The Light Mage (an RiR Fan Fiction)
Oct. 16th, 2016 10:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
subliminalcircles posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
saladloveHer it is. 8k words strong. Whoops.
The Black Market's revolution was not the first attempt at an act against the law. This is the story of the forgotten efforts of a tiny group of friends who managed to escape.
The workshop at Avonhill, some place deep in the woods in TZI idfreakinknow. November 29, 2266. Time instance 842N.
Sparks flew as the pieces of metal melded together. The little girl watched the technician work his craft in fascination, having nothing else to do. He’d been tirelessly working on the new project assigned to him since that morning, and by the time it turned sundown, his tools had molded the hunk of metal into something vaguely humanoid.
The sparks did die down, and the technician, appearing less than satisfied, lowered his blowtorch and propped his mask. His face was smudged with dirt, and his rusty hair was wet with sweat. “Kal. Could ya ‘vetch me my circuits box?”
“Yes, Paton!” Kal got up from the floor and skipped over to a shelf in the corner of the gray room. “Which one?”
“Get the re’ one.”
The red tool box felt greasy in her little hands. Kal carefully brought it over to Paton.
“Thank you,” he said in his gruff voice, and he got back to work. He held circuits and wires up to the empty frame, muttering to himself as he did so. He’d pick up protractors and rulers, and he’d mark it with paint. “This’d be a hell’a lot easier with all the right par’s,” he said, not looking up. “Also please don’ repeat those words.”
“I won’t, Pat,” Kal agreed, making a silent oath to never say “right parts.” She didn’t know why those words were bad, but she trusted Paton.
After staring at his work for some minutes, he got back to melding, fixing the errors in the current dimensions. Despite the long hours working, he had a long way to go. All there was at the moment was a face an upper-torso.
Waiting for him to take off his mask again, Kal asked, “What are ya’ gonna name ‘em when he’s done?”
Paton sneered: “Ha, you mean if I get ‘em to work. D’know why Makrin thinks I’m a miracle worker.”
Kal waited for an answer.
After no reply, Paton looked over at her. His face softened, and he considered it for a moment. “Well,” he started. “Wha’d you name ‘em?”
“Hmmmmmmm.” Kal scooted up to the figure. Paton seemed to have already made slight attempts at shaping a face. The head grew thin and long. Where its nose should’ve been protruded a lump, where the eyes should’ve been bore two holes, and the lips were lopsided along with the rest of the face. The work had definitely been rushed. “He looks like a ‘Jacob’ to me.”
Paton stood by her and eyeballed his creation. Looking between Kal and it, he grinned slightly. “‘Jacob?’” He patted Kal and looked her in the eye. “I like it.”
Kal beamed up at him. With a little more energy, Paton got behind ‘Jacob’ and got back to work. Shortly after just a few adjustments, the door to the shop swung open, and in came someone short with both a sack and a rifle slung over her back. Her hair dirty-blonde hair draped down to her waist, and grease smudged her tanned skin. “I’m back!”
“Rosin! Rosin! Rosin!” Kal quickly skidded over to the door.
Paton stuttered, from frustration or worry, she did not know. “What’ve you been doin’? You left a’ dawn!”
“Pssh, you know. The usual.” Rosin rolled her eyes as she clunked into the room. “Flirting with strangers, doing drugs.” She slumped the sack onto the floor. “Totally not accomplishing what you asked me to do last night.” She undid the knot and spilled out scraps of metal and gadgets. “Definitely wasn’t scavenging for the junk you asked me for last night. But seriously,” she added. “The cyborg patrols were annoying today.”
Kal jumped up and down. “Did I get anything? Did I get anything?”
Rosin hmmed and scratched her head before faking a face of surprise. She dug in her pocket cupping a small object. “Behold!” In her hands was a black rock.
“Coool!” Kal took the rock and bit it.
“Oh no no, Kally!” Paton quickly stood up from sorting the metal scraps. “Why don’ ya- why don’ ya go put ‘em with the rest of your rock friends. We wouldn’t wan’ any broken teeth, would we, ha?”
“Yes, Paton!” she ran to a corner in the room and placed the new member in the circle of stones. “I’ll call you ‘Jamie.’”
Paton pulled out a busted camera lense from the pile. “Rosin, I though’ told ya to get a 35 millimeter lense. Where’d ya find a 50 millimeter?”
“You’re welcome,” Rosin said crossing her arms. “Who’s the handsome behind you?”
“Wha- oh. The robot.” Paton coughed and put his hands in his pockets. “Tha’ there’s the project Makrin tol’ me to start on.”
“His name is ‘Jacob,’” Kal reminded.
Rosin came closer to the project, looking it squarely in the face and poking a finger through the eye. “‘Jacob,’ eh?”
“Yes, yes,” Paton started, “and there is still lots to be done, so wouldja mind leavin’ us alone, thank you?”
Rosin recoiled, but continued. “How does Makrin expect you to pull off something like this?”
Paton stuttered at the subject change, then said frankly, “I don’ know. I don’ know if he’s hoping for us to take small steps or wha’. This is just a waste a’ materials if ya’ ask me.”
“No kidding,” Rosin replied as she circled the frame. “What you have is cool, though.”
“Thank you,” Paton said. He grinned slightly, but it disappeared when he went to stand by her. “A’ the very least, when this doe’n’ work, I c’n make a sentry ou’ of it.” He paused, then continued. “It’s a shame, though.”
“Hmm?”
“Makrin wan’ed me to try my best a’ making a robo’ to act similarly to a cybor’. One tha’ took orders an’ such withou’ having to sacrifice a livin’ bein’. It’s obviously difficult, though, makin’ somethin’ somewha’ sentien’. It jus’ doe’n’ work tha’ way. I don’ know how the Mainframe does it.” Paton went to sit on a bench while continuing his thought. “Is it cause they go’ a human host? It’ also probably easier cause of the control center’s networks an’ communications. If only I could get my hands on a real cybor’- one that wouldn’ try an’ kill us. Maybe then I could figure somethin’ ou’.”
Rosin sat down next to Paton with her arms behind her head. “Yeahh,” she replied staring off into space.
Kal, who was watching their conversation on the floor, also came to rest with them. “Speaking of which, where is Makrin?”
“Last I saw ‘em, he was in ‘is room, bu’ I haven’ seen sunlight in a few hours.”
“I haven’t seen sunlight in a few minutes. I’m going to shoot some arrows,” Rosin stated, looking desperate to get out of the dim place.
Paton looked after Rosin as she exited the workshop. Kal wondered if he really didn’t want her to leave.
Kal turned her head to Paton. “You really think Jacob won’t work?”
“Hm? I don’ know, Kally,” he replied with an exasperated sigh. “I’s just ou’ of my realm of possibility. I’m a mechanic. No’ a miracle maker.”
Kal thought about that for a moment, and then she said, “Well I think you can do it.”
Paton let out a laugh. “Why dontcha go see wha’ Rosin’s up to. I need some time to wo’k,” he said.
“Ok!” Kal jumped up from the bench and ran for the door. “See ya later, Paton!”
He waved, and then the door shut. Outside, the sun had just made it below the trees. She left the old concrete building to go seek out Rosin. A loud thunk reminded Kal that she went to shoot some arrows. That’s what Rosin usually did when she had to think, Kal noticed.
Kal walked along the leaf-covered dirt and passed empty, crumbling buildings. According to Makrin, their hiding spot used to be a small logging encampment. The town used to be known as Avonhill before the Invasion 14 years ago. The aliens herded the inhabitants to the heart of the newly established sectors. Herself, Paton, Rosin, and Makrin were all residents of TZI until Makrin planned a grand escape. After avoiding the radar for months, it seemed the control center didn’t want to waste resources trying to find the unimportant escapees, so they’ve been able to remain unnoticed for almost five years.
Before going to Rosin’s range, Kal entered a small, brick building. Inside, surrounded by chipped, white walls, was a wireframe bed, a storage box, and two stands in the corner, one holding a guitar and the other a ukelele. She picked up the smaller of the two. The light-blue paint, despite everything, remained healthy. It was smudged, but still in good condition. Though she was born four years after the invasion, her family had still taught her the concept of music. She instantly fell in love, and every day since then, she'd always remember to play a few chords.
Kal stepped back outside and continued on track. Soon, at the end of the buildings, there was a large expanse of stumps on a barren landscape. Rosin stood a distance away aiming a bow at a target propped on one. Rosin was a lot of the reason the group remained alive because she was a shapeshifter. Because there remained little wildlife to hunt, it was her job to sneak into the orchards and bring back food, and she wouldn’t be recognized as an escapee. Those missions always took a couple days. It was a long flight between there and TZI. She knew the best spots to find materials for Paton, too.
Rosin didn't turn to greet Kal as she trotted up. “Yo,” she said with an arrow notched.
“Hi!” Kal sat down on a fallen log strummed a note on her ukulele. As she did, she watched Rosin carefully aiming at her target with one eye closed. It took a minute, but eventually, her body shuttered and relaxed, and she released an arrow. It thudded two rings away from the bullseye.
“I swear,” Rosin started as she notched another arrow. “I just barely escaped a patrol getting that crap for him, and he doesn’t even say thanks.”
Not knowing what to say, Kal just shrugged and continued to strum coords.
“He’s just so… frustrating at times, but I can tell something’s not right. Something’s eating at him,” Rosin continued.
She didn’t reply. They stayed quiet for a few minutes before Kal changed the subject.
“Hey, Rosin,” Kal said.
“Yeah?” she replied without turning around.
“Have you ever played the violin?”
“No, but I’m familiar.”
“Are you aware that your nickname is a pun?”
Rosin turned and stared blankly at Kal. “I don’t understand, but I’m still getting the sudden urge to drink bleach.”
~~~
Crickets sang into the night. The moon peaked through the small window Kal gazed out on the top of the wall across from her. It was past midnight, and she was a light sleeper, so when a flutter of wings woke her up, she couldn’t go back to sleep. The nights at Avonhill were peaceful. The nights at TZI were tense.
