Ex Lacrima Remnant

Track #25 – Landfall

A loud thud, a kick against the metal. Another one. Another. Without any effect.

“Lagash take you, what’s wrong with it?”

The bald man cursed, kicked the door once again. Yet, it didn’t yield, it didn’t budge one inch. The alarm blared, deafening, blasting in his ears, in their ears. Dozens of people, locked in that metro station converted to a bunker. Why, though, was a question he couldn’t fathom. He glared at the door, at one of the five identical gates that shuttered them in. The red panic bar for manual release didn’t work. For any of them. They just closed, all of a sudden, sealing them in. Then, came the alarm. That couldn’t be a coincidence. He turned around, gritting his teeth under his mustache, aching to punch the door down. That didn’t make sense. How would a basic security feature like that not work? Mechanical release was a standard, so there was no way…

“Move aside, Shane. Let the pros handle it.”

A mechanical hand grabbed his shoulder, shoved him out of the way. The minute figure of Carola Frankberg, cigarette between her lips, crouched close to the sealed gate, with what looked like perfect calm. A set of connection cables sprouted from her artificial forearm, connected to two sockets in the wall. At the same time, a holographic keyboard popped up in front of her, a small display too. She tapped her fingers on the projected controls, quickly browsed through the files. At is core, that was a by-the-book emergency system, standard NE-105-21. Every piece of safety-critical equipment had to abide by it in order to be certified for usage in public places. That caused a huge fuss in the industry, with claims that the connection protocol could leave room for a hidden backdoor way too easily, but of course that was dismissed as fine crackpottery.

“Fuck.”

Fine crackpottery that happened to be right, in that one-in-a-million chance. Ms. Frankberg slammed her fist against the inert door too, metal clashing on metal. The man called Shane looked back at the people around him, waiting for answers, hoping for an answer. They wanted, needed to be reassured. He needed that too, badly.

“Caro, situation?”

Ms. Frankberg disconnected her wrist from the socket, pulled her cig out of her mouth, spat on the floor.

“Did you know that this thing had a breaker that could be triggered remotely to gimp the manual release mechanism? Well, I didn’t, but this is how it is. Can’t do anything about it, unless you have a bazooka with you – which you don’t right? At this point, this is just a dumb metal plate. Comms are down too. We’re jammed and stuck in.”

“But how…”

“Panopticon.”

All colors drained from Shane’s face.

“S… so soon? But… but this means…”

Ms. Frankberg chewed her cig again, drew a puff.

“Yes. Hope you’ve written your will, Shane. Mine’s deposited in a bank in Neon, together with all my eas. Gotta hand them to that disaster niece I have, since my son is a govvie fucktard. But, hey, c’est la vie.”

Shane gulped down a lump of saliva, looked at her lighting up yet another cigarette.

“Want one? I’ve got two packs more.”

A slap on her face. The cigarette fell, hitting the floor. Caro tumbled down, stopped by her mechanical arm. She sat on the tiles, massaged her cheek, grumbled, cursed under her breath, counted upwards to twenty. Only to see Shane gazing at her, his eyes bloodshot.

“You idiot! We’re not giving up! There has to be a way out! There has to!”

Then, he turned around, shouting at the trapped people, at those dozens of stares focused on him.

“Everyone, keep calm! It’s just a temporary malfunction! Ms. Frankberg here will fix it in no time! She just needs… a little longer. Please, stay calm! Stay…”

A creaking noise, coming from the sealed door.

A sudden thrust against it.

A bump.

Another bump.

And the door blasted open.

Almost cut in half.

**

“Quick! No time to lose, we have to get back before… before…”

Kryzalid tried to breathe, to replenish her oxygen resources, dashing on the rusted rails, ignoring the pain, the cuts on her feet. The alarm. The alarm was triggered. That was all that mattered. She clicked her tongue, trying to use the echo to direct herself. Slamming against a wall instead. Too fast. Too fast for her muscles to make corrections. She massaged her head with her closed bow hand, cursed, almost kicked the concrete. Her blindness. Her blindness was always getting in the way.

“Wait, Kryz! You’ll just hurt yourself!”

“I don’t care! I have to…”

“You have to calm down!”

She felt a sudden pressure on both of her shoulders. Dobrio’s hands. Warm. Huge. From under her blindfold she couldn’t even see the usual splotch of color that she identified with his eye. But she could feel it. He was looking at her. His voice reached her, thundered in the tunnel.

“Something bad is going on there, I know. But barging in like this is suicide! Kryz… trust me, alright? Even just this once.”

Breathe. Breathe. Kryzalid breathed, her forehead still aching from the impact. Breathe. Breathe. A sound of steps. Robin. Lacrima. Their distinct rhythm, the heavier, more irregular steps of the former. The lighter, well spaced of the latter. She could tell them apart just by that. They were hurrying, reaching them just now. Slowing down. Breathe. Breathe.

Dobrio’s arms closed around her. She could almost hear his heartbeat, almost. It was as fast as hers, if not more. One hand left her side, moving away from her body. While the alarm kept going. And going. And going. A buzzing noise. She would have recognized it anywhere. Dobrio’s comm device, the one nested in the metallic case that contained his brain. His voice erupted again, echoed on the walls of the tunnel.

