Cured

110AE
Crimson Palace
Former PRD Territory
ζ-17

Cured

 

                I don’t understand.  I am still alive.  I feel fine.  Just two seconds ago, I was inches away from death.  I am cured, there is no denying it.  I am alive.  I’m afraid the reason I’m alive is now dead at my own hands.

                But I had to kill him.  It’s why I’m here.  It was my purpose.  Him saving my life shouldn’t matter.  I did my job so let’s continue on and finish it.

                No wait.  Devivo had the cure.  How long did he have the cure?  Did Polemos know he had the cure?  Did Devivo want to make sure I got this cure to the rest of the world?  We could break free from this wretched existence.  No more living in fear of death.  What I have in this vial could save the world.

                But it’s not my job to save the world.  It’s my job to eliminate my targets.  I am Zeta-Seventeen.  I do as I am told.

                If I’m thinking this much about the morality of the situation, I can’t be Zeta-Seventeen.  I can’t be just a weapon.  I have to be something more.  I could save the world.  I just have to give it to the right person.  Do I give this Polemos?

                This isn’t why I’m here.  I’m not supposed to care about humanity’s fate.  I only fulfill the whims of my masters. 

                Should I?  All I’ve done my whole life is follow orders without question.  Maybe I should question my orders.  Is what I’m doing the right thing to do?  In this kind of a situation, what constitutes right and wrong? 

                I don’t even know the whole story.  All I know is that I’m alive, and I'm here to kill three people.  I’ve already killed one.  The real question now is do I regret it?

                I shouldn’t.  I set out with the intention of killing him and I managed that much.  What should it matter if he made me immune to the plague?  If anything it made me more deadly on this planet.  I now have no restrictions.  I can go where others cannot.  I was already unstoppable before, let’s see me fail now.

                But was I unstoppable?  I was almost defeated by a frail old man.  The only reason I came out on top is because he decided to spare my life.  I might be unstoppable on the surface, but beneath all this armor, what am I?

                Am I human?  What does it mean to be human?  Does being human involve choosing my fate?  If it does, what do I choose?  Before this, was I human?  I never stopped to question what I was doing.  Does that mean I lacked the very aspect of humanity? 

                What are my choices?  There is Zeta-Seventeen.  The assassin, the weapon, the killer.  He does without question, he succeeds, he does not fail, he carries no remorse for his actions. 

                What is the other choice?  Is it Atlas?  The Titan condemned for his sins with the task of holding the world on his shoulders?  If I am Atlas, then what is my sin?  Following orders, or just being born on the wrong side of the fight?  What is my Burden?  Is it the cure that now flows through my veins?

                “Don’t move,” orders someone behind me.  I think they have a gun pointed to the back of my head.  I wasn’t moving before, but how did they get here?  How long have I been just standing here?  It couldn’t be long.  How did I let my guard down?  “What happened here?” he demands. 

                “A miracle,” I answer. 

                “That’s not sufficient,” he says.

                “Well maybe I don’t have an answer,” I reply.

                “Then you better find one,” he says.

                “I don’t need to tell you anything,” I reply.

                “The gun pointed at the back of your head says you do,” he says.

                “Oh is that all it is?” I ask, “Just one gun, you’d need more than that to take me down.”  I take the syringe in my hand and place it in a pocket of my armor. 

                “Did you kill Brutus?” he asks.  Who am I talking to?  I normally wouldn’t talk this much. I would just retaliate.  What is normal for me?

                “Yes,” I answer.

                “Why? Who sent you?  How did you get here?” he demands.

                “I don’t feel at liberty to divulge that information,” I reply.  I then turn and move to knock his aim away from my head.  The issue is, when I turn, there is no one there.  Where’d he go?  I feel a gun barrel press to the back of my head.

                “I can ask again,” he says, “But next time won’t be so nicely, so answer the questions.”

                “You’re fast,” I tell him.  How did he move that quickly?  I’ll have to account for this.  I make a movement to suggest I am repeating the same motion I just attempted.  Only this time, instead of turning, I just raise a gauntlet in front of me. 