The night they escaped was a scary one, but they held together despite everything. It was hard to believe Kal was only five years old, but even then, she promised to them that she wouldn’t cry. Paton held her close when patrols would come by, but the cyborgs found nothing. They escaped on a Friday, so their absence from work would remain unknown for just enough time to get out of ear and eye shot from that place.
The months after felt just as hard. They walked for a week until they found Avonhill. Makrin, before the Invasion, was stationed there when they launched the attack. The anti-magic bombs were brutal, he described, but he fought with all his might against them, but in the end, his fiery, blue wing couldn’t save anyone.
For months, they expected to be ready to hide from search parties looking for them. An escape route was planned, and they had planned drills to do if they were ever discovered.
But nobody came.
The post-Invasion days were dark. Kal knew she could never understand what the people felt, but back in TZI and in Avonhill, she could feel their pain. Kal could feel their oppression, their devastation, and their lack of hope, and she wished she could fix that. That’s why she ran away with them. With no family to leave behind, she found her new family, and somehow, someday, she pledged to give those who felt pain hope. One day, she would fight, and she pledged to be their light.
Kal shivered. She thought more than she needed to. She hoped Paton could get the robot to work. Even if he couldn’t, it would be a step forward to the path of freedom. And besides, who else would do it? Kal mused at the thought of another group of people cooped in their friend’s basement doing the same thing. But who knows? Maybe all they did down there was play Monopoly.
There’s no way, she thought.
The sound of wings again broke through Kal’s thoughts followed by a big thunk. She sat up in her bed.
Kal quietly got up from her bed and tiptoed to the front door. Cracking it open, she saw the dark silhouette of a tall, humanoid figure with huge wings setting down its body-sized cargo. After the package had safely landed, a small flurry kicked up some leaves, and a human stood.
The door creaked when Kal tried taking a closer look, and Rosin’s head darted over to where she snuck. The moonlight was just enough for them to see each other and lock gazes. Rosin froze, she put a finger to her lips, and she waved her hand that told Kal to go back to bed.
Kal obeyed, and she closed the door softly.
~~~
The workshop the next day was busy again. Kal went about her routine and watched Paton meticulously start work on the mechanical arms.
“You think you could teach me how to do this stuff?” Kal said.
Paton smiled. “Maybe,” he replied. “But we should wai’ for you to grow a lit’l olde’. Like when ya tu’n… 12.” He became solemn.
It wasn’t much longer until Rosin opened the door to the workshop with an ecstatic expression written on her face. “Paton, Paton, PATON! You’re gonna FREAK!!”
Paton sighed and turned around to face her. “Wha’ didja do this time?”
“Oh, nothing,” she replied looking incredibly smug. Kal noticed that Rosin was covered in dirt. “But lemme ask. What are you doing?”
“Workin’ on the robo’. And you?”
“Well, what if I told you that I have the solution to all of your problems? What if I told you I got my hands on something that would make your job TEN times easier?”
“You’re makin’ no sense, spill the beans, Rosin.”
She rushed back outside, and they could hear her grunting with effort. Carefully on a dolly, Rosin wheeled in something tall standing in another one of her sacks. She unloaded the luggage onto the floor with a heave. The sack loomed over Rosin as she crossed her arms seeming very proud of herself.
“Wha’...” Paton started. “Wha’ is this?”
“Feast your eyes, girly and gentledork. My greatest caper yet!” Rosin untied the bag in a grand reveal, and there stood something humanoid. The half-human, half-metal being brought shivers down both Paton’s and Kal’s spine when they realised what it was.
She had stolen a cyborg.
“Well!” Rosin said with a smirk. “Whaddya guys think? Pretty cool or what? Now, Paton, you can study him alllll you want so you can complete Jacob!”
Paton didn’t speak for moments. Excitement seemed to be his last emotion as he fought shock, anger, panic, and fear. “You’re…” he sputtered, “you’re a madman! You could’ve been murdered!”
“Yeah,” she replied proudly. “I know. How ‘bout you, Kally?”
Kal didn’t respond. She was entranced, not knowing if that was a good thing or a bad thing. She came closer. The cyborg wore a heavy trenchcoat, and under it, its entire left side and right leg was replaced with metal. The red eye that haunted the group provided no glow, and the right, human eye was closed. Something about the cyborg’s brown hair unnerved her.
She’d seen him somewhere before.
Suddenly, it came to her. The memory came to her like a dusty butterfly, and with it came a flood of the past.
“...Menlo?”
“Good answer,” Rosin said joyously, still caught up in her trance. “Where’s Makrin? I called him to come in here. He hasn’t seen this guy ye-”
“No, Rosin. Something’s wrong,” Kal interrupted. Not believing it could be true, Kal reached up and held the cyborg’s stiff, human hand. It was too familiar. “Menlo’s asleep.”
This seemed to get Rosin’s attention. She finally took notice of Kal’s face who stared up at the cyborg in remorse. Paton observed Kal in panic.
“Kally,” Rosin said quietly. “You… recognize him?”
“This is Menlo. My brother,” Kal replied. “We have to wake him up! We have to wake him up ri-”
The door to the workshop opened, and Makrin stepped in. The middle-aged veteran looked around the room with bright, blue eyes. “This... is a weird meeting.”
“Makrin,” Paton said with relief.
“Rosin,” Makrin addressed. “Explain the purpose of this meeting.”
Rosin, who looked sick contrary to before, spoke. “I burrowed beneath one of the nearby machine-only sectors and stole a dormant cyborg from its control center.”
Makrin didn't seem surprised. He glanced at Kal, of whom was still holding the cyborg’s hand. “And why is Kal upset?”
“She believes that the cyborg Rosin stole is… Menlo,” Paton answered.
“We have to wake him up,” repeated Kal.
Makrin stepped into the room. He circled around to see Menlo in the face. He looked around 18. “So this is Menlo?” He rubbed his chin. “Your brother seems like a nice person. Wake him up, Paton.”
Paton looked shocked. “But- but Makrin-”
“You heard me Paton.”
He sputtered for an answer, and it occurred to Kal that he has never studied cybernetics, and there was a chance that Menlo would still be under the influence of the Mainframe. It was a risk Kal was willing to take. For her brother.
Paton seemed to have lost a battle of wits against himself, for he reluctantly approached the cyborg. He removed the trenchcoat from his body along with the shirt, and he quickly found the control panel in his back. Prying it off, he was met with a labyrinth of wires and circuits.
“Uhhh…” Paton stared at the unfamiliar circuitry. With a cough from Rosin, he snapped out of it and tried his best at examining the parts. Finally, after what felt like hours, he deducted to a blue wire. His hand shook as he tugged it from the jumbled mess, and he stared at it as if he were holding a bomb. “Th… This I think leads to tha’ wireless communications. Afte’ a small examination, this should be wha’ disconnects ‘em from the Mainframe.”
Makrin leaned forward. “So cutting it would give him back full control?”
“Theoretically.” His voice shook.
“Cut it.”
Paton grew paler. Clumsily, he retrieved a gray tool box of which he retrieved wire clippers. Slowly, he held them up to the wire. “Are ya sure ya want me t’cut this wi’e? I am cu’ing this wi’e isolated from a five minu’e analysis, an’ this is assuming cybe’ne’ics function similarly to wha’ I’m used to. If I’m wrong, this coul’ kill us all.”
“Do it.”
Kal watched in anticipation and Rosin clenched her rifle as Paton fought his nerves, and getting over with it, he snipped the wire.
After the cut was made, he dropped the wire cutters, almost narrowly dodging the cyborg’s sudden movement. His red eye flickered on, and he lunged forward, kicking at a target that wasn’t there.
The newly awoken cyborg paused breathing heavily, staring at the air in front of him as if he saw a ghost. He whisked around in a fighting stance with his fists balled up and his legs apart. His human eye glowed a bright white, and it scanned its surroundings, Kal hiding behind Paton, Rosin with her rifle aimed, and Makrin standing sternly in the middle. His gaze flicked between each person, and he held his hands up and froze, shoulders rising and falling from his panting.
No one spoke. After awkwardly standing there for moments, he finally noticed something. “I, um… my clothes.”
The others stared at him; Rosin lowered her rifle, Makrin looked at him in curiosity, Paton was stiff with panic, and Kal gazed at him in disbelief. Paton tentatively moved from his spot and picked up the shirt and trench coat on the floor and tossed them to the cyborg. He fumbled to catch the load, and he immediately started layering himself again.
Kal couldn’t believe it. She thought it was too good to be true, but she could not restrain herself.
“Menlo!” she cried out, and she ran out to hug him.
Menlo stared in confusion at the small child, him being around two feet taller than her. He softened up a bit and lowered his arms slightly. “Hello?” He looked around in worry at the other faces. “Where am I? What are you doing with me?”
“Menlo, Menlo! We made it to Avonhill!” Kal released him and jumped up and down in front. “Menlo’s back! Menlo’s back!”
“Avonhill sounds… nice…” he said slowly, seeming disturbed. “But… I'm not Menlo?”
Rosin and Paton exchanged uneasy glances, and Makrin continued to observe.
“Why am I here? Did I do something bad?” He looked sick. “Actually, I don't remember doing anything at all.”
With this information, the ghastly thought Rosin, Paton, and Makrin held had been confirmed. Paton covered his mouth and shook, Rosin turned away crestfallen, and Makrin scratched his neck.
“Menlo,” Kal started. She now stood in front of the cyborg with her hands together. “Why are you acting like this? It's me, Kal.”
“Kal,” Makrin interrupted.
“Ya, Makrin?”
Makrin looked to Rosin, of whom avoided eye contact, and to Paton, who stuttered when his gaze rested and stayed on him. Finally, mustering up the courage, he beaconed her.
“Kally, lemme talk t’ya about somethin’.”
“Ya see… when a human becomes a cybor’, they become… different. When a human becomes a cybor’, they loose their memory.” He trailed off the last few words.
The room stayed silent. Kal couldn't believe it.
So she decided not to.
“No, he can't,” she said defiantly.
