Ex Lacrima Remnant

Track #65 – Symphony of Destruction

Ensign Miriam Golade was, all in all, an average soldier with a good field record. The reason why she was fielded on Lagash was the bad luck of the draw. Now, that bad luck of hers had struck in full force. Lying submerged in the water, in a half flooded corridor, while her foot was being devoured by nanos. Her toes, the tip of the boot had already disappeared. She wanted to scream. She wanted to pray. She wanted to get out. Still, in her heart, she knew that it was over. Before the pain could register, she would have been deleted from existence.

One second.

One second longer was the time she still had at her disposal.

One second to relive her own life. Her mistakes. Her regrets.

One instant passed.

The swarm ate the rest of her foot.

In her brain, that infinitesimal fraction of time lasted for a century.

She held her breath, tried not to cry, all while pictures of the choices that led her there played in front of her eyes.

All while a weird sound reached her ears.

And the swarm stopped.

Right around her ankle.

Scream.

She screamed from the bottom of her lungs.

Blood poured out of the stump, spreading in the water.

Screamed.

While gloved hands wrapped her leg with a black band, fastened it tight.

Screamed.

But not enough to overcome the music.

That odd music.

She screamed.

Shouted.

Whimpered.

Fell silent.

Golade breathed. Breathed. She was alive.

Against all the odds.

She was still alive.

With a tourniquet around her calf.

But still alive.

All while a figure stood in front of her.

A figure wrapped in a ripped cape soaked with water, a cape barely covering its owners legs.

Music played.

A tune she couldn’t make heads or tails of.

Cheerful and tense at the same time. Sad but hopeful.

The notes danced on the violin, spread through the corridor, echoed around the hallways. The ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ took a step back, glanced at the musician with its only remaining eye. For the first time, its stone-like face showed a crack, its neck twitched in an unnatural way, its whole body exuded something akin to surprise. In front of it, stood a blind woman with a terrific grin, sliding her bow on the strings with extreme finesse. A woman shouting at her companions, while still smirking to her heart’s content.

“Quick, one of you bring the wounded back to the entrance! I can’t see how many there are, so don’t ask me how! I’ll hold big spiky boy here for you!”

Three soldiers came out from cover, raised their guns again. The fourth soldier grabbed Golade, loaded her on his shoulders, helping her stood up. Then, he nodded to the violinist, before sprinting away, disappearing at the tail end of the corridor, as his boots splashed more and more water in his run towards safety. The ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ took another step back, as the bullets started to rain down again on its metallic shell, opening new holes, cutting more and more of its wires. Somehow, that music was confusing the swarm. Its swarm. Stuck in a limbo, in the middle of nothing. I am you, said his emission system. That was the only way not to be eaten, at least not by that less sophisticated variant. No direct guidance. Only that one ultrasonic signal. Yet, this time, it wasn’t working properly. Its eye glanced at the source of that exchange. The violin. It had to be the violin. That instrument was playing the same frequency, thus stopping the spread. The swarm was being sent the same information from both sides. I am you from behind. I am you from the front. I am Lagash from the walls, this time as an encrypted electromagnetic low energy signal. That stuck them. That made them bounce forward and back over and over, not finding an avenue to move to. So, with that in mind, the ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ raised a shield of spikes, sacrificing offense for defense, retreating once more. The micros were there, just inactive. So, it increased the volume, made its speakers louder, trying to overpower the opposition, to guide the gradient.

Kryzalid listened to its efforts.

Listened to the ultrasound wave getting stronger, adjusted her violin’s output too, matching it, almost overshadowing it. That earplug she was wearing was a commercial device built for telecommunications officers. It captured ultrasounds and shifted them down to a hearable frequency. So, she could tell. She could understand immediately what had happened.

A swarm. Its driving noise. A louder emitter behind them. Now, it was a contest. A contest between her and the ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮, a contest to see who was going to get the upper hand. All while bullets flew. All while the ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮’s shell was damaged, its mask cracked, its ducts trounced. Still, if it won, if it managed to reactivate the micros, nothing would have stood in its way. The intruders would have died. Everything would have been just like always. Thus, it cranked up the volume one more time, to the point of straining its systems, to the point of burning the connections. Then, the ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ swung its tail, slashing through the air. Kryzalid felt the pressure, recognized it, ducked low to the ground avoiding it completely, never letting go of her violin. She cursed, stood up again, matched the tempo of her opponent, put some distance between it and her. The tail slashed again, this time in a wide vertical arc. She dodged it on the right, letting it pierce the metal close to her foot. She inhaled. Exhaled. That range was incredible. Even with her enhanced hearing and reflexes, she couldn’t do more than avoid being severed in half at almost the last moment. Still, she had a job to do.

After all, sound was her specialty. The one reason why she survived that long.

