to raid and destroy the Lair. I’m asking that everyone be on standby until 2100 tonight with operations to begin at 2300. Before anyone asks, yes, we’re cutting it close but the Cathedral needs time to set up the barrier and finish evacuations. We’re also asking the entire city to come to a halt, and that’s asking a lot for an area that’s still in recovery.”
The Commander-Major blew out another stream of smoke before speaking. “Any questions?” The room was silent. He nodded his approval. “Alright. Good. Like I said, Dr. Trevelan is your point of contact and will be acting as direct support for Jonesboro out in the field. Everett, you’ll be with me here. Let’s break for lunch, then we’ll set about preparing a mobile base before the operation start time. UNIT-2, you’re on communication and information coordination support. UNIT-5, you all are on standby and UNIT-6 is being moved to the Las Vegas field office per my previous orders. All of you are to continue working with Public Safety to keep the streets clear. And If there’s any Coven or Witches out there wandering the desert on a damn spirit journey then you’re to let the rest of us know. We can’t have our eyes closed to the rest of the world while we’re handling this. Dismissed. Let’s get to work.”
The chorus of chairs being dragged across floors and feet hitting the tiles ignited. The Commander-Major was the first one out with Houston behind him, and it took only a moment for the room to clear. The only bodies remaining were Dr. Trevelan in the first row and Detective Mecca Jonesboro at his right. He turned and looked down at her with a smile, a condition of their height contrast.
She was a beautiful Black woman, a fact no one contested, and even now as she sat in deep thought with her hands tightly in her lap, she looked regal. When she realized that he was trying to catch her gaze, she looked back up at him.
“That went well,” she said flatly.
“I wish Kentucky Fried Houston would give us the benefit of a damn doubt. If you say there are zombies walking out of the morgue then he should be saying how fast and not why.”
“Manipulated Corpses, Will. That’s what the institute wants us to say,” she said as she gathered herself and began to stand. She was wearing an immaculately pressed and intensely cleaned silk pantsuit, and both of the people in the room knew it was for show for their colleagues. Mecca Jonesboro was a woman who preferred to dress for the field, not for the office. He slowly stood to follow her from the room, again emphasizing the contrast in their heights despite the inches added from her designer heels.
“I know that’s what they want us to say. But how many times does anyone out in the world ever say ‘Manipulated Corpse’? You see a dead guy coming towards you with that ‘brain-hunger’ look in his eyes and you’re going to think ‘zombie’, not ‘Manipulated Corpse’. I’m a doctor and even I think that’s too clinical.”
“It looks better on the records,” she reasoned as they left the room and made their way towards the street. At one point, the building was used for the Phoenix Public Department. Since the defunding of the police in most modern regions of the world, they were now known as the Phoenix Public Safety. The rebranding was necessary in the chaos of the era preceding the Fall as it gave the public one less government organization to distrust. The United Earth Alliance was enough. Regardless, the change of focus from crime suppression to societal reformation didn’t mean that the building wasn’t abuzz as a scion for dysfunction. Every hallway had a different sight whether it was peace officers, transients, actual criminals, or legal professionals. Today, with the sky bright red and everyone being corralled into the shelters, the building was especially chaotic, loud, and disorderly. Phones were ringing off the hook. Arguments were stirring. The energy was rampant and bouncing off of the walls and ceilings in echoes of panic, and no living soul could pretend as if they couldn’t feel the duress. Mecca and William were unimpressed.
When they exited the side of the building and reached the crimson-lit street, they took off in different directions. William Trevelan, in all his amassed and proven knowledge, was for the first time in the day puzzled.
“Where are you going?” He called out.
She turned around. “I parked on the street. By the museum.”
“Wait, what? Why? That’s like two miles away from here.”
“I could use the walk. I’ll be on comms once I get to the car.”
He shook his head and smiled. She didn’t see it as she was already down the street with a steady stride. She took note of the area, which she had become familiar with over the last few days before the meeting. With the sky above blazing red, everyone was either in their own protected home or at a shelter. She looked up as she walked and winced. There were no clouds, which was nothing new out in the desert, so the sun beat down aggressively on the asphalt city beneath it. Mecca was sweating, but she kept up her pace. Eventually, after a few minutes of quiet contemplation, she arrived at the intersection of Central Avenue and McDowell Road. That contemplation turned unsettling more buildings around creating a corridor of nothing around her. She didn’t enjoy hearing every footstep echo around her in the dry wind. It made her feel vulnerable. Exposed. Obvious. She found relief once she reached her car. The suicide-style driver’s side door to the Audi opened to greet her as did the interior lights. She didn’t get inside the vehicle. Instead, she reached into the back seat and, from a duffel bag drew clothes.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
You’re going to change right here?
