Practically floating effortlessly on the carved road, the black car flashed past the bridge, and entered the hollow country.
Zi Jin Cheng.
Lisan and Mercury tense in the car as it hastens gradually. A slight hum of what three-thousand cycles of trials and tribulation offers.
Smoothly, the vehicle glides on the ground as if there were no friction, unnaturally calm before despair.
Specially crafted for the Messengers, the Bearers hold undying disdain for the innovations they "stole" from them.
Bearers bare no tolerance for misconduct. The long-silver musket-rifle they hold laying on their shoulders awaits another brutality from strict orders. Reasons vary as to why many don't step foot out their homes. This is very much one of them . . .
Bald, pale, with the darkest shade of blue eyes conceivable, their chapped thin lips that never open, but their ears wide—only in hearing the next order in Bearing.
A jealous nation of greed, with steam radiating the air—a miracle that no mutations were noticed. A nation of false promise. It promises prosperity, yet they cling to that hope.
But a faint voice whispers in their minds that it may never come. However, there simply is no other choice. Hope, or die knowing in mortification.
The perfectly curved pipelines tracing dull buildings with uncleaned ashes on each tile of the skyscraper reach to the clouds. Millions survive—but do they live?
Evidently, the only signs of life are the clean windows, a passing of time each individual puts into tidying a bright maroon rose in a field of withering flowers that never got to bloom.
Lisan exhaled as the circular gyrating bar of air-conditioning in the vehicle whirs a tune of nation.
"Steel cores softly forge the steamy dawn,Silent voices march orderly as simply one,Freedom's shadow embarks—just a word."
The priest glanced at the radio as if it were blasphemous. Turning it off calmly—
"Every trial makes a fracture in an individual. Their trial is liberation. Unfortunately, none have destructed to forge themselves anew in hopes of lies fed to millions," the priest uttered in elusion.
Mercury is quiet, a fist planted on his temple, pondering.
"Rumors tell that Zi Jin Cheng runs on water or electricity. No . . . it only runs on blood and deception. Names with more emphasis get to decide what quarters one lives in purely based on contribution to a place they were pre-destined to."
Mercury turned his head right to glance at Lisan. His half-faded scars sitting on the corner of his defined jaw frowned with venerable contempt.
"I've heard many revolt, and hide behind masks. But those masks are who they really are. They stand against this nation, and I don't blame them," the replicant said.
Lisan smiled. "Maybe one day, some can revolt without violence."
They embraced the flashes of artificial rainbow lights from shining advertisements, open signs, and empty traffic signals.
"We're the only ones outside in this dull place," Mercury muttered.
Gradually, the pace picked up, and picked up. Until—
With the animatronic vocal, the GPS uttered: "Your nearby hotel has arrived."
Both anomalies look outside the windows with slight dark tint.
The building looks as regular as they all are. One would mistake it for another apartment complex if it weren't for the meticulous locations graphed into the device of the vehicle.
Getting out, Mercury and Lisan raise an eyebrow in confusion. They walked past the sidewalk, entered through light blue-tinted windowed doors with chrome edges layering it.
Inside, they peered at the dust-filled luxury that looked like a mansion that lost maintenance for over a century. Crimson couches, golden-blue lamps, a carpet of bronze wool lay soft on the ground.
Past it, a clean, spotless reception desk in front of a model-like woman with a wide smile greeted them with piercing blue-green eyes.
A mixture, huh . . .
"Greetings!" she cheered.
Mercury asked for a booking, and smiled white while he brushed his hair and wired dreadlock back in charm.
Lisan noticed, faintly laughing.
The woman gave a keycard with "143" etched deeply into it, then pointed to an open stairwell to the left. Both men walked through dusty railing, ashy steps, their boots' prints making dust-angels throughout every ascend.
Silver-red wires dangle from the high red ceilings with tiny cyan LEDs attached to the ends.
They reached the fifth floor that matches the same threshold that their room number would place.
Lisan broke in laughter. "Did you like her?" he teased.
"I mean, yeah. You can't blame me," Mercury smiled.
Each room passed with shorter wires. Aromas of dust, and air permeated deeply.
The soft carpet crunched, under the leather squeaky boots as they strolled past the wired landscape trademarked as a hallway.
139 . . . 140 . . . 141 . . . 142 . . . and—
143.