“Kal,” Paton insisted. “He's gone.”
“No, he’s not,” repeated Kal. Menlo, quickly having forgotten his previous aggression, sat down and watched the confrontation nonchalantly.
“Kal, I’m sorry,” continued Paton. “He may be the same person, bu’ he doe’n’t recognize you or anything else. His memory is gone, and nothin’ can fix i’.”
She stood there looking at Paton, her expression continuously falling.
She decided not to.
“Has anyone tried bringing back a cyborg’s memory?” Kal inquired.
Paton stuttered, “I don’ think anyone’s ever revived one period.”
“Then I will try!” Kal announced.
“Kal…”
“Wait!”
The others turned to Menlo. He had been quietly listening to the conversation until then. He got up off the floor. “I still don't really know what's going on, but it's true that I don't remember who I am, but even if I can never remember, I still want to learn about myself.”
Kal looked overcome with joy, but Paton was taken aback. “Your past life doesn't exist anymore. Why do you care about it?”
Menlo hesitated, then he spoke: “But it's still apart of me. I'm living the same life, and I'm still the same person.”
Paton was stood there, completely shocked.
“Menlo’s back! Menlo’s back!” Kal paraded around around the cyborg.
“‘Menlo’ is a nice name.”
Eventually, Kal dragged him outside leaving Makrin, Paton, and Rosin, but even Makrin, not much for final statements, exited the workshop.
Rosin stayed, and was the first to sit down. She rested her forehead in her hands and muttered, “This is all my fault.”
Paton’s mind switched back on, and he hastily sat down next Rosin. “No, Rosin. You di’nt know.”
“You were right,” she continued, lifting her head with wet eyes. “I’m so stupid. I could’ve been caught. I could’ve been killed, and now Kal’s gonna have to learn the hard way that her brother is never coming back.”
Paton didn’t know how to reply. He stumbled on his own thoughts, but he instinctively wrapped his arm around her. Rosin didn’t mind, and she rested her head on his shoulder, silently letting tears run down her face and looking blankly to the other side of the workshop.
Though trying his best to comfort her, Paton sifted through problems of his own. Did he do the right thing? Maybe he should’ve had a little more faith in Kal. As her parental figure, all he wanted was the best for Kal, but sometimes he worried if his best wasn’t enough.
~~~
Avonhill, somewhere in the woods in TZI, December 13, 2266. Time instance 842N.
For almost two weeks, Kal had spent every moment she had to spare with Menlo. On a few occasions, if it was okay with him, Paton would study Menlo’s circuits. He spent hours a couple days sketching detailed diagrams and taking pictures of Menlo’s machinery. Even then, Kal rambled on and on to Menlo about random subjects while Paton stayed quiet except for the occasional instruction. After he was finished, Paton didn’t call him up again.
Many sessions have come and passed in attempt to recover Menlo’s memory, but the end of another week imminent, and Kal struggled to keep her hopes high as no progress was made. She spent the first week spilling to him memories they shared along with his background. Kal and Menlo were half-siblings. Menlo’s father was a light elementalist passing down his bright, white eyes to him. He was very powerful too.
“You used to tell me stories of things you did before the Invasion when you didn’t have a collar! Can you perform magic right now?”
Menlo thought about it briefly, and responded. “Unfortunately, no. I’m detecting a magic dampener built into me.”
“Can’t you turn it off?”
Again, he paused, and a succession of soft clicks could be heard. “Yes, I actually can, but performing magic can negatively affect my circuits.”
“Aw man.”
Menlo continued to learn more and more about himself through the sessions they bonded, but no memories were ever recovered. Everything was going just as Paton and Rosin had warned her, but she didn’t give up. Makrin encouraged her to continue, and so she did. Kal, by the end of two weeks, having exhausted her own memories, had one final idea. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it earlier.
After having eaten dinner by the campfire, Kal took an extra serving and went to her room to where the guitar and the ukulele were displayed. She put on the strap and slung the guitar over her shoulders, held the neck of the ukulele in one hand, and carried an old plate in her last hand careful not to spill its contents.
She stepped back into the chilly night. The crickets sang as usual. Kal turned her head at laughter. Paton and Rosin sat on the same bench next to the campfire. She noticed that the two had been clinging to each other a lot more lately, and Kal was glad. Paton proudly grinned at Rosin as she proceeded to almost fall off the log laughing.
Kal wished she had their spirits at the moment.
She walked deeper into the ghost town. Two small buildings down from her’s, she lightly kicked the door of a white brick building. Some light footsteps later, Menlo opened the door and welcomed her in.
“Good evening, Menlo!” Kal said. She shoved the plate into his hands and hastily stepped inside. His room was ungarnished spare a flimsy bed, a small table holding a flickering candle, and paper and pencils on the floor.
“Thanks for bringing be dinner,” Menlo mentioned. He shut the door and went to sit on his bed. He looked at the contents of his plate- some apple slices and two pieces of bread- before taking hungry bites. For a few days, he had opted to stay in his new room rather than eat with the others. When he had time alone, he would just lie down motionless on the bed until he got inspiration. Rosin, on her scavenging trips, now brought back what paper and writing utensils that could be salvaged as requested by Kal. Some of the scraps were torn posters, but sometimes she would get lucky, and she’d bring back used notebooks.Sometimes Menlo would get inspiration, and he would pick up a piece of paper and write something down. Then he would return to his vigil on the bed. He was artistic in words, Kal remembered.
And in music.
Menlo was still eating his apples by the time she had set everything up. Kal didn’t want to start until he was finished with his meal, so she picked up some scattered papers and read their contents. Some were poems. Even after years of mind control, his sentences still flowed beautifully. Many of them described the fallen, autumn leafs, and sometimes some lumber and sunsets were thrown in. Here and there, he also wrote details about a story idea about a nomadic boy and his cat. If Kal had to be honest, she found it boring, but the story had so many themes and motifs that she figured she wasn’t old enough to appreciate that kind of stuff. It was also pretty bizarre. Despite the story taking place in mostly a forest, the cat had pure white fur. It was also just shy the size of a bear, and it would sometimes talk cryptically to the boy using its mind sometimes. From what he had written down, the cat started out as sort of a guardian angel, but the second half of the plot creeped Kal out. Of course, the story had been written in a series of several notes so far, so it was far from complete.
“I really like the story you have so far,” Kal said. “Do you have a name for the boy yet?”
Menlo had just finished eating the last apple slice. He set down his plate on the table and replied, “No. I’m having trouble coming up with one. It has to be a good one.”
“Do you have any ideas?”
“Somewhere on this floor is a list of possible names, but I don’t really like any of them so far. The cat’s name is going to be Mantix, though.”
Kal nodded, but she didn’t investigate further. Instead, she swiftly handed him the guitar. “Do you know what this is?”
He held it awkwardly in his hands at first. He twisted his arms around, trying to find a comfortable position, but finally, he settled one hand on the neck and the other by the strings. His body relaxed, and he held the instrument like he had played it his entire life. Naturally, he plucked a string. “I have no idea what this is.”
Kal’s shoulders slumped. “It’s a guitar. You used to play it all the time. You were really good at it.” She held up her ukulele. “I play this. It’s a ukulele. It’s kind of like the guitar. You play it the same way, basically. Kind of like this.” She strummed a chord and watched as Menlo mimicked her. He was clumsy at first, but through trial and error, he found the same coord she strummed. After that, he played four coords in a row, and then it clicked. His fingers moved up and down the neck of the guitar. Finally, he ended on a note and nonchalantly lessened his grip.
“It sounds nice,” Menlo said.
She leaned forward, a glimmer of hope forming. “But do you remember anything about the guitar?”
“No,” he replied, and he strummed a bit more.
Frustrated, Kal continued, “How do you remember how to play the guitar but can’t remember other things?”
“There are some forms of amnesia where talent is retained, I think. Even though I don’t remember learning how to play the guitar, I still retain the muscle-memory.”
Kal groaned in frustration, and she sat down on the edge of the bed. She glumly plucked a few notes. “I thought I really had it, Menlo. I really did.”
Menlo took notice to this. “Kal. It’s okay. We can just-”
“No, it’s not,” she snapped, and Menlo realized what she meant. “I know you’re in there, but am I wrong? I really thought I had you for just a split second, but I guess Pat and Ros were right. I just made it worse through trying.”
This broke Menlo’s bubble. Something random occurred to him. Kal, believing him dead, had gone years quiet. Something told him that it was unlike her to just tell someone how she felt because she knew she didn’t have a full understanding of what others were going through, thus she considered her own thoughts as puny as a grain of sand in the scheme of the world. She saw herself as a disciple of hope, and she couldn’t risk losing her charm to others by speaking her troubles aloud, and thus she kept her brother’s pure existence as a secret to the rest of the group. She didn’t want them to worry, and when he finally came back to her, his amnesia provided another problem and one she couldn’t suppress, but helping him regain his memory would prove to them that they didn’t need to worry. Menlo, up to that point, didn’t subconsciously take Kal seriously, but seeing her fight back years of tears that were no longer there showed to him how much she cared, and he felt bad. He grew a newfound respect for the ten year old, and took until then to realize how grown she really was.
Menlo had no idea where all of these thoughts came from.
He breathed in and tried being the bigger brother he was. “Do you… need a hug?” he started.
Kal didn’t reply, but when he didn’t say anything else, she begrudgingly sat next to him and let his arm wrap around her.
“You know,” Menlo said, “losing my memory isn’t all bad. I get to bond with you all over again, and the crew you have are a decent bunch.”
Kal stayed quiet, then she weakly said, “Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
An image came to Menlo sitting next to Kal. It was bright and vivid. A teenager sat alone on a log. He faced a field of stumps, and a hatchet lied passively on the ground. The field glowed red against the setting sun, and a light breeze played in the leafs.
The boy sighed, and he picked up the hatchet at his feet, but he turned at something. From the path behind him ran a crying little girl. She ran up to him and hugged his leg. There were bruises on her arm. Before he could ask what happened, two big kids ran from where she appeared. They clenched their fists and charged.