                Sure enough, out of thin air appears the man.  His dark skin is recognizable from the picture.  This is Moses.  Another one of my targets.  Around his neck hangs a pendant.  In the center of the pendant is a little tiny orb.  The orb glows the color black.  He seems surprised that I anticipated his move, though he still has a gun pointed at my face.

                “Moses, I presume?” I ask him.  Why am I so chatty? “That’s a nice little ECD you’ve got there.”

                “You must be from Polemos,” he concludes, “Why are you here?”

                “I’m here to kill you,” I answer.  I shoot a round out of my gauntlet, but Moses disappears before the bullet hits. 

                “Did you think you’d be able to hit me?” Moses asks.  He’s made it to the outer perimeter of the room.  “I thought you had this ECD or whatever you call it figured out?”

                “It allows you to warp anywhere you want?  Right?” I ask, aiming my gauntlet towards his new location.

                “That’s correct,” he replies, “So how can you hit me if I can be everywhere?”  I fire another round out of my gauntlet his direction.  Gone before it hits.  I hear his laughter from one of the bridges behind me.  I turn and shoot off another round, but he’s gone before it fired. 

                “We could do this all day,” he boasts from the other side of the central platform, “But I don’t think you have that many bullets.”  So that’s his strategy.  Waste my ammo.  Well at this rate, he’s pulling it off.  I need to anticipate where he’ll be next.  I aim at him now making sure to take in every aspect of his appearance before he warps.  I fire the bullet and he’s gone. 

                “How many times are you going to try this?” Moses asks.  He’s now back out on the perimeter platform.  “Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, they have a name for that.”  I’ve think I’ve got it.  His new location happened to be in the direct path of his eyesight.  He looks where he wants to go next.

                I aim and fire at Moses again.  If my suspicions are correct he’ll appear on the bridge behind me. 

                “They call this insanity,” says Moses.  He’s right where I expected him to be.  Perfect.  Looks like the next location he’s picked is along the perimeter platform.  I begin to raise one gauntlet to aim at Moses’s current location.  Then I offset raising my other gauntlet just a little bit to aim at where I think he’ll appear.  Two shots.

                “Ah!” Moses cries out in pain.  I turn to see that Moses did move to where I anticipated, but my aim wasn't perfect.  I’ve hit him in the shoulder.  Not a fatal strike, but immobilizing.  “You’re good,” he admits, dropping his gun.  I raise my arm to take aim.  I fire the round, but a click signals the end of my clip.  I need to reload. 

                I reach down and grab a spare clip out of a pocket on my leg.  I have it in my fingers, but something knocks it out of my grip.  It falls off the edge, into the abyss.  Moses has appeared beside me, holding his wounded shoulder.  He roars and tackles me off the side and we both fall down into the pit. 

                “Let’s see you survive this,” he shouts, pushing me down while we’re both in free fall.  He intends to warp away and let me fall to certain death.  As soon as he lets go of me, I latch on to him.

                “I’ll take you with me if I have to,” I yell back, as the wind rushes up around us.  He tries to shake me off, but he can’t.  He doesn’t warp away either, confirming my suspicion that he can’t warp while I have a hold of him.  I extend a blade on my gauntlet.  Let’s make sure he doesn’t survive this fall.  Wait, what if I warp with him?  He’ll pull out of the fall if he runs out of time.

                I see the bottom of the pit approaching fast.  It’s dark but my visor light marks it.  About a hundred feet to go.  Ninety feet.  Seventy feet.  Forty feet.  Ten, and light-

                The scene changes.  The room before was not well lit.  It was dark and dim.  This room looks like it’s used on a regular basis.  I’m laid out across the floor between two counters, still with a firm grip on Moses.  My blade is still extended as well.  I swing over in attempt to stab him, but he catches my arm.  He’s strong.  I can feel it.  He pushes away and I slide across the floor.  I gain some footing to lunge at him a second try, but he’s already gone.  Damn. 

                That was an interesting fight.  That ECD makes Moses dangerous, but I can’t let that be the only factor in my analysis.  He also displayed a great display of strength just there.  I shouldn’t underestimate him.  Even if he’s wounded.  Though now he seems to have retreated.  That’s another issue I’ll have to solve.  His retreat is easy.  I’ll have to account for that as well when I meet him again. 