The thick wire-shrouded door has a scanner in place for a gray doorknob unlike other buildings.
Mercury swiped it, and the room opened by itself.
. . .
A perfectly clean room. No spot, no mess. Two black beds between a nightstand, lay atop thick red carpet floor. The room had a code word on the white walls: Ladybug.
Mercury smirked, waved Lisan to enter. They sit down graciously on the black beds simultaneously, letting out a sigh.
Lisan creaked upward. "I'll be right back," he said.
Mercury glanced as he walked away, with his orange robe brushing each tuft of carpet like an instrument of the divine.
Alone.
Mercury peered to the right, saw dark-red curtains, and flipped them open to see the outside.
This is not what the outside looks like . . .
The "window" displayed greenery of nostalgia far greater than even the likes of Mala. Blooming flowers and trees whisper in lullabies. He noticed a tab faint in the bottom right corner of the window. He knelt, clicked it, and saw an array of options for different sceneries as he scrolled down.
Elegant Beachside, Cozy Treehouses, Calm Campfires, Fantasy Aquariums, Stone Castles, Chilly Tundras . . .
He stopped scrolling.
All to one's preference.
"So that's why nobody wants to leave . . ." Mercury mumbled.
He dialed with the window. Saw a button that was blue, circular, with the word "Off" in the middle.
He pressed it—
Whumpf.
Instantaneously, the vision of greenery like homes glitched pixel-by-pixel. Slowly unveiling itself. Each pixel made a clicking sound as they lowered in opacity.
One may ponder upon the fantasy behind the screen that it hides, so they curiously turn it off—
Only to see reality instead. A shadow of fantasy without business. A reminder of silence. An attempt to overshadow whom they were once conjoined to.
"I know it all. They know it all, yet they refuse to see what they know. Only what they envision. And they call our country deceivers," Mercury cackled deafeningly. He held his artificial heart, as he fell backwards into the bed.
How chaotic . . . and I know. They know, but refuse. I love it.
His cackling didn't halt, until he felt a rush. A rush like blood, but not the same.
Miracle-made veins rush blood to his brain and—he passes out.
A static sound of derealization hit.
It spiked in his eardrums. A drowning sound of sand funneled into his brain. An asphyxiating anguish.
Until—
. . . .
Driftfall: Guilty Trance.
He's entered a Howl.
"My dream has a title?" Mercury stared into darkness.
Cold, crisp winds passed by him, surreal in a manner that nearly fooled him.
A desert of white snow with patches of blood. Three shadows standing in front.
Three withering trees stand behind them. Sixteen unidentified shadows in human figure stand tall far past them.
Vast chrome-like shining fences bolt to the snow below between the Replicant and the ones that couldn't.
Mercury opens his eyes. "I'm passed out." Then he notices.
"Nasir, Kadir, Farhan . . . the platoon . . ." the Replicant whispered.
In unison, the Callgrays whispered: "You could not replicate us. We are dead."
A Callgray is a term spread across realms which defines a lucid vision of a familiarity in a trance.
"There was no time . . . would you rather me die too? Yes, I'm distraught that you perished, but wouldn't you be at least glad that I lived?" Mercury interjected.
"You died, Mashia. You killed me too."
Mercury stared.
"Mashia, if you had a shred of humanity left, and held back . . . I would've been saved by the evangelist, right?" Farhan marched forward, clinging onto the fence with decayed hands as he spoke.
Mercury smiled. "Yet, you aren't you. You are a figment. A pretender." He began to laugh.
Suddenly, the Replicant tore the fence open, snapping every tie of chrome-bar bit by bit. The shadows stepped back.
Mercury walked through the broken steel. "I will account for all your lives. I will live what you have, and tenfold past it." He put his foot down in front of Farhan.
"Tell me! Are you ready to see that my life was worth it after all?"
Shocked, the shadows dropped their jaws.
"I am a Miracle! The one who steps past impossibility! You are not against me, for you now stand on my shoulders!" He paused.
"To Recurrence of all!" rallied Mercury.
Strong gusts passed, but Mercury didn't falter. The bloody tundra obeyed. His yellow-green eyes sharpened, his full lips creaked louder, his pale skin brightened, and his snowy hair whirled in dexterity.
Within the bleached breeze, the shadows smiled as they began to decay.
They all bowed to Mercury in approval of his rhetoric. And like snow, they decayed fully. They withered once again . . .
