A guard sat in the Elysium Emporium, reading in the paper about the young girl who got killed by a doll, the dolls who were still broadcasting day and night the song that Jasper sung, looked different now. While they looked creepy before, and he did not agree with bringing back the dead, he did his job and got paid. Now, just like everywhere, paranoia filled his head.
Byron walked into the store and smiled at the guard, “Hey, it’s you, is my dad here?”
The guard, adjusted his black uniform and looked at him, “He is in the back, working on something. You were with the girls when I busted you.”
Byron nodded, “Yeah, I have to thank you for letting us go. I noticed you were not among the guards who wanted to seize us in the ritual.”
He shrugged, “I am not picking a side, but I dislike the dolls very much, I am just, doing my job. Even though my daughter has a doll. She wanted one for her birthday, her little sister who died.”
Byron let out a melancholic smile, “It is quite strange, I grew up with the dead, it is normal for me, thanks for not picking a side, will you do so in the future?”
“Who knows, maybe if something drastic happens.”
Byron crossed his arms, “I can understand that, he walked to the counter, Dad?”
Edgar came out of the back in a lab coat with goggles on, “Byron, what are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you, man to man. Did you reprogram the dolly that Amelia owned to snap her neck?”
“No, son, not even I would go that far, you have to believe me, I am trying to figure out what went wrong.”
The guard looked up, “What, the young girl they are talking about is Amelia?”
Byron looked at him, “Yeah, my friend, why do you ask?”
He did not respond and ran out of the room, Edgar looked at the man running away, “What got into him? Look Byron, I have no idea what happened, I programmed the dolls to be unable to harm people. I am not going to lie, I did kill people. I would never use my invention to do that, it would harm me in the worst way.”
Byron sighed and grunted, He was glad his dad did not lie, and he had a good point. “Then, Amelia committed suicide, and the doll was just cradling her body, which her stupid father twisted. The doll was her mama, she found solace with the dollies. Dad, I know you are twisted and evil.”
“What makes you say I am twisted and evil?”
“Because you invented these dollies, I do love them, but you, you are controlling people, you should not control them, like you control mother.”
Edgar sighed and leaned forward, “I know about Silof.”
Byron looked shocked, “What, you do? Since when did you know?”
“Since the beginning,” he took off his wedding ring, “You are right, you have been right all along. I let myself get carried away, it did not take long for me to see I lost my way and become the thing I hate the most.”
Byron looked at his dad, he was breaking down as if he had been holding up a facade all of Byron’s life. “If you knew, why did you go on?”
“Once I started, there was no going back, I also know about Fay plotting against me with Annabel and Jasper. She wants something else than what we want, we want the dead. I will go home, and tell Fay she is free. Nothing I will do can take away the evil things I have done, there is no redemption for me, but I can explain myself.”
Byron came closer to him, “Dad, I can see you are serious, what do we do now?”
He smiled at him, “Please, ask Jasper to stop singing, if the dolls stop singing that song, people might get their trust back. He will listen to you. As for the mayor election, may the best man win, or undead man.” He stretched his hand.
Byron took it, “Thank you dad, despite our differences, and the distance we have, you know, I do love you, right? I reject your world, and I want to recreate New Albion in my image, but it does not take away, you are still my dad. Despite the horrible things you have done.”
Edgar shed a tear and let a sad smile form, “I know, I love you too, son. Go out there, try to stop Jasper and finish your ritual, do you have someone to sing?”
“Yes, Charlotte will stand in for Amelia.”
“Ah, the woman with whom you have a child and are married.”
Byron gasped, “What, you know about that? Only Jackie knows that, well and of course, Charlotte.”
Edgar grinned, “What is the name of your daughter, my grandchild?”
“Her name is Priscilla, we have been keeping her hidden in Charlotte’s mansion. Amelia called her my trophy wife, since I am gay.”
Edgar frowned his eyebrow, “You don’t say? Fine, be gay, be free, do your thing, and show me the man you have become, the man your mother shaped you to be. She is strong, and you have inherited that, and you have my charms, I just hope you didn’t inherit my fatal flaw, I snapped.”
Byron sighed deeply, “Please, go home dad, and free my mom from her torture,” he walked to the exit of the shop, “I guess we can agree on one thing.”
Edgar looked up, “And what is that?”
“That we think the dead belong in New Albion,” he walked outside and looked at people throwing dollies into the alleyway. He made his way to where Jackie and Charlotte were building up a ritual. “Hey everyone, I spoke with my dad.”
Jackie looked up, “You did, what horrible things did he say this time?”
“Nothing too bad actually, he is planning to let Fay go, and he acknowledges to see Jasper as a real participant, may the best man win,” he walked over to Charlotte, “Hey, how are you doing?”