Kryzalid stepped back, all while playing even faster, turning up the output of her violin to keep up with the increased volume of the ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮’s ultrasound concert. Her breathing intensified, sweat flowed down her forehead. The longer she kept it up, the longer she could make mistakes. That wasn’t good. That was almost a stalemate, provided she could evade all of those sudden tail swipes. But there was a difference between her and the ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮: her opponent didn’t need to manually play the frequency – it was completely encoded in its systems and just spread out by some sort of emitter. Kryzalid had no idea of what that ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ looked like, had no idea of how many legs, arms and spikes it had, nor of how many heads. Still, she knew that it had at least one loudspeaker, one that was matching her output at every turn. She gritted her teeth, panted, tried to keep her mind focused. One mistake and it was over. Just like when she saved Mal. Just like then. That thought gave her strength, though. Extracting the plant out of Mal’s head without killing him, in the state of disarray her body was in, couldn’t even be compared to that frivolous contest of virtuosos. That boosted her confidence. Yes, that challenge right now was no more than child’s play, compared to her experience on Atropos. There was no way she could lose.

Till she heard another noise.

A low hum, getting louder, louder, louder.

“Shit shit shit shit shiiiit!”

She dashed on the side, all while never stopping playing even for an instant, mentally preparing for what was going to come.

It still hit like a truck.

The white beam’s shockwave grazed her back, ripped her robe open between her shoulder blades, ripped her hood away, stripped her of her blindfold, burned the back of her sports bra, destroying it, bruised her skin from her neck down to her hips. She growled, landing badly on her forefoot, enduring the scorching sensation, keeping the tears at bay. She bit her lips, steadied her stance one more time, waving her oversized sleeves in an elegant pattern. Freed from the comforting embrace of the fabric, her eyes caught a glimpse of the ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮, of its shining red eye. Patches, blots of color standing in the dark, without shape or form. Kryzalid closed her eyes again, taking refuge in that absolute darkness, one that was preferable to seeing a distorted picture of that abomination. That cannon. She didn’t take that into account. It was like playing a match of rock paper scissors if the opponent could also pull out a gun and shoot the other player. She gasped, as the shock of the previous strike slowly waned. Not a direct hit. Just a near miss, one that left some superficial wounds. Her wires, her artificial nerves were all still in perfect working order. The mechanisms running right under her skin too, completely untouched. Still, that was a meager consolation. Even if she could keep the rhythm, her stamina was approaching its limit.

She stomped her foot in the water, shouted from the bottom of her lungs.

“Robbie! The speaker! That fucking thing has a speaker hidden somewhere and I can’t see it! If it goes on like this…”

Robin didn’t wait for her to finish. She lifted her gun once again, glanced at the ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮, stared at its shapes. A speaker. Yes, there had to be something like a speaker. Chris was right. If that thing could steer the swarm without sound, Kryzalid’s concerto wouldn’t have worked at all. The scorpion tail slashed through the air, slammed down from above, forcing Robin to break her stance, to roll away. The three Pangean soldiers kept firing, now at a slower pace to preserve bullets. Still, the dents on the metallic shell were multiplying, ‘blood’ was still flowing, faster and faster out of it. But the ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ didn’t stop. It wasn’t enough to break it. It wasn’t enough to bring it down. Its tail swung again, slashing the metal, piercing the walls, trying to keep the soldiers in check, trying to keep Robin in check, all while hindering the violinist.

In all of that, the swarm was still stuck, hearing I am you from both sides at once, standing in a line between the two contestants. On one side of that line, there was nothing left of the rubble, of the chaos their fight caused. On the other side, the remains of Sergeant Vesika, slabs of contorted metal, pieces of the ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ were still present. It was an indication. A way to see where the micros stood.

Then came the noise.

The ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ recognized it, turned around.

Robin’s gun. The trigger pulled. The humming ramping up.

Its aim was clear.

Its head.

The ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ coiled, twisted low to the ground, turned over and over on itself. And the white beam missed its face by centimeters, stripping away layers of metal from its neck, burning wires, cutting down peripheral pipes. And blasting a hole in the corridor, cracking the side open. Electric sparks shone in the dark, as the emergency lights started to blink, to fade in and out of existence. Steam hissed. Water poured out of the ruptured vessels, investing the ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮, running over it. The ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ twisted around again, rising up from the ground.

Just enough to expose its belly.

Just enough to show a grid.

The speaker.

The one Chris was looking for.

Right below the opening that freed the swarm.

Robin didn’t miss the chance.

The chamber was pre-heated.

There was no need to wait.

Just like in the Eye.

Just like when she shot Agave.

Her finger pulled the trigger again, not even one second after the last shot.

And the gun sang one more time.

A second white beam, shining, blazing through the corridor.

Hitting the ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ right in the belly.

Carving through its armor.

Burning through its entrails.

Blasting the speaker to pieces.

The recoil made Robin fly. The impact smashed the ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ against the wall, its head bobbled back and forth. Its massive body coiled, twisted once again, writhed in what could have been mistaken for ‘pain’.

Its shining eye flashed at Robin, all while its black body, its white face were now completely caked in that viscous red fluid, now half congealed, almost looking like real human blood. The spider legs, the manipulators reorganized themselves, trying to get back in working order. Still, something was amiss. Something was not right. The ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ turned around in a craze, tried to locate the source of its unease.