Mercury closed his eyelids shut, long eyelashes scratching his dark eyebrows. He embraces, as he exhales.
"Recurrence. I will all live, you. To survive what you are worth. I'll never falter, because none of you ever did." Sighing heavily, in grace, as he held his arms out for all to take in.
He stepped forward. "My dream has its title, but its story is beyond . . . what all will assimilate. Guilty Trance is not the name. Never has . . . never will." He breathed deeply.
Then—all went black again . . .
Driftfall: Complete.
My dream concludes, enlightening like stars, my reality regresses to become anew once more. To live once more.
All of a sudden—
. . .
Mercury's crusted eyelids creak open.
"Happy belated, June first." the reception woman endeared in an empty expression as she shakily handed him an orange-frosted cake with faintly clear candles shaped in a "20" on top. It was nighttime now.
How long was I asleep for?
Mercury leaned upward. "What . . . what's this?"
"My birthday celebration," the priest smiled.
The woman's hand hovered over the candle. Instantaneously, the candle glowed a sunny red-orange on the "2" and radiant purple-blue on the "". Her body's heat lit up the candle.
Mercury blurted, "But it's June Sec—"
"To her, it's . . . my birthday," the priest uttered.
Mercury forced a timid grin, moving past the topic. "So . . . you're 20?"
In a rhythm of organized motion, the pretty-faced reception lady waltzed out of the room, as Lisan nodded, then waved to the odd woman to leave.
"Oh please . . . no need to be veiling your thoughts. The woman is just like you."
Lisan smiled, eating the cake with a shiny fork. Its creamy frosting crowns atop the cake, waiting to be sliced. He continued, "Care for a slice, Mercury?"
"Just like me? Elaborate," he said.
"You have a mind that thinks for itself. They don't." Lisan pulled open the cabinet of the nightstand in between both their beds. A paper and a pen were left there. He looked around, observing carefully, and wrote attentively.
Holding it out, it read: "They all listen closely."
They?What could he mean?The Realms?
Mercury mouthed the words, and Lisan nodded gently.
They found a way to keep prisoners without them ever believing they're in it. Instead, they make false images of "captives" to distract them from the prison they already live in.
He looked at Lisan, faintly holding in laughter. Both creaking a smile, they chuckled nonstop. They guffawed until tears rained uncontrollably, until every listener knows that they're aware.
"Ahh. You know what, Mercury? Let's stop acting for these fools. We only serve the man above, not the ones we stand beside."
"Yeah, and who gave them so much authority anyway?" Smiling, Mercury lay on the bed mocking any cameras watching. "Lies. They lie and can't even keep a clean country!"
They shook hands with firm arms, as they are brothers not by blood, but by belief. Cackles bloomed through the halls. The reception woman was listening from outside the door—she never left. She stood straight, mouthing a plentiful of words, as her eyes luminate bright in a state of information processing.
A human? No, a Mercury without thoughts. Watchful. Not a sound was ever heard from the halls, except for the Replicant and the priest. Suddenly, the door opened—Mercury stood out the door, perceptive. Nobody was in sight.
I have to get back quickly. The store is not open for long. I have a gut feeling as to what they will do to Amira. After all, she's the reason I've come this far. The last remnant of my platoon besides me.
Something whispered to itself, "My Bearers decreed. Erase them. Mercy is rebellion." Immediately, it went silent in wired ambitions of decimation.
He left through the stairwell. In horror fashion, the reception woman dropped from the ceiling, where she blended in with the wires. Her programmed thought only pondered in binary encoding.
"01000001 01101100 01101111 01101110 01100101."Converting, it meant: "Alone."
Uncannily, the android swiftly opened the door with an eye scan and shaped his hand with the consistency of a sharp spear.
Aiming for a quick strike, she flashed forward to see—
"P . . . pr . . ." her voice stalled, rebooting past binary, ". . . iest?"
Instantly, the grinning priest waved softly. As she was sliding forward, a rope-pulley system caught her, brake-checking her in an instant. Its gear twisted, hugging her leg tight as she hung upside down. A separate rope for pulling lay in Lisan's hand.
"Turn off your node of attack. It hinders your response."
The woman whirred like a broken machine, without a word.
"I know you feel pain. And you just tried to kill a priest, no? Revere, and I'll purify you."
