A SLA Industries story by Ash Chitdrel
 
 
 

"I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is over and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! The night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion."

Christopher Dowson, Non Sum Qualis Eram Bonae Sub Regno Cynarae





Out.

Leaving this city for good. No chance to return to this hellhole again. Never. Prophets say, when you enter SLA, you sell your soul away. Today I bought it back; -but at what price? Here I sit, the broken landscape of Mort racing by, heading towards ... what?, only one thing certain-. Executive Class glowing in soft red letters. Alone in the passenger compartment, the broken remains of my life behind me, racing away from them with every second; alone and unable to move. No power left in my body, wasting away like the planet. Now that I am the truth, they cannot let me live in their midst. Whoever infected me -perhaps they even wrote it into my genes- they chose me from the beginning. The truth. Wave never saw the whole picture. Only glimpsed at parts and guessed that the whole. Lucky chap. Gave him the easy way out. Not me. One of the chosen. Bore the mark from the beginning. Made me- bearing it?

"Tell me, why they let you out", her voice soft and quiet. Completely forgot that she was there, in the dark on the other side of the compartment. Now I can see her eyes glitter, reflecting the orange spot of light glowing at the tip of her Feelgood. "Why don't you smoke something better than Feelgoods? Cigars perhaps?"

"Because. You know that I'm contracted to Feelgood. Every of your whores is."

"Why must you always hurt me? You are not my whore."

A short harsh laughter, "Then why do I feel like one?"

"I never gave you orders."

"You never needed."

I pause. "Are you happy, Cynara?"

She takes a while to answer, and while everything slowly begins to spin, faster and faster, I know that she can see my smile, even in the dark. "Yes".

Drifting into focus again. Still heading towards the unknown, paralysed in the dark. "How does it feel when you rot away and can't do anything against it?"

She must love it to see me dying this way. Not so in the beginning, centuries ago. High above the city in the gloom of Slayer's office suite. A storm thundering outside, squalls of wind racing against the gothic pinnacle of the building and strains of rain trailing downwards from the low-hanging clouds. Slayer, with his back turned towards me, watching the storm and the rolling, purple-coloured clouds through the gargantuan window in his office, the window that seems to encompass all of Mort. A DarkFinder in the background; I can feel his gaze following every of my motions, evaluating each single move, calculating how best to kill me, second by second killing me anew.

Intruder sitting at the desk, clad in his bionic robes, the Gutting Hook lying before him on the table, Senti next to him, all clad in semi-translucent black silk, her arm resting on his leg, hand hidden underneath the opal surface of the table. No wonder he taught the Ebons to always express their feelings, the way he looks now; unable to disguise his discomfort himself. Bracing her body against him, her other hand rises to his chin, one of her long fingernails softly scratching him from lips all the way down to his neck before she forces him to kiss her. She won't stop, even with Slayer turning around, seemingly content with seeing the storm develop from brooding to violent, watching them both closely. Only when she makes Intruder squeeze her breast, rubbing her nipple between thumb and forefinger, a shivering hiss escaping her throat, does she stop; all through the process the glare of one of her piercing eyes glued to Slayer's back. When will she realise that she cannot make him jealous. When will she realise that all the nights she was with him there was no other feeling in him but desire for her flesh, no other desire but to satiate his own. His eyes snap to mine, transfixing me, his slit pupils shouting silent words, Keep your observations to yourself, Spook.

His voice unaffected, businesslike, "Shall we begin?"

No expression on Senti's face, apart from a smile. Intruder relieved, coughing, trying to hide his embarrassment. I sit down opposite to Senti, the seat to my right unoccupied, but placed on the table in front of the seat, several sheets of paper. And from further down the table Slayer watches down on us, motionless, patiently waiting, casually glancing at the storm raging behind Senti's and Intruder's back.

Senti's voice, addressing me, "Reached the upper echelon only recently?"

I nod.

"Don't be afraid, we're all friends here. The sharks are below."

"Go ahead, ask your question," Slayer's voice, friendly and warm.

"What are we waiting for, if I may -?"

"Of course you can ask. As Senti pointed out," his voice dropping to an icy tone, "we're all friendly here."

As friendly as Cynara and me today. When you enter the upper echelon of SLA, you leave the pool with the piranhas and enter the basin with the sharks.

"You dead already?"

"Just remembered the first time we met."

"That cursed day-"

When suddenly the sound of opening elevator doors scattered the gloomy silence in Slayer's office. Everybody gazing towards the entrance, Senti with amusement; she seems to enjoy seeing Slayer's authority being stepped upon so blatantly, Intruder with curiosity and Slayer with indifference.