“I am good, I never sang the chants as a leader, I will do my best, there is already a big crowd, but they look at us with, distrust and paranoia.”
Byron rubbed her shoulder and walked over to Jasper, “Can you please stop singing? You are scaring people. I don’t want people, or dollies to get hurt.”
Jasper ignored him and continued his song, I am sorry grandson, this is something I have to do, I wish I could tell you. But this is the way to get all the dollies destroyed.
Byron jumped on a makeshift altar and looked at the crowd, “Everyone who has gathered here, to vote, to look at us, with disdain, proud, fear, you name it, I have something to say. It won’t be too long until this doll runs the town, we are at a crossroads, the dolls are testing us. If we can pass their test, we are free.”
Many people screamed in the crowd, “We don’t believe you, they are evil.”
“People, people, they are not evil, they are your loved ones, we will perform a ritual to soothe their haunted souls. If you dispose of the dollies now, the government will seize you and take away your rights. Your children are dancing with the dead, every night, you invited them into your homes, into the streets, pass this test with me. Let your fear go.”
The crowd screamed with anger, “Kill the dolls, kill the dolls!”
“This isn’t what we need, this is not what you need to do, I can see the blood in your eyes, to destroy what you fear. But this is not what you need.”
Jackie grunted, “Byron, this is sliding the wrong way.”
“I’ve got this Jackie.”
“The doll did not kill Amelia, her father made it seem like that because he is an asshole. The doll was cradling her, lovingly, and helped her to pass on to Elysium.”
The crowd seemed to cool a bit, A man spoke up, “How did she die?”
“She committed suicide, it was not the dollies fault, her father was an asshole, it became too much for her.”
Charlotte let out a sigh of relief, “That is bad, but at least the people are slowly getting it was not the dollies fault, now Jasper needs to stop singing.”
Jackie grinned at Byron, “Come on, convince them that voting for Jasper is a good plan for freedom.”
Byron cleared his throat and used the best magnetic voice he could muster, “We are at a crossroads, give your votes to Jasper, he will free us from this oppressive regime. If you let us do our ritual, we can show you that the dollies are testing us, they are hurting and want to tell us, that is all. Amelia’s suicide is a coi-”
A man interrupted him, “Stop this at once,” it was the guard he saw earlier, the one that busted them. “He is lying to us.”
Byron shook his head, “What do you mean, I am not lying, I am telling the truth.”
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The guard climbed on the makeshift altar to position himself next to Byron while he held a device in the air, “All, are lies, Amelia was indeed plagued by an abusive father, that is true, she told me herself. But I went to get the doll, killed her and got the recording of Amelia’s last moments.”
Byron gasped with the other Voodoopunks, “You killed a dolly, her mama?”
The guard ignited a torch with a mechanical stick, “Listen to this recording!”
They heard Amelia’s voice from the device, “Do it, quickly before he breaks down the door.” It was followed by mechanical creaking and a loud snap of her neck.
The crowd gasped in horror, “The dolls can kill us, it did kill Amelia, Byron is lying.” People started getting torches, pipes, pitchforks.
Byron looked at Jackie, “Run, take Jasper, Charlotte, get to safety!” In the flick of a moment as the Voodoopunks scattered and ran over with the dollies, it was complete chaos.
The rioters, armed with makeshift weapons, began to set fire to the houses lining the street. The flames danced wildly, casting eerie shadows that added to the surreal and frenzied atmosphere. The crackling of burning timbers mixed with the distant sounds of shattering glass and screams, creating a cacophony of destruction.
As the rioters reached the mechanical dolls, their anger reached a boiling point. They mercilessly tore the dolls apart, limbs and gears scattered like broken dreams on the cobblestone streets. The once beloved companions, now seen as malevolent threats, were ripped apart with fervor, their dismembered parts fueling the growing bonfires.
The air became thick with acrid smoke, a mix of burning structures and the scent of molten metal from the destroyed dolls. The rioters, consumed by a collective madness, continued their rampage, their actions driven by fear and a desire to eradicate what they perceived as a source of evil.
Byron tried to save the dollies as the Voodoopunks ran away, realizing the impending danger if he did not stop this, he begged them to stop. He attempted to intervene, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. The rioters, blinded by rage, turned their aggression towards him and the Voodoopunk ritual they were preparing. The symbols of hope and connection that once defined the rituals now stood as targets for destruction.
The once vibrant street now resembled a war zone, with the rioters spiraling further into chaos. The flames roared, and the mechanical dolls, once animated and full of life, lay broken and lifeless. New Albion, once a city of innovation and wonder, now stands on the brink of collapse, its future uncertain in the wake of the destructive riot, this is just the beginning.
Byron ran away, through the chaos, he wanted to find Jackie, Jasper, and Charlotte.