. . .
No response.
Scoffing, Lisan pulled the rope ever so slightly. An excruciating anguish spiked through the nerves of the woman.
"Gah!" she muttered, withstanding it.
"You deceiver. The Ninefold Testament speaks of deceivers as no less than trash. So inform me—would you like to be separated, part by part, in a garbage dump as you still breathe, Replicant?"
The Replicant shook violently. The rope was not ordinary—soft like yarn, yet with the tenacity and force of barbed wire, lacerating every muscle fiber. It uttered, "Mercy, please . . ."
"Mercy would have you pulverized. For every second you breathe is suffering from me, who gifted it to you."
"GRAHHHH! I don't want this! Let me go!" the Replicant woman screamed as she tumbled, her leg gripped tighter by the rope as she trembled in mechanized angst. She noticed the details of what she was tied to. "No . . . no, you didn't—That's not rope!"
"Truth. It is Chalzareth, the forge of barbed-piercing vine that split Paradise in half when obedience was first ignored. It will gnaw at you until you speak only of gospel."
"Mercury is truly a miracle, a tenacious mind amongst them . . ." He looked at the woman with a glint of scorn in his golden eyes.
"You too once had a mind. However, your lines of programming—the ones they taught relentlessly—have caught up. You are merely a shell." Laughing, the priest furrowed his tiger-like eyebrows.
Declaring, "Now, turn off your connection to the Bearers. I know they hear me."
Whirr.Sizzle. Buzz . . .
Her eyes dimmed as she sighed in relief. "Done. What is it you want?" the Replicant lady croaked.
"Your repentance, and answers."
"Never!" she roared ignorantly.
Lisan exhaled and pulled the rope tighter. A suffocating despair shrouded every wire coursing blood throughout her body. Pain was still accepted, even though they were Replicants. One-to-one copies of another—just not the same soul.
As the soul can never be replaced.
But Mercury did it anyway.
"A result of your ignorance—every wrong step must be purified. Lisan preached lightly with a frown. "I don't enjoy this. But you attempted murder on a priest. How do you feel? Being a slave who looks down on other slaves? You are no better than the Sklaves."
"You know nothing! The Bearers know what's right, and you are arrested by me!" the Replicant refused to give up.
Baleful, the resplendent gleam of gilt in each layer of his execrating gold-within-gold irises anathematized all indifference in the hard-wired woman's feigned prefrontal cortex.
"Despond," echoed the evangelist. "I exonerate you, for you don't know what you're doing. It's in your nature, after all. That, I cannot blame on you—only those who control you." He paused.
"It is control—one of the great catalysts of covert suffering, veiled beneath gratification," the priest exuded, angelic yet bearing the grandiosity of a cambion.
Abruptly, the woman went out like a luminant firefly. Lisan shrugged, untied her, and dragged her across the red carpet past the hallway, to place her somewhere safe.
He felt the presence of an empty room, opened her eyelid to scan for acceptance.It opened slowly on its own.
Lisan walked in, placed the Replicant on a black bed, looked behind as he locked the room shut, and walked back.
The priest whispered to himself, "That was suffering. I never even asked for the poor girl's name." He stared at the hand that pulled the rope. And—
Simultaneously, he subjugated.
Snap!
Snap!
Snap!
Snap!
Snap!
Remorselessly, he shattered all five of his dense fingers like sprigs, one by one.
"My fingers that pulled to purify were unclean. By this, I forgive thee." Lisan remained blank with a poker face.
. . .
Mercury arose from the stairwell. His fatigued, dark under-eyes cast a shadow under the small lights of wires—no less than a foot above him—as they rose with him. He held a bag of sorts.
Finally placed it. I can finally sleep now . . .
Scanning the keycard, he entered the room. Lisan covered his whole body with the woolly blanket, not breathing a sound, as if listening. He could only think whilst engulfed by darkness.
How many more like her? How many more will pass by, and I say nothing? So many copies that faces hold no true value anymore. Up until today, I let inaction depart, for I never knew it.
Mercury lumbered across the soft wool carpet and crashed like thunder into bed, letting go of what he held as he began to snore face-down atop the black blanket.
Slumbering in deep fantasy—as real as the world of this country's citizens—everybody dreamt. Dreams unspoken, but known.
Ones that are tightly held onto, like the dreams they wish came true.