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Sometimes it was weeks, sometimes it was months, but rarely he would see the sun past the brim of his top hat every time the trapdoor fell open. His eyes felt the sun was too bright now, and he dwelled in the dark craving for warmth. He ate scraps and survived off of whatever his acquaintances were able to acquire during their expeditions out.
Artful was a wanted man on the run, after having slaughtered his audience. In a moment of desperation, he allied himself with a little group of others that aligned with his morals – they had blood on all their hands too, and for some reason the government was at fault for their motivation to kill. He provided his natural intellect for the group, and in return, they defended him and made him feel welcome, they were akin to some twisted version of a party of friends that the magician grimaced at every time he thought of it.
Most common occurrences, the virus with a hijacked robot body and his rogue government prototype lover being unwillingly dragged along him yielded nothing tasteful, mostly just something to fill the emptiness in the magician’s stomach. He’d rather what the two of them catch than the limestone-sand construct that had no proper way of delegating what was poisonous and what was edible or the monster who only cared about hunting and pursuing fresh meat.
But, rarely, there would be a feast for Artful, and he could exclaim to himself,
“Tonight! We eat fresh meat!” (Hey that’s Pursuer’s catchphrase Artful you can’t do that that’s plagiarism)
By fresh meat, salmon Killdroid had managed to fish up earlier using some new feature Badware had tested on him, and by ‘we, just Artful – he was the only one of the groups that actually needed to eat something actually palatable to live. Harken had no mouth, no digestive track, and no interest in consuming dead corpses or vegetable heads, meanwhile Killdroid and Badware were both robots whose only sustenance was on the tonnes of oils they stumbled across – and even then, Killdroid mostly drew his energy from the sun while Badware ran on batteries, they just drank oil for fun, what weirdos.
Oh yeah Pursuer did need to eat too, he just happened to take the term of ‘fresh meat’ rather seriously. (Always a bright day with Pursuer around!) There was no way he wasn’t sapient enough to hold a human conversation with Artful with the way he often stared at him sometimes, there was something human in that stare unlike anything humanoid Artful had ever seen before; he was intentionally choosing to purse his lips and bide his time around the magician, to possibly screw with him? Who knows!
Ignoring that, all that matters was that Artful had food and he needed to consume something NOW.
That salmon Killdroid caught was finely seared on the open campfire in their underground base, and Artful lowered his gaze while slowly savouring the last remnant of his past life.
For dinner, the others usually sat at the dinner table with Artful, to fill up the space around him and make him feel less lonely as he ate. Sometimes, the lack of humanity drove him insane, so the others tried to help him as much as possible – yes they are cold hearted killers who often took no mercy on those they crushed beneath them, but Artful was on the same level (maybe even higher as their superior/leader… he was the one who planned most attacks and assassinations after all) as them, as a ‘friend’, if they knew what friends actually meant.
…
They totally didn’t know what being friends meant, in a more human sense. There should be conversation if they were all truly friends, joking about and laughing at one another’s plights, striking up some conversation, but silence filled the stale dining room as Artful cut himself another piece of the dead fish and tore at its flesh with his teeth. I think Artful need’s a toothbrush.
Pursuer tapped at the table with long dirty nails that bore scratch lines across the waxy skin of the oak, while Harken prayed to an unknown deity, her own hands made of sand clasped together in a tight prayer.
Artful’s eye flicked left and he caught Badware’s irregular own pair, up close, observing, and he quickly looked away again. Even Badware was eerily silent for dinner time, usually he’d be yapping to anyone who bothered to lend him an ear, especially Killdroid, but alas, he seemed to be running some program in his mind and leaving his vessel a husk for the mean time.
Killdroid never bothered with conversation, always rigid, cold, he was never programmed to learn how to socialise, only to serve and protect people. Here, where he began to develop past his conception code, he could learn his own autonomy, and with his own decision, he chose to be sat at the table next to Badware, and next to the empty chair to be a friendly figure in Artful’s life.
The empty chair… usually it would have been occupied by Pretence, a stone statue that didn’t speak. He couldn’t have spoken, he was entirely mute, or maybe he had lied about that too. Who would’ve sat there prettily, cockily tilting his head at the others and boring his winning smile into the deepest parts of their souls – all with his intense silence! Truly tragic…
A pretty boring day, with a blue sky painting the vast expanse hanging above their heads. Sometime around twelve, and the only thing Harken could’ve remarked about before the incident was the rather annoying chirp of cicadas in the summer.
Badware, Harken and Pretence were sent out by Artful to simply scour the scene of whatever the hell Mr. Sulphur was planning next. The government had hollowed out a part of the forest near the killer’s base, and Artful was growing wary and had delegated those three to quench his suspicions. There were directions that led away from their base, and the three killers followed along a trail trodden upon by so many people it carved a winding dirt path through the forest.
“YOU_SURE_PRETENCE_CAN_DO_SOMETHING?” Making small talk. “I_NEVER_SAW_HIM_AS_ANYTHING_LIKE,_HOSTILE,_I_DIDN’T_THINK_HE_COULD_EVEN_HURT_A_FLY!”
Harken shifted. “…he told me he was willing to try. I believe in him…”
And with that, the virus nodded silently of his approval and carried on forward.
Badware led the other two, who hung back, confidently moving with swagger in his rigid limbs. The light was cascading down through the foliage of the tree canopies, and the warm sun showered Badware’s plastic casing, the metal of his reflecting and absorbing in the UV rays. His solenoids were rapidly heating up, but there was nothing he could do about it but move on. Harken stumbled and fell over her own misguided feet as Pretence happily swung his arms and walked alongside her, matching her slow speed.
None of the others understood those two, but both seemed to come from the same place of origin, and deceitful Pretence was surprisingly one of the only people Harken trusted. (He reminds me of home, Harken had said while passing by the others one day.) When Harken and the others had met and agreed upon an alliance, ominous Pretence was tucked under the sand construct’s large arm, and the two of them had came as a package deal. They were analogous of one another, and very much connected in a way that was unknown to the others. She was truly happiest when she was around him, and vice versa. The others left them to their own devices most of the time, it seemed better off that way.
Badware felt the same about him and Killdroid! Except they were not analogous, Killdroid was not truly happiest when around him, and the only way they were connected was through local public Wi-Fi whenever they needed something off the internet: it really was a miracle that their relationship was above friendship, solely due to his virus’ nature of nurturing sentience within machinery, and Killdroid’s hard-wired need to serve and protect, it put their initial companionship above the others, but below… love?
Badware paused.
The three of them came to a clearing in the trees and peered through the gaps. Harken hid her body behind a huge trunk, while Pretence and Badware peeked their heads over the bushes. They weren’t very well hidden, but it was alright people are dumber living in the moment than looking back at memories.
There was a construction site in the disappearance of trees, the ground was dug up, and piles of gravel was taking its place. Various vehicles and machinery were present, too, it took up space and polluted the skyline. Scaffolding was in the process of being built, and even more trees were being chopped down to make way for some ugly log cabin that might belong here.
Badware felt something prodding his mechanical body, and he turned his head to Pretence, who was simulating something with his arms, twirling them about one another and hitting the air a few times. Vague. Harken clarified what he meant, “…he means that he wants you and him to go and give the manager a good beating for deforestation…”
That was completely disregarding Artful’s plea for them to stay discreet and overt during the expedition, however, the virus thought it would be funny, so he nodded his head and smirked. “OH_YEAH_I_CAN_DO_THAT, CMON_BUDDY.”