The teenager pushed back the girl and swung his strong arm at one smacking one in the cheek. He went twirling down and sprawled on the ground. He tried dealing with the other boy, but the kid got behind him and held his arms behind his back while the other one got up and kicked him in the shin. He struggled to break free, but the pummeling continued, but the grip on binding his arms together lessened, and he took the opportunity to kick the guy in front of him and turning around to sweep the other one’s legs. The little girl, not crying anymore, held a rock in her hand and had thrown it at the boy who had gotten behind him. Before the fallen thugs could get back up, the teenager’s hands glowed, and sparks of light kicked them back down. He let them get up, and he continued to repel them with light until they finally fled.
After a swift sigh, he turned back to the girl of whom, even with scrapes and bruises, beamed up at him. After that, the boy heard something in the distance. He hastily whispered something to her, scooped her onto his back, and ran into the city leaving his hatchet behind. He ran, but eventually when he couldn’t catch his breath, he put the girl down behind some boxes in an alley before stepping back out onto the street. Two humanoid figures, both with a red eye, caught up with him and took him away.
Menlo didn’t know where all of this came from, but he thought to himself that it’d make a cool story.
~~~
Avonhill, somewhere in the woods in TZI, December 20, 2266. Time instance 842N.
Kal stumbled as the explosion shook the snow off the bare trees. She ran away from robotic voices who yelled “Halt.” They were still occupied by the winged silhouette against the cloudy, night sky who, after failing to find Kal, had come to think of her as dead, and thus fled in a panic, flying away carrying the only other person she could find while crying, “It’s all my fault, it’s all my fault…” Rosin had no other reason to stay having seen Makrin go up in blue flames and have his ash fall from the sky, and thus she scooped up the nearest person, that being Paton, and flew away.
A light of a small fire led Kal to a stone wall to one of the fallen buildings. Quickly, she seized the opportunity to run around it and take cover. She landed behind it and covered her ears before another explosion lit the night. Longing for the others, she looked up at the sky to find Rosin. Not spotting her, she hoped she had escaped. Kal kept telling herself that she would see them again. She would see them again.
She would see them again.
When the cyborg’s commands to halt died down, she heard the patrol run around the decimated camp in search of the rest. They would find her soon, she knew, and she had the sudden urge to run out of her hiding spot into the open and let them take her, but Kal fought against it, but that urge went away as she heard quickly approaching footsteps. The night they’d escaped, she would bury her face into Paton’s thick jacket, but he wasn’t their. He had escaped with Rosin.
The footsteps grew louder. Kal groveled on the ground in a desperate attempt to cover herself in the snow while continuously running away from the thought that they would find her. When she could only muster a light coat of mud, she finally realized that there was no escape. She sat with her knees against her chest, eyes closed, and tears running down her cheeks as she waiting for the glowing red eye to turn the corner.
The quick footsteps were there, and a robotic hand clasped her shoulder.
“Kal, it’s me,” Menlo whispered hastily. He threw his back against the wall, scrunching next to her. He was wearing a heavy, green backpack and another wooden object.
Kal looked up at him teary-eyed and embraced him. “W-what are you doing?”
“We’re gonna get out of here,” he replied. His robotic eye whirred as if making calculations. “Follow me,” he said, and he took her hand and ran to another wall trying to get away from the destruction.
Shortly after they had crouched behind the second wall, someone yelled out, “There!” Heavy footsteps started clanking towards them.
Menlo grimaced. “Dammit.” Immediately, he scooped Kal up, and, while nearly crushing her in his arms, he shot off away from their cover. Kal closed her eyes as gunshots rang out, but the bullets bounced off the bright yellow shield.
Menlo ran for the trees. It looked as if they were going to make it, but before they reached the dense cover, the shield started to flicker and fade away, and it disappeared yards away from the first tree. Prediction software kicked in, and Menlo strafed back and forth, hopping from side to side, all while clutching and protecting Kal in his trench coat. Knowing he wouldn't be able to keep up for long, he lunged for the nearest oak tree, but not before he screamed and collapsed behind the trunk.
Kal tumbled from his arms, and she quickly caught herself from raising her head to see how far they had ran. The cyborgs sounded like they were a few hundred yards away.
“Menlo!” she cried. Menlo kneeled behind cover clutching his torso. He removed his bloodstained hand, and what once was a face of determination was a face of realization.
“Kal, listen to me,” Menlo started. “I want you to run.”
The cyborgs were gaining ground.
“Menlo, what?” Kal echoed.
“You need to run,” he repeated. He clasped her hand and looked her directly in the eye. “Listen to me when I say you must get away from here. These cyborgs are not here for you. They're here for me.”
“But-” Kal gawked. “But what are you going to do.
Menlo breathed in, and a click sounded from his machinery. He waved the palm of his hand, lighting white sparks. “Kal. When I tell you, you are going to run, and what I want you to know is that wherever you are, you must give the people hope.” He took off his backpack and shoved it into her hands along with her ukulele. “You have that power. Wherever you wind up, you must be the light. Give them a reason to keep moving on. Be the light you were to me, and keep moving on.”
The footsteps grew louder.
“I want you to know that I believe in you. You have the strength, the power, and the will, and this is a time where humanity needs you.” Why am I so terrible at speaking motivation.
Kal nodded slowly, tears running down her face.
“I have no doubt we’ll see each other again. Now run.”
It took Kal seconds to comprehend. His words, but with a nod, she ran. Narrowly dodging two bullets, she became enveloped by the trees.
The cyborgs were only a hundred yards away. Menlo stared into the woods where Kal disappeared.
He had lied. Instances before, Menlo had realised that the Mainframe knew where he was because when he was still connected by the time he had arrived to Avonhill. The cyborgs knew he had been here before he was disconnected, and now they’re here to capture him. He knew that Kal had no chance of escaping on foot, and neither did he. At the moment, she was safer without him because he was the one they were looking for, and he knew that she couldn’t see what they would do to him. To them, he was classified as an escapee, and his last attempt at being a bigger brother was instilling hope in her that they’d see each other again. In that instant, Menlo decided he wasn’t going down without a fight.
He was alone.
Menlo frantically snapped his hands, trying to create a steady, white light, and when his hands finally produced a volatile, sparking glow, he laughed grimly to himself. “We’ll see each other again one way or another.”
It was time.
Menlo stood up from his cover, immediately taking fire. His hands shot with white lightning, and his eyes were lit with excitement.
I hope she's out of earshot. “HERE I AM, AND YOU’LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!”
He spread his arms, and as gunfire rang out, the ball of light exploded from his hands, and blinding energy fled throughout the clearing. The spotlights that illuminated the clouds above turned night to day. Bystanders might have mistaken him for an angel, but those bystanders were immediately disintegrated. The cyborgs closest to the expulsion flaked away into the wind leaving abandoning their empty circuitry, but the flash didn’t harm the distant trees as the momentum filtered into the atmosphere.
Menlo, the entire time, smiled a sickening grin, but even after the gunshots died out, he couldn’t stop the floodgates of power. He continued to shine throughout the clearing. He could not act. He could not move.
Finally, after minutes, the light started to fade away. Menlo stood there, eyes clenched before crumbling to the ground. His core low and his circuits fried, he weakly gasped for air on his hands and knees. He lifted his eyes open. His vision was blurry, dimly lit as the full moon peaked briefly between the clouds. Smoldering circuits littered the ground, and small fires were burning out, but one red dot remained.
The cyborg stood from a wall of cover yards away. A robotic hand clutched a small, blue flame. Menlo expected it to immediately open fire, but the cyborg was different. Slowly and menacingly, the cyborg came closer.
Menlo shook on the ground. His skin was devoid of color, and his machinery locked when he tried to get up.
He was slipping away.
When the footsteps halted only inches away, Menlo weakly lifted his head. She had long, dirty-blond hair, and both her robotic, red eye and her shamrock, human eye glowered down at the mass slumped on the earth. The small, blue phoenix she held chirped.
Menlo spat on the ground.
“7420-α. You are under arrest for acts such as assisting wanted criminals, resisting arrest, and the destruction of Mainframe units and property, all of which fall under the act of treason, and such crime is punishable by death.
Menlo ignored her words, and instead, with one final breath, whispered, “She is alive. Promise me you will find Kal again, Makrin.”
Not long after the phoenix nodded, the cyborg lifted her arm to Menlo’s chest, and from it shot out a blade.
But his core had already failed only moments before.
By the end of the night, Kal Kanerva and Makrin Vylion were reported captured, Paton Caird and Dragomira Rossington were reported missing, and Menlo Kanerva was reported dead.
~~~
The Gamma Train, December 22, 2266. Time instance 842N.
The air froze Kal as she did not have her jacket. All she carried was her green backpack and her ukulele. No jacket.
She shivered as the cold crept upon her. The train remained barren except for one more soul. The stranger was a tall man. He wore a heavy leather coat, and he stared at the air in front of him. He had no luggage.
At least he had a coat.
The gamma train came to a stop. Kal almost got up until she saw the display above the sliding door read “SOV.” She settled back down and continued to shiver. The man got up- he was tall- but on the way to the sliding door, he took off his leather coat and threw it on her. “Take it,” he said in a gruff voice. “I won’t need it where I’m going.”
Kal graciously took the gift, but she felt too weak to say thank you. The man lumbered out the exit, and the gamma train continued again.
The coat smelled of dirt and sand, and Kal enveloped herself in it. Feeling a lot better, she waited, and after a five minutes of what felt like five hours, the train came to a stop, and the sign blinked “IAL.”
Kal gathered her things. She double-checked the backpack. In it was crammed Menlo’s stories and poems along with various mementos. Putting her arms through the oversized coat, she put on her backpack, clutched her ukulele, and reached her final hand into the pocket of her pants. She pulled out and opened a neatly folded piece of paper- looking at it one final time- before she breathed in.
She looked at her palms and snapped. She snapped until a bright light illuminated in her hand. “We’ll see each other again,” Kal echoed. She folded the piece of paper, put it in the pocket of her new coat, and stepped out onto the, once bustling, train station.