“Yes. No one’s out here. Turn off the visual and give me a minute, Will.”
I still don’t get why you parked so far away. And I could have driven you over there, you know.
She was unbuttoning and unlatching her suit behind the trunk of the car while the doctor communicated with her. It was a private, psychic conversation that came with the luxury of his being able to see what was around her. He stopped talking long enough to give her time to finish switching out of the thin business attire into a loose white blouse and jeans better suited for working in the heat. She walked back around to the open driver’s side door and spoke to the open air.
“You can look now. I will check the logs to see if you watched but you knew that.”
I think I learned my lesson after the last time. So are you going to tell me why you’re hoofing it under the radar or do I need to start in on the twenty questions?
She didn’t enjoy answering more questions than she needed to just as much as she didn’t enjoy putting on airs for her colleagues, wearing uncomfortable clothes, or being vulnerable in a city she was still getting to know. She sighed and relented with a response: “I had a premonition on the way to the meeting. I’d gotten it from the museum before. I’m going to go in and look around. Collect my thoughts. See exactly how I want to proceed once the operation gets started. Satisfied?”
You know I can tell from your vitals when you’re not telling the truth, right?
William Trevelan, the successor to his father, Dr. Maxwell Trevelan, was referring to the GEAR system, an implant that all of the frontline agents and Breakers working for LEVIATHAN had embedded behind their right ear. It was a multi-function tool, or that’s how they were trained to use it. The implant kept them all directly connected to the Mana Spectrum Report, which for Breakers meant that they could communicate with each other as well as visualize data directly from the system without the need for consoles or mobile devices. The implant was an open secret, and though LEVIATHAN headed an impressive network of agents from all over the world, they were keen to keep the specifics of how the device worked to themselves. Mecca knew this and decided not to answer the comment regarding her honesty because he was right. She had a feeling that she was missing something, a hunch, and she wanted to see it through. Telling William, their colleagues, or the Commander-Major would only slow her down.
The Heard Museum had stood the test of time in the Restored City of Phoenix; not many institutions or businesses could say after the Fall 96 years prior. Much of Phoenix was destroyed by the ensuing chaos, and though there was no one still alive who could recall from their memory what happened, the scars remained. The museum survived and with time had been renovated and expanded enough to be considered the same building in name only. Mecca zipped past the molded stone at the entrance until she was past the glass doors and standing in the admissions lobby.
She had visited twice before over the last few days. Though the exhibits, which were surprisingly well maintained for a city so deep into reconstruction, were interesting, she found solace in the outside amphitheater. The wide open space had been a quiet place to think, starkly contrasting the rest of the city, which was constantly yet reasonably polluted with the noise of reconstruction. It was during a previous walk through the open space and the adjacent garden that had given her the idea that UNIT-3’s ongoing investigation into the White Witch was so closely related to the hunt for the resurrected Red. She thought to go there now, but the combined quiet of the street outside and of the wide-open empty building she was inside gave her pause. On her past two visits, an employee was in the admissions lobby to accept payment for entry. Mecca had been grateful to him, a kind elderly man, the last time for letting her inside without paying. Now, no one was here. The door, however, had been unlocked.
She considered that this might have been an oversight and that the museum was to be closed. She also considered that today was a free entry day. But with the Red Sky Event going on outside, and the temperature holding steady around a hundred and twenty degrees, it seemed more like today would be a day to seek shelter and air conditioning, not look at exhibits.
“Hello? Is anyone here?” Her voice went out but returned to her the same way it went out. There was no answer. She decided to check if anyone was inside. Slowly, she made her way into the first gallery room past the lobby. The exhibits from the previous day were still there collecting dust, she thought, which was to be expected. Still, no person was in sight. A hard left took her into another gallery that she’d already perused in contemplative detail, then another towards the bathroom, then another to the museum office. At the office door, she raised her hand to knock.
“Hello there,” said the woman behind her. Mecca snapped her head around and her eyes immediately caught the deep pale gray eyes of that woman now joining her in the hall. This woman, who was wearing suspenders over a white blouse hidden by a trendy loose silk blazer and gaucho pants, smiled mischievously back at her. “I’m sorry, dearie. Did I frighten you?”