That’s when its tail started to disappear.

I am you.

Its speaker wasn’t broadcasting that frequency anymore. The swarm moved away from the only source of that sound. And towards the direction from which the sound didn’t came anymore. The ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ twitched, screamed, frantically tried to sprint away, all while the micromachines kept deleting parts of it, eating it alive. In panic, the ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ slithered, crawled, its brain recalled a hidden subroutine, activated it as a last resort. A piercing, crackling noise pulsed through the corridor.

And the eating stopped.

The swarm suddenly went dead.

Switched off in one instant.

The ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ seemed to calm down, even only for a moment. Its surviving body parts were still in disarray, chunking together, trying their best at keeping it functional. Much to his surprise, a hand touched its surface, its mask. A cold hand, one belonging to a human.

The violinist.

Her fingers danced all around its case, indulging on some of its broken shapes. The ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ glanced at that woman, glanced at her annoyed grin, at the bruises scattered all over her face, at the ripped robe falling off her shoulders, almost uncovering her chest. That sight awakened something in its brain.

Fear.

That wasn’t a caress.

That wasn’t a hug.

That woman was up to something.

And it couldn’t do anything to stop her.

The ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ pushed all of its efforts in regenerating its tail, sacrificing its arms, its legs, all what he could give up to get its main defense weapon back. She was too close for the cannon to work. Shooting her would have been suicidal. And its life, its life was the only thing it cared about. No grandiose higher goal. No aspiration. Just. Not. Dying.

“Your fundamental frequency is all over the place, huh? Shame your brain shares the same as mine, it would have been easier if it didn’t. But, oh, well, it is what it is. There’s lots of other stuff I can target instead.”

That was English. The woman was speaking in English.

Right. That was what Lagash called the language of exchange, the one every cycle started with.

The ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ saw a chance, an unexpected chance.

Because it could speak that too.

Speak. Right. Speak. That was its way out. Speak. Communicate. Plead.

Yet, only distorted sounds emerged from its throat. Its main speaker was destroyed. The secondary one damaged. It panicked. Mercy. Mercy. Mercy. Please, have mercy.

That was what it wanted to say.

But, without a way to do that.

Killing her was the only way out.

Killing them all.

One by one, if necessary.

So, in a last effort, it tried to regenerate its tail faster, to the point of shutting down other systems, shutting down some of his organs too.

Yet, the violinist had already stepped back.

Far from it.

Her bow dancing on the strings with care.

Music.

Music filled the corridor.

And, suddenly, the ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮ felt a vibration in its head. A vibration spreading all around its cranium, its face, its neck.

A vibration that didn’t stop.

Pain.

Pain all over its neural connections.

Pain.

It didn’t think. It just followed its instincts.

The cannon.

The cannon emerged again from its chest.

The humming noise started to build up.

Then, a bang.

But not from its weapon.

The case that contained its brain.

Suddenly ruptured.

Exploded.

Burst open.

In a shower of shrapnel, white fragments, red fluid.

The headless body writhed, fell off, slumped down, collapsed.

Crushed by its own weight.

And everything stopped moving.

Every single mechanism.

Even the secondary brain, without the guidance of the first.

Simply.

Stopped.

And the hearts.

Stopped too.

Kryzalid raised her bow, performed a curtsy with a wide arc of her arm. The concert was over. The audience was pleased. And the monster was vanquished.

Applause.

A round of applause echoed in the corridor.

Mimi gasped, her heart skipped a beat. She turned around, in total, utter confusion.

Applause.

The three soldiers still with them.

Robin.

They were all.

Applauding her.

Clapping their hands.

Mimi blinked twice, her mouth fell agape in confusion. That wasn’t a mockery. That wasn’t a joke. She could feel it. That applause was genuine. She felt her eyes getting wet, wiped them as quickly as possible. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t right. She couldn’t be seen like that. She had an image to uphold. Yet, her tears won, not letting her get rid of them until they took over her cheeks, flowing down like rivers.

As that sudden applause slowly died out, she could only mutter a word, a word that came out of her soul.

“…thanks.”

Before turning around, back to the lifeless corpse of the ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

Only to hear Robin walking towards it, kneeling on its remains, rummaging through the scrap metal, the red fluid, the organic entrails. She couldn’t see what her companion was doing, but could get a general idea. An idea that unsettled her deeply.

“Robbie…? What are you…”

Robin’s hands delved into that horrifying mess of twisted warm flesh, moving through the wires, through the coiled pipes, through the bones, through the mechanisms, all while finally answering Kryzalid’s question.

“When its head exploded, I saw something… weird. Something that shouldn’t be here.”

Her fingers closed around a small, glimmering object, one that was strangely familiar to her. One that had no right to be where it was. She pulled it out, carefully detaching it from the spine of the ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮, severing the connections one by one. In her hand rested a shining crystal, the size of a hand palm. A crystal with two second-vault-tech plugs.

A crystal that lit her glove softly, still warm from the embrace of the ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮’s corpse.

A memory crystal, not unlike hers.