Ex Lacrima Remnant

Track #5 – Danse Macabre

Deer-antlers stared at the blade, at its wielder, in flabbergasted awe. A rhizome. Right in front of her. She gasped, retreated one step back. She tapped the device encased on her wrist armor, connecting the Corps database directly to her eyes. Lacrima. Lacrima. Lacrima… No match. No existing rhizome sported that denomination. Which meant either that she was an unregistered specimen or that it was a fake identity, a nickname of sorts – much like Deer-antlers was. Deer-antlers wasn’t, of course, Felce’s real name. Yet, that was a moniker that accompanied her since the moment she left the lab. Deer-antlers. She didn’t mind it too much, but everyone around her seemed to converge on that name, in a sort of natural evolutionary process that required no peer consensus. Simply put, deer antlers were indeed the first image her growths recalled in the mind of those who saw her for the first time. Felce was very fond of those extensions, those branches decorating her head in such a peculiar way – they made abundantly clear that she wasn’t one to be messed with. With the addition of thick black marks under her eyes, something she took care of drawing every morning, she looked almost like a shaman of old, one she had seen in picture books long corroded by time. Maybe it was the same for Lacrima. Maybe that word had a meaning of its own. Yet, at the present moment, Felce didn’t think it wise to indulge in idle ruminations. She gazed at the rhizome, scanned her whole figure from head to toes. Phase two assimilation, human form strongly degraded. One whole arm replaced with vegetable matter, one eye lost. She didn’t look like she had long to live. Her human-like structure was already starting to be compromised. Despite that, she hid her tendrils well, it would have been hard to recognize her as a plant, if she didn’t step in to protect that preacher. Now, the situation was much more complex than before. People in the crowd had started noticing that something was amiss. A one-armed girl with a rose for an eye was surely bound to attract attention. And, as it usually happened, news was traveling fast. Felce recalled her vine, let it wrap around her left wrist. She raised her machete, activated the plasma field.

“Lacrima, you said. Well, sucks to be you. You’re under arrest, together with that loud idiot back there!”

“No…”

Lacrima’s voice echoed in the crowded square, overcame the buzzing, chaotic noise of the crowd.

“…he’s coming with me.”

It happened in an instant. Felce waved her arm, letting her liana extend like a whip, cracking the air. Just to meet a black blade, impact on it, be repulsed. Then, the blade turned at high speed, hitting the bounced vine, cutting its tip off. Felce growled, dashed forward with all her might, slashed with her machete in a wide arc. Lacrima slid under it, anticipating the horizontal strike, then rammed forward, blade in hand. Felce turned at the last moment, caused the blade to graze her shoulder pad, breaking it in half. The recoil made her flinch, forcing her to stabilize her position again. She recalled the mutilated vine, strung it around her forearm, charged the plasma knife again. One lunging stab, all her weight behind the attack. Lacrima’s sword moved to intercept it, deflected it to the side. The blade vibrated for the violence of the impact, cracks formed on the metal-like structure, splinters fell from it. Lacrima stepped back, adjusted her stance. But not quickly enough to avoid the whip. A sudden lash, hitting her straight on her chest, ripping through the black fabric, gashing her skin. Then, again, in a diagonal cross pattern, hitting her body once more. Droplets of green ooze started pouring from the wound, to flow down her garments. She gritted her teeth, almost bit her lips, closed her eye for a long instant. Only for the vine whip to lash her again, seizing the moment, this time on her right leg, slashing her skirt on the side. Green fluid there too, now dripping down her thigh. Felce spun, rolled the vine whip once again around her arm. Then, she unleashed it once more, aiming at the ankles. Lacrima’s sword intercepted the vine, blade against liana, the razor edge cutting through. Felce’s whip snapped in half, the recoil hit her like a truck. Only for Lacrima’s blade to crack more, even more splinters breaking down of it, its structure heavily compromised. Yet, that was the right time. The only chance she had. Lacrima dashed forward, full speed ahead, while Felce was still recovering. She raised her fragmented weapon above her head, swung it down with a violent motion.

Slashing Felce’s right through her chest, shoulder to hip.