“…comms are out. They must have deployed a jammer, can’t reach anyone in the bunker. This is serious.”

“Then, stop wasting time and…”

“…and what? After what happened in the Eye, they must have deployed everything they had, Panopticon included! They know where everyone is, we’re like naked babies! It’s too dangerous, Kryz! That alarm means ‘get the heck out of here’, not ‘run into their mouth’!”

“But if I don’t, they’ll all be arrested! M… my aunt… they will…”

Dobrio patted her hood, let out an amused chuckle.

“Easy, easy. We have two choices, Mimi. Either we bail now…”

He crunched his fist, punched the wall without any warning.

“…or we hit them harder than a kick in the nuts to win some time for the others to bail.”

The concrete cracked under his knuckles, rubble fell on the ground, bounced on the rails. Kryzalid found the strength to smile back at him.

“You know what I’m going to say.”

“Yep. And I know I’ll follow you no matter what. So…”

Kryzalid felt her whole body lifted, Dobrio’s hands gripping her sides, moving her on his shoulders, then on his back. She crossed her legs around his chest, her arms around his neck, still getting a hold of her violin and bow. Dobrio patted her head once more, before putting his hands behind, letting her sit on them.

“…giddy up, Mimi!”

“Wait.”

A voice from behind, distorted by a filter. Unmistakable. Robin’s voice.

“You go, if you want. We’ll find a route to get out of here. We’re not part of this.”

Dobrio shrugged, stared at her for a long second.

“Right. You never were. Now, bye!”

Without adding a single word, Dobrio sprinted forward with Kryzalid hanging on his back, his heavy boots slamming the old railway at every step, farther and farther away, under Robin’s silent gaze. Till another shape passed on her side, dark, with flowing white hair. Lacrima. Lacrima was chasing them, full speed ahead. Robin’s voice died in her throat, almost devoured by the alarm.

“Lacrima, wait! What are you…”

The rhizome shouted back, without stopping even for an instant.

“I’m going with them.”

Robin didn’t want to believe that. She couldn’t accept, she couldn’t understand that answer. She screamed back, the distortion of her mask turning her words in a grotesque bellow.

“B… but why?”

“Because I’m their house plant, now!”

Robin dashed forward too, grabbed her wrist, halting Lacrima’s momentum before she could get too far from her.

“Come on! We gotta go or the Peacekeepers will find us!”

Lacrima’s eye met with her lenses. It was burning. Burning like wildfire.

“Let them come, then. Mimi gave me her water. She saved me. She fed me, asking nothing in return except what I didn’t need. If Mimi is gone, I won’t find another Mimi. I need… I want to protect my source of relief and nourishment. This is my choice. Don’t try to stop me.”

Before Robin could reply, Lacrima shook her arm off her, closing the distance with the rolling giant. She picked up the pace, till she finally overcame Dobrio, took the lead in the long gallery. Her right hand went to her left wrist, grabbed it in a hurry. Her vine arms condensed into a solid structure, turned into the hilt of a sword. A sword she pulled out of her sleeve, its black blade shining in the faint neon lights, still covered in lymph drips. Under the admired gaze of Dobrio. Under the eyeless stare of Kryzalid. A Kryzalid that was still in a state of disbelief.

“L… Laccy, wait! Don’t overdo it, or you’re going to overflow again!”

“Not if you drain me dry later!”

Mimi’s mouth fell agape for a second. Before turning into the usual shite-eating grin that Kryzalid wore every time she could.

“You can bet on it.”

As their steps echoed farther and farther away, Robin couldn’t stop but stare at them. Suicidal idiots. This is what they were. If the Corps really sent a full armed battalion, barging it like that was akin to certain death. Completely. Absolutely. Stupidly illogical. Her hand went to her holster, to the smooth ivory surface of her gun. Three days before the Turn. Three days before the end. She pondered, while watching those three weirdos disappearing in the dimly lit darkness of the abyss. Kryzalid was insane. Dobrio too. She could expect that from them, weird lymph junkies with evident personality disorders. But Lacrima? Rhizomes had no feelings. They were always the utilitarian bunch. So what? What made her choose to stick with those two lowlifes? That didn’t make a single shred of sense. She could have found so many more humans that used her as a source of lymph. So why? Why these two? She inhaled. Exhaled. Three days. All what was left for her to live. Her fingers caressed the gun once again.

“Cherish what you can save.”

Those words left her lips almost automatically. That’s right. You can’t save everyone. But you can save at least someone. Even now. She crunched her fists, cursed her own indecision. Because that person was there too. Among those people, that person was already fighting, throwing tantrums, punching Peacekeepers with her bare mechanical hand. If she couldn’t save mankind, if she couldn’t prevent the worst, she could at least save one person. That was… an acceptable compromise. At least for now. In absence of better alternatives. Robin took a deep breath, pinned that image in her mind. Before starting to run too, trying not to lose sight of the trio far ahead. Her red cape became but a splash of color in the lights, the neons highlighted her silhouette as she got closer and closer to Dobrio, her boots grinding the ground, her lungs burning. She tapped her gas mask, increased the oxygen intake. The gas burned in her lungs, made her forget her aching muscles, forced her body to go faster. Till she finally reached them, finally got to Dobrio’s side. Causing him to gasp in surprise.

