ASAIMC/7/5
The screen zeroed in on the line and she saw she was close, dancing across the neon as another gondola passed, the occupants swaying to rock the suspensions with a cry at each turn. She watched them pass with half a sense, hinging her bets on meagre assumptions to pin the motives of the clawed spearman who proposed an assassination. The Withered were old, and not fit to make calculated assumptions about a universal assault on their fortress. Anyone who knew what they were doing would abandon the marauders and thieves and trace the Kyut to the Withered, and move to slay them among the graveyard of their creation, of all creation, and assert their claim of become more.
But the thing they pursued was cunning, in an animal sense. It was fundamentally a predator, with no inclination of humanity or principle. The idea that they would organise a specific murder on one target was moronic. Instead, Mauven knew she wandered toward a trap, of figures left alive just long enough to call for help, and draw more into a feeble excuse for an attack.
The sky and the murderer's shades would be the same, so she searched for the ivory veil she had seen before, taking the colours muted by the abnormal luminescence and eyeing for distinction between the lines. A formless head, moving from the corners of her vision, foreign to these places and tactics, like a tiger in the concrete jungle. She would know the agent when she saw it, and she had the gun, so her steps kept to the open reaches as she let her head roll loose, following the bright breeze as it carried her on.
The Stria was an Old Tokyo in construction, as a metropolis which sported a tsunami of intelligence and data, alongside a quickly growing population. The composition of the city allowed it, even still, many years of development down the path of the great cord, but the inevitability of having to branch off and away from the constant energy flow was looming. The divide between the obvious classes was defined by the way she could look over the edge of this scraper, and see a shanty town below, busy while those on her level danced. Despite all these years, it was not completely different from the way she remembered it. It still looked the same. Smelt that way too, as heat from the lights hit the cold air and formed the sweet smell of electricity.
She turned, slowly, listening for a fraction before motion, and saw the gondola creeping across its wire. She looked to her side and saw the stop, blinking into the chill as she stood in a patch of bright pink, brought down like paint from some kind of implant advertisement. Cold, machine eyes stared over the city as the car came closer, drifting on its threaded orange, as it passed her by a few meters and slid, so gently, to its graceful halt, the steaming glass hiding the interior through its heating, as the doors dragged themselves apart and a figure, clad in night and wielding a naganata, stepped off with a sway.
The colour from within the car lit the figure's back as he shifted, producing his claw which tended to a stain on his steel, as the advert shifted focuss and gazed now on him.
From distance she could not be sure, and her hesitation called to her patience.
Yet she span her pistol from its case and fired a shot before she could crumble, a disproportionally large round moving even from a pistol of her size, which sent the shot clean to the character who had moved with the flow of her motion-swaying hair. He could only be behind the cables, so she pressed around, stammering at the unknown power of her weapon, a force she had once tamed with powerful arms, now threatening to shatter her whole body.
She blew her ease to the neon and aimed up, pinning her sight to the car's rigging, taking two more bullets to the vehicle to send it collapsing to the streets far below. Both hit but her second hit left, as her instinct caught the hurtling shape before her mind could, leaving the cart up as the porcelain face charged from its hiding place and into the open, predicting shots which she held back as he span to a raised ventilation spire, and disappeared once more.
She snorted and sent her current ammunition flying, explosion of gold taking her face for split seconds, moving for her pocket and producing a ring of red tipped rounds which she flicked in close, releasing now another three which pierced the cover with threatening rings. Each flash of the muzzle illuminated her against the magenta, but she held her aim true as she tore holes clean through the high ducts. Again he moved and she knew he was gaining ground, slowly taking the distance in hurried strides as he worked around her line of sight. The gaze of the machine eyes held to his last obvious spot but the glow kept to Mauven, which she used to bait him forward, as she took her steps backward now with her weapon trailing the nightime city.
The eyes span and so did she, bringing the sights even higher as the shape threaded through any obstacles and leapt from cable tied posts to maintain his leverage. He was quick, she observed, as he leapt behind the advertising board and vanished from the guessing gaze's sights, all focus now on her as she stared at a burning pink which ruined any chances of seeing him before he dived.
She made her bets on the edge of a breath and charged, turning her back to the figure in pursuit of the car which had closed its entrance and was moving, but slowly enough for her to leap for one of the trailing cables hanging in its wake. The man of the Withered took chase but kept high, forcing himself to double back around his elegant arc, the glow catching his bladed pike and fingers as she span into a crouch, both hands to her aim as she let loose her whole capacity, eight rounds cutting through the noise of the night and taking mark toward the cloak, which swirled and leapt downward, formless, as a droplet, which plummeted, imitating a hit but known to be fine as she cursed, forsaking another shot to her escape as she sprinted, kicking through her strides as she took three round between each of her finger and loaded them in unison, firing blindly behind once to follow through with a full turn, facing the shadow with both hands.