The blade ripped through the tactical armor, broke it to shards, ripped the blue fabric underneath, ripped Felce’s skin, ruptured her lymph vessels. Before breaking down itself, in a shower of black fragments, leaving only a hilt among Lacrima’s fingers. A guttural noise escaped Felce’s lips, as she spat green saliva all around. She jerked, kept her balance by some sort of miracle. Her vine hand moved to ascertain the damage, covering the gash on her abdomen. Only for Lacrima’s platform shoe to kick on the back of that same hand, pushing it against the wound. The sound of cracked bones, Felce’s fingers bending the wrong way, the impact making her fly to the ground, nape first, among the screaming crowd.

“Now!”

Lacrima threw the hilt away, closed her hand around the preacher’s cape, pulled him up. Then, she started running, running away through the assembled people, a mass of ants spreading in all directions, letting her swim through without resistance. Felce bellowed, one eye closed, her teeth grinding in a spiteful grin.

“DAMN YOU!”

She stood up again, despite the wounds, despite the oozing lymph dripping down her exposed belly. She raised her only healthy hand, gestured to her soldiers.

“Team A! Keep the civilians safe! Team B! Seal the city block! Team C! Guns trained on the rhizome! Chase her! Don’t let her escape!”

The agents nodded, moved in unison like industrious insects, as if a collective intelligence got hold of them. The clicks of the rifle safeties, the clacking of moving armored infantry. Yet, nobody shot. Too many people. Too many innocents. That was Bargain Barricade, after all – the most famous street market of New Babylon. Felce tapped her wrist as well as she could with her broken fingers, fighting the pain. A second tap. A third. She heard a beep in her right ear, the signal she was waiting for.

“‘sup, Deer-antlers?”

The voice of that lazy bum of the precinct operator, that unremarkable waste of space, oxygen and organic matter she never cared learning the name of. She swallowed her pride, let the nickname slide.

“An… unregistered rhizome at Bargain Barricade. She kidnapped a civilian and ran away, after… after incapacitating me. Her ID is Lacrima, no match in the database. White hair, a rose… in place of her left eye. Only one arm. Send the info to all units, now!”

“Wait, she’s beaten you?!”

“Any more useless questions?”

“…”

“I figured. Now, do your job.”

One last tap to close the call. She barely caught a glimpse of her soldiers running behind the fugitives. Five – no, six – no, eight – armed peacekeepers in full tactical gear with automatic rifles, all trying to stop the criminal from spewing more chaos. She managed to nod, as her healthy hand travelled on the gash Lacrima opened on her body, wiping the lymph that was still dripping out of it. Before letting herself slump on the ground to catch her breath, while her slashing wound slowly started to heal and her bones to repair themselves. She would have joined them soon. No way that was the end of their bout.

Or, at least, she hoped so.

On her side, Lacrima couldn’t afford to catch a break. Too many armed guards, following her too close, as she pulled the preacher by his hand, running through the people like a salmon diving upstream. Of course, her speed paled in comparison with that of a peregrine falcon, but she had to make do with the hand she was dealt. Her left shoulder itched, the tendrils twisting and turning, slowly building up a new arm. She cursed under her breath. That sword, her previous arm, was still pretty new. Losing it like that felt like a genuine waste of lymph. Still, she was somehow relieved that it didn’t immediately break against that plasma knife. Had that been the case, she wouldn’t have survived to tell the tale. She turned around quickly, looked at her pursuers once again. Eight soldiers stumbling, falling, failing to move through the sea of scared civilians, and, nonetheless, keeping her in their sight. Her eye darted left and right, in search of a way out, maybe even just a vehicle. Reinforcements might have come at any moment, no way the Peacekeepers were letting her go that easily. Then, she saw it. A cramped alley, between two buildings. She dashed towards it, rushed full speed ahead, jumped over two food stalls, still pulling the preacher behind her. Screams in the background, angry growls. Her pursuers were struggling, didn’t see that coming, hollered like wild gorillas. As she disappeared in the cramped road, the screams, the commotion sounded farther and farther away, farther back, the movements of the agents impeded by the passersby and the merchants’ stalls. Lacrima’s hand was still firmly holding the preacher’s, all while her wounds were dripping green droplets everywhere she walked. She ran without saying a word, her steps echoing between the buildings for what seemed like minutes. Till an opening came. And her eye made contact with a huge, white structure – a wall like no others, covered completely with graffiti, drawings, scratches and obscene words. That was the Barricade – the market’s namesake. Ten meters tall, fifty meters wide, topped by electrified barbed wire, sealing the only road to Lagash, hiding its sanctity in its ancient embrace. She considered trespassing, before quickly realizing it was impossible. Too high, too dangerous even for her. Not even with the legs of an ostrich she could have overcome it. Maybe, if she was alone, that might have been an option. But with that man? No chance. She looked around once more, not knowing what to do. A drawing caught her attention. It was a bird with two heads, biting what looked like a two-tailed worm in its right beak. She had seen it already. It meant that a path to Aralu was close. She turned her head left, right. Till she finally noticed it. Another dark alley, among two buildings with shuttered windows. That had to be it. The entrance of the forbidden underbelly of New Babylon. She nodded to the preacher, as if to say ‘trust me’. The man didn’t respond, simply accepted the situation, accepted being dragged around like a rag doll by that enigmatic plant woman. If anything, each of his alternatives was way worse.