“I thought you weren’t part of this.”

“Well, now I am.”

Robin grinned under her mask, kept shouting.

“I made a promise to someone, a long time ago. Either I keep it or I kick the bucket and she gets my emerald. Win-win.”

Kryzalid shouted back, trying to overcome the alarm, now louder and louder.

“Oi, gal, that’s a weird reason to risk your life!”

“I’m not risking my life.”

Robin’s fingers grazed the handle of her gun, touched the trigger.

“They are risking theirs.”

Silence fell. No words needed, not anymore. They ran and ran, as fast as they could. As fast as their muscles could muster. Till they saw it. A sudden light at the end of the tunnel, after what felt like an eternity. Half an hour in one direction. Six minutes in the other, without stopping. Without pauses. Yet, it was finally there. And the alarm.

The alarm.

Had just.

Stopped.

Dobrio slowed down the pace, helped Kryzalid get back on her feet. Lacrima stopped all of a sudden. Robin took a couple more steps, before bending forward, letting her lungs rest. Just in time to hear Dobrio’s voice, uncertain, wavering.

“This is wrong…”

The exit they came from. It was shuttered. A metal door closing it. Forcing them out. Dobrio let his eye slide on the panels, trying to get a hold of the situation. Nobody came in their direction. Nobody. So, nobody escaped from that door. Then, why was it closed? To stop whatever was on the other side to reach them. That was the easiest explanation. An explanation that gave him the chills. He felt shivers down his spine, the sudden fear that opening that portal were a mistake. Yet, they were there. On the other side of that metal sheet. Leaving now made no sense. All of them made their choice. And that choice was to help whoever was trapped there.

Then, he heard it.

The scream.

From inside.

The sound of something hard hitting the metal, the impact echoing all around the gallery, in an infinite reverb that kept going and going on. Before he could elaborate on it, another scream, another thud – more muted, less metallic. And another. Excited voices. Words they couldn’t understand. Dobrio cursed in his mind, crouched immediately, examined the door’s surface, looked for the emergency release. There had to be a manual opening mechanism, there had to be one. Not adding one way to unlock the door was stupid, right? Unless… unless it was by design? Shouts from the other side, muffled, silenced. He didn’t say anything. He knew that, if he said anything, he would have tipped the Corps. He had the advantage of surprise, he needed to push it. His hand travelled on the border between concrete and metal, scrambling to find a lever, a button, a knob, anything at all. In vain. He punched the floor, cracking it, breaking down the rail in two, shaking his head in a show of impotence, of frustration. Till he felt something on his shoulder. Robin’s glove. Shoving him aside. Under his gaze, she took five, six steps back, raised her gun, turned a knob on its white case. She waved her hand, making all of them retreat. Dobrio grabbed Kryzalid, the only one who couldn’t see it, shoved her back with him.

Then, Robin aimed with both hands.

Disengaged the safety.

And pulled the trigger.

A white beam, filling the tunnel with its brightness, the impact, the barrier broken, shattered in a rain of metal shards. Robin’s arms recoiled back like a loaded spring, her balance maintained by a miracle. Like a sound of thunder, the fragments fell all around inside the bunker, scattering all over the floor.

Silence fell.

All sounds stopped.

A mass of dust, of dirt, floating around in a puff of particles, dark clouds spread around almost like a fire had taken a hold of the bunker. Slowly, the smoke dissipated. Silhouettes began to pop out. A tall shadow emerged in the center, still partly shielded by the particles. Till the dust cleared. Freeing a broken clock. Showing the stains on the wall. The cracks on the floor.

And

The

People.

At first, it was a head. The eyes rolled up, the mouth wide open, pouring saliva and foam from its sides. Slammed against a concrete wall. Then, a body, still attached to it, hanging like a pendulum. Then, its limbs, going limp. A leg twisted in the wrong direction. Then, the ‘arm’ wrapping the neck. If one could call it ‘arm’. A tangle of tendrils, coiled together to resemble an ‘arm’, but not yet able to completely reproduce it. A shoulder, from which the grove of vines originated. A blue suit of tactical armor, one usually donned by the special forces. Long white hair, falling on it with angelic grace. And a white rose, blooming from what looked like her left eye socket.

While the right.

Eye.

Was burning.

Red.

Staring at them.

As soon as they stepped in.

Too late to save anyone.

In time to be devoured.

The tendrils opened up, let the body collapse on the floor. Close to ten others. Fifteen, maybe. The flower kid. The bald man with a mustache. The apple merchant.

All.

Scattered.

On the floor.

All.

Senseless.

All.

Wrapped by.

Vines.

Sprouting from her back.

In a macabre arboretum.

Like the root of a tree.

Feeding on corpses.

In front of them, stood no army.

There were no Peacekeepers. No special forces. No soldiers.

Just.

One.

Rhizome.

None other than

the iron bitch herself

Captain

Commander

Lily.