She walks in gracefully with all the time of the world, as if unaware that she is several minutes too late for an appointment with three of the most powerful beings in the whole Known Universe. Never before have I seen a woman like this one. Tall, regally, her long black hair trailing behind her as if possessing a motion of its own, eyes hidden behind darkened shades, her broad mouth painted black and expressionless. Wearing a bionic bodysuit I have never seen before, looking somewhat like an Ebon DeathSuit. Even I can feel the mood in the suite changing from brooding to evil; all exuded from this one woman, not even trying to hide her wickedness as Senti does.

<

"Cynara. At last."

She not even nods in Slayer's direction, "Slayer. Intruder. Senti."

Slayer rises from his chair, his left arm extended, hand pointing at the empty seat next to me, "Please do sit down."

Her perfume is overwhelming, offending.

"You don't wear your perfume today."

I can almost hear her thoughts. "Good bodies are hard to come by these days."

"You still extract it freshly?"

I couldn't hear the rain then, when I was lying in her bed, her head on my shoulder, my right hand trailing the curves of her body underneath the soft silken cover, spread out knitted and wet above our bodies.

"This taste of yours-"

"Yes?", her head turning to the side, followed by the rest of her body, her right leg coming to rest on top of my legs, enveloping them.

"I wondered from the start, from the day in Slayer's office, what it was?"

Her laughter friendly and evil. "You wouldn't believe."

"Tell me."

With a quick move she is on top of me, her arms underneath my neck, her sharp nails biting into my flesh, trying to draw blood.

"It's an elixir. Taken from several glands and organs of a living human body."

"It tastes so--", fore- and middle finger of her left hand slipping into my mouth, silencing me.

"Want to taste its full flavour?"

I suck her fingers, nodding. Then they're gone and all I feel is the weight of her body resting on my face and all I taste is the sweet smell of her crotch.

"Pleasant memories, cripple?"

"Thought about fucking one of my whores."

Her voice smiling, "No longer fucking today, right? Want me to lend you a hand?"

Suddenly there is a flash outside, followed by the close impact of thunder and the whole cabin is illuminated for a brief second. She is lying more than sitting, her legs spread, in the corner of the cabin, her Feelgood in one hand, a FEN 603 in the other. No need for a bigger calibre, enough to pack a 603 to kill a cripple with. Wearing only a glittering black synthskin today, stressing, rather than hiding her eroticism. Even the weather torturing me by giving me only short glimpses at the most seductive of all bodies.

"Slayer ordered you to shoot me?"

Her voice coming again out of the dark, "Why don't you guess.", cocking her FEN. And then there is vertigo.

Her perfume is overwhelming in the dark. "Don't you dare die on me."

The world settles and the intensity of her perfume recedes, while her hands stay on my body, her right on my chest, left gently touching my neck.

"We're almost there."

Nausea remains. "Where are we going? Salvation Tower?"

So she didn't expect this question, "Salvation Tower?"

<

The storm outside was still raging with full force. Slayer watching all of us, now that the niceties have been said. "You all know the Salvation Tower project."

Each of them nods.

"It will not last for long. The public will regard it as the greatest catastrophe ever to happen on Mort. They will never know. You," pointing at Cynara and me, "will collapse it. And then you will deliver the Karma package."

"I don't do any black ops, Slayer," she objects calmly, "You should know that."

He smiles. "Yes. And you won't do any black ops. But your department."

"You mean our department."

"That is correct."

She casually glances at me, "Why him?"

"Because he bears the mark."

I don't bear any marks, not even birthmarks. "What-"

"Look at him, Cynara. Can't you see his stigmata?"

She remains silent. "They are the same as yours. Each of the chosen ones bears them. They all are the Stigmata Martyrs."

"Excuse me, I do not-"

He cuts me off. "You will. You will command, and Cynara will guide you. From this day on, both of you command the chosen ones. You all belong to Stigmartyr. Watch, report and silence. That is all you have to do."

I catch Senti's gaze, her mouth a cold smile. "But what are we looking for?"

I feel Cynara's eyes piercing me through her darkened shades. "For", she pauses, averting her eyes from me, addressing Slayer, "signs from White Earth."

"Can you feel the waves, Cynara?"

They are crashing against me and I am adrift on them. The clouds are racing fast above my head and there is a voice and before I am drawn under the surface, spinning, I can see a slim white structure rising somewhere at the horizon. A hollow voice is ebbing down here. Sometimes getting clearer while I am drawn deeper and deeper into the dark, still spinning, the motion becoming slower and slower.

And then there is this raging pain, inside, in my chest. Oxygen burning.

"-cking die on me!"

Her hand is pain. Clutching my chest, her other hand slapping me hard on both cheeks. Slowly her face floats over mine, glowing in the dark. Something angelic behind her evil features.

"You can't escape the easy way, cripple. No night-train for you."

But this is the night-train. She seems to have difficulties understanding me, the way her face comes closer and closer to mine, listening for every sound.

"what - plan -- me?"

"Nothing, nothing at all."

