The Turning

This is an entry for the Rage 100-song playlist challenge based on this song: The Turning by Oasis. I haven't had time to edit it yet,because the deadline's today, but I will soon.

     The sun should have been hanging over the western sea, but it was hidden by the clouds of pollution. Instead, Ursapex was lit from within. From the Emperor’s palace in Sector One, along the spiral Imperial Road through the Sectors, to the industrial Sector Nine, the city was a sea of orangey-yellow and bluish-white lights floating in the eternal night. The Knights of Silence watched it all carefully from various perches, like a cat burglar outside a high window, a rich trader in Sector Six, a factory worker going about his boring routine, a common pickpocket in the alleys, and more. They waited patiently for their plan to be set in motion.
     Trest rode the decrepit elevated train home from yet another race. The rain had been almost constant recently, and the track was so slick it was a wonder Trest was still alive. It was the Emperor that ordered these races; one would think he would take some precautions to keep his conscripted drivers alive. Nah, crashes were too exciting. But tonight, Trest and his partner, Deserae, had a mission that would change all of that.
     He got off the train at the station in Sector eight, the workers’ quarters. He stuffed his hand in his pockets and kicked a can along the street. It rattled noisily, the forlorn melody against the bleak background noise of shrieks, sirens, and grinding factories. The can bounced into a shadowy corner, beyond the orange circle cast by the streetlight. Trest took a deep breath and the smoggy air made him cough. He flipped up his hood and huddled in against the cold and the rain that fell between the tall buildings.
     The tiny apartment’s grey walls greeted him with little more warmth than the damp streets. Deserae sat on a kitchen chair, clutching a mug of coffee. She looked up and smiled lovingly at him. Her face was wreathed in frizzy black hair and her eyes showed the wear and tear of working in the steel factory day in and day out. Her petite form was not suited to her line of work, but jobs were handed out pretty much randomly and people were expected to stick with them. That was one of the factors that lead to such a high rate of professional criminals. Trest stood behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. For a moment, they scanned the plain grey wall with matching worried stares. Deserae twisted around to see him better. “Are we going to do this thing or what?”
     Trest pulled out a chair, sat down, and sighed. “It’s dangerous. If it doesn’t work – heck, even if it does work – We’ll be fugitives until the day we die.” He cradled Deserae’s face in his hands. “Are you sure you want to do this? We can still call it off.”
     “It’s for the greater good,” Deserae said. She kissed him gently. “That’s why we’re here.”
     He stared into the depths of her eyes. “You’re right. But in case we don’t get back…” He leaned in and planted a kiss on her lips. Her arms went around his neck and his around her back. For a few minutes, there was nothing in the world but their love for each other.
     Deserae pulled away as Trest’s hands were starting to migrate south. “There will be time for that later,” she whispered in his ear. She got up and headed out the door.  Trest hauled himself out of the chair and followed her to the fire escape, where they climbed to the roof.  They stood on the edge, looking over the city, steeling their nerves for what they were about to do.
     Deserae grabbed Trest’s hand. “Ready?” she asked. He nodded, and they jumped. Their wings appeared from the other realm, catching the air and holding them up as they glided through the darkness. Their wings used to be pure white, but it seemed like every time they did something uncharacteristic of their race, there was a little more black on them.  Angels, the humans called them, although this wasn’t strictly true. Yes, they were from a different realm, one humans could only barely touch, and yes, they had white wings. What set them apart from angels was that beings like Deserae and Trest were not, in fact, immortal, and as a species, they served no god.
     They flew above most of the buildings. Trest admired Deserae’s wings. She had managed to keep them mostly white in this despicable world. Trest’s had turned completely black, they were tattered and barely held him up anymore. Trest attributed this to Deserae’s hopeful personality, and his own tendency to fall into the patterns of the culture he lived in.
     Deserae and Trest landed on a ledge on the wall of the Emperor’s palace. Trest flipped out his communication device. He asked, in code, if everything was going according to plan. When he received the encrypted confirmation, he waved Deserae to follow him. He slid along the ledge to the Emperor’s bedroom window. A valet had left it open just a crack for them. Trest slid both his hands under it and hauled it upward. Deserae slipped underneath, and Trest followed silently. The interior was even darker than the outside world, protected from the city lights by heavy, dark curtains. As his eyes took a moment to adjust, Trest swept the room with eyes and ears, checking for potential menaces.
     Deserae pulled a long sliver knife from her belt. She glided over to where the Emperor’s fat form lay snoring in a huge plush bed. She held up the knife, but swiftly moved away and thrust the weapon into Trest’s grasp. She turned away, shuddering, with her arms wrapped around her stomach. Trest went to the Emperor and positioned the knife carefully above the neck. He took a deep breath, tightened his grip on the handle, placed his fingertips on the other end, and pressed the knife across the Emperor’s windpipe. Blood spilled onto the silk sheets, staining Trest’s hands with the warm, sticky liquid. From somewhere, an alarm sounded. Trest and Deserae fled out the window and jumped off the ledge just as guards burst into the room.
     They raced home. Deserae’s wings had turned almost halfway black, and Trest’s were now so ragged that they barely held him up. If the flight to the palace had been full of cold, nervous energy, the flight away was sweaty and scared. The guards had seen them, Trest was sure. They were fugitives now. It was only a matter of time before they were caught, and then what? Jail? Execution? Either way, he might never see Deserae again. He couldn’t stand the thought. They would have to run. He couldn’t go back to his home realm. He had Fallen, become like a human. Deserae wouldn’t go back without him. They were in this together, and they would die together, if it came to that.