He was closer than she'd thought.
He trailed with a thrust, moving to cleave her head loose as she lost her surprise of distance to motion, twisting under the blow and sweeping for his feet, a quick leap leading the talons to target as he cut for her face. She made herself fall to miss the swipe and came up firing, his thigh erupting but the second leaving desire as he stepped back, the force of the shot keeping him at bay. She thought of pressing but continued on, taking more rounds to load as he hobbled after, quickly regaining speed as he seemingly forgot about the sudden injury and pursued, the machine eyes torn between which figure to observe as they suddenly spun, bored of the engagement and noting now a third figure, one the backward glancing Muaven noticed while the cloaked fiend did not, who ran until his back blew into light and red, as the captured shape fired without constraint in a wave of rounds which splintered the ground before the already falling agent.
Mauven made another bet in that second, as her feet paused their escape and she took a heaving breath, pinning the next action to be approach before summary execution, as the distant character lowered their rifle and paused, observing the scene with lax shoulders before starting forward, manoeuvring down an illuminated ladder to take a hard but controlled fall which spurred her on, moving between the elements of the rooftop to become a solid, visible image of a woman in uniform, militaristic with her cunning gaze, wearing a long coat for the cold over her fine attire.
The captain nodded and so did she, moving to speak before halting and aiming down, unloading another uncountable number of shots into the dead man's back, sending chunks flying. Her formal visor cap sat snug and slightly aloof atop her head as she looked up, placing her rifle in a comfortable grip with a polite gesture of ease, the red caught from running and now laying splattered and random around the ruined form.
"Sahiel and Cal found me." She said to Mauven's raised brow. "Offered me your job. Said your name was Mauven." She waited for a response, trained in stance.
"That would make sense." Mauven said, listening to her escape slowly drifting from reach. Her tone connoted her holding out her hand in greeting, but she offered no such movement. The woman stood a little taler and frowned a little harder.
"That is a dangerous name to take." She said, the polish of her boots taking the shade of the eyes. "The few who know it would be more than intrigued." The captain shrugged, staring for a second at a problem she had anticipated but never planned for, resorting to hold out her weapon which the woman regarded for a second, before widening her gaze to the tired child's yawn.
"Yeah." Mauven said, wiping a tear from her sight. "Guess who's home." She holstered the gun and pocketer her hands, sniffing as the woman stared.
"There's no possible way you could possess that weapon and not be the true Mauven Elslip." Her words indicated belief, but her gaze said another. "It could only have died with her." The captain nodded, watching a column of steam grow from the vented pylon.
"She crawls from the grave." Said Mauven, as the bright pink swam through the rising gas. "Taking a small brake, but then the universe starts falling down around me, so I figured I better get to work again." The machine gaze beckoned a returning eye, but she ignored the impulse, shifting to the woman of arms, who looked down at the child and brushed a rogue strand from her sight with a weaponised point.
"How come you're a kid?" She asked after a pause, her grey coat cast in black by the thicker outer layer, which was enveloped by the surrounding shades of rose. Mauven shrugged.
"Easier to get shot if you're big." Now the woman raised her brow.
"Easier to shoot, though." She replied, lifting her rifle over a shoulder and taking the barrel with her other hand, head skyward as she regarded the child with a growing smirk.
"What?" Coughed the captain, staring up at the gunner who merely stared back, her black nail tracing the trigger in gentle rings, light catching the edges of her lethal modifications. Mauven didn't know who she was, but their crew had enough of a number with her regard. She didn't need the deserter's additional input, as he found every woman who caught his eye and offered a smile. She definitely didn't need anyone who challenged her, alone and without support. Bravery and rashness of proposed leadership were pointless prospects to the captain. She could care for neither.
But the woman let loose a grunt before she could draw, releasing her tense digit but maintaining her expression, as she turned her head a fraction to the dead agent, who's blade lay by her heel, the red inching its way toward a perfect boot, which she withdrew a step back, watching the remains trickle past the new ground. It was another approaching tram which redrew both of their attentions, as an empty vehicle eased itself across the wire, dragging the littered hull with a faint screech in its wake, the woman eyeing it as it moved, until the box stopped.
"Who was he?" She asked, kicking toward the body.
"Someone from the Veniam." She said, to a surprised nod. "Native. See a bunch of them if I let you come." Someone flew overhead, kicking up a flurry of space as it trailed, whipping across the heights and sending all loose in a spine, as Mauven's hair and the womans coat fluttered for less than a moment.
"I've already been promised whatever I want." She responded, scratching the grip of her rifle. "And I'm one of your biggest fans." Her eyes were so dark they were almost black, but indisputably the shade of night in this lighting.