The construct would’ve voiced her displeasure, but she stayed still and allowed for Badware to jump out from the bushes with Pretence in arm and walk on the scene with the stone statue. Pretence bee-lined for the construction manager, and Badware was going to follow suit before out of bloody nowhere a road roller struck Pretence, squashing him like a bug. The man upstairs was fucking holding a bottle by its tapered edge and chugging away!
“PRETENCE!!” Harken cried out, eye going wide. That’s the loudest Badware’s ever heard her.
“THE_HELL???” The virus tripped over, flailing, and before he could fall victim, the construct caught him by one of his back wires and hoisted him from the site.
The construction worker bloody ran over Pretence with their roller! What??
Badware’s mouth was agape, and if Harken had a mouth, it’d be wide open too.
Sunken in the ground, Pretence outstretched his arm and his intense silence seemed to scream out in agony as he was crushed by the roller once again. His stone body was moulding to the shape of the cylindrical drum being pressed onto him as he dug at the ground, trying to crawl out from underneath only to be pinned by the massive weight. His winning smile ate dirt as the massive yielding wheel compressed his cuboid head into the ground and cracked his skull open, chipping away at sturdy stone. Badware winced and Harken covered her only eye as Pretence’s body was mangled beyond comprehension, stone dust flying everywhere.
“Oh MY GOD I am SO SORRRYYY HANG ON THERE RANDOM MAN I DON’T KNOoOWW!!” The construction worker proceeded to roll their road roller back and forth over Pretence’s body, flattening him further, it was like they were trying to knead him into bread more than save him. Harken went to summon her spear, manifestation light next to her side, but Badware paused her, and shook his head at her. Tentative, she reeled her hand back in and was forced to watch incapable.
“LISTEN_MAN_I_DON’T_KNOW_WHAT_THE_HELL_YOU’RE_TRYING_TO_DO, BUT_KNOCK_IT_OFF!” Badware yelled at maximum volume, so loud that it moved the Earth and gave Harken a piercing headache for some seconds. That seemed enough for the drunk man operating the machine to back off for a bit, lifting the roller off of their friend’s body and reversing, till he bumped into a crane that keeled over, toppling into several trees and resting on the foliage above. The manager, presumably, with his back turned away, finally looked back only to see the destruction of the crane, and chastised the drunk worker for intoxication on site, ignoring the plight of the others.
“…we must get him to a medic, quick…” Harken cradled Pretence’s flattened and broken body. “…we must get him to Artful; he is a builder and can fix statues…”
“RETREAT!!!!” Badware took Harken by the hand and pulled her through the clearing they came from. The construction workers only just realised what had happened, and the manager gripped at his nose bridge, and picked up his flip phone to dial for police. Fucking snitches get stitches that’s the reason why they ended up assassinated a week later thanks to a certain government prototype with a very human trait of grudges.
Somewhere along the way, Pretence was in Badware’s care, tossed over the virus’ shoulders. Harken was incredibly slowed and Badware offered to take the brunt of Pretence’s weight, and she hesitantly accepted.
They fled through the forest, but silly Badware must’ve had his GPS rush into the crossfire of some other electromagnetic signal, because the ground underneath their thudding feet wasn’t pure damp grass and the hanging foliage above them turned into cable lines connected to poles that stuck out of the Earth and dug into the sky. Harken slowed down when she noticed they weren’t on the right track, and urgently went to tell Badware, only to witness Badware run into an intersection. Plunged into a red traffic light!
A passing truck, with the motivation to also run the red light, connected with Badware and rammed into him at full speed. The virus was sent tumbling over his own robotic body, and the huge tire of the truck rolled over his arm and tore at it.
Badware could only stare in shock at where his arm used to be, veins and vessels of code and information leaking oil out of his severed wires. His detached arm wriggled and spasmed uncontrollably as the last of its nerves fired away in sparks that exited out of the entry point of the wires. The solenoid curled around the tube of his arm loosened, and his claw pinched and jerked. Amidst the topple he had dropped Pretence, whose battered body lay crumpled of the crossing section. His screen was crying.
“Oh MY GOD I am SO SORRRYYY HANG ON THERE RANDOM MAN AND ROBOT I DON’T KNOoOWW!!” The driver proceeded to roll their car back and forth over both Badware AND Pretence. Badware’s machinery was being torn off his limbs, and wires that acted like tendons were stretching and shredding on the tire as Pretence’s body was being crushed into pieces. A fine powder that blended into the black asphalt of the floor. The yellow ball joints rolled.
Well I be, they’re bloody murdering the two of them and Harken couldn’t even believe what the hell she was witnessing.
Killdroid had arrived on scene just in time to have stopped Harken from immolating and aided her in trying to come up with a resolution for the situation.
Badware made a speedy recovery – because of course he did, he was just a virus, he easily migrated from his broken chassis to a brand new one Killdroid had dutifully constructed. Pretence was hospitalised because of the graphic extent of his injuries, somehow. Artful, with his civilian identity untouched by the stains of his new life, managed to register a stone statue (that at the time was just crumbles and pieces carried in a bag) under his name, and now he remains there, in a catatonic state. He is in everyone’s thoughts…
Oh yeah speaking of being in everyone’s thoughts, sometimes, Artful on days where his patience was stretched thin and cluelessness to time would think that there was another person seated at their dining table, but that was probably just his imagination and the lack of sunlight messing with his thoughts and creating this… rather tangible hallucinations he was slowly starting to think were real. No, Paranoy is not real. Knock it off Artful! He needed a watch; he was losing his mind at the lack of time.
The magician was sure that everyone would’ve left by now, but they stayed by him as friends, checked up on him as friends when he was having breakdowns in his personal quarters and protected him with their lives on the line more so than some friends would do.
Pursuer tried to make small talk with Harken, who ignored him, ouch. It was understandable though, who would know where to start when the person you’re speaking with opens up with “Ahh fresh meat” for the seventieth time, things get stale and branching replies crumble in return. It was also apparent Badware was playing minesweeper in his head now, the damn screen was being displayed on the computer monitor he had for a head. Killdroid sat there, stationary, static, he would only respond when prompted, Artful learnt. Killdroid was still unaware that with his own autonomy also demanded the right to be the first to initiate a damn conversation – he’ll learn eventually.
He was growing frustrated, and the fish just tasted so good… the magician succumbed to his instincts and tossed his cutlery, ignoring how it clattered so loudly against the floor of their base that it startled Harken out of her prayer and killed Badware in his game of minesweeper. He sunk his fingers underneath the charred scale of fish and pulled away strings of seared meat along white chunks of protein, shovelling it into his mouth and disregarding all table manners.
“OH_MY_GOD_ARTFUL_THE_FISH_CANNOT_BE_THAT_GOOD!” Badware whined, witnessing his friend spiral into pure debauchery!
“…are you saving the metal you utilise for ingurgitation for last?” Harken inquired. Artful paused his Pursuer imitation to respond to that. “We don’t eat knives or forks Harken.”
Then, the telephone started ringing. Their dusty, old, archaic telephone that Badware had purposely severed the connection to, was ringing. Everyone curiously, yet slowly, turned their heads towards the line, Harken cowered in on herself at the noise, and Artful immediately stood up from his seat and walked over to where it hung on the wall, hooked his gloved fingers greased with salmon oil under the sleek red plastic of the phone, and picked it up.
“Hello?” He spoke into the phone.
No one answered.
