Ex Lacrima Remnant

#B-Side III – Emergency broadcast

A shaky picture, the camera moving left and right, unstable. Shuttered windows in the background, barricaded even, inside something that looks like an office. There must have been many flags once, but now they are all ripped, unrecognizable. A world map in the background, tattered, raped by red crosses, everywhere. It’s not Lagash, the continents don’t match. There’s a peninsula shaped like a boot, in the middle of a sea. Crossed in red too. Only one small part of the map is free of red marks, somewhere on a huge island on the bottom right. Yet, crosses surround it. A silent, crimson graveyard.

One man stands in front of the camera. He’s tired, he looks tired. Gray hair, dull gray eyes. A blue suit, a white shirt. Four other people behind him, their faces hidden by helmets. Military gear, rifles in hand. A different style of uniforms, of weapons. A style long forgotten.

The camera shakes again. Crumbles of plaster fall from the wall, a glass crashes on the floor, spreading water all around. Yet, the man stands, his beard impeccable. His beard. The only part of him that seems well taken care of, in that picture.

Then, he opens his mouth. The words come too, with a delay, as the picture fades in and out.

“We did it.”

A pause. His lips close before the words terminate, as frames get lost.

“With the launch of Ur, Eridu and Lagash, one hundred seventeen seedships have escaped Earth’s orbit. The tragic loss of the New York, the Berlin and the Shangai has not been vain.”

Heavy vibrations, another tremor. A crack on the wall, one of the flag holders falls off too. The man, though, keeps talking as if nothing happened.

“Thank you. Thank you for resisting for so long, for your sacrifices. We secured our future.”

The camera jolts, shards of glass broken, the light blinks.

“To all the seedship crews: this might be the last broadcast from Earth, before everything goes dark, before we walk into the night, facing our end with dignity. We lost the battle. You’re all what’s left.”

A soldier in the background lifts a radio device, listens to it. They shout something, something not captured by the microphones. The other soldiers turn towards them, shout too. Two run away, another one tries to grab the man in a blue suit from his shoulders. Yet, he resists, he shakes them off. Then, he spreads his arms, stares right at the camera, a spark in his tired eyes.

“Thanks to you, space – no, the entire universe will be ours. Thanks to you, we won’t be forgotten. Humanity! Will live! Forev…”

A burst of light, a deafening noise.

Rubble.

Screams.

Dead pixels.

Digital noise.

Back to life.

Hell.

Fires. Flames, burning everything.

A charred skull, incinerated by the heat.

Digital noise.

Then black.

The video ends.