"Where we -"

"Going? Relax. I'm your guide. Forgot?"

No. After all those centuries I haven't forgotten a single day. Each death, each lie, I remember them perfectly.

I can feel the dark angel floating behind me, hand touching my head. Its voice tolling like a bell, "But do you remember the truth?"

"There is an angel next to you, Cynara."

She shakes her head, "There are no angels, Blake," taking my hand firmly, stroking it, "Only lost souls. The universe is full of them."

"I'm floating again."

Again shaking her head, "You are still lying here, paralysed."

"But the angel, the rushing wings!"

This time will be the last. Much confusion, all spinning. Darkness. Receding. Settling swirls and bleak colours. A picture. Must be kneeing beside me. Silken blackness draped upon me. Shroud.

"---won't die, Blake. I won't let you."

Lifts her head, the black shroud being drawn away.

"Are you still here?"

Where? "You tell me-----"

No copy of Integration Twenty must ever be found. All of them trying to rock the boat. No, Banshee, you must bring in Seduction alive and you must kill this traitor. Detonate the devices and then seal it all over. That is our mission. He works for the Walker. We don't care if he is used by them. But you, you work for us, not for your love. You can rescue him, of course. Be my whore.

High-pitched whining sound. Jerk. Outside, behind the mist. In motion, Cyna-ra at one side, the angel at the other. Its eyes full of sadness, begging me, Fall.

Where is Banshee? She was the best whore the last years. Better than the rest of her squad. "--- I love you Cynara."

She ignores me. Lifting me into a luxury car. Somewhere ahead there is Guidance. She guides me while the angel strokes my cheek. It has Banshee's face. The screeching, wailing sound silences my words, then the white dot hurls into space. We stop and then they move me down a dark corridor. Just like the first day. Slayer at my side, escorted by several operatives from the Black Chapter, leading me deeper and deeper into the cavern beneath Guidance. From here you will control everything. You are safe here. And your presence will be felt throughout the whole universe.

I want to fall out of the wheelchair. But Cynara won't let me. "A dead soul, Blake. No angel," she whispers into my ear. "Don't die on us."

Never seen her so caring before. So this is the ture Cynara. Putting down the mask, here, in the face of death. Behind her evil and self-centered facade she cares, cares for me, loves me. Through the last door, shining with a silver light. Bathed in the cold white.

Then we're alone. Even the angel has left me.

"You know where you are, do you?"

So much cold white.

"You are inside Guidance. And you will become Guidance. It's Slayer's will. He wants you immortal."

"What -- you - want?"

"Nothing that does matter now."

"--- dying, Cynara. Tell. --- ere together ----- so long ----- never found --- what --- really wanted."

"You not even know who I am. Nobody does."

"-- tell me. -- Everything. --- going -- float -- little."

There is this incredible pain again, crashing me back into my wheelchair, all nerves on fire. "No you won't float. What do I want? Love, perhaps. Only once, if only for a brief time. I don't want the universe to end without having experienced love just once."

"I can't---"

"I know," her voice becoming soft, "and I never expected you to. You only wanted to satiate desire. And the realisation of your inability to love made you hate everybody. And me the most as I was the closest to you."

"No--. That -- you."

Her face is everywhere, her grin huge. "That is us."

Watching her from a great distance; she is so small.

"You never realised what I was. Who lived in your midst. I am Kilneck."

Blackness creeping into everything and crashing waves.

Crushing me. "Slayer? Intruder?"

"They know. They respect. They fear."

Some touch, somewhere. "You know, Blake. We cannot let you go to White Earth. Not you. You know who's there. Slayer want's you here and I want you here too. Captured in this world of dying. That is my present."

Some ethereal motion in her hair, ablaze with darkness.

"There is something ripping at me."

"I know, Blake. I am. I am ripping at your soul. To give it to Guidance."

All the blackness is wet and there is sand and there are chaotic images and the voice, the siren voice and her voice from far away. "You won't make it, Blake. But if it's any consolation to you, you won't die as a cripple. You will never die. But then, you will never live again, instead, you're trapped in between. Forever."

So hard to go on, the pull too strong. The dunes, the ring-shaped valley -all fading; crying, begging, "Don't deny me White Earth, please----"

Her voice opressive, final, concluding. "This is my judgement upon you, cripple. You will watch us come back and destroy your world. And then the universe. But you will remain. In Stasis."

 

Snapping into focus. Alone amidst the stars. And at my centre there is a woman, with long black hair, holding a diseased cripple in her hands. A wheelchair not far away. One of the cripple's thin arms hangs lifelessly down to the ground, the other clutches her neck, desperately trying to hold on.

"Now let me see what your taste is like, Blake." A smile is forming on her evil face and with loving care she drops the cripple into the wheelchair and wheels him out of the room.

   
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
   
 
   
 
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