Artful looked back at the others, who were all watching him, and the phone. Killdroid shrugged his shoulders, armour and metal plates clanking together, and Badware made a little gesture with his claws, mimicking a phone and chattering face – JUST_ANSWER_BACK_YOU_STUPID_FRENCHIE! God Artful could already imagine what he would’ve said if there wasn’t this palpable air suffocating all of them and filling their lungs with stupid-wuss gas!
Artful’s hung his head “Good evening to whoever may be on the phone.”
“Is this Mr. Cheese?”
Artful recognised the person who spoke on the phone within an instant, his singular, usually closed eye, widened: it was the caretaker from the hospital! He replied, fixing his posture, “Oh yes certainly it is Jean, is there anything of the matter?”
There was a bit of shuffling on the other end of the line before the caretaker responded again, “Ah yes, under your name is a patient named Pretence, if I’m correct, Mr. Cheese?”
Oh no, this wasn’t good.
Artful gulped a very big gulp and pressed on, beginning to fiddle with his breast pocket stuffed with a linen handkerchief. “Yes Pretence is my…”
The others noticed the magician’s sudden shift in demeanour.
“Son.”
Oops he panicked. Pursuer raised an eyebrow at him, or like, the ridge of his eyebrow bone because Pursuer was bald. Pretence was not Artful’s son, but the deal was sealed and now he had a stone statue for a child in his legal records under the name of Mr. Cheese.
Artful gulped again. “How is his health looking, doctor?”
“Your son Pretence is unfortunately brain-dead. We sent him in for an MRI scan and the results came back that he has no brain activity, in fact, it looked like he didn’t even have a brain in the first place, no offense.” The caretaker didn’t give time for Artful to process what happened before they continued. “He is entering critical organ failure too, I don’t know how we’ve reached this conclusion, he doesn’t have any organs either. So please, come quick. You have a do not resuscitate order on him, and I am afraid there’s only so much we can do to help your son.”
The phone call was cut short before Artful could ask any more inquiries. His head low, his shoulders loose, he looked back to the others and placed the phone back into the telephone box. He didn’t know any other way to put it, so he simply said. “Guys. We need to leave. Immediately.”
None of the others moved from the table, despite the urgency within Artful’s words. Badware even had the audacity to ask, “WHY?”
“It’s Pretence.” No further words needed. That got everyone moving. Pursuer fell out of his chair, long black limbs all over the place, as Badware and Harken dashed towards the trapdoor exit of their base. Killdroid clunkily followed after, his moves were slow and methodical for someone so ungraceful and predictable. One by one, they all scrambled up the ladder and Killdroid shut the trapdoor to their base. Very covert, hidden under bunches of leaves that was thrown on to disguise it as just scenery. The snow today covered up the base even more, and fresh tracks were left behind as the five of them trudged through the tundra.
They then all piled into their very discreet car parked right outside of their base, like five metres away from the trapdoor. It was given a fresh coat of yellow paint and was a huge achievement of Pursuer’s after he’d murdered an entire group of teenagers who believed some ‘NO THROUGH ROAD’ bullshit or whatever – all roads led somewhere!
Badware, Killdroid and Harken squeezed into the back seats, Pursuer called shotgun and Artful slipped into the driver’s seat. He was the only one with a drivers licence, or body slight enough to fit into the seat and drive comfortably.
He turned the car on, pulled it out of parking, and drove off. It was steep, the road, at first, but eventually it levelled out and they were on the main highway, having travelled from a little village that didn’t get vehicles often and had civilians staring at their method of transport like it was unfathomable in this year. Artful did get anxious on the highway, he wasn’t sure the last time he had sped this fast, and he wasn’t sure how to read every instance of micro cues as either aggression or indicators to overtake or slow down.
The highway they were on dissolved into a round-about, that then led to an immense bridge, with enormous support beams that disappeared into the sky above, and lots of lanes with cars of a variety of models and colours. The traffic on the bridge, partially due to the weather and hysteria, was horrible. Only they moved a couple centi-metres a few minutes, and gosh, was that car in front of them indicating because they were about to overtake, or was it because they thought Artful was bad driving?
“[YOU ARE DOING TREMENDOUS, ARTFUL.]” Killdroid assured him.
Okay if the robot was approving of this he was doing well. His posture straightened upwards, he loosened his grip on the steering wheel (since when was he gripping it so strong?) and he pulled back the rear-view mirror.
Only for his eye to land on a truck carrying multiple cars. The car carrier, heading his direction, sped up on the highway, no signs of stopping!!
“Merde!-“The damn car carrier collided into the car. Right after Killdroid had told him he was doing well. Great. Their boot was totalled.
And just when things couldn’t get any better, he heard police sirens emerging from the distance of honking and a snow tundra battering against the tinted window till he heard knocking against the thick glass.
“Sir, you are under arrest.” The police officer said as Artful rolled down the tinted window. The blinding light from outside made him wince, white streaking in. He still wasn’t use to the light, his eyes were adjusting to the brightness of the outside world though. The magician was offended though and gasped at the sudden claim. “For what?? The car crashed into ME!”
“For evading arrest, and for at least 50 counts of murder.” Oh right, that incident. Artful kind of forgot he was a wanted criminal on the run. didn’t have any more time to think as the police officer was now trying to wrestle Artful out of the car, grasping him tightly by the wrists and pulling him out of the driver’s seat. The others sat still.
“DO_YOU_THINK_IF_WE_SIT_STILL_THEY_WON’T_NOTICE_US.” The virus whispered, the construct shrugged. The governmental prototype didn’t say anything.
The monster had other things to say though! “Shut the fuck up Badware.”
“WOAH_WHAT????” Badware’s head whipped around to Pursuer in the front seat. And like nothing happened, Pursuer did what Pursuer did best. “…Fresh meat ahhhh.”
It was weird, those moments of sapience that confused the other killers from Pursuer. Sometimes, Pursuer made it obvious he wasn’t just some rabid animal they had managed to tame, through his understanding of the world. Artful’s hands were behind his back, but luckily one of the guards weakened their grip, and he seized the opportunity and broke free. He grasped at his wand locked in the jaw of one of the police dogs.
“Ah putain, qui s'en- JUST MAKE A RUN FOR IT!!” Artful yelled, wrestling his wand from a police dog and clubbing an officer in the jaw with it.
The old hag yelped and was sent flying across the floor, and the other offices took that as an immediate declaration of resisting arrest, pulling out their own weapons and radioing for backup upon realising Artful wasn’t alone in the car. The others didn’t have to hear that twice; they all climbed out of the wreckage of the vehicle and began to sprint down the highway at top speed, lurching forward, hearing only the thrum of their beating hearts – or pulsating cores… that one’s for robot inclusivity – against the harsh wind and snow.
The bridge thudded underneath their presence, tracks of little footsteps appearing in the snow, and the civilians who had gotten out of their cars to take a look at what had happened froze in fear, some even clambering back in or running as far as possible from the scene, as they witnessed five highly wanted, very dangerous killers just… fleeing?
It was hardly possible to believe! But yes, innocent bystanders mildly annoyed by the traffic had all their fears washed away in an instant watching the little lonely club stride out in the middle of the road. The others did their best to avoid the cars, but Harken, oh she was angry all right - Artful knew it wasn’t anger, but the way she presented it could only read to a feeble-minded civilian as anger - she slammed cars and squashed them in her path and left destruction in her wake as she hastened along.