Lacrima turned right, ran through the narrow side road, in the claustrophobic embrace of the dirty, cracked walls. She scanned the surroundings, her eye moving from side to side in a continuous motion. That wasn’t just an alley: that was the entrance of a labyrinth, the darkness festering under New Babylon’s blinding light. And, as the gate to Heaven’s own Hell, it led to a place of poverty and mistrust. Prostitutes, beggars, junkies. Every step into that maze made her closer to that pitch-black underworld slithering through the cracks of a perfect city, savoring the moment when hope is lost to despair. Yet, Lacrima knew. She knew that moving down there would have been a one way road. That wasn’t the plan. That wasn’t the idea. Aralu could wait. Maybe, that’s where the Peacekeepers would have looked for her first. So, instead of losing herself in the darkness, she reached for a shuttered door, one rotten to the point of breaking. She stopped, took one step back, kicked the wooden planks with all her strength. The door exploded in a rain of sawdust, opening on a cold, bare flight of stairs that had seen better decades. She took the preacher’s hand, pushed him inside. Then, followed him, after making sure nobody was watching or tracking her, her eagle sight tuned to the maximum possible distance. She disappeared too inside the cramped entrance, walked up the stairs till the first floor. Every step, a macabre squeak. Wood bent to the point of shattering, in utter, complete darkness. Lacrima glanced around. Barricaded rooms in complete darkness. Noises coming from all around them, from the walls even. Maybe rats? It had to be rats or other small critters. That wasn’t good. She didn’t stop more than a second, before moving on, taking up the stairs again. Broken steps, cracked tiles, each sound echoing around the stairwell. Lacrima pushed forward, pulling the preacher behind her, her lungs quickly approaching their limit. Till they reached the second floor. Empty. Devoid of life. And, yet, with at least one open room, a soft shred of brightness coming out of it. Lacrima peeked inside it, looked around. Broken pots, dried soil scattered on fractured tiles, withered flowers. A faint ray of light came in from the a crack in the blinders, focusing on what looked like a plant, growing on the wall. Ivy. Spreading around, taking ownership of those ancient, abandoned walls. Lacrima caressed it, stared at it in silence.

Before finally letting herself fall, hitting the floor with her butt, while also letting out a sigh of relief.

“We’re safe, for now. The chances were low, but it looks like we lost them”

Green fluid was still dripping out of the cross-shaped wound on her chest, of the slash on her thigh, tainting the bare concrete she was sitting on. Yet, it didn’t hurt. It was a good way to drain her excess lymph, the one her body produced under stress. Too much of it made her feel dizzy. Having a way to just let it flow out was a godsend. The preacher stood still, watching her from behind the gas mask, catching his breath after the amok run. Then, he finally spoke, for the first time before their escape, his voice still distorted by the rebreather.

“Why? Why did you help me?”