“No. No, I’m fine,” Mecca replied nervously. “Thanks a lot for warning me, William.”
She heard nothing back from the doctor. The woman’s face never subsided from the subtle smile on her thin lips. She seemed unphased by Mecca’s comment to someone who wasn’t there. Instead, she turned and started heading back towards the gallery. “Come along. There’s no reason to make introductions standing here by the lavatory, of all places.” Mecca followed the woman, who spoke with her back turned, down the hall. “My name is Eu’dora. We haven’t met but I’ve noticed that you’ve been in before to see us.”
Mecca put it together quickly. “You work here. I understand now. No, we haven’t met. I’m Mecca. What do you do here, Miss?”
The woman stopped walking and the echoing click-clack of her heels would soon cease. Mecca wondered how she hadn’t noticed the clicking footsteps on the linoleum floor a moment before. Before she could begin to formulate a reasonable explanation, Eu’dora turned back as they now stood in the center of the well-put-together and carefully curated gallery of artifacts from the Post-Fall Era. The display overlooking them, like a mediator introducing them to one another, was a jukebox with pink neon lights running down its sides beneath a series of portraits from that era detailing the massive leaps in technological advancement brought on by the wars that ravaged the world for nearly twenty years after Phoenix’ initial destruction. Though it once lifted vinyl discs onto a turntable for music playback, Mecca had never seen any vinyls inside of the machine. Today was no different. The emptiness of the device seemed fitting given its history as a memorial to the death of nearly half of the world’s known population. She found herself staring at it as Eu’dora began to speak.
“I’m a curator and donor here. I assist with all of the exhibits but my focus has been in this gallery. Our Post-Fall and Economic Deconstructionist Series has been my area of focus for quite some time. I see you have an appreciation for history, given your repeat visits.”
Mecca nodded absentmindedly before she spoke. “I do appreciate it. Yeah, people nowadays only really get glimpses of what life was like back then. It’s been nice strolling through and taking it all in. I respect your work, Miss….”
“Eu’dora, dear. Call me Eu’dora, I insist. No need for formalities. I get enough of that from my colleagues. Did you come to see the garden again?”
“I was thinking about it. Then I thought that it was weird that you were open at all so I figured I’d make sure everyone was okay. There is a curfew, you know. I’m not even really sure why you’re still here.”
“You needn’t worry about me, dearie. I’m quite safe.”
“Are you sure? I can ask for an escort to a shelter if you need it.”
“I’ll be out tonight so that won’t be necessary. Reckless, I know, but I am by all accords a reckless woman. You seem like the kind who can relate.”
“You’re not wrong. I’ve seen my share of nights where I wasn’t sure if I’d make it home. You’re here running the entire museum alone?”
Eu’dora chuckled softly causing her shoulders to bop up and down. “Well, yes and no. There’s a digital surveillance, security, and management system. It’s how I’ve observed you during your visits.”
“Ah. Right. That makes sense.”
“Yes, I suppose it does. What is it that you do, Mecca? I told you my story. Now tell me yours.”
Mecca smiled, and said, “I work with Public Safety”. It wasn’t a lie, at least. They did work together.
“You’re an officer?”
“Detective.” That also wasn’t entirely a lie. She left out the Special-Class designation.
“Fascinating career choice in these unstable times.”
“It keeps me busy.”
“Of course. Is there an investigation involving the museum that I can assist you with?”
“No, nothing like that. I come here when I’m not on duty. You don’t have to worry about that unless you’ve got something to hide. Any skeletons in the closest I should know about… Eu’dora?”
Eu’dora’s smile widened until her eyes closed. “Skeletons? No. Not quite.”
“Everyone’s got their secrets. Anyway, Eu’dora, I should leave you to your work. Our conversation was good. I think I got what I needed from today’s visit.”
Eu’dora’s face returned to whimsical yet subtle elation. “So soon?”
“I’m afraid so. I’m technically on duty now and only stopped by for a minute before getting back to work.”
“Ah, of course. Back to the grind, as it were. I did enjoy our little chat, Mecca. I hope you don’t mind if I call you by your first name. I assumed it was okay. A nasty habit of mine.”
Mecca smiled. “I insist.”
Eu’dora took a graceful step away from Mecca and then, as if it were the natural thing to do, bowed her head while extending her hand towards her chest.
“Theater major, huh?” Mecca said playfully through her smile.
“It’s all theater, love. I just like to pretend that we’re all in on the joke. Do stop by again.”