Badware’s clunky body made the ground tremble underneath his vessel, and he groaned, and whined, before purposely staggering and leaning onto Killdroid, slowing him down and dragging him with him. Killdroid huffed, in a way only a robot could make that noise and slowed down to an eventual stop.
Annoyed, he held his hands out and Badware, a smug face displayed on his cracked screen, very much so happily draped himself into Killdroid’s arms, as at a rapid speed, Killdroid’s jetpack powered on, and just like that, they were gone in an instance with only the smell of burning oil and a burn mark on the ground to prove of their existence in the first place.
A particular couple whose place was unfortunately near the back of the jam, far away from the original wreckage, cradled their crying kid in their car, locked, and observed from the window as they gazed Harken’s massive arms swinging back and forwards as she clumsily ran across the concrete of the road, and as she left their vision it then fell upon Pursuer giving up on staying bipedal and planting his hands onto the ground, before taking off at even faster speed before, rapidly catching up with Killdroid and Badware in the front.
Artful was being left behind, he could see his so-called friend’s disappearing silhouettes in the distance, their vibrant and outstanding colours fading into the black and white monotone world surrounding them and maybe included him. The bridge seemed endless, the rows of cars merging into a stream of dancing hues that lined his vision as his feet pounded against the ground. He could hear the police barking at him to stop as his coattail fluttered in the breeze. The music box he had conjured to aid him was quickly losing power too as his top velocity slowed down.
Really, Artful had started all of this because he didn’t want to be forgotten, left behind in a colourless world – he used his shows to bring colour to the environment around him, and because he loved watching the joy in people’s faces light up their once bored expressions upon his magic tricks and performances.
Is this how it ends?
The overlapping noises, they blend together. Colours were blurring into nothing. And suddenly his foot slipped and Artful’s face was scraping against hot concrete stained with his blood, he managed to land against one of the tracks and had no snow to cushion his fall. His wand rolled from his clutch, and he waited for the police to forcefully pin his hands to the small of his back.
A police officer was on top of him, grabbing at his wrists and yelling at him as he begged with cracked bloody lips and makeup running down his face.
…
Kaboom!
A missile to the face quickly ended the man’s life, an explosion silencing his scream as the world around them was blinded in a bright white that shook the Earth around them for a second before Killdroid tossed away the body and let it crumple into the ground, curled in a puddle of life. That scared off the other police officers for a bit, as they warily backed off from the rogue machine. The magician on the ground was sat up now, shaking while positioning himself using his wobbly arms.
A happy whir came from the robot, and a metal hand was extended out. The magician hesitated for a moment, but then reached forward and grasped at him tightly, hoisting himself off the barren ground and brushing off the dirt off his clothes. He fixed his crooked top-hat on top of his head and brandished his wand again.
He… came back?
Killdroid recalibrated for a bit and grabbed at the magician. He didn’t have to pinch himself to clarify that it wasn’t a dream.
He came back!
Suddenly, Artful yelped as he was swept off his feet. Killdroid was preparing to take flight again, jetpack thrumming to life once again, feet steadying against the ground and tightening his sleek artillery strapped across his body. The rogue government machine kept Artful tucked securely underneath his arm, who could only hold onto the machine’s torso for dear life as he felt Killdroid’s heavy feet leave the ground, and they were challenging the sound barrier with how quickly Killdroid was flying.
The cars underneath them looked so small and obsolete, the police were long-gone and Artful could appreciate the intricate snowflakes at a better altitude like this.
They crash-landed at the hospital in a ball of metal and flesh that rolled along in the white snow. Pursuer, Harken and Badware had waited by the entrance of the hospital, and upon the arrival of the other two, wasted no time in busting down the door and storming past reception and down the corridor. Staff and patients froze and could only stare, limbs locked and eyes wide, as the group made their way through the crowded hallway.
Badware was stopped by a man who had stepped in front of the virus, arms defensively at his sides.
Did this guy seriously not recognise who he was speaking to?
“Hey you can’t push in line I was here-“
“OUT_OF_THE_WAY_BIGGIE!” Badware landed a kick square in the middle of the man’s chest, and he was sent flying across the waiting room, crashing into one of the ER rooms as the others made haste. Metal, limestone, and the obvious clicking of Artful’s heels carried along them, running up the multiple flights of stairs that had the magician knackered by the time they were at the correct floor. Pursuer had to carry him the last steps, a little friendly piggy-back that had the magician death-gripping the neck of the gangly monster.
They didn’t even give warning, Harken busted open the doors with all her might. The double-doors swung and hit the walls; there was impression of cracks running down the sleek design. The cabinets shook open and medication fell onto the floor.
Artful recognised the caretaker in the room, they all did. It was the same caretaker that couldn’t get Artful’s proper civilian last name correct, so he had substituted in ‘cheese’ just to make the caretaker’s life a bit easier. Their gentle face was frowning, sympathetic, as they were peeling and replacing the old electrodes on the patient’s body. Everyone’s eyes, they lingered on the EKG monitor as it gained life.
The EKG monitor thumped, and thumped, and thumped so slowly it felt like the world would freeze every time the little signal ceased activity. And connected to the EKG monitor was… Pretence.
One thing that was commendable about the poor boy’s scene was that the surgeons had done an excellent job of restoration, considering that when they were gifted the bag of his remains, it was just a fine powder and six little joints. You could see cracks where the stone was ceasing its strength, hastily bandaged in gauze that served no other purpose but aesthetics and temporarily bonding – a statue doesn’t bleed! Or does it? The remaining parts of his body were wrapped in casts, his leg was raised by a net, and his head was hooked up to several electroencephalophones that all displayed the same thing: no brain activity to be found!
“…no…. it can’t- I-…” Harken rushed to Pretence’s side. The caretaker let her, stepping aside for the other killers to follow (the caretaker did not know who these people where, because the caretaker lived under a rock, but since they seemed to care a lot for the patient, the caretaker violated their training code and let these strangers fondle their patient on the bed). Badware and Killdroid assessed Pretence’s condition from the other side of the railing. Pursuer lurked into the corner, and Artful took his hat off.
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know if he’s going to wake up at all.”
The caretaker sighed, placing down the clipboard. “His death may be inevitable.”
Badware covered his mouth in shock, Killdroid held him by the shoulder, and Harken trembled, limestone ligaments shifting around in her body’s structure. You could barely hear her over the beeping of all the machinery with tangling vessels. “…please Pretence, I can’t lose you either…”
“[THERE MUST BE SOMETHING POSSIBLE.]” Killdroid declared. [“IF MY AUTONOMY ALLOWS FOR IT; I CHOOSE TO BELIEVE ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE FOR IDENTIFIED TARGET [CRITICAL HEALTH]: PRETENCE.]”
“We are able to offer one final treatment plan that we are unsure will work but is our last penultimate option before we have to close out on all life support options.” The kind caretaker said.. “Mr. Cheese?”
“Hello- hi, I’m Mr. Cheese.” Artful perked up from where he was standing next to Pursuer, who sat on one of the waiting room chairs in the room, idly looking at his unsheathed sword, dulling, and full of scratches.
“Oh! Your Mr. Cheese? Mr. Cheese is tan, and you are white with a-“
“I AM WHITE BECAUSE I AM STRESSED.” Artful reprimanded angrily. From his hat, he shoved his arm deep into the seemingly endless hole, before with a puff of magic billowing from the hole, pulling out a thick wad of cash and carelessly throwing it at the caretaker. “You’ve told me over the phone that my son could die at any moment, and you here question the colour of my skin? Just give him that damn treatment and take all my money!”