"I don't care. I'm giving you permission to fly with me because you seem capable. Do what you just did to that guy to everyone there and you can take that price. You know where to meet me tomorrow." She turned for the bus, hunched against the breeze. "I had that guy anyway, but thanks." The eyes followed her now in motion, tracing with a flickering connection across the roof. Behind her, the woman shifted.
"My name is Lund." She said, barley rose in tone yet sending her words clearly across the distance with ease. "Usually commander, but I guess that's your role now." From her way the captain shrugged, watching the doors to the cabin slide open. Lund just sniffed, correcting her cap with the barrel supporting grip, her loose strand straight and pointed.
When Mauven reached the car she turned to an empty roof, the body and woman missing to the night as she collapsed into a seat, the room swaying with her motion until the coil fired and the box started up again, the entrance jittering closed and sealing the cold with it, as the cabin swelled with the heavy noise of burners which started reheating the space, whirring to the tune of gears in pain. Elslip listened to the sound with tension, but relaxed as they eased along, watching the city fall below her and into the marshes as distant lights predicted ships falling to land at the pads, hidden from view by the black.
All of the gen here would indicate a spike in activity, but she presumed that everyone on the case of the Veniam had already left. Abandoned this distant world, which many would presume to be a target for mining, to leave before they got jacked, or robbed of data, or something similar. This crisis was not merely a battle within the walls of the Veniam. You could look it up on anything, anywhere, and get sliced by someone on the other side of reality, as the event was exploited at every corner of a journey toward the final stand.
She paused for a second, tracing the scent of thought, and found herself on an image of white, as she saw Alaxada through her train of mind. Him orchestrating her escape was an inescapable truth, but the sickening froth of hate still took her senses, as a fist balled against the cold glass and a grimace became her feature. After all this time, he still maintained his title. A kenidomo to this day, sauntering to her entitled throne. Dictating all who sought a similar title as demons. Evil, for indulging in their ambition. Their nature. She felt her pistol hard against a tense leg and shook her head.
All across the universe, she could picture them. See in the corners of her mind the adequations of a wicked creed, who sought an egotistical supremacy at the cost of all others. Sneers who aimed to murder the rest of their level and become more. Creatures who had sought an opportunity like this for an age, and who fell to tears when the whisper of the Veniam came to their ears. Demons, slumping to their knees as their happiness swelled and leaked from their wide stare. She had been one, once, too. Watching her deities with a blade behind her back. She had raced here until she was the best, and then moved on, crawled across the many worlds and left her family of pace behind. Abandoned the only thing she had ever cared for, and given her all to fall at the final hurdle, which some moron now dead had pushed an inch forward, and as such sent her tumbling to a brutal end.
Horns and fangs she cursed, shattering the window with a punch she didn't remember throwing. The shards fell like leaves made of stars, drifting into the dark. She had been lucky, with only a small laceration across a knuckle. That icy heat of the evening chill swept in and claimed comfort, the momentary decompression sending her locks into a spin, which settled on the end of her exhale. The orange of her cabin bled out into the sky, absorbed by the blooming condensation which rose from below, as she looked into the dark.
And now the demons were everywhere, seething from their pits and wounds to claim the universe as their own. A race of Alexadas, all hosting an aptitude for their own success which made the skeleton's look like a dream. Suddenly, as she gazed into the darkness, for the first time in so long, she genuinely felt nobody looking back. Everyone was out for their own desires, bent on settling this one score with a single opportunity, never before presented. Forget tracking and trailing and preparing to flee. Just pull the trigger on whomever you come across, before you pull one on something more.
Like any of that mattered to her, though. A child who no longer aged from nowhere. Leaving her existence in pursuit of death. It was a fable well rehearsed to walk without attention, and to be a slice of though upon the minds of the troubled. Find a ship and use it to board a bigger one. Kill the crew but save a few to serve and repeat, until you've got the best ship and the best crew and the best weapons. Become the weapon, when all others fall behind your capabilities. Your own machine of war, stronger than any ship.
She looked down at a thin, puny arm which supported a weak excuse for a fist. Envy was thicker than hate, and she found herself hating every second of it. To be in her prime now would be an opportunity the old her would have fainted at. So pure she may have turned it down. She had the Omnipotence and Kenshaku, but she didn't truly have herself, and the confidence which oozed from knowing you're at your best. At the best.
She'd kill them all. Slaughter the war. Anyone in that damned place was fair game. Equally criminal. Equally guilty. She'd fly across every square inch and pepper every centre meter with a storm from hell. Rain fire like water on the monsters who sought to live by none other than their own accord. Who decreed the demise of all, without an excuse save for their sneer. To shreds, Mauven thought, as she saw her stop approaching, and pushed away the few remaining fragments of glass, tossing them from the cabin and down to the lights below.