Mecca nodded, a small but courteous bow of her own, then shoved her hands into her pockets and headed back towards the admissions lobby. She looked back to offer a final acknowledgment to her newfound associate but Eu’dora was gone. Mecca assumed she had returned to the office. The front door gave way, and the crimson sky overhead replaced the building ceiling above her. Silence returned, so Mecca walked casually back towards the street where her car was parked.
She seemed nice.
“I didn’t realize you were listening. Shouldn’t you be coordinating with the other Units? I thought that’s why you didn’t answer me,” Mecca asked as she sped up her pace.
I can multitask. Besides, I thought you’d like to know that I looked into your previous theory. Look where there’s nothing to find, right? It worked. There’s a small area not far from you where the Report indicated that there’s no Flow whatsoever. A dead zone. I triangulated with confirmed sightings of their acolytes and testimony from the one we nailed a couple of weeks ago. I’m pretty sure that the Lair is there in that pocket. I’ve got our backup scouting it out as of a couple of minutes ago.
“Good. Yeah, it seems like cloaking is all the rage right now. Lairs used to light up like Christmas trees on the Report. They must have figured out a way to go invisible like I figured they would start doing eventually. Hopefully, tonight’s the end of it. Anything else happening around town? It is a Red Sky Event right now and we have yet to have any demonic activity. It’ll be nightfall in a couple hours and I’d like to know if we need to compete with that when we get going.”
We probably will. Where are you off to now? Ready to meet up?
“I’m going back to rendezvous with the Commander-Major after I stop by the Cathedral. I’ll still be on comms, of course. I just need to pick up my baby for tonight.” Mecca was approaching her car for the second time that afternoon. The doors lifted obediently.
It’s unsettling that you’ve started calling it that.
She smiled to herself. “What kind of mother would I be if I abandoned my child?”
It’s unsettling and… Meccs’, get away from your car RIGHT NOW.
“Wh-“ She couldn’t finish her response before the body slammed down on the hood of the Audi. The vehicle didn’t stand a chance. The collision of the steel smashing down into the asphalt underneath the chassis was staggering. Mecca was only a few feet away. Self-preservation took over and she threw herself backwards to avoid the glass and steel shrapnel. She landed on her back, but was quick to roll back and into a kneel.
The beast of a man that had come from the sky stood nearly seven feet tall. His bare chest muscles were firm, but his joints, shoulders, and many of the creases on his pale arms were visibly patched together by thick, white, shiny threads. His bottom half was covered by stretchy black lycra. Disgust filled Mecca’s mouth as she scanned his body and reached his blank face, for the mouth was stitched shut with the same twine that seemed to hold the taut, strong body together.
“It would appear that I’ve been visited by a zombie.”
I told you no one says Manipulated Corpse. You’re unarmed. RUN!
She pulled herself onto her feet and stood. The man, who had lurched over when he came down from the sky, snapped upright. Mecca knew that this was a corpse before her, per the splotchy decomposed flesh spreading like cancer wherever she could see. The dead man stepped down from the roof of what was once an expensive car and started milling with heavy, mechanical, intentional steps toward her. She started to step away from him, slowly, methodically, as if he were a caged tiger and she held only a chair to protect herself.
“William, how long until you can get the attaché case here?” she asked calmly.
Sixty seconds to transference. Please do not try to fight whatever this is and refer to my previous request to run. I’m serious, Meccs’!
She hesitated. She would take the doctor’s advice after all. With a spin, she turned on her heels, lowered her body, and broke into a sprint in the opposite direction. The giant had already closed the gap between them; he reached out his hand and caught her by the scruff of her t-shirt with such intensity that her legs slipped from under her and swung into the air. He yanked, throwing her back. Her body hit the traffic light post before she could scream, and the kerplunk it made echoed as the metal vibrated to the ground. He was already approaching her again before she could even reach the ground again in a broken heap.
Jesus Christ, Meccs’!
“Shut up and start the damn transference,” Mecca gasped through the pain. She scrambled to unstable feet. “And request approval for Safety Limiter Level Two release.”
For what?!