     Back at home, their wings gone again, they landed with sighs on the couch. Deserae cuddled into Trest.”I hope we never have to do anything like that again.”
     He wrapped his arms around her and held her as tightly as she could. “I hope so too, baby.” He pushed her away just enough to see her face. “In case we don’t have tomorrow,” he said. He placed his hand behind her head and guided her in for a kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and his hands slipped to her breasts, then her hips. Their mouths opened slowly, and they moved in sync with one another. Her legs went across his lap. Trest pulled away long enough to catch a breath. His eyes flicked toward the bedroom and back meaningfully. She hesitated. “Come on, baby, don’t change your mind,” he said, standing up and tugging on her hands. She stood up and allowed him to lead her away,
     The apartment was quiet for a while, punctuated only occasionally by a muffled, happy sound from the bedroom. “I think this is going to be my favourite part of being Fallen,” said Trest, caressing his girlfriend.
     Deserae gasped sharply. She jumped off the bed and pulled out her wings for the mirror. They were like those of a raven. Trest made his wings appear. There was nothing left but a few feathers hanging off charcoal-coloured wing arms. A couple of black feathers floated to the floor. “Oh no,” whispered Deserae. A sharp rap on the door made her jump. “I’m coming!” she called, hurriedly making herself presentable.
     Trest took his time getting ready as Deserae answered the door. He lingered in the bedroom doorway, listening as she greeted their neighbour, Alzen, a fully human single mother with more children than she could handle. She and Deserae were about the same age, and they were very close. Deserae loved the children almost as if they were her own. There were dark purple rings under her eyes and a child on her shoulder. “Oh Deserae, I’m so sorry to bother you at this hour, but Brenna lost her toy and simply won’t go to sleep without it. I hate to ask, but would you please look for it?”
     “Certainly, Alzen,” said Deserae.
     “Oh thank you! You have no idea how relieved I am. It’s a rag doll, about this big. I think she dropped it somewhere between here and the El train station.”
     “Trest and I will look right away,” said Deserae. “It’s no trouble at all. Bye now!”
     She closed the door and turned around. Trest rushed up behind her. “Are you crazy? We can’t go outside! We’re fugitives, remember?”
     “Relax,” said Deserae, “They probably don’t even know the Emperor’s dead yet. The Knights of Silence will protect us, won't they? And later, a leader will rise, and there will be a revolution.”
     “I just hope it won’t be long,” said Trest. “There are still those who are loyal to the Emperor. There’s going to be a bloody fight for that revolution.”
     Deserae grabbed a large flashlight and headed for the door. “Well, I’m helping Alzen. Are you coming or not?”
     Trest grabbed his jacket and ran after her. “Of course I’m coming. I’ve got to protect you!” They rode the rickety elevator to the ground floor.  In the empty lobby, a TV flickered with the image of a news anchor talking about the world-ending flood some loopy scientist predicted. “Breaking news!” it suddenly said, “Last night, the Emperor was assassinated in his sleep. Foreign terrorism is not suspected. Police are waiting on DNA evidence to identify a suspect – rather, two suspects, according to eyewitness accounts.”
     “DNA evidence? What the heck? We didn’t leave any DNA!” Trest spat. “The best they’ve got are some guards who may have saw our backs, but they can’t prove we’re the same people. The people they saw had wings. We don’t have to show them ours.”
     “You touched the window, Trest. Fingerprints.”
     “Yeah, well, that’s … yeah. Whatever. Come on, are we going to find Brenna’s doll or what? They don’t have the tests done yet anyway.” He marched out the door. Outside, he paused, sheepishly remembering that Deserae had the light to find the rag doll by.
     They searched the area between their building and the El train station. Time passed. It started to rain. Their clothes got soaked through. Deserae started to shiver. “You’re cold, and you’re soaked. Let’s give up on the stupid doll and go home,” said Trest.
     “No,” said Deserae weakly, “We have to help Brenna.”
     “At least let me carry you,” said Trest. He scooped her thin form up in his strong. She didn’t bother to argue.
     “But let’s keep looking for a bit, okay?”
     “Okay,” grunted Trest, juggling her to get a better grip. They continued searching. A TV in a shop window showed the news was still on. Trest paused, setting Deserae down under the awning. The report on the forecasted apocolyptic flood was continued. It turned out the prediction was not nearly as crazy as previously thought. Then: “Update on the Emperor’s murder,” it said. This was just what he had hoped wasn’t going to happen. They were showing Trest and Deserae’s pictures. “This Ursapexian man, along with a woman, were seen fleeing the scene of the Emperor’s demise. The woman is presumed to be his girlfriend, pictured here.”
     “We’ve got to get out of the city,” said Trest. Deserae looked at him wide-eyed. “Forget the stupid doll, Deserae!”
     Sirens that were always heard from faraway now grew loud. The black of the streets glowed orange with the rainwater on the ground reflecting the streetlights. A commotion down the street made Trest and Deserae look that way. A large group of people were heading their way. “It’s them!” someone shouted. Rumbling echoes of running feet bounced off the concrete surrounding them, growing steadily louder.
     “Run,” hissed Trest. He grabbed Deserae’s hand and pulled her away. About where they were going, he only knew that it was far away from there, and that he and Deserae would be there together. Her foot landed in an orange puddle, splashing water over a little rag doll, which was slumping forlornly next to an old tin can. It sat there alone when many feet pounded by. It continued to sit as floodwaters rose over the streets, claiming the life of the city itself.