                I stand up to assess my surroundings.  It appears I am in a kitchen.  I’ll assume for now that this is still the crimson palace, though this area, contrasted to the rest of the palace, seems to still be in use.  The lights are on, there’s no dust layering on the counters, Moses has brought me close to potential other targets.  This might be to my advantage.  I still need to reload my one gauntlet.  I slip out the empty clip, and insert a new one.  It’s a shame I let the last one fall.  I only have two extra clips.  One for each gauntlet.  What I have left loaded is all the shots I got.  A click signals the new clip is in place.

                “Hello who’s there?” asks a voice from the next room over.  This is a lighter voice.  Softer.  Not male.  My guess is that it’s Marcia Rexrode, the one I can’t kill.  I duck down and hide behind the counter.  “Moses, is that you?” she asks, walking into the room. 

                Moses could retreat as much as he likes, but if I have Marcia in my custody, it might compel him to stay.

                “If we have mice again I’ll be pissed,” Marcia comments to herself.  She walks down the row towards me.  I haven’t had any training in hostage taking before. 

                She steps right in front of me.  Now I act.  I jump up and put her in a hold.  I can’t hurt her right?  Or was I just not supposed to kill her.

                “What’s going on,” she asks, concern rising in her voice.

                “Stay quiet, and follow my instructions,” I tell her, “I do not wish to harm you.”  Is that what I’m supposed to say?  I don’t know, it just sort of sounded right.  This feels awkward.  I don’t like it. 

                “What are you some kind of a robot?” she asks, holding some sort of confusion in her statement. 

                “Robot?” I ask.  She’s confusing me now too.  Enough to hesitate I guess because she takes this moment to slip out of my grip.  She spins around only to peer down the barrel of my gauntlet.

                “Oh my, you are a robot,” she mutters.  I don’t think she expected to turn around and see a fully suited Polemos assassin.  I was not expecting to see her.  This has to be Marcia Rexrode.  She has aged ten years from the picture, but the resemblance is clear.  It must be the eyes.  The same green eyes from the picture.  There’s something about her stare.  Those green eyes just seem to pierce through my visor and deep into my soul.  And I questioned myself earlier if I have a soul or not.  If you ever question whether you have something, let someone stab you in it.  If you feel something, it’s there.  That gaze, I don’t know.  It makes me feel… uneasy.

                “I am not a robot,” I protest.

                “You look like a robot.  You sound like a robot,” she says, “If you’re not a robot then what are you?”

                Didn’t I ask myself this earlier?  Not the robot part, but the rest of it.  Have I decided on an answer yet?  I don’t need to answer.  I could just tell her to shut up and take me to where I need to go, it’s just, I feel compelled to answer.  It’s like her eyes are compelling me. 

                “I’m an assassin,” I reply.

                “Don’t assassins carry weapons?” Marcia asks, “You know, like some sort of gun?”

                “I have plenty of weapons,” I answer.

                “I don’t see any of them,” she says, “Where are they?”

                “I'm pointing half of them at your face,” I reply.

                “All you’re doing is pointing your fist at my face,” she says, “And I mean, you look tough but you’re no Makaroy Taylor.  Your fists aren't considered guns.”

                I raise my other arm and fire a round to my side.  Marcia ducks and covers her head as the bullet ricochets off a pot resting on the counter.  It finds itself embedded in the opposing wall somewhere.  “Do I make myself clear?” I ask.

                “Alright, so your fists are guns,” she concludes with a sigh of relief that the bullet did not hit her.  Not that I was aiming it at her or anything, “So, who are you?  Are you Makaroy Taylor?”

                “No,” I answer, “I don’t even know who this Makaroy Taylor guy is.”

                “Oh, he’s a certified bad a*s,” begins Marcia, “I’ve watched all his movies like ten times each.  There’s not a lot you can do when you’re all alone for ten years.”

                “Enough,” I shout in frustration, “I need you to take me to your father.”  I conclude that if Moses is warping anywhere, it’s to tell Rexrode of an intrusion.  I might be able to get both at the same time. 

                “But you’re an assassin,” she says, “Why would you want to talk with my dad?”

                “I don’t have to explain myself,” I answer.