“William! I need that approval now!” Mecca demanded as the giant undead barreled through the empty intersection at full sprint towards her like a rhino. She had only a moment to calculate; If he grabbed her again then he was going to do even more damage than what he’d already done to her back. A change in tact was necessary. Instead of evasion, she would choose offense. She took a step forward and flung her body through the air with her arm poised. Applying the force of the launch to her punch was deliberate, and she struck dead center in the chest. She felt its sternum heave on impact, though that was followed by silence. The dead man, unmoving, had grabbed her by the sides of her head over her ears and lifted her two feet into the air. She screamed but couldn’t hear herself. He squeezed his gorilla palms together intending to smash her head in his hands and meet in the middle. She collected herself. Then, she lifted her knees to her chest and struck with a kick into his solid, muscle-plated chest. He persisted. He could not feel pain, she figured. She could. Tact had to be changed, again. She snapped both arms into the crux of his elbow. She lowered her chin. With a growl, she forced herself down into the ground. His torso lowered into her. He reflexively tried to snap back to a vertical stance, and she used the shift in weights to jump, allowing her a second kick with both feet, this time delivered to his head. His body lurched back and his head flopped on its axis. The neck was broken. His arms went stiff, but his hands mercifully relented and she fell from his grasp. She rolled back to get away. She was panting from adrenaline and momentary panic.
Limit release approved to Stage One! I’m sorry, Meccs. The stupid Repor-
“I don’t care! Get me that case.”
She rose to her feet. The man was still standing, but his head was leaning back and hanging by taut, dead flesh and no bone. She knew he wasn’t dead, again. He couldn’t be. He’d keep attacking without concern for self-preservation. She had to end this right now. She began walking towards him, her eyes slicing into his form as she swung her right arm out until it was perpendicular to the ground. She spoke to no one who could hear besides herself and the powers that be who were watching the altercation.
Safety Limiter Release. Level One, Protocol Met. Noblesse Oblige. Confiance.
The hot, desert air turned instantly frigid. The wind manifested and stirred around her body where there was once none. The visible space around Mecca’s right hand became wavy and shifty like a mirage. This was Mana decompressing and washing over her. This transparent tangibility snapped out and washed over her. She never stopped walking, despite the pain of her recent back injury, as this veil flowed over and through her. She eventually reached her Goliathian assailant. Sharp air released from her diaphragm, and her body locked into a low stance. With a cry, she thrust the heel of her palm into his chest where she struck him before. The dead man lost his footing, and this time he was the one flying through the air. He was on the sidewalk when he landed on his back, and he was still for a moment. She flexed her striking hand before pursuing him.
The sounds of bones cracking, breaking, and resetting inside of the giant did not stop her advance but her mind began to spin and calculate. She had to analyze. Was this the best tact? With this release of The Flow, she was stronger but this man, this puppet, was pulling his broken limbs and body back together. He wasn’t simply a manipulated corpse, but one with considerable investment enough to warrant on-the-spot reconstruction. He sat up at the waist on his backside, his neck straight and rebuilt from a new wire slipped meticulously through his flesh and tendon. He was rebuilt once again.
She shifted her weight and with a sharp shout sent herself into a forward somersault. Her leg extended. She intended to deliver an axe kick from the overhead flip. The corpse’s arm shot up and blocked with its massive forearm. The arm snapped down the middle on impact. Mecca landed after tearing the limb in half. She had done considerable damage. But he wasn’t done. The body of her intended assassin was unflinching. He stood with his broken arm flailing loosely in the air like a flag in the wind in front of his body. With a shake, it snapped back into place. Wire quickly snaked through the flesh from seemingly nowhere, holding the arm in place through means both arcane and perverse.
The case is coming to you now! By the car!
Mecca heard William but didn’t respond. She lunged forward again, this time intending to strike at the head and end the scuffle. He was defending that part of his body, hence the broken arm, so she figured that he couldn’t function if she could damage or destroy the brain. That’s typical of zombies, she thought. That was only rational. Reasonable. Whether or not she could do it, released or otherwise, was a guess. This time, he was ready for her. He stood and stretched out his broad chest, leaned down, then charged. He collided with his shoulder. Off her feet, she went again, this time with enough force to slide along the asphalt.
Past the dizziness and fatigue, she tasted blood. She coughed, sending a splatter of crimson onto the ground in front of her. She tried to stand, but he was already over her, arm drawn. In desperation, she threw her arms up. His fist collided. The concrete around them gave way, cracked, and warped underneath them into a small crater. The burning concrete that once made up the road was now in several misshapen blocks around them. He raised his arm for a second blow. Mecca saw only a flash of the red sky above for a moment before she threw up her arms in defense one more. He struck, this time driving her torso through the concrete and into the soft desert sand beneath.