The Black Market's revolution was not the first attempt at an act against the law. This is the story of the forgotten efforts of a tiny group of friends who managed to escape.
The workshop at Avonhill, some place deep in the woods in TZI idfreakinknow. November 29, 2266. Time instance 842N.
Sparks flew as the pieces of metal melded together. The little girl watched the technician work his craft in fascination, having nothing else to do. He’d been tirelessly working on the new project assigned to him since that morning, and by the time it turned sundown, his tools had molded the hunk of metal into something vaguely humanoid.
The sparks did die down, and the technician, appearing less than satisfied, lowered his blowtorch and propped his mask. His face was smudged with dirt, and his rusty hair was wet with sweat. “Kal. Could ya ‘vetch me my circuits box?”
“Yes, Paton!” Kal got up from the floor and skipped over to a shelf in the corner of the gray room. “Which one?”
“Get the re’ one.”
The red tool box felt greasy in her little hands. Kal carefully brought it over to Paton.
“Thank you,” he said in his gruff voice, and he got back to work. He held circuits and wires up to the empty frame, muttering to himself as he did so. He’d pick up protractors and rulers, and he’d mark it with paint. “This’d be a hell’a lot easier with all the right par’s,” he said, not looking up. “Also please don’ repeat those words.”
“I won’t, Pat,” Kal agreed, making a silent oath to never say “right parts.” She didn’t know why those words were bad, but she trusted Paton.
After staring at his work for some minutes, he got back to melding, fixing the errors in the current dimensions. Despite the long hours working, he had a long way to go. All there was at the moment was a face an upper-torso.
Waiting for him to take off his mask again, Kal asked, “What are ya’ gonna name ‘em when he’s done?”
Paton sneered: “Ha, you mean if I get ‘em to work. D’know why Makrin thinks I’m a miracle worker.”
Kal waited for an answer.
After no reply, Paton looked over at her. His face softened, and he considered it for a moment. “Well,” he started. “Wha’d you name ‘em?”
“Hmmmmmmm.” Kal scooted up to the figure. Paton seemed to have already made slight attempts at shaping a face. The head grew thin and long. Where its nose should’ve been protruded a lump, where the eyes should’ve been bore two holes, and the lips were lopsided along with the rest of the face. The work had definitely been rushed. “He looks like a ‘Jacob’ to me.”
Paton stood by her and eyeballed his creation. Looking between Kal and it, he grinned slightly. “‘Jacob?’” He patted Kal and looked her in the eye. “I like it.”
Kal beamed up at him. With a little more energy, Paton got behind ‘Jacob’ and got back to work. Shortly after just a few adjustments, the door to the shop swung open, and in came someone short with both a sack and a rifle slung over her back. Her hair dirty-blonde hair draped down to her waist, and grease smudged her tanned skin. “I’m back!”
“Rosin! Rosin! Rosin!” Kal quickly skidded over to the door.
Paton stuttered, from frustration or worry, she did not know. “What’ve you been doin’? You left a’ dawn!”
“Pssh, you know. The usual.” Rosin rolled her eyes as she clunked into the room. “Flirting with strangers, doing drugs.” She slumped the sack onto the floor. “Totally not accomplishing what you asked me to do last night.” She undid the knot and spilled out scraps of metal and gadgets. “Definitely wasn’t scavenging for the junk you asked me for last night. But seriously,” she added. “The cyborg patrols were annoying today.”
Kal jumped up and down. “Did I get anything? Did I get anything?”
Rosin hmmed and scratched her head before faking a face of surprise. She dug in her pocket cupping a small object. “Behold!” In her hands was a black rock.
“Coool!” Kal took the rock and bit it.
“Oh no no, Kally!” Paton quickly stood up from sorting the metal scraps. “Why don’ ya- why don’ ya go put ‘em with the rest of your rock friends. We wouldn’t wan’ any broken teeth, would we, ha?”
“Yes, Paton!” she ran to a corner in the room and placed the new member in the circle of stones. “I’ll call you ‘Jamie.’”
Paton pulled out a busted camera lense from the pile. “Rosin, I though’ told ya to get a 35 millimeter lense. Where’d ya find a 50 millimeter?”
“You’re welcome,” Rosin said crossing her arms. “Who’s the handsome behind you?”
“Wha- oh. The robot.” Paton coughed and put his hands in his pockets. “Tha’ there’s the project Makrin tol’ me to start on.”
“His name is ‘Jacob,’” Kal reminded.
Rosin came closer to the project, looking it squarely in the face and poking a finger through the eye. “‘Jacob,’ eh?”
“Yes, yes,” Paton started, “and there is still lots to be done, so wouldja mind leavin’ us alone, thank you?”
Rosin recoiled, but continued. “How does Makrin expect you to pull off something like this?”
Paton stuttered at the subject change, then said frankly, “I don’ know. I don’ know if he’s hoping for us to take small steps or wha’. This is just a waste a’ materials if ya’ ask me.”
“No kidding,” Rosin replied as she circled the frame. “What you have is cool, though.”
“Thank you,” Paton said. He grinned slightly, but it disappeared when he went to stand by her. “A’ the very least, when this doe’n’ work, I c’n make a sentry ou’ of it.” He paused, then continued. “It’s a shame, though.”
“Hmm?”
“Makrin wan’ed me to try my best a’ making a robo’ to act similarly to a cybor’. One tha’ took orders an’ such withou’ having to sacrifice a livin’ bein’. It’s obviously difficult, though, makin’ somethin’ somewha’ sentien’. It jus’ doe’n’ work tha’ way. I don’ know how the Mainframe does it.” Paton went to sit on a bench while continuing his thought. “Is it cause they go’ a human host? It’ also probably easier cause of the control center’s networks an’ communications. If only I could get my hands on a real cybor’- one that wouldn’ try an’ kill us. Maybe then I could figure somethin’ ou’.”
Rosin sat down next to Paton with her arms behind her head. “Yeahh,” she replied staring off into space.
Kal, who was watching their conversation on the floor, also came to rest with them. “Speaking of which, where is Makrin?”
“Last I saw ‘em, he was in ‘is room, bu’ I haven’ seen sunlight in a few hours.”
“I haven’t seen sunlight in a few minutes. I’m going to shoot some arrows,” Rosin stated, looking desperate to get out of the dim place.
Paton looked after Rosin as she exited the workshop. Kal wondered if he really didn’t want her to leave.
Kal turned her head to Paton. “You really think Jacob won’t work?”
“Hm? I don’ know, Kally,” he replied with an exasperated sigh. “I’s just ou’ of my realm of possibility. I’m a mechanic. No’ a miracle maker.”
Kal thought about that for a moment, and then she said, “Well I think you can do it.”
Paton let out a laugh. “Why dontcha go see wha’ Rosin’s up to. I need some time to wo’k,” he said.
“Ok!” Kal jumped up from the bench and ran for the door. “See ya later, Paton!”
He waved, and then the door shut. Outside, the sun had just made it below the trees. She left the old concrete building to go seek out Rosin. A loud thunk reminded Kal that she went to shoot some arrows. That’s what Rosin usually did when she had to think, Kal noticed.
Kal walked along the leaf-covered dirt and passed empty, crumbling buildings. According to Makrin, their hiding spot used to be a small logging encampment. The town used to be known as Avonhill before the Invasion 14 years ago. The aliens herded the inhabitants to the heart of the newly established sectors. Herself, Paton, Rosin, and Makrin were all residents of TZI until Makrin planned a grand escape. After avoiding the radar for months, it seemed the control center didn’t want to waste resources trying to find the unimportant escapees, so they’ve been able to remain unnoticed for almost five years.
Before going to Rosin’s range, Kal entered a small, brick building. Inside, surrounded by chipped, white walls, was a wireframe bed, a storage box, and two stands in the corner, one holding a guitar and the other a ukelele. She picked up the smaller of the two. The light-blue paint, despite everything, remained healthy. It was smudged, but still in good condition. Though she was born four years after the invasion, her family had still taught her the concept of music. She instantly fell in love, and every day since then, she'd always remember to play a few chords.
Kal stepped back outside and continued on track. Soon, at the end of the buildings, there was a large expanse of stumps on a barren landscape. Rosin stood a distance away aiming a bow at a target propped on one. Rosin was a lot of the reason the group remained alive because she was a shapeshifter. Because there remained little wildlife to hunt, it was her job to sneak into the orchards and bring back food, and she wouldn’t be recognized as an escapee. Those missions always took a couple days. It was a long flight between there and TZI. She knew the best spots to find materials for Paton, too.
Rosin didn't turn to greet Kal as she trotted up. “Yo,” she said with an arrow notched.
“Hi!” Kal sat down on a fallen log strummed a note on her ukulele. As she did, she watched Rosin carefully aiming at her target with one eye closed. It took a minute, but eventually, her body shuttered and relaxed, and she released an arrow. It thudded two rings away from the bullseye.
“I swear,” Rosin started as she notched another arrow. “I just barely escaped a patrol getting that crap for him, and he doesn’t even say thanks.”
Not knowing what to say, Kal just shrugged and continued to strum coords.
“He’s just so… frustrating at times, but I can tell something’s not right. Something’s eating at him,” Rosin continued.
She didn’t reply. They stayed quiet for a few minutes before Kal changed the subject.
“Hey, Rosin,” Kal said.
“Yeah?” she replied without turning around.
“Have you ever played the violin?”
“No, but I’m familiar.”
“Are you aware that your nickname is a pun?”
Rosin turned and stared blankly at Kal. “I don’t understand, but I’m still getting the sudden urge to drink bleach.”
~~~
Crickets sang into the night. The moon peaked through the small window Kal gazed out on the top of the wall across from her. It was past midnight, and she was a light sleeper, so when a flutter of wings woke her up, she couldn’t go back to sleep. The nights at Avonhill were peaceful. The nights at TZI were tense.
