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The night was hot, the sticky heat of the Amazon, like a comforting weight it settled around Amaru as she stalked toward the construction site, the bare concrete loomed dark, nearly black overhead in the mooncast shadow. She hadn’t bothered to learn what the finished building was destined to be this time, what was the point? None of the owners ever cared enough to learn what heritage they were destroying as they lined their pockets in gold tinted red with blood.
xXx
“Dancing upon those graves, might not be a good idea.”
The investors look at her with what might even be amusement. One takes a pull from his whiskey, draining the thing and placing it in front of her. “Be a dear and get me another would you.” He says with a smirk, seeming to have ignored her warning entirely. The man stands inches shorter and decades younger, yet moves with the air of superiority matching a life of wealth and privilege. A man who thinks the world need bow at his feet lest they not be able to kiss the dirt beneath his designer shoes.
Staring at the glass she thinks to the many men she has killed for less, cities she has burned in service to her home, entire civilizations that have knelt at her paws but to touch the earth upon which she walked. It builds a rage in her.
“Come on old girl, this will be the highlight of the village!” says Tony, appearing at her side and leading her away from the table, “and we need the money,” he adds quietly as they leave earshot of the investors, “ those little ‘expeditions’ of yours aren't cheap.”
Tony is a stout man, with a tragic hairline and a wardrobe of suits that always seem to be a half size too small. Officially an aide from the government sent to ‘encourage tourism and economic growth’ he’s nothing more than a pimp for the small village, selling it off to the highest bidder with little care for what becomes of it or it’s inhabitants.
“Only because you insist on ‘compensating’ those thieves!” She says shaking out of his grip, “snakes who come into my home to take what is not theirs when–”
“Where is that lovely wife of yours hmm?” He interrupts replacing his hand on her back, “I’m sure she's wondering the same about you, best go find her before she has another…episode.” he says, shoving her off into the crowd before returning to the table of investors, presumably to apologize profusely for the behavior of ‘the locals’.
Elena is at the bar. Her short hair falls over her face, a curtain as she stares into the lacquered wood of the bar, perhaps seeing the universe at its end or nothing but her own reflection. It is likely not even she can tell. Still, dark eyes lift as Azucena approaches and a little bit of shadow seems to recede.
“Mi amor,” she says faintly, nearly falling into Azu’s arms. “When can we leave this place? It’s so cold and the lights are all so dark.” Her voice is breathy and the focus of her eyes seems to wander, never lingering on anything for long.
“Yes my love, it is past time we got you to bed, come,” she says, hoisting the smaller woman into her arms “rest now, I have you.” Elena nuzzles into her shoulder and before they are even out into the open air, has fallen asleep.
xXx
That had been weeks ago. Since then, the construction had been non-stop. The constant whir of machinery crushed the quiet hum of the forest, the dust of chemicals and artificial stone beat the normally open air into a thick paste with the humidity. And Elena, her poor Elena, the chaos of it all had sent her visions into a razor frenzy. So many people, pulling paths of choice every which way, showing her all the universes in aching swells, battering her mortal mind in ways any other could not fathom in their wildest imagination. She had been bedridden since before the first shovel hit earth with the strain of it, and all Azu could do was watch.
Until tonight.
The contractors had decided their project was in need of more funds, so a soiree was being held in the skeleton of the development-to-be. A way to showcase what they had achieved and what could become of it were the investors to inject another small fortune. All the most important people on the project would be in attendance.
Light poured from one of the uppermost floors, the sound of idle chatter and forced laughter drifting over the moonlit forest. Armed guards flanked every entrance, patrolled every floor and were stationed at even intervals around the perimeter. Humans were so predictable, always staring at the ground beneath their feet when they should be looking higher.
Amaru braced the old wooden rifle stock of her garra hook against her shoulder and aimed for the crane, it’s massive arm extending out over the edge of the roof practically inviting her up. Her perch in the canopy afforded a clear shot to the sky as well as enough cover to keep her activities covert until she decided otherwise.
She pulled the trigger.
As she hoped it always would, her makeshift grapple worked beautifully, zipping her up to the roof with not a single guard aware of the nightmare they were about to face.
xXx
For a soirée put together by the natives, it wasn’t half bad.
The last time Aleks had been here, he had sworn not to come back until they had at least learned how indoor plumbing functioned. Alas the partners had sent him to observe this excuse for beggars to siphon a bit more of his inheritance towards this pointless project in this waste of a country. Best to just log the damn thing and be done with it. Such an operation would still provide their coveted jobs and GDP. Maybe a clear cut would even uncover some of those ‘artifacts’ they so fawned over. Crushed dishes and monkey skulls didn't make you rich in his experience but that's why you leave ground work to the locals.
The tink of metal on glass crackled over jerry rigged speakers and the developer in charge of the event stepped up to the microphone on the main stage. But before he could get past his own introduction the power went out. This far out there was no metropolitan haze to shade their actions in casts of shadow, no street lights with which to flock to. Black as pitch was a notion someone from a city didn't really experience in their day to day lives. But in what seemed an instant the lights returned and the party resumed.
Until someone screamed.
The stage was red, crimson, and blotchy. The developer who had been introducing himself lay in pieces across the concrete, his insides seemed to explode from a wide gash in his stomach, his slick white shirt torn clean through and stained bright red. Bits of flesh sprayed up his face where his eyes bulged forth from their sockets and his mouth let fly a soundless shout of terror.
Aleks retched, the cheap champagne from earlier pouring out of him in acidic waves. Its possible he passed out, or maybe the power tripped again but the world went black and when the light returned the only colour was red. It painted the walls, it pooled on the floor, even the ceilings dripped with broad, violent splatters of crimson.
“I told you it might not be a good idea.” said a voice inside his head.
xXx
Elena sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee from a chipped and worn old mug, the radio playing in the background. The host relaying as much detail about the massacre at the resort as public airwaves would allow. Phrases like ‘no survivors’ and ‘grisly scene’ were repeated more than once. Apparently the development would be halted, pending further investigation and any contractors left would be sent home. They would be back of course, the Amazon called to many it sung of wealth, fame, fortune a siren for those greedy enough to listen. But herself and Azucena would deal with such things when they happened. For she knew more than most, to worry about an unset future would drive anyone mad.