Meccs! Get out of there! The case is by the car! It’s there! Get him off you!
She heard him. He was right. She needed to get from between this creature's tree trunk legs and over to where her possible salvation awaited. She had avoided fatal damage or broken bones per the release of Mana from a moment before. It gave her the innate ability to disperse the energy from the impact of his blows and her body being thrown around on the street, but her muscles burned and there were still internal injuries that she couldn’t identify at the moment. Yes, she had to get away or she would die, and she knew it. No one could help. She needed to get to the case.
He was standing over her hips. She devised a plan. Her right leg wrapped first around his, and then she locked herself in place by locking the heel of her left leg behind his knee. His balance faltered, and he shook. She shifted her left leg, forcing him to shift to his right. He was strong, without fear or pain, but the lack of pain didn’t stop Mecca from quickly toppling him and sending him face-first into the street next to her. He caught himself with his forearms, again protecting his head but sending the echo of a dry thud around her. She rolled onto his side, with a roar, dragging him with her until he was flat on his back and she was locked around his leg. The motion took an instant; he was in a leg lock, and she snapped her body in the opposite direction of where his leg naturally extended. The bone break was a relief even though she knew it’d be temporary. She pushed away and then crawled desperately towards her totaled car. He rolled himself so that he was on his belly, then started crawling after her. His leg was snapping back together; she didn’t have much time. It was a long way. She was faster, perhaps because she willed it so. He soundlessly dragged behind her. She could hear him, but wouldn’t look back.
She needed what was sent to her by the doctor a few miles away. It was a long silver attaché case, and it was steaming from the transference of a physical object through compressed space. She knew it would be hot. She didn’t care. With a groan, she pulled herself to a stand and kicked the upright case onto its side. It popped ajar. Inside, encased by black foam, were various pieces of equipment better suited for a soldier than a detective. She didn’t have time to take stock. She just reached. She found a black, aluminum-lined canister. A grenade. She pulled the tab with aplomb and threw the item at the beast nearly upon her.
“Dead motherfucker,” she said to herself before leaping a few yards onto her stomach to cover her head and prepare. The grenade had landed in front of the crawling corpse who, without fear, crawled on top of it. The ‘explosion’ was what Mecca expected; whirling, like a machine, Mana burst from the canister ripping out like a shrapnel typhoon. The Mana was expanding, ripping, shredding, and in a moment the solid body was sliced, ripped, torn, shredded, and burned leaving a spiral of coagulated blood, bone, and flesh there on the curb. Silence ensued.
She took a deep breath. Relief washed over her. There was nothing for the necromancy that gave the corpse movement to rebuild. She forced herself to a hunched, exhausted stand. The adrenaline was fading, only to be replaced by pain. She moved towards the still-open case, reached down, and retrieved one of several test tube vials of sky-blue liquid. She bit the cork, spit it to her side, then brought the vial to her lips and drank. A shudder followed. Another breath. William had been speaking to her in a panicked tone for the last few seconds, but only now would she listen to what exactly he was saying.
You’re only supposed to take half the dose!
She ignored him. She tossed away the empty vial and then started taking careful, exhausted steps back toward the building she’d just left. Her thoughts, her rage, were directed only towards the woman she’d just shared a lovely afternoon with; that woman was, without a doubt, responsible for this attack. The elixir she’d down, a concoction of nanite technology and sorcery, was for instant mending of her wounds but her fatigue and her pain would remain.
Meccs, listen to me. You just got into a fight and the limiter is going back into effect in a few seconds. Fuck this. I don’t care what you say. I’m sending backup right the hell now.
“I don’t care what you do.”
If she’s who you think she is, and I know who you think she is, then she’s too powerful for you right now. I know you’re mad that she might have got one over on you but we’ve got her face on record now! She even gave us a name! We can find her la-
“I don’t care. She’s right there.”
Please don’t make me do this.
“Make you do what?”
I’m sorry, Mecca. The Commander-Major just issued the order. Got damn it. I don’t want to do this.
“William, what the hell are you on about?”
I’m so sorry. Emergency Recovery Protocol-
“Wait. William, don’t. Please-”
…Shutdown. Priority One. I’m so, so sorry about this, Meccs’.
“Oh, fucking-”
Everything went black. Her body stopped. The last thing she’d remember under the crimson sky was her body hitting the ground and the sound of sirens in the background. There was no longer rage. There was no longer a taste for vengeance. Just silence.
Noblesse Oblige. She was alive. But there was only silence.