He sprinted through the chaotic streets of New Albion, his heart pounding in tandem with the frenzied rhythm of the riot. The once familiar avenues were now unrecognizable, consumed by bonfires that cast an ominous glow on the surrounding madness. Smoke billowed from burning houses, and the distant screams of enraged rioters filled the air.
As he navigated the labyrinth of chaos, Byron’s eyes darted anxiously, scanning for any sign of Jasper and Jackie. The shadows danced with every flicker of the flames, and the air was thick with the acrid scent of destruction. The rioters, like vengeful spirits, roamed the streets with malice in their eyes, seeking to extinguish anything associated with the Voodoopunks.
Byron, realizing the danger that lurked around every corner, ducked and weaved through the shadows, avoiding the hostile glares of those who sought to harm him. The orange glow of the bonfires revealed glimpses of angry faces, distorted by fear and fueled by the madness that gripped the city.
The sound of shattering glass and splintering wood reverberated through the narrow alleys as Byron dodged the rioters. The heat from the fires intensified with every step, and the cracked cobblestone streets beneath his feet felt like the uncertain ground of a war torn battlefield. “My angel, where are you? My angel?!”
Amidst the chaos, he caught a fleeting glimpse of Jackie, her ceremonial robes billowing in the fiery wind as she desperately tried to evade the violent crowd. Byron called out to her, but his voice was swallowed by the tumultuous symphony of destruction. She got hit by a cart and got knocked out, he saw Jasper and Jackie fall to the ground.
A sudden surge of panic gripped him as he realized the imminent threat to Jasper and his friend. The road to the alleyway was blocked, he had to take the long way around. His pace quickened, feet pounding against the uneven ground, as he sought the mechanical doll amidst the pandemonium. He had to find a way to Jackie, who was hurt. The once celebrated symbols of the Voodoopunks now lay broken and scattered, fueling the roaring bonfires that threatened to consume everything in their path.
The rioters, blinded by hysteria, saw Byron as an embodiment of the perceived threat. As he turned a corner, a group of angry individuals spotted him and advanced with menacing intent. Byron’s instincts kicked in, and he darted down a narrow alley, narrowly escaping the hands reaching out to grab him.
Through the winding streets and the flickering glow of the fires, Byron pressed on, determined to find Jasper and Jackie amidst the bedlam. Every shadow seemed to harbor a potential threat, but he pressed forward, fueled by a desperate need to reunite with his friends and salvage what remained of the shattered city.
He made it to the alleyway, he ran over to Jackie and saw she was bleeding heavily from a head wound. “Jackie? Wake up, Jackie?”
Someone grabbed him by his shoulders, scared he turned around, it was just Charlotte, “Oh, thank god, it is you, New Albion is, shattered. You need to take Jackie and Jasper to your home.”
“What about you?”
“I will meet you at your mansion, I am going to distract the menacing crowd out there, destroy any affiliation to us. Hide, and keep our daughter safe.”
Charlotte, shed a tear, “I know, about you being gay, but I do love you, where are you going?”
Byron smiled, “I will create a distraction.” He started walking towards the rioters, “Take care of Jackie and my angel.”
Charlotte nodded and got ready to run, “Don’t get yourself killed.”
Byron’s mind raced as he assessed the grim reality of the situation. The rioters, now fueled by both fear and fury, were joined by a relentless military force intent on destroying the Voodoopunks and their mechanical dolls. Determined to create a distraction, Byron surveyed the chaos unfolding around him, the air thick with the acrid scent of smoke and the distant sounds of destruction.
Byron took a deep breath, steeling himself for the dangerous act he was about to perform. He sprinted toward the nearest barricade, where a group of rioters clashed with the advancing military forces. The air crackled with tension as the military, under strict orders to eliminate any affiliation with the Voodoopunks, prepared to unleash their firepower.
With agile movements, Byron ascended a makeshift platform, drawing the attention of both rioters and military alike. The orange glow of the fires illuminated his determined expression as he raised his hands, palms facing the sky, mimicking the start of a ritual. His commanding presence drew eyes from all directions.
“Listen, citizens of New Albion!” Byron’s voice, amplified by the resonance of chaos, echoed through the turbulent air. “We are not your enemies. The true threat lies within the corruption that plagues our city, the puppeteers who are pulling the strings.”
The rioters momentarily paused, torn between the allure of the Voodoopunks words and the looming threat of the military, whose actions were unclear in the chaos. Byron seized the moment, continuing his passionate speech. “We must unite against the true oppressors who seek to control us, the ones who exploit our fears and pit us against each other. We have to rise above the chaos, and see the puppeteers for whom they truly are!”
The distraction created a brief opening for Charlotte to slip away unnoticed with Jackie and Jasper. Byron maintained his defiant stance on the platform, diverting the attention of both the rioters and the military away from the escaping trio.