“I’m sorry Mr. Cheese we cannot accept embezzled funds from the bank.” They politely declined, pushing away at the stack of money Artful had gave them. Stupid idiot forgot to take off the very big tag attached to the notes that said in bold: PROPERTY OF ROBLOXIA BANK! The caretaker was about to phone in backup, when a huge, and oh I mean huge, bag of money struck the caretaker in the head and had them toppling to the ground. The money seemed real, not counter-feit, and the culprit to who owned all this was… Pursuer? Who did nothing but growl out “Crypto.” When the others gave him questioning looks.
With a long finger, Pursuer pointed at the stone statue in the hospital bed. “Treatment. Now. Or else.”
The caretaker scratched at their bald, shiny bald, reflecting the cold white light of the sterile hospital room, bald head before they graciously accepted the monster’s payment and headed out the door.
For the next few hours – and explaining the heartbreaking story of Pretence’s hospitalisation to the law officers, who, surprisingly, let the group of killers off the loose ‘for now’ – the group waited outside of the operating room. Artful’s head was in his hands, manspreading on the hospital’s waiting room chairs while Pursuer took the time to learn English through magazines and tabloids left on the tables for consumption – the big flashy typography and the models on the front was enough to draw him in, and now he was ranking each model by how good they would taste with Badware. Killdroid sat, rigid, unyielding. And oh, Harken, poor Harken was wide-eyed, didn’t speak a single word to the others for the entire six hours they had waited outside that medical room.
Eventually Pursuer had finished all the tabloids, Badware began to pester Killdroid, Artful’s back started hurting from the pose he was hitting and Harken remained mute, hands folded in her lap as she stared at the clock hanging on the wall above the double-doors that led to another corridor of untimely patients.
It read 4am.
Artful was beginning to fall asleep in his own hands when he heard a voice. They all heard the voice. Badware and Killdroid perked up, Pursuer startled and nearly fell off his chair, and Harken… she didn’t move.
“Hello everyone?”
It was the caretaker! The caretaker stood outside of the room. Everybody was awakened immediately, the exhaustion riddling their bodies evaporating within an instant as they crowded around the poor overwhelmed and tired doctor. They (Badware) pestered them with questions about Pretence, they (Pursuer) poked at them, and they (Harken) eventually gave them space for them to delegate the news. The good news that Pretence survived and would make a miraculous recovery! Right?
“…I am sorry for your loss.” Oh. “But Pretence did not survive the surgery.”
The only noise audible was the fluorescent hum of the sterile lighting of the hospital hallway. It only truly hit them exactly two minutes and thirty-two seconds later.
Sobbing, Badware clutched at Killdroid, slumping all 200kg of his weight onto the governmental prototype The computer head was hidden into the shoulder occupied by a rocket launcher as Killdroid pet Badware’s back. “OH_KILLDROID! HE’S_REALLY_GONE! AND_IT’S_ALL_MY_FAULT!”
“[ROBLOXIA NEEDS TO REVOKE LICENSES.]” Was all Killdroid replied back with. Pursuer’s eyes were blown wide, the dilated black pupil taking up the entirety of his eyes as he sat back, and thought, a really hard thought. He never had a thought like this before. What was grieving to a person anyway? A monster never had to grieve; he pursued. Shall he pursue grief? (Of course he know what grief was, but he didn’t let the others know that side of vulnerability). The caretaker gathered up the courage to speak again: “If anyone would like to see him, you may enter the hospital room-“
Harken was shoving past the caretaker there and then upon hearing those words, elbowing her way into the room. The others followed suite, and Artful held open the door for the caretaker to step inside too.
“…Pretence please wake up…” Her soft hands grasped loosely around Pretence’s concrete own. Her singular eye was open. Sand was being lost at an alarming rate, loosening off Harken’s limbs and piling around her, individual grains that gleamed the cold cruel hospital light and shone softly. “…don’t leave me…”
“PUTAIN!!!” With all his might, Artful turned to the nearest wall and slammed at the concrete with his fist.
Then he winced and cradled it, he cannot punch wall. How do those punch civilians do it so effortlessly and flawlessly whenever he manages to corner them then?
Pursuer kept silent; talking wasn’t his strongest forte anyway.
“Pretence wrote a letter to you guys.” The caretaker said. They were trying to relieve the heaviness of the room. There was a crumpled-up ball of paper in cup of their hands that they handed to Harken, resuming their neutral position at the corner of the bed next to the all the machines.
Harken tried to open the letter, she really did, but her hands that moved on their own didn’t allow for her to do so, and she ended up tossing the note at Artful. She couldn’t do it.
And so, Artful carefully unfurled the letter. He cleared his throat and read out Pretence’s last words. The stone statue’s handwriting was barely legible, but since Artful was French, and also had terrible handwriting, he could read it with ease.
--
To my friends:
Hi hi hi!!!! I wrote this while I was in a coma! D’ya believe that? Of course you don’t!
Orrr maybe I did? Who knows! You’ll never know when I wrote this letter, because I won’t tell you.
If you want answers, try finding that one Paranoy guy. He visited me in my dreams the other night. He said he’s like a messenger! He told me to tell you guys that he is a very nice guy, and that he only wants to free people of Tomorrow.
Do you guys know what Tomorrow is? Because I do! (I don’t!)
I wrote this with my fingers. Dedicated this letter to my favourite people in the world – that one wasn’t a LIE that time I truly do love you all!
I love all of you equally… unequally actually, I think Harken is leagues above you guys. She’s the best! She’s so kind, and strong, and I will be by her side for as long as I am not hospitallsied!
The rest of you guys are… fine I guess. You’re all spectacular in your own ways, and that’s truly admirable. Imagine all having some same ability like how useless would that be? LOL
This letter is from Pretence, the next upcoming addition!
I hope when I wake up! I can be a killer too! Just like you all! I told Paranoy that was my dream.
--
The letter was swiftly folded and stuffed into the breast pocket of Artful’s waistcoat, Harken couldn’t bear to hear the last words of her lover, and even Badware had nothing remarkable to say about the situation.
“Would you, uhm, sir, would you, would you like his remains to be cremated?” The caretaker asked. They couldn’t see Artful’s eyes past the brim of his black hat and gulped nervously as Artful remained still. The magician then shook his head. The tension was uneasy.
“No, we’d like his body back.” Artful simply replied. He quickly bowed after. “Thank you for your service.”
“O-oh! Okay! I’ll go sort out the paperwork right away, Mr. Cheese.” The caretaker said, before hurriedly leaving the room, leaving the group of killers in a state of mess as they turned the corner in the corridor and pushing their whole-body weight into the double-swinging doors, and they were gone, just like that.
Artful looked the caretaker’s way where they had vanished, and then back to the disorderly conduct his friends were in. Harken fully leant over the bed where Pretence’s lifeless body was laid in, gold was seeping out of her eyes and onto Pretence’s lifeless body, as Badware wept digital tears into Killdroid’s shoulder, who held him close. Pursuer was situated on the other side of the hospital bed across from Harken, a solemn look for once on his usually wide grin, that closed overtime till his mouth fell into a frown unfit for his face.
Artful leant against the wall of the cramped hospital room. Things truly felt so small.
The next day was Pretence’s funeral.
They were able to retrieve the body from the hospital through their sheer influence (the staff were more than likely afraid of Harken’s wrath upon hearing the wreckage she had caused on the way out of sheer passionate and deadly love) and began to make do with what they had.