“Your bracelet.”

He raised his arm, looked at his wrist. There still stood a circlet made of small feathers, perfectly trimmed and placed around it. Lacrima cracked a smile, nodded.

“Hummingbird. Real feathers. But not ripped off from a dead animal. They are tidy, well groomed, as if taken after they were naturally shed by the bird or simply left behind. There is no sign of trauma, no sign of violence. Probably, it took the maker more than one year to collect them, sew all of them together and arrange them like that.”

“…and?”

“Most people would go for a cheap imitation, or even for a bracelet made without respect for the bird. But that’s different. Whoever made it, poured their soul into it. Whoever bought it, knew that it was made respecting the precious life of that tiny marvel of nature.”

Her red iris, its fire now quenched, met the black lenses, as her smile widened even more.

“Someone wearing such a one-of-a-kind masterpiece cannot be a bad person.”

The preacher stared at her for a couple seconds longer, looked back at the bracelet. Then, sat down on the concrete too.

“…you are too naive, Lacrima. I could have stolen it. I could have killed its previous owner. I could have just been a hack, someone who doesn’t know the first thing about it.”

“But you aren’t, are you?”

The hooded figure shrugged, brought his hands to the mask, started unfastening the knots.

“…I suppose I’m not.”

The hood came down, revealing neck-length green hair on a pale complexion. Emerald eyes, fine traits. Not those of an old man, but of a younger woman disguised as one. A green gem encased in her forehead completed the picture, with a rebellious tuft of green hair covering her right eye.

“…my name’s Robin. Thanks again… for stepping in.”

Lacrima’s eye shone at those word, barely containing her excitement.

“Robin? I love it! Did you know that robins live on average just one year, but if they overcome their first year of life, they are likely to survive much longer? They are so cute too! I love robins, I wish there were more of them in New Babylon! But hummingbirds are my absolute favorite! Yesterday, one of them sucked some nectar from my flower. It was so precious to see its tiny wings flapping and flapping more than fifty times per second so close to me. Aaaah, hummingbirds are so, so special! But robins are still nice. At least, they can fly well, not like kiwis!”

Robin glanced at her as if she had just met an alien. An alien strangely obsessed with birds, of all things.

“…I guess?”

“Still, it was a pleasure to help you, Robin. We’re birds of a feather. Plus, I hate rhizomes.”

Robin glanced at her, at her tendrils, at her rose eye, at the lymph still pouring from her wounds. She instinctively extended her hand, almost to the point of touching the green ooze.

“…aren’t you a rhizome too?”

Lacrima didn’t react at her touch, let her keep exploring her body.

“Correct, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Lacrima groaned, rubbed her rose, while her shoulder tendrils started reorganizing their shape, slowly growing back the missing arm.

“All this lymph is wasted. I was going to sell some of it to a BM contact at the market, but our meeting didn’t go as expected. That Corps rhizome played a number on me.”

“Sell your… lymph?”

“Correct. My body produces too much of it when I photosynthesize. It causes all kind of problems – you don’t wanna know, trust me.”

A sigh, the flower eye moving slightly up and down, while the tendrils slowly started to form what looked like a crude hand. She caressed the still forming fingers, followed the twists and turns of the wooden structures, before glancing back at the caped woman starting at her.

“…still, if you give me something in return, I might let you drink it instead. How does that sound?”

Robin blinked once, twice, retracted her hand almost immediately. Drinking the green ooze pouring out of her wounds? That sounded disgusting. She felt like throwing up, kept her stomach in check just at the last moment. When she left her house that morning, finding herself locked at the outskirts of Aralu with a weird bird-loving rhizome was the last of her thoughts, not even remotely part of her bingo. Yet, Fate had played their cards, thrown their dice. And the results it landed on was completely uncharted territory. Lacrima noticed her discomfort, squinted her eye.

“I see. You aren’t a junkie either, but then…”

She massaged her chin, tapped her cheek with her index finger, before resuming her sentence, completing her thoughts.

“You are sane, healthy and don’t look too weird. So, Robin…”

“…yes?”

“What was that story about the world ending soon?”