The military, torn between the charismatic words of Byron and their orders, hesitated for a moment. In that fleeting instant, Charlotte and her companions vanished into the labyrinthine alleys, seeking safety in the shadows while Byron confronted the brewing storm, determined to face the consequences of his actions as he got ready to run.
Byron sprinted through the chaotic streets of New Albion, his heart pounding in sync with the tumultuous rhythm of the rioters chasing Byron along with the military who were as well after him. The flickering fires cast erratic shadows on the cobblestone roads as he pushed himself to the limit, driven by the urgency to reach Charlotte’s mansion and reunite with Jasper and Jackie.
The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning debris, and distant screams and clashes echoed through the night. As he neared the mansion, his breaths ragged, he glimpsed the silhouette of Charlotte’s grand residence amidst the chaos.
Just as he approached the back entrance, a sudden searing pain erupted in his shoulder, that caused him to stumble. Byron gritted his teeth, realizing he had been shot. The burning agony intensified with each step, but the urgency of his mission propelled him forward.
A rioter, fueled by the frenzy and blinded by rage, had taken aim at Byron. The bullet found its mark, lodging itself in his shoulder. Byron winced but pressed on, fueled by a mixture of adrenaline and determination.
As he stumbled into the mansion’s courtyard, he caught sight of Jasper and Jackie huddled in a corner as Charlotte was opening the back door. Her eyes reflecting a blend of relief and worry. The reunion was brief as Byron focused on the surrounding riots.
Amid the chaos, a rioter lunged at Byron with a gleaming knife, fueled by the fervor of the mob. In the frantic struggle, Byron’s instincts kicked in, and he managed to disarm the assailant. The situation escalated, and in the chaotic whirlwind, the rioter met an unintentional, fatal end.
Byron, panting and wincing from the gunshot wound, stared at the unintended consequence of his desperate escape. The courtyard fell into a tense silence, broken only by the distant sounds of the ongoing riot. He walked over to Charlotte, who opened the door and dragged Jackie and Jasper inside.
Byron quickly closed the door behind him, “New Albion has gone insane, they are killing the Voodoopunks, everyone is going into hiding. The dollies, they are all being used for bonfires.”
Charlotte grunted as she looked at him, “Are you okay? You are bleeding, I think you got stabbed.”
Byron looked at his wounds, “I will be okay, I don’t it is nothing fatal, but they will be coming for me soon. I want to see Priscilla, one last time, you need to destroy all evidence, and patch up Jackie.”
“Byron, what are you going to do?”
“I am going to do something my that father would have never done, Sacrifice myself.” He walked into his daughter’s room while cradling Jasper in his arms, “Priscilla?”
Priscilla, a delightful three-year-old with a cascade of golden curls that framed her cherubic face, possessed innocence that radiated warmth. Her sparkling blue eyes held a curiosity that mirrored the wonder of a world still unfolding before her. A dimpled smile, contagious and pure, adorned her face, lighting up the room whenever she smiled. She just smiled at him.
Byron kneeled beside her, “Daddy loves you a lot, but daddy needs to go away for a while, be good for you, mom, okay?”
Priscilla nodded as if she had understood it.
Byron handed Jasper to her, “Never tell anyone that you have Jasper, he is your friend, he will protect you.” She gladly took Jasper and hugged him, she hugged her dad.
Byron cried, he felt pain but, he wanted to hold his daughter, one last time because he had the feeling, he wouldn’t be coming back. He got up and walked to the entrance where people were banging on the door. He looked at Charlotte, “It will be alright.”
She cried and gulped as the doors were breached, “I love you.”
Byron cried with her, “I love you.”
The sound of boots echoed through the grand halls as the military stormed the mansion. Byron, resolute and unwavering, was forcefully dragged out into the chaos while screaming, “It was only me.” The military, fueled by the orders to quell the Voodoopunks and destroy the dolls, showed no mercy for him, but they left Charlotte and Jackie alone. They looked like normal citizens where Byron was seeking shelter.
As they forced him down on his knees outside in the streets, the crowd’s frenzied shouts and the crackling flames provided a sinister backdrop to the grim scene. The soldiers, their faces obscured by helmets, aimed their weapons at Byron. The air grew thick with tension, and the ominous silence hinted at the impending violence.
Byron’s eyes, a mix of defiance and resignation, scanned the crowd. He thought of Charlotte, Jackie, Priscilla, and Jasper, hoping they were safe within the mansion’s protective walls. A deep breath steadied him for the inevitable.
In the cold, calculating gaze of the military, Byron felt the weight of the choices that had led to this moment. The world outside was ablaze with chaos, and he braced himself for his final act. As the soldiers prepared to fire as the twilight fog set upon New Albion to shroud the riots in mist.