The group had sourced out an abandoned church and held his funeral there.
“Well there it be!” Artful had exclaimed.
Without looking up at the others, and before Artful could get another word in, Harken elbowed past them and pushed open the doors to the church, and the immense amount of strength she possessed shook the fragile walls and caused the forgotten organ to groan. There was the isle, the church seats, and the pedestal along with an open area near the front. The construct’s arms returned to where they had been at her side, and the others glanced at one another as Killdroid began moving the coffin he’d been carrying down the aisle. His heavy footsteps clicked against the tiled isle, carpet tearing and revealing the dull ceramic underneath, as he dragged the wooden casket along.
They had done the easy part of assembling his coffin out of fallen lumber – and ‘they’ as in Artful again because no one else on the team knew shit about construction – and everyone had watched as Harken lowered Pretence’s stone-cold body into the casket. His eyes were open, they were always open, it was unbearable when Killdroid closed the casket and nailed it shut.
Artful gave his grievances out first. His head was low; he took his hat off his head and held it against his chest. His face was unreadable. “I could never understand your intentions… but I knew you always meant good through your deceitful acts, and for that, I thank the time you spent with us. Adieu, bon ami. Ce n'est qu'un au revoir.”
Pursuer’s lanky body shuffled into Artful’s place, and he did what only Pursuer could do best: “Ahhh fresh meat :(, Pretence best non fresh meat.”
Badware had stood at the pedestal for some time, no expression on his screen, before his voice echoed through the church at an unbearable level. “ALTHOUGH_IN_THE_CAMBRIDGE_DICTIONARIES_PRETENCE_MEANS: {“A WAY OF BEHAVING THAT IS INTENDED TO DECEIVE PEOPLE”};_PRETENCE_IN_THE_BETTER_(MORE_EPIC)_DICTIONARY_WRITTEN_BY_BADWARE,_IT_MEANS: {“ONE OF THE COOLEST PEOPLE I’VE EVER HAD THE PLEASURE OF SHARING A ROOM WITH.} YOU_WERE_TOO_COOL_FOR_THIS_WORLD;_REST_EASY, MY_FAVOURITE_DUMMY.”
“…I’ll carry your memories with me…” Harken had softly spoken, her already low voice cracking into a level of noise almost inaudible if the church wasn’t so quiet. Her gaze was locked onto the closed casket. “…you’ll never be forgotten…”
Killdroid stood next to the coffin, on the pedestal and, for once, quietened the constant buzzing of his engine – he was entering low power mode. The abandoned church was as silent as it could be, and, presumably when Killdroid was going to read his regards for Pretence, instead: “[TWO HOSTILE UNIDENTIFABLE FIGURES NOT REGISTERED IN DATABASE LOCATED BEHIND IDENTIFIED FIGURE: HARKEN.]”
The others immediately turned their attention and there, sat behind uncomfortably voiceless Harken were two unknown people, just, lounging on the long church chairs as if they were one of the group’s own. The gigantic robot, with a sword sticking out of its head, and a body compromised of mostly squares and wires, similar to Badware, sat rigidly against the seat and didn’t seem to notice the others staring at its marvellous and sudden appearance. The other was a purplish man with strikingly bad posture, a helmet hanging low over his head with a glowing white, side-ways face and an arm attached to a massive cannon resting on its side, leant back against the seat with his legs crossed and lips pulled into a smile.
Artful’s face quirked, eyebrow raising. He brandished his wand, just in case, “Ah, come again, who are you two?”
The purple man cocked his head at Artful and smirked, “And just who are you?”
“But, weeeee- killers, here. Claim territory.” Pursuer growled in broken English, wielding his beloved sword and pointing with the sharp edge at the purple man’s neck. He, with the builder man’s helmet pulled over his eyes, feigned innocence and waved his one normal arm, “Woah, take it easy there lad. We mean no harm. Plus, you don’t own this place, it’s free reign.”
Killdroid appeared out of nowhere, having stepped down from the altar at some point without no one realising. A great big hand of metal tightly wrapped around the purple man’s neck, and he was pressed into the church bench’s headrest. Squeezing tighter, he demanded on the behalf of Harken. “[STATE YOUR PURPOSE.]”
“Can’t a man and his robot friend also grieve?” The purple man casually stated. It was like he didn’t understand the turmoil of grieving in the first place.
Offended, Badware spoke up. Harsh static laced his voice as his emotions were getting the better of him. “YOU_DIDN’T_EVEN_KNOW_THE_GUY!”
“S-S-SPEAKING OF WHICH,” The robot words fizzled out at first. It drew out from behind their back a woven basket of thread, filled to the brim with boxes. “W-W-W-WE BROUGHT GIFTS.”
“…Aren’t those for weddings?” Artful inquired, raising an eyebrow. His mask, the black mask he always wore, disapproved. “Or like, any other special occasion? That seems a bit insensitive right now.”
“Funeral gifts.” The both of them said, in sync. They high fived each other for that. The other killers didn’t know what to say, they were so disrespectful! Their friend just died and they were out here treating it like it was some public court room. However, Harken shrugged her shoulders and pitifully sighed, “…let them stay…”
The mysterious robot’s arm winded like a crane and extended out in a show of flourishment. “Y-Y-YOU HEARD HER!”
“Mr. OB, by the way. Lovely chap to the right of me is Tootdle.” He gestured to the left of him. Tootdle gave a little wave.
“[YOU ARE PERIMITTED TO STAY FOR THE DURATION OF PRETENCE’S FUNERAL BY LADY HARKEN, BUT AFTER, YOU MUST EVACUATE THE PREMISES OR BE SUSCEPTIBLE TO THE LIABILITES AND CONSEQUENCES OF OVERSTAYING YOUR WELCOME.]” Killdroid stated, arms ready at his rocket launchers resting on his shoulders, clearly a warning. Mr. OB bowed his head, and since the beginning of the conversation, smiled. “Thank you, sir, we will enjoy our stay and grieve along you. Misery loves company after all.”
“[WE WILL BE PROCEEDING WITH THE FUNERAL THEN: HELP US MOVE THE COFFIN.]” He commanded.
Mr. OB grinned and saluted at Killdroid, a welcome change to the group’s dynamic: “Sir, yes sir!”
After Killdroid had read out his eulogy, Mr. OB and Tootdle helped Killdroid and Badware lower Pretence’s casket into the shallow grave Pursuer had dug with his bare hands. The headstone was entirely done by Harken: sculpted to perfection, a beautiful mess of geometric patterns resembling similarities to Fableheaven each meticulously calculated.
Artful had chosen the flowers to leave at his grave for the first time round: a bunch of yellow orchids – it was nothing to do with the language of flowers Harken had pressed him on earlier about rather angrily about - he’d never seen such rage in her eyes directed straight at HIM, well apart from the first time they had met - it was more just the simple basic meaning orchids held to Artful, being a gorgeous flower masterful at deceit and trickery for their ability to steal from those around it when it was young, then when nurtured into maturity blossoming into an indescribable force of beauty and deception. (Maybe that was a bit of a mistake, seeing that yellow orchids in this non-verbal language meant to Harken meant joy… Artful had to swear up and down that the yellow was for the colour Pretence’s ball joints and his stated favourite colour.)
Everyone grieved together. They held each other tight. The evening sun was slowly lowering in the distance, clouds forming over the once-empty sky and precipitation sagging the cloud’s grey till it began to rain on the scene.
