Coldware (Part 1: Software) -- Chapter Three

“Fey!” I shriek, feeling the pain wash over me as his knife burrows deep into my stomach. I grip his shoulders, pinned between his body and the moldy brick wall. Howls of pain—not just my own this time—echo in the small underground room, steam billowing out of broken brass pipes raising the humidity impossibly further. The air is too thick, too hot, to be in here. We’ll boil alive, if we don’t shred each other’s throats first.

“It ain’t murda’, doll.” He whispers, digging the knife deeper into my body. “It’s mercy,” Yanking the knife out of my flesh, he lifts his arm up high, bringing it down on my throat. I don’t feel anything right then. It’s a smooth, dull sort of sensation that infects my body and soul, begging my hands rise.

I listen, lifting my arms up, fingers spread wide as another flash of violet pulses from behind my eyes. I can feel the energy surging up inside of me, feel half of it force itself into Fey as the other half rockets past the both of us and to the blond woman on the floor. She’s bleeding out, a busted pipe having embedded itself into her side. There’s blood everywhere, the smell mixing with burning metal, melted copper, oil, and smoldering flesh.

All at once, the energy comes back to me from both of their bodies, more powerful than before. Then, I simply connect. I feel the copper in their bodies, and grip on to it with my mind. Crunch.

I blink and miss it; Fey and the blond woman literally collapse in on themselves, innards and melted flesh pooling in steaming blood on the floor. I watch Fey’s knife as it falls, the metal popping and bubbling as a result of being too close to my activated cybermancy.

Feeling nothing in particular—no remorse, sadness, or even relief—and drop my hands to my sides and move to the fallen Demonic Luminex pinned between the iron door which I threw across the room and into the wall a few minutes ago and the moldy brick walls. Just by looking at how tightly she was pressed into the wall from the waist down, it didn’t take much to realize she was broken and dying. She barely hand the energy to lift her own loose wing—the other had been folded back unnaturally behind her when the door slammed against her, snapping the delicate bone in thousands of places—attempting to protect herself from me.

Blood dripped from the corner of her soft lips, her unblemished tan skin now scarred with slash after gory slash from debris and metal that had flown everywhere when I had accidentally pulled down the metal support beams that held up the ceiling. Half the ceiling was caved in now… the authorities would be here any second.

The thought makes me glance up the darkened stairway. I need to get out of here. “I’ve never seen one born before, you know,” turning at the sound of her shaky, breathy voice, I glare coldly at the DL.

“It’s cybermanca’, ain’t it?” I ask, and she laughs bitterly.

“Definitely. But you already—“ She coughs, blood dribbling over her teeth and down her chin. “You already knew that, didn’t you?” She doesn’t pronounce her ‘r’s right… almost like she nearly misses them. Even her ‘o’s and ‘a’s are a little stressed-sounding. It’s a little… irritating, I think; doesn’t settle with me right.

Long white hair stained with blood, sweat making the soft locks stick to her skin, large black-feathered wing twitching as she folds it closer around her own body, the DL looks beautifully miserable, if that’s even a thing. “I thought I came here to become a Conducta’,” I growl, clenching and unclenching my fists as I turn to leave. For some reason, I have absolutely no interest in hearing what she has to say. It’s strange, but… it’s like I just can’t bring myself to care whether or not she’s dying.

“You’re both.” She spits blood onto the floor, letting out a low groan as the movement jolts her broken hips and legs. “I’ve seen it before; it isn’t a good thing. You’ll kill yourself if you activate the cybermancy and use yourself as a Conductor, you’ll kill yourself if you activate your cybermancy while another cybermancer is using you as a Conductor, and you’ll die if you accidentally latch on to the copper in your body. Copper is much harder to control, but looking at those two,” she gestures towards the two mounds of boiling flesh and mangled copper, “seems you already know how to use it just fine.”

“Why aren’t you using your cybermancy to push away the door?” I ask, choosing not to comment on her little speech.

She frowns then, violet eyes void of all illumination now. I can see shades of dark brown beginning to show up in patches in her irises, and wonder why. “I think you took it from me, child. I’ve heard of people like that. Non-Luminex flukes of nature that get converted into Conductors, only to kill their masters. It happens every once in a while. We used to call them Cyber Reapers, but the Reapers didn’t take kindly to that one.” Sucking in a ragged breath, she forces herself to continue, her grip slipping from the door that pins her. “You use the copper in your body to pull the energy from a cybermancer, but you don’t cycle it back. Instead, you put it into your reserves. We usually kill people like you, but lately I’ve noticed they just kill themselves by taking on too much power. Mortals weren’t meant to—“

The iron door shifts, and she screams. I hadn’t even realized I’d lifted my hands, but the illumination pulses violet, and the door grinds her up against the bricks until her bones snap. Her screams are cut short, her breath gone, before I can even stop myself. Holy Hell. I killed her. I could’ve saved her, and I just… I murdered her!

Falling to the ground, landing flat on my arse, I push myself away. My back hits the bottom stair, my vision wavering.

No. Not my vision.

I see her face, and a sudden awareness comes over me. Long, thick dark chocolate hair rolls in waves down her bare back, her violet eyes kind as she glances back at me. Water drips down her bare skin as she lifts her arms to the sun, laughing. It’s painful, seeing her again. She dives into the water, and I feel the aching pain rise up in my chest. She loved the water.