                “That was a rhetorical question,” she barks, “I’m not stupid.  I can deduce why an assassin would want to know where my father is and it’s not to have a cup of tea!  So why would I let you just walk in and murder my father.”

                To answer her question I raise the gauntlet I don’t have aimed at her head and fire another round.  It ricochets a few seconds before landing in what sounds like a metal bowl and rolling around for a bit before coming to a complete stop.

                “I see the merit in your argument,” replies Marcia, “I guess I can show you the way, follow me.”

                “Just remember, I’m right behind you, don’t try anything funny,” I inform her.

                “Yeah, I got it,” she replies, and begins to walk out of the room. 

                So I’m new to this whole hostage thing, but this Marcia, she barely responds to me holding a gun to her head.  That’s not what I expected.  Not in the slightest.  It’s like there’s not even a gun there. 

                “You see, it wasn’t far,” Marcia explains.  She has taken me across the hall.  Did I need to go through all that to get across the hall?

                “Just in this door?” I ask, lowering my gauntlet and getting ready to kick down the door.

                “You can’t just barge in there like that,” Marcia scolds, “You have to knock first.”

                She can’t be serious, “Knock?” I ask.

                “Oh, if you won’t do it then I will,” she says, and knocks on the door, “Daddy?”

                “Yes dear,” comes a voice from the other side of the door.

                “I thought I said no funny business!” I whisper. 

                Marcia gasps.  “There is nothing funny about good manners,” she snaps.  Again, it’s like her eyes are piecing my soul.  “Daddy, there’s an assassin here and he says he wants to see you.”

                Good manners my a*s.  She’s trying to set me up.  “We have a guest and it took you this long to bring him to me?  Good god Marcia where are your manners?  Let him in.”

                And I remember when I wanted to take the stealthy approach.  That would have been much more appropriate.  At least I can startle them.  I kick down the door and find myself staring into a study.  The man who fits the description of Christian Rexrode.  It’s hard looking at him and back to Marcia to tell that they are related, but that’s not my concern at the moment.  I raise my gauntlet and aim it at Rexrode.  Stepping into the room I take the--- Wham!

                Something hits me upside the head so hard I can’t find the correct preposition to describe it.  It cracks my visor and I fall to the floor.  The room is spinning.  I suck at holding hostages. 

                “Moses, you said this guy was a deadly assassin,” Marcia says stepping over me, “I haven’t seen many assassins, but I’d say he’s pretty inept.”

                “I swear he put up a better fight down there,” says Moses.  My vision is blurry from the hit, but I can make out Moses’ figure standing over me now too holding what I think is a fire extinguisher.  He also has bandaged up his arm. 

                “Be careful, Marcia,” says Rexrode, “This assassin killed Dr. Devivo.”

                “Dr. Who?” Marcia asks.

                “Dr. Devivo,” Rexrode replies, “You know, the only other person in this house.”

                “There was someone else here?” Marcia asks.

                “Devivo looked like he had some skeletons in his closet too,” Moses mentions electing to ignore Marcia’s comment, “The best description I had for what I saw down there is zombie warfare.”

                “You’ll have to explain that a little more,” says Rexrode.

                “I wish I could,” answers Moses, “But that’s the best I’ve got.  Zombie warfare.”

                “And if the world had enough issues, now we have zombies in the basement,” complains Marcia, “Daddy, why didn’t you tell me we had an evil doctor living in our basement.”

                “Quiet, we need to decide what to do with this one while he’s still unconscious,” snaps Rexrode.

                Hey! I’m not unconscious, it’s just, my head hurts, and this floor, it’s comfortable…

                “Should we kill him?” Moses asks.  I seem to forget that my thoughts aren’t audible.

                “No,” Rexrode replies, “He’s from Polemos, right?  Well I want to find out why they sent him here.”

                “You’re talking about using the orb?” Moses asks.

                “Yeah,” Rexrode answers.  He pulls a pendant up from around his neck.  My vision hasn’t recovered yet but I can see it begin to glow a gray light.  “I shouldn’t be long,” Rexrode adds, “Besides, it’s much longer in there than it is out here.”  The gray light begins growing brighter and brighter until all I see is the gray light.