If you squinted hard enough, maybe you could make out the eighth person next to everyone, who, for once in his existence surrounded by mystery, hysteria and paranoia, he bowed his head towards the grave of someone he had come to respect after watching him for some time. They were both equivalent in their deception, and he was disappointed at what could’ve been.
Eventually, Mr. OB and Tootdle had to depart. Mr. OB gave Artful his number, telling him to phone if ya need some hands to help y’all out there, ‘cuz government’s getting a bit handsy with their security lately.
It was night, the moon was out, and Artful was feeling uneasy.
Harken was knelt in front of the headstone, unmoving. She had been for the past hours.
Pursuer disappeared into the darkness of the night, having turned invisible and declaring his search for ‘fresh meat’. Badware wanted to stay for a bit longer, wanting to keep Harken company, but Killdroid (entirely on his own accord) advised the both of them to go back to base, as they weren’t waterproof and could malfunction in the rain. Ultimately, the virus agreed, and the two of them left together.
Even he too had left. He no longer stood by the gravestone. Whether Artful was imagining it or not.
“Please, madame, we can visit tomorrow. I think you need some rest.” He pleaded with her, a gloved hand, soaked with tears, blood and salmon oil, grabbed at her shoulder. It disconnected and crumbled in his grasp. He didn’t mean to, but when he lifted his hand again, it reconfigured into the plate sitting above her arm.
“…” She relented finally, leaving the ground and rising taller than Artful. He led the way back home.
Artful was worried she was susceptible to rain damage in a way, everyone in the group didn’t like the rain. He didn’t like how his clothes sagged with rainwater and that he needed to wash them again, the robots would cease function if a pinch of salt ever got into their circuitry, and Pursuer was just a little stuck-up predator who didn’t want to shower. Harken was made of limestone and sand,
The next day, Artful took the rest of the killers out – what for? Delicious bloodshed. He figured that it would put the others in a better mood to slaughter to displace their emotions into something that wasn’t their killer base – seriously, Artful didn’t need to wake up to half the potted plants he and Killdroid had installed to be toppled over, PURSUER.
That town they drove through the day they visited Pretence in the hospital? Yeah, they were wiped off the face of the planet – Killdroid specifically wanted to target them, because they ‘looked at him funny’ through the window. Artful was always curious about that, Killdroid’s personal grudges he held for seemingly ages, that was a unique part of humanity he wasn’t aware robots could have, the traitorous backstabbing and revenge that came with holding grudges with a lack of an open mind.
Badware said that his virus’ influence nurtured sentience… hopefully that was true.
When they returned, mood didn’t seem to be high, it might’ve dropped a little more, to be honest.
All of them stared at the spot Pretence would’ve been, on that old cushion next to the rocking chair. He would’ve risen from it and welcomed them home, with his intense silence. His winning smile… where could it have gone?
Right, six feet buried under.
Artful paused. He didn’t realise how much of an impact Pretence had on his life, even if he couldn’t speak. Maybe it was that saying he learnt in literature class: actions spoke louder than words? Perhaps?
Harken wept uncontrollably. It was so sudden, she burst into tears upon the group having entered their base. The spear, covered in blood, guts, and other human remains, slipped from her grasp and rolled away into the dark of their dim home as she collapsed to the floor. Her limbs were losing its shape, and if you glanced at the pile, it may have just looked like no person made of sand existed at all. Badware tried to console her, but he really wasn’t the person fit for it, as she sank further into herself and cried even more.
Pursuer rested on the couch, staring at the ceiling, the most human he’s felt in ages. He didn’t dare look at that cushion.
All was quiet in the base, the four remaining killers were sat in a circle with one another, simply chatting about Mr. Sulphur and guessing what he would do next, which seemed to be accurate thanks to Killdroid’s close connection to the president.
“[HE MADE ME CALL HIM DAD.]” The rogue machine had gritted out, the static in his voice growing thicker at the resentment of that statement that had his lov- I mean, had his friend keening over laughing himself silly.
Even Artful held his laughter and Pursuer’s wide grin somehow became even wider as his eyes thinned in a way meant to say ‘Oh really?’
Killdroid continued on further. “[IT WAS MOST CERTAINLY UNPLEASANT.]
The cushion Pretence loved was untouched. Y’know, it was yellow, just like the person he loved best, his favourite colour.
The very serious team discussion Artful had started angled into talking about the government’s dirty little secrets that the virus took great interest in – it was most definitely Badware’s fault they had derailed into such a topic. Badware was about to pester Killdroid for more dirty secrets about the president when Harken came crashing into the base, her mangled form lowering from the trapdoor and sliding down the ladder. She slammed it shut violently and slammed her foot against the ground in unnatural fashion, causing Artful’s rocking chair to swing back and forth erratically.
Harken’s eye was shut, but her head was in pieces. The extreme energy of her emotions was visible through the vibrating pieces of limestone that floated into the slightly recognizable shape of her head.
“…sorry…” was the only thing she had said to the group, before shoving past them towards their personal quarters, completely toppling over Artful’s stack of cards he was fiddling around with on the floor. The door to the corridor nearly breaking when she closed it was enough to tell the others she was gone, and that her emotions were definitely brewing inside of her, and Artful released his breath that he didn’t realise he was holding in her suppressing presence.
“HEY_DUDE, NO_PRESSURE,_BUT_YOU_SHOULD_CHECK_UP_ON_HARKEN.” Badware quipped, his computer head laying against the arm of the couch and peering up at Artful. “I_WOULD,_BUT_I_KNOW_I’M_NOT_REALLY_FIT_FOR_THAT_CONSOLATION_THERAPY_FRIEND_TYPE_ROLE, AND_I_THINK_YOU’D_BE_WAYYY_BETTER_AT_IT_THAN_ME.”
Artful sighed, sinking further into the rocking chair.
Badware then snuggled closer to Killdroid, who did nothing to push away the other robot happily curling into his arm, in fact he seemed to be nudging him closer and closing his fingers around his waist (Killdroid would never admit to that though, really, a robot having feelings? So Artful bit his tongue).
“Yeah you should check up on her, I heard her sobbing earlier before she left to Pretence’s grave and I think she needs a friend right now.” Pursuer added on, sat on the floor sharpening his sword.
Everyone locked onto Pursuer.
Pursuer realised his mistake and growled out. “I mean- ahhh fresh meat! Harken sad Pretence dead! Harken… not feeling OK?”
“…” Artful squinted at Pursuer, whose queasy face made it obvious he was sweating bullets. His blunt teeth peeked from his open grin… the bioluminescence of his teeth and eyes was slightly visible in the dim lighting of their underground bunker now that the fire was burning dim.
Artful didn’t push it further, and sharply turned on his heel towards Harken’s room, situated near his, in fact.
“[TARGET HARKEN [IDENTIFIED STATUS: TRUSTWORTHY] LOCATED IN PRETENCE’S PERSONAL QUARTERS.” Killdroid blurted as soon as Artful was about to push open the door to the shared tight corridor.
Artful turned another 180 degrees sharply on his heel and headed the other way to where Pretence’s room was, near the bending hallway where Pursuer and Killdroid’s rooms were. He managed to say a little, “Thanks.” On his way over, moving past the couch were the two robots sat with each other.