The night they escaped was a scary one, but they held together despite everything. It was hard to believe Kal was only five years old, but even then, she promised to them that she wouldn’t cry. Paton held her close when patrols would come by, but the cyborgs found nothing. They escaped on a Friday, so their absence from work would remain unknown for just enough time to get out of ear and eye shot from that place.
The months after felt just as hard. They walked for a week until they found Avonhill. Makrin, before the Invasion, was stationed there when they launched the attack. The anti-magic bombs were brutal, he described, but he fought with all his might against them, but in the end, his fiery, blue wing couldn’t save anyone.
For months, they expected to be ready to hide from search parties looking for them. An escape route was planned, and they had planned drills to do if they were ever discovered.
But nobody came.
The post-Invasion days were dark. Kal knew she could never understand what the people felt, but back in TZI and in Avonhill, she could feel their pain. Kal could feel their oppression, their devastation, and their lack of hope, and she wished she could fix that. That’s why she ran away with them. With no family to leave behind, she found her new family, and somehow, someday, she pledged to give those who felt pain hope. One day, she would fight, and she pledged to be their light.
Kal shivered. She thought more than she needed to. She hoped Paton could get the robot to work. Even if he couldn’t, it would be a step forward to the path of freedom. And besides, who else would do it? Kal mused at the thought of another group of people cooped in their friend’s basement doing the same thing. But who knows? Maybe all they did down there was play Monopoly.
There’s no way, she thought.
The sound of wings again broke through Kal’s thoughts followed by a big thunk. She sat up in her bed.
Kal quietly got up from her bed and tiptoed to the front door. Cracking it open, she saw the dark silhouette of a tall, humanoid figure with huge wings setting down its body-sized cargo. After the package had safely landed, a small flurry kicked up some leaves, and a human stood.
The door creaked when Kal tried taking a closer look, and Rosin’s head darted over to where she snuck. The moonlight was just enough for them to see each other and lock gazes. Rosin froze, she put a finger to her lips, and she waved her hand that told Kal to go back to bed.
Kal obeyed, and she closed the door softly.
~~~
The workshop the next day was busy again. Kal went about her routine and watched Paton meticulously start work on the mechanical arms.
“You think you could teach me how to do this stuff?” Kal said.
Paton smiled. “Maybe,” he replied. “But we should wai’ for you to grow a lit’l olde’. Like when ya tu’n… 12.” He became solemn.
It wasn’t much longer until Rosin opened the door to the workshop with an ecstatic expression written on her face. “Paton, Paton, PATON! You’re gonna FREAK!!”
Paton sighed and turned around to face her. “Wha’ didja do this time?”
“Oh, nothing,” she replied looking incredibly smug. Kal noticed that Rosin was covered in dirt. “But lemme ask. What are you doing?”
“Workin’ on the robo’. And you?”
“Well, what if I told you that I have the solution to all of your problems? What if I told you I got my hands on something that would make your job TEN times easier?”
“You’re makin’ no sense, spill the beans, Rosin.”
She rushed back outside, and they could hear her grunting with effort. Carefully on a dolly, Rosin wheeled in something tall standing in another one of her sacks. She unloaded the luggage onto the floor with a heave. The sack loomed over Rosin as she crossed her arms seeming very proud of herself.
“Wha’...” Paton started. “Wha’ is this?”
“Feast your eyes, girly and gentledork. My greatest caper yet!” Rosin untied the bag in a grand reveal, and there stood something humanoid. The half-human, half-metal being brought shivers down both Paton’s and Kal’s spine when they realised what it was.
She had stolen a cyborg.
“Well!” Rosin said with a smirk. “Whaddya guys think? Pretty cool or what? Now, Paton, you can study him alllll you want so you can complete Jacob!”
Paton didn’t speak for moments. Excitement seemed to be his last emotion as he fought shock, anger, panic, and fear. “You’re…” he sputtered, “you’re a madman! You could’ve been murdered!”
“Yeah,” she replied proudly. “I know. How ‘bout you, Kally?”
Kal didn’t respond. She was entranced, not knowing if that was a good thing or a bad thing. She came closer. The cyborg wore a heavy trenchcoat, and under it, its entire left side and right leg was replaced with metal. The red eye that haunted the group provided no glow, and the right, human eye was closed. Something about the cyborg’s brown hair unnerved her.
She’d seen him somewhere before.
Suddenly, it came to her. The memory came to her like a dusty butterfly, and with it came a flood of the past.
“...Menlo?”
“Good answer,” Rosin said joyously, still caught up in her trance. “Where’s Makrin? I called him to come in here. He hasn’t seen this guy ye-”
“No, Rosin. Something’s wrong,” Kal interrupted. Not believing it could be true, Kal reached up and held the cyborg’s stiff, human hand. It was too familiar. “Menlo’s asleep.”
This seemed to get Rosin’s attention. She finally took notice of Kal’s face who stared up at the cyborg in remorse. Paton observed Kal in panic.
“Kally,” Rosin said quietly. “You… recognize him?”
“This is Menlo. My brother,” Kal replied. “We have to wake him up! We have to wake him up ri-”
The door to the workshop opened, and Makrin stepped in. The middle-aged veteran looked around the room with bright, blue eyes. “This... is a weird meeting.”
“Makrin,” Paton said with relief.
“Rosin,” Makrin addressed. “Explain the purpose of this meeting.”
Rosin, who looked sick contrary to before, spoke. “I burrowed beneath one of the nearby machine-only sectors and stole a dormant cyborg from its control center.”
Makrin didn't seem surprised. He glanced at Kal, of whom was still holding the cyborg’s hand. “And why is Kal upset?”
“She believes that the cyborg Rosin stole is… Menlo,” Paton answered.
“We have to wake him up,” repeated Kal.
Makrin stepped into the room. He circled around to see Menlo in the face. He looked around 18. “So this is Menlo?” He rubbed his chin. “Your brother seems like a nice person. Wake him up, Paton.”
Paton looked shocked. “But- but Makrin-”
“You heard me Paton.”
He sputtered for an answer, and it occurred to Kal that he has never studied cybernetics, and there was a chance that Menlo would still be under the influence of the Mainframe. It was a risk Kal was willing to take. For her brother.
Paton seemed to have lost a battle of wits against himself, for he reluctantly approached the cyborg. He removed the trenchcoat from his body along with the shirt, and he quickly found the control panel in his back. Prying it off, he was met with a labyrinth of wires and circuits.
“Uhhh…” Paton stared at the unfamiliar circuitry. With a cough from Rosin, he snapped out of it and tried his best at examining the parts. Finally, after what felt like hours, he deducted to a blue wire. His hand shook as he tugged it from the jumbled mess, and he stared at it as if he were holding a bomb. “Th… This I think leads to tha’ wireless communications. Afte’ a small examination, this should be wha’ disconnects ‘em from the Mainframe.”
Makrin leaned forward. “So cutting it would give him back full control?”
“Theoretically.” His voice shook.
“Cut it.”
Paton grew paler. Clumsily, he retrieved a gray tool box of which he retrieved wire clippers. Slowly, he held them up to the wire. “Are ya sure ya want me t’cut this wi’e? I am cu’ing this wi’e isolated from a five minu’e analysis, an’ this is assuming cybe’ne’ics function similarly to wha’ I’m used to. If I’m wrong, this coul’ kill us all.”
“Do it.”
Kal watched in anticipation and Rosin clenched her rifle as Paton fought his nerves, and getting over with it, he snipped the wire.
After the cut was made, he dropped the wire cutters, almost narrowly dodging the cyborg’s sudden movement. His red eye flickered on, and he lunged forward, kicking at a target that wasn’t there.
The newly awoken cyborg paused breathing heavily, staring at the air in front of him as if he saw a ghost. He whisked around in a fighting stance with his fists balled up and his legs apart. His human eye glowed a bright white, and it scanned its surroundings, Kal hiding behind Paton, Rosin with her rifle aimed, and Makrin standing sternly in the middle. His gaze flicked between each person, and he held his hands up and froze, shoulders rising and falling from his panting.
No one spoke. After awkwardly standing there for moments, he finally noticed something. “I, um… my clothes.”
The others stared at him; Rosin lowered her rifle, Makrin looked at him in curiosity, Paton was stiff with panic, and Kal gazed at him in disbelief. Paton tentatively moved from his spot and picked up the shirt and trench coat on the floor and tossed them to the cyborg. He fumbled to catch the load, and he immediately started layering himself again.
Kal couldn’t believe it. She thought it was too good to be true, but she could not restrain herself.
“Menlo!” she cried out, and she ran out to hug him.
Menlo stared in confusion at the small child, him being around two feet taller than her. He softened up a bit and lowered his arms slightly. “Hello?” He looked around in worry at the other faces. “Where am I? What are you doing with me?”
“Menlo, Menlo! We made it to Avonhill!” Kal released him and jumped up and down in front. “Menlo’s back! Menlo’s back!”
“Avonhill sounds… nice…” he said slowly, seeming disturbed. “But… I'm not Menlo?”
Rosin and Paton exchanged uneasy glances, and Makrin continued to observe.
“Why am I here? Did I do something bad?” He looked sick. “Actually, I don't remember doing anything at all.”
With this information, the ghastly thought Rosin, Paton, and Makrin held had been confirmed. Paton covered his mouth and shook, Rosin turned away crestfallen, and Makrin scratched his neck.
“Menlo,” Kal started. She now stood in front of the cyborg with her hands together. “Why are you acting like this? It's me, Kal.”
“Kal,” Makrin interrupted.
“Ya, Makrin?”
Makrin looked to Rosin, of whom avoided eye contact, and to Paton, who stuttered when his gaze rested and stayed on him. Finally, mustering up the courage, he beaconed her.
“Kally, lemme talk t’ya about somethin’.”
“Ya see… when a human becomes a cybor’, they become… different. When a human becomes a cybor’, they loose their memory.” He trailed off the last few words.
The room stayed silent. Kal couldn't believe it.
So she decided not to.
“No, he can't,” she said defiantly.
“Kal,” Paton insisted. “He's gone.”
“No, he’s not,” repeated Kal. Menlo, quickly having forgotten his previous aggression, sat down and watched the confrontation nonchalantly.