“Maira,” She calls out when she rises, facing me now. I see the outline of her bare breasts in the quivering water, feel my face get hot. We’re not supposed to be here, I know, but she beckons me to her and I dive. Mindlessly, my eyes burning as the water hits them, I swim to her. Suddenly I’m there, right in front of her, our legs brushing each other as we kick at the water to stay afloat. Our eyes meet, my heart fluttering as that striking violet pierces my soul. “I told you I could get you in the water.” She laughs softly.

“I—“ I would do anything for you. I don’t say it, but… it’s there. It’s there.

“Hey, lady,”

My eyes snap open. As I my vision focuses slowly on the wooden support beams and the creamy white-painted ceiling beneath the wood, I feel my lips twitch at the sound of that voice. “Biter,” I say slowly, carefully. His head pops into my field of view, a grin taking up most of his face.

“That’s a funny name ya’ got for me.” He smiles, patting my shoulder. I cringe away from him, not wanting anything to taint the feel of her arms as she wraps them around my neck. “Your face is sort of… red, lady.” He informs me, sitting down next to what feels like a bed. “You ain’t thinking of nothing dirty-like, are ya’?”

I ignore him. “Where are we?”

“My house. Or more, my borrowed house. Or better yet, your boss’s house.”

“Oh, bloody Hell!” I curse, lifting myself up swiftly, abandoning all hope of staying by my lady’s side. Of course, if last night wasn’t just a horrible dream—and given that the boy, the worst part of that ‘dream’, is here right now, it likely isn’t—then she’s still alive. In the East. I need to head to the East.

“Not much of a way to t’eat a hostess, doll.” Oh, and now the Dock Master is here. It’s a bloody party. “The boy tells me ye’ going Queen hunting.” There’s a prodding, hopeful edge to her words, and I seethe, glaring at the nippy little biter as he grins all the wider, giving me two thumbs-up from behind the Dock Master’s back. This is rolling out like a damned comedic nickel-novel from a half-arsed magazine. Pinning back her dyed-red hair, the Dock Master smiles deviously. “Conside’ing ye’ decision to help me pilot an Ae’ial Stalka’ device, I’ll take it you’ll not only be using that verra’ same ship, but also taking me along with you.”

My eyes lock onto the boy’s. “Did you tell her anything else.”

“Nah, why?”

“Anything.” I hiss. His eyes brighten as he catches my meaning.

“Oh. No, nothing like that.”

“Nothing like what?” The Dock Master asks, confused as she looks behind her back at the biter. I think I might actually call him that, now that I’m thinking on it.

“Nothing like nothing, is what.” He giggles—actually giggles—standing up as straight and tall as he’s able. “Listen, though, lady,” putting his hands on his hips lip some sort of ruffled noble woman, he lifts his chin at me. “Last news I got from the King was that he had an inventor of sorts already tracking your Queen. Seemed as if they’d already found her, so if we’re gonna’ do this heroic thing or whatever the ‘ell, then we need to get on it.”

I rub my temple furiously, strangely aware that both of my gloves are missing. Oh, right, I took them off. Damn it. I can’t even begin to protest; I’d have no clue as of where to start. Besides, they’re both already outside in the hall—apparently I’m in a guest bedroom of sorts, as much quaint cottage-ey feel it has to it with the low ceilings and natural furniture—and shouting at me to get ready. Bloody Hell, I’m saving my Lady with a biter and a nearly-blind fool.

When the Reaper gets an eyeful of this…

***

“My Lord, it seems we have a bit of an issue,”

I look up from my work, just in time to see the jaggedly short-cut black hair of my private ‘scientist-slash-inventor’, as she calls it, disappear under a brass frame holding up several noisy steam engines. “What appears to be the problem, Evora?” I sigh, figuring she’ll say something like ‘Oh, nevermind!’ or ‘My mistake!’ like she had been doing for the past three hours. Insufferable woman, this one. Nothing like my wife. Well, my… ex-wife? We aren’t divorced and she isn’t dead, but we certainly aren’t together. I wonder what you’d call your spouse at a time like this.

“I’ve killed Security.” I hear her say flatly. Choking on the tea I had just sipped, the liquid dribbling down my chin and onto my papers filled with vital data on my late-wife—no, she isn’t dead yet, I can’t call her that.

Pushing out of my chair as I stand, the useless piece of furniture clattering to the floor, I rush over to where she is laying. On her back, arms deep in the belly of the machine we’ve been trying to get online for the last four days, she calls out something again. I don’t catch it. “What the bloody Hell do you mean, you’ve killed Security?!”

“The data capsule broke, my Lord. It has simply turned to dust in my fingers… Oh, no, wait a second. That actually was dust! The capsule is still right here, half-plugged in! Silly me.”

Grinding my teeth and knowing she can’t see me, I mouth ‘silly me’ as mockingly as I can, turning to clean up the sticky mess the tea has created on my desk. “The gods only know how you managed to get yourself an academic degree, Evora, female parts set aside.”

“My Lord, I would think that I knowing how I got my own degrees would be far more efficient, considering the ‘gods’ everyone keeps talking about aren’t gripping your prized artificial intelligence.”

This woman. I swear to the heavens, I will kill this woman as soon as I don’t need her anymore.