Pursuer and Killdroid’s rooms were easy to identify, being that the former’s door was covered in scratch marks near the knob where he most likely struggled to turn the door handle with his gangly fingers, while the latter’s was just straight up gone. Blown clean off its hinges. Artful gripped his nose bridge and sighed heavily, muttering an insult in French under his breath. He just installed a new one last week! Always taking the construction worker for granted…
Pretence’s room was the last one to the right of the magician, perfectly unscathed, not a single flaw even in the coat of paint the magician had remembered remarking proudly about when he was first screwing on the hinges for Pretence’s room. Artful had never been in Pretence’s room - it’s not like Pretence had ever asked anyone to stay out of his room on purpose, it was more so just out of respect. So this would be the first time in seeing what exactly Pretence had done.
Gently, he opened the door…
Pretence’s room was surprisingly, very still. Everything in there was grey, multiple varieties of the colour, and was made out of concrete that was sharply shaped out in spikes across the walls, floor, and ceiling. Metal infrastructure was poking in and out, almost akin to it having no-clipped and stuck weirdly in the middle of the room, similar to the type Artful would’ve found on bridges having worked on previous grand projects he was assigned to. In the corner was a concrete square most likely resembling a bed, and on that concrete square was Harken. Unmoving.
Often times, whenever Artful was on the verge of collapsing and losing his sanity, Harken was by his side and comforted him till he was lax enough to fall asleep within her presence. Out of all the group, she was the easiest to let your feelings loose around, maybe it was her timid nature, or the grief she’s already been through, but she was a very secure figure within Artful’s life that gave him solace whenever she was around him and was always pleasant to talk to.
Now Artful’s going to be the one to return the favour.
He stepped forward, one foot indent at a time for a few seconds before placing the other down, in case Harken wanted him gone.
Harken didn’t move.
In fact, it seemed like nothing in the room had moved since Pretence’s death. Upon closer inspection, Artful realised the concrete square had greater depth to it than a simple cuboid with four cleanly sleek sides - there was intricacies carved into the bed, like a crumpled-up duvet folded in on itself draped over the bed, with a pillow off-centre. The bed mimicked a messy room, the last memory of Pretence. Did Pretence go through the gruelling process of carving the bed, so it was neat every time he woke up? Or was there some concrete-bending magic he possessed that no one knew about.
Pretence was a box of wonders that was too soon gone, his deceit was the last remaining thing of him.
“I’m… I’m sorry Harken.” He gently placed a hand on the firm part of Harken’s half-broken back made of limestone after reaching enough distance. She didn’t budge from the position on Pretence’s bed. “He’s… I know how much you had cared for him.”
Harken didn’t move.
“If you’d uh- like, you can talk to me about it?” Shit, he wasn’t very good at this comforting thing. And Harken’s intense silence didn’t help him either, it seemed she learnt a lot more things from Pretence than Artful had expected.
He looked away for a second, before he sucked in air through his teeth, and in an effort, opened his arms. “Would you, madame, like a hug?”
Harken didn’t move.
The magician winced at the rejection of his invitation. He understood why she would be so hesitant, maybe it was an inopportune for such type of consolation, and simply kept his mouth shut.
He went to rest his arms in his lap before Harken sharply accepted his hug, filling the space in his arms and grabbing onto him with such extreme strength it felt like he was being crushed in her own blocky arms. She may be the weakest construct, but her strength never seized to amaze Artful. Her hands were digging into the clothes on his back, and she began full on sobbing into Artful’s shoulder.
“Ah t'inquiète pas, madame, ca va aller.” Artful rubbed at her back soothingly, and that seemed to calm her down, her trembling body stabilised to a shaky and irregular breathing pattern as she held onto him tightly.. “Je suis là, là là.”
Artful noticed the sand that Harken’s body was made of would often times just fall off - he wasn’t sure why, and he wasn’t sure how her volume overtime never changed, sand was just always everywhere in every inch of his life, and he wouldn’t have it any other way - even in the tight gaps of his clothing, so long as Harken was alright.
Harken already lost her parents, her friend, and now her lover. Artful wished he could empathise with her, because he too had lost many close to him, though that was entirely all his fault, Harken didn’t do anything to have had so much pain and suffering piled onto her weak fragile body, and it was only time till she couldn’t bear the load of grief anymore and shatter int a million pieces d limestone and clumps of sand.
Without moving, Artful, with his free hand, twirled his magic wand and out of nowhere, created a music box!
He handed her the music box, and at first hesitant, but upon realising what was being offered she snatched it up within an instant.
They stayed like that for some time, the magician wasn’t sure how long, but it was nice, to be held in someone’s arms. The comfort of proximity, he missed it. The last time he remembered hugging someone was his mother. He wonders where she went. Harken clearly missed it too; it felt like if she squeezed him any tighter he would explode. The music box of his was doing tremendous things for her, he could feel her become sluggish in their hug.
“…there’s… someone there…” Artful opened his eyes, and cocked his head, confused. “…someone’s watching us…”
The magician loosened his muscles, and wriggled around in Harken’s unusually tight hold, before his eyes landed on the corner the construct’s attention was also fixated upon. The figure with the crooked head, the rusted body and the widened smile eerily familiar to the recently lost beloved statue.
“…Ignore him Harken, he’ll go away.” Artful said, and Harken, eventually, slipped her gaze away from Paranoy and back onto the music box cradled in her grip. It hummed a low vibration that put her frazzled nerves at ease, and temporarily filled a hole in her heart that would eventually scar over, just like when she had lost her first friend back in Fableheaven…
For now, she was mildly feeling better.
--
The sword was finally as sharp as Pursuer liked it, with an edge so thin and dangerous it could cut the finest of tomatoes paper-thin, a shame Pursuer didn’t like tomatoes then!
This sword meant a lot to him, being one of his first of miscellaneous trinkets he collected from those unfortunate enough to die of death and cross his territory; it was way better than displaying heads in his room. People housed a lot of weird items on them, and one by one, Pursuer would decipher each and every one of them in order to understand his human friend (singular, human friend) more.
Before he could leave to his room, however, Badware called him over. “YO_HOO! PURSUERRRR,_OVER_HERE_BIG_GUY!”
Naturally, Pursuer responded to his name and stalked over to where Badware still was, entirely in Killdroid’s personal space with his legs resting on the couch arm and head on his lap – somehow in all that time they’d spent in usual silence, he’d flipped.
Pursuer cocked his head. You could hear neck bones crunch.
“SO_ARE_WE_GOING_TO_TALK_ABOUT_THAT_SLIP_UP_EARLIER_ORRR- HEY_DON’T_RUN_FROM_YOUR_MISTAKE!” Badware whined, Pursuer’s eyes thinned into slits. “OH_I_KNOW_FOR_A_FACT_YOU’VE_GOT_MORE_INTELLIGENCE_IN_YOUR_NOGGIN_THEN_YOU_LET_ON. BUT_WHY_AROUND_US? DON’T_YOU_TRUST_US, PURSUER?”
Pursuer didn’t respond. He was caught! He slunk away, and Badware let him.
The door shut quietly.
“ANYWAYYY_KILLY~ WANNA_CUDDLE_IN_MY_ROOM_:3” The very dangerous virus capable of wiping out electronics and stimulating sentience within machinery, said to the equally very dangerous governmental prototype, that he too, cultivated sentience in.
The very dangerous governmental prototype didn’t respond for a moment, even if programmed to always respond when prompted, before a blaring alarm began to ring throughout the base. That was his form of blushing, his metal was rapidly heating up, and the very dangerous virus didn’t mind it at all. In fact, he delighted in the temperature change – he knew what was coming.
And then the very dangerous governmental prototype exploded everywhere.
The end!