“Kal, I’m sorry,” continued Paton. “He may be the same person, bu’ he doe’n’t recognize you or anything else. His memory is gone, and nothin’ can fix i’.”
She stood there looking at Paton, her expression continuously falling.
She decided not to.
“Has anyone tried bringing back a cyborg’s memory?” Kal inquired.
Paton stuttered, “I don’ think anyone’s ever revived one period.”
“Then I will try!” Kal announced.
“Kal…”
“Wait!”
The others turned to Menlo. He had been quietly listening to the conversation until then. He got up off the floor. “I still don't really know what's going on, but it's true that I don't remember who I am, but even if I can never remember, I still want to learn about myself.”
Kal looked overcome with joy, but Paton was taken aback. “Your past life doesn't exist anymore. Why do you care about it?”
Menlo hesitated, then he spoke: “But it's still apart of me. I'm living the same life, and I'm still the same person.”
Paton was stood there, completely shocked.
“Menlo’s back! Menlo’s back!” Kal paraded around around the cyborg.
“‘Menlo’ is a nice name.”
Eventually, Kal dragged him outside leaving Makrin, Paton, and Rosin, but even Makrin, not much for final statements, exited the workshop.
Rosin stayed, and was the first to sit down. She rested her forehead in her hands and muttered, “This is all my fault.”
Paton’s mind switched back on, and he hastily sat down next Rosin. “No, Rosin. You di’nt know.”
“You were right,” she continued, lifting her head with wet eyes. “I’m so stupid. I could’ve been caught. I could’ve been killed, and now Kal’s gonna have to learn the hard way that her brother is never coming back.”
Paton didn’t know how to reply. He stumbled on his own thoughts, but he instinctively wrapped his arm around her. Rosin didn’t mind, and she rested her head on his shoulder, silently letting tears run down her face and looking blankly to the other side of the workshop.
Though trying his best to comfort her, Paton sifted through problems of his own. Did he do the right thing? Maybe he should’ve had a little more faith in Kal. As her parental figure, all he wanted was the best for Kal, but sometimes he worried if his best wasn’t enough.
~~~
Avonhill, somewhere in the woods in TZI, December 13, 2266. Time instance 842N.
For almost two weeks, Kal had spent every moment she had to spare with Menlo. On a few occasions, if it was okay with him, Paton would study Menlo’s circuits. He spent hours a couple days sketching detailed diagrams and taking pictures of Menlo’s machinery. Even then, Kal rambled on and on to Menlo about random subjects while Paton stayed quiet except for the occasional instruction. After he was finished, Paton didn’t call him up again.
Many sessions have come and passed in attempt to recover Menlo’s memory, but the end of another week imminent, and Kal struggled to keep her hopes high as no progress was made. She spent the first week spilling to him memories they shared along with his background. Kal and Menlo were half-siblings. Menlo’s father was a light elementalist passing down his bright, white eyes to him. He was very powerful too.
“You used to tell me stories of things you did before the Invasion when you didn’t have a collar! Can you perform magic right now?”
Menlo thought about it briefly, and responded. “Unfortunately, no. I’m detecting a magic dampener built into me.”
“Can’t you turn it off?”
Again, he paused, and a succession of soft clicks could be heard. “Yes, I actually can, but performing magic can negatively affect my circuits.”
“Aw man.”
Menlo continued to learn more and more about himself through the sessions they bonded, but no memories were ever recovered. Everything was going just as Paton and Rosin had warned her, but she didn’t give up. Makrin encouraged her to continue, and so she did. Kal, by the end of two weeks, having exhausted her own memories, had one final idea. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it earlier.
After having eaten dinner by the campfire, Kal took an extra serving and went to her room to where the guitar and the ukulele were displayed. She put on the strap and slung the guitar over her shoulders, held the neck of the ukulele in one hand, and carried an old plate in her last hand careful not to spill its contents.
She stepped back into the chilly night. The crickets sang as usual. Kal turned her head at laughter. Paton and Rosin sat on the same bench next to the campfire. She noticed that the two had been clinging to each other a lot more lately, and Kal was glad. Paton proudly grinned at Rosin as she proceeded to almost fall off the log laughing.
Kal wished she had their spirits at the moment.
She walked deeper into the ghost town. Two small buildings down from her’s, she lightly kicked the door of a white brick building. Some light footsteps later, Menlo opened the door and welcomed her in.
“Good evening, Menlo!” Kal said. She shoved the plate into his hands and hastily stepped inside. His room was ungarnished spare a flimsy bed, a small table holding a flickering candle, and paper and pencils on the floor.
“Thanks for bringing be dinner,” Menlo mentioned. He shut the door and went to sit on his bed. He looked at the contents of his plate- some apple slices and two pieces of bread- before taking hungry bites. For a few days, he had opted to stay in his new room rather than eat with the others. When he had time alone, he would just lie down motionless on the bed until he got inspiration. Rosin, on her scavenging trips, now brought back what paper and writing utensils that could be salvaged as requested by Kal. Some of the scraps were torn posters, but sometimes she would get lucky, and she’d bring back used notebooks.Sometimes Menlo would get inspiration, and he would pick up a piece of paper and write something down. Then he would return to his vigil on the bed. He was artistic in words, Kal remembered.
And in music.
Menlo was still eating his apples by the time she had set everything up. Kal didn’t want to start until he was finished with his meal, so she picked up some scattered papers and read their contents. Some were poems. Even after years of mind control, his sentences still flowed beautifully. Many of them described the fallen, autumn leafs, and sometimes some lumber and sunsets were thrown in. Here and there, he also wrote details about a story idea about a nomadic boy and his cat. If Kal had to be honest, she found it boring, but the story had so many themes and motifs that she figured she wasn’t old enough to appreciate that kind of stuff. It was also pretty bizarre. Despite the story taking place in mostly a forest, the cat had pure white fur. It was also just shy the size of a bear, and it would sometimes talk cryptically to the boy using its mind sometimes. From what he had written down, the cat started out as sort of a guardian angel, but the second half of the plot creeped Kal out. Of course, the story had been written in a series of several notes so far, so it was far from complete.
“I really like the story you have so far,” Kal said. “Do you have a name for the boy yet?”
Menlo had just finished eating the last apple slice. He set down his plate on the table and replied, “No. I’m having trouble coming up with one. It has to be a good one.”
“Do you have any ideas?”
“Somewhere on this floor is a list of possible names, but I don’t really like any of them so far. The cat’s name is going to be Mantix, though.”
Kal nodded, but she didn’t investigate further. Instead, she swiftly handed him the guitar. “Do you know what this is?”
He held it awkwardly in his hands at first. He twisted his arms around, trying to find a comfortable position, but finally, he settled one hand on the neck and the other by the strings. His body relaxed, and he held the instrument like he had played it his entire life. Naturally, he plucked a string. “I have no idea what this is.”
Kal’s shoulders slumped. “It’s a guitar. You used to play it all the time. You were really good at it.” She held up her ukulele. “I play this. It’s a ukulele. It’s kind of like the guitar. You play it the same way, basically. Kind of like this.” She strummed a chord and watched as Menlo mimicked her. He was clumsy at first, but through trial and error, he found the same coord she strummed. After that, he played four coords in a row, and then it clicked. His fingers moved up and down the neck of the guitar. Finally, he ended on a note and nonchalantly lessened his grip.
“It sounds nice,” Menlo said.
She leaned forward, a glimmer of hope forming. “But do you remember anything about the guitar?”
“No,” he replied, and he strummed a bit more.
Frustrated, Kal continued, “How do you remember how to play the guitar but can’t remember other things?”
“There are some forms of amnesia where talent is retained, I think. Even though I don’t remember learning how to play the guitar, I still retain the muscle-memory.”
Kal groaned in frustration, and she sat down on the edge of the bed. She glumly plucked a few notes. “I thought I really had it, Menlo. I really did.”
Menlo took notice to this. “Kal. It’s okay. We can just-”
“No, it’s not,” she snapped, and Menlo realized what she meant. “I know you’re in there, but am I wrong? I really thought I had you for just a split second, but I guess Pat and Ros were right. I just made it worse through trying.”
This broke Menlo’s bubble. Something random occurred to him. Kal, believing him dead, had gone years quiet. Something told him that it was unlike her to just tell someone how she felt because she knew she didn’t have a full understanding of what others were going through, thus she considered her own thoughts as puny as a grain of sand in the scheme of the world. She saw herself as a disciple of hope, and she couldn’t risk losing her charm to others by speaking her troubles aloud, and thus she kept her brother’s pure existence as a secret to the rest of the group. She didn’t want them to worry, and when he finally came back to her, his amnesia provided another problem and one she couldn’t suppress, but helping him regain his memory would prove to them that they didn’t need to worry. Menlo, up to that point, didn’t subconsciously take Kal seriously, but seeing her fight back years of tears that were no longer there showed to him how much she cared, and he felt bad. He grew a newfound respect for the ten year old, and took until then to realize how grown she really was.
Menlo had no idea where all of these thoughts came from.
He breathed in and tried being the bigger brother he was. “Do you… need a hug?” he started.
Kal didn’t reply, but when he didn’t say anything else, she begrudgingly sat next to him and let his arm wrap around her.
“You know,” Menlo said, “losing my memory isn’t all bad. I get to bond with you all over again, and the crew you have are a decent bunch.”
Kal stayed quiet, then she weakly said, “Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
An image came to Menlo sitting next to Kal. It was bright and vivid. A teenager sat alone on a log. He faced a field of stumps, and a hatchet lied passively on the ground. The field glowed red against the setting sun, and a light breeze played in the leafs.
The boy sighed, and he picked up the hatchet at his feet, but he turned at something. From the path behind him ran a crying little girl. She ran up to him and hugged his leg. There were bruises on her arm. Before he could ask what happened, two big kids ran from where she appeared. They clenched their fists and charged.
The teenager pushed back the girl and swung his strong arm at one smacking one in the cheek. He went twirling down and sprawled on the ground. He tried dealing with the other boy, but the kid got behind him and held his arms behind his back while the other one got up and kicked him in the shin. He struggled to break free, but the pummeling continued, but the grip on binding his arms together lessened, and he took the opportunity to kick the guy in front of him and turning around to sweep the other one’s legs. The little girl, not crying anymore, held a rock in her hand and had thrown it at the boy who had gotten behind him. Before the fallen thugs could get back up, the teenager’s hands glowed, and sparks of light kicked them back down. He let them get up, and he continued to repel them with light until they finally fled.
After a swift sigh, he turned back to the girl of whom, even with scrapes and bruises, beamed up at him. After that, the boy heard something in the distance. He hastily whispered something to her, scooped her onto his back, and ran into the city leaving his hatchet behind. He ran, but eventually when he couldn’t catch his breath, he put the girl down behind some boxes in an alley before stepping back out onto the street. Two humanoid figures, both with a red eye, caught up with him and took him away.
Menlo didn’t know where all of this came from, but he thought to himself that it’d make a cool story.
~~~
Avonhill, somewhere in the woods in TZI, December 20, 2266. Time instance 842N.
Kal stumbled as the explosion shook the snow off the bare trees. She ran away from robotic voices who yelled “Halt.” They were still occupied by the winged silhouette against the cloudy, night sky who, after failing to find Kal, had come to think of her as dead, and thus fled in a panic, flying away carrying the only other person she could find while crying, “It’s all my fault, it’s all my fault…” Rosin had no other reason to stay having seen Makrin go up in blue flames and have his ash fall from the sky, and thus she scooped up the nearest person, that being Paton, and flew away.
A light of a small fire led Kal to a stone wall to one of the fallen buildings. Quickly, she seized the opportunity to run around it and take cover. She landed behind it and covered her ears before another explosion lit the night. Longing for the others, she looked up at the sky to find Rosin. Not spotting her, she hoped she had escaped. Kal kept telling herself that she would see them again. She would see them again.
She would see them again.
When the cyborg’s commands to halt died down, she heard the patrol run around the decimated camp in search of the rest. They would find her soon, she knew, and she had the sudden urge to run out of her hiding spot into the open and let them take her, but Kal fought against it, but that urge went away as she heard quickly approaching footsteps. The night they’d escaped, she would bury her face into Paton’s thick jacket, but he wasn’t their. He had escaped with Rosin.
The footsteps grew louder. Kal groveled on the ground in a desperate attempt to cover herself in the snow while continuously running away from the thought that they would find her. When she could only muster a light coat of mud, she finally realized that there was no escape. She sat with her knees against her chest, eyes closed, and tears running down her cheeks as she waiting for the glowing red eye to turn the corner.
The quick footsteps were there, and a robotic hand clasped her shoulder.
“Kal, it’s me,” Menlo whispered hastily. He threw his back against the wall, scrunching next to her. He was wearing a heavy, green backpack and another wooden object.
Kal looked up at him teary-eyed and embraced him. “W-what are you doing?”
“We’re gonna get out of here,” he replied. His robotic eye whirred as if making calculations. “Follow me,” he said, and he took her hand and ran to another wall trying to get away from the destruction.
Shortly after they had crouched behind the second wall, someone yelled out, “There!” Heavy footsteps started clanking towards them.
Menlo grimaced. “Dammit.” Immediately, he scooped Kal up, and, while nearly crushing her in his arms, he shot off away from their cover. Kal closed her eyes as gunshots rang out, but the bullets bounced off the bright yellow shield.
Menlo ran for the trees. It looked as if they were going to make it, but before they reached the dense cover, the shield started to flicker and fade away, and it disappeared yards away from the first tree. Prediction software kicked in, and Menlo strafed back and forth, hopping from side to side, all while clutching and protecting Kal in his trench coat. Knowing he wouldn't be able to keep up for long, he lunged for the nearest oak tree, but not before he screamed and collapsed behind the trunk.
Kal tumbled from his arms, and she quickly caught herself from raising her head to see how far they had ran. The cyborgs sounded like they were a few hundred yards away.
“Menlo!” she cried. Menlo kneeled behind cover clutching his torso. He removed his bloodstained hand, and what once was a face of determination was a face of realization.
“Kal, listen to me,” Menlo started. “I want you to run.”
The cyborgs were gaining ground.
“Menlo, what?” Kal echoed.
“You need to run,” he repeated. He clasped her hand and looked her directly in the eye. “Listen to me when I say you must get away from here. These cyborgs are not here for you. They're here for me.”
“But-” Kal gawked. “But what are you going to do.
Menlo breathed in, and a click sounded from his machinery. He waved the palm of his hand, lighting white sparks. “Kal. When I tell you, you are going to run, and what I want you to know is that wherever you are, you must give the people hope.” He took off his backpack and shoved it into her hands along with her ukulele. “You have that power. Wherever you wind up, you must be the light. Give them a reason to keep moving on. Be the light you were to me, and keep moving on.”
The footsteps grew louder.
“I want you to know that I believe in you. You have the strength, the power, and the will, and this is a time where humanity needs you.” Why am I so terrible at speaking motivation.
Kal nodded slowly, tears running down her face.
“I have no doubt we’ll see each other again. Now run.”
It took Kal seconds to comprehend. His words, but with a nod, she ran. Narrowly dodging two bullets, she became enveloped by the trees.
The cyborgs were only a hundred yards away. Menlo stared into the woods where Kal disappeared.
He had lied. Instances before, Menlo had realised that the Mainframe knew where he was because when he was still connected by the time he had arrived to Avonhill. The cyborgs knew he had been here before he was disconnected, and now they’re here to capture him. He knew that Kal had no chance of escaping on foot, and neither did he. At the moment, she was safer without him because he was the one they were looking for, and he knew that she couldn’t see what they would do to him. To them, he was classified as an escapee, and his last attempt at being a bigger brother was instilling hope in her that they’d see each other again. In that instant, Menlo decided he wasn’t going down without a fight.
He was alone.
Menlo frantically snapped his hands, trying to create a steady, white light, and when his hands finally produced a volatile, sparking glow, he laughed grimly to himself. “We’ll see each other again one way or another.”
It was time.
Menlo stood up from his cover, immediately taking fire. His hands shot with white lightning, and his eyes were lit with excitement.
I hope she's out of earshot. “HERE I AM, AND YOU’LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!”
He spread his arms, and as gunfire rang out, the ball of light exploded from his hands, and blinding energy fled throughout the clearing. The spotlights that illuminated the clouds above turned night to day. Bystanders might have mistaken him for an angel, but those bystanders were immediately disintegrated. The cyborgs closest to the expulsion flaked away into the wind leaving abandoning their empty circuitry, but the flash didn’t harm the distant trees as the momentum filtered into the atmosphere.
Menlo, the entire time, smiled a sickening grin, but even after the gunshots died out, he couldn’t stop the floodgates of power. He continued to shine throughout the clearing. He could not act. He could not move.
Finally, after minutes, the light started to fade away. Menlo stood there, eyes clenched before crumbling to the ground. His core low and his circuits fried, he weakly gasped for air on his hands and knees. He lifted his eyes open. His vision was blurry, dimly lit as the full moon peaked briefly between the clouds. Smoldering circuits littered the ground, and small fires were burning out, but one red dot remained.
The cyborg stood from a wall of cover yards away. A robotic hand clutched a small, blue flame. Menlo expected it to immediately open fire, but the cyborg was different. Slowly and menacingly, the cyborg came closer.
Menlo shook on the ground. His skin was devoid of color, and his machinery locked when he tried to get up.
He was slipping away.
When the footsteps halted only inches away, Menlo weakly lifted his head. She had long, dirty-blond hair, and both her robotic, red eye and her shamrock, human eye glowered down at the mass slumped on the earth. The small, blue phoenix she held chirped.
Menlo spat on the ground.
“7420-α. You are under arrest for acts such as assisting wanted criminals, resisting arrest, and the destruction of Mainframe units and property, all of which fall under the act of treason, and such crime is punishable by death.
Menlo ignored her words, and instead, with one final breath, whispered, “She is alive. Promise me you will find Kal again, Makrin.”
Not long after the phoenix nodded, the cyborg lifted her arm to Menlo’s chest, and from it shot out a blade.
But his core had already failed only moments before.
By the end of the night, Kal Kanerva and Makrin Vylion were reported captured, Paton Caird and Dragomira Rossington were reported missing, and Menlo Kanerva was reported dead.
~~~
The Gamma Train, December 22, 2266. Time instance 842N.
The air froze Kal as she did not have her jacket. All she carried was her green backpack and her ukulele. No jacket.
She shivered as the cold crept upon her. The train remained barren except for one more soul. The stranger was a tall man. He wore a heavy leather coat, and he stared at the air in front of him. He had no luggage.
At least he had a coat.
The gamma train came to a stop. Kal almost got up until she saw the display above the sliding door read “SOV.” She settled back down and continued to shiver. The man got up- he was tall- but on the way to the sliding door, he took off his leather coat and threw it on her. “Take it,” he said in a gruff voice. “I won’t need it where I’m going.”
Kal graciously took the gift, but she felt too weak to say thank you. The man lumbered out the exit, and the gamma train continued again.
The coat smelled of dirt and sand, and Kal enveloped herself in it. Feeling a lot better, she waited, and after a five minutes of what felt like five hours, the train came to a stop, and the sign blinked “IAL.”
Kal gathered her things. She double-checked the backpack. In it was crammed Menlo’s stories and poems along with various mementos. Putting her arms through the oversized coat, she put on her backpack, clutched her ukulele, and reached her final hand into the pocket of her pants. She pulled out and opened a neatly folded piece of paper- looking at it one final time- before she breathed in.
She looked at her palms and snapped. She snapped until a bright light illuminated in her hand. “We’ll see each other again,” Kal echoed. She folded the piece of paper, put it in the pocket of her new coat, and stepped out onto the, once bustling, train station.
no subject
Date: 2016-10-17 03:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-10-17 01:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-10-17 01:39 pm (UTC)