I walked up the stairwell. The whole building seemed silent now, silent if not for the incessant tapping of raindrops.
I stopped and turned my head. I looked out the window as water slowly slid down across it. The moonlight was poking through, still and yet silky as it bore its azure glow.
The sun had mutated. Ever since The Corpse Father roared itself into existence. But, the moon stood ever a bastion. It was laudable, to be so unchanging, so distant.
I shook my head, pulling myself away from the glass frame. I began my march once more.
I reached the top and opened a door. I caught sight of three familiar faces. Kiara and Steven were by each other, hand in hand. I gave the woman a brisk nod and in response, she squeezed Stevens hand and smiled at me.
I was—
Proud of her.
Steven pulled his gaze away from me without saying a word, he returned his full attention to her.
I walked along, unwilling to interrupt the moment. I may not fully understand the reasons for everything. However, I don't need to necessarily comprehend them to respect them.
I rounded a corner. Idris was standing, somewhat. His legs were stiff as iron and yet his upper body was slumped over and drooling. Several empty needles were at his feet.
I walked over and gently poked his face. He didn't react immediately. Instead he muttered. "Can't you see I am trying to meditate?"
My wings shuffled as I processed his words. "Don't overdose yet." I patted him on the back. This caused him to finally fall over, face flat, ass up.
I was about to help him up. But, the sound of his snoring stopped me. I don't think I saw him sleep more than a half hour during the time I knew him. Best to let him rest.
I moved towards the last heat signature within the building. Roland had chosen the presidential suite as his command center. I stopped before the rich mahogany of the doors and took in a stream of air.
I could smell the cigar smoke from here.
I wrapped my clawed fist round the handle and slowly opened it.
The room wasn't particularly impressive. A kings sized bed stood near the farthest right corner. In the center, Roland sat at a wooden desk, his back supported by a simple office chair.
The walls were plastered with maps. Some were large overhead shots of the streets, others were impressive and intricate reproductions of the buildings and roads displayed in wide panning shots.
He had placed simple pins wrapped in twine to indicate the precise locations of each of the detailed drawings amongst the more traditional maps.
Roland tapped the side of his cigar against an ashtray. It was filled to the brim, a mix of black residue and crushed up cigarette filters. Some of the contents had leaked out and onto the desk.
"Hey." Roland said. His voice unsteady.
I stepped further into the room and approached the desk. "My memory is taken in the form of video recordings. When I recall something, it is not like how you do so. I simply witness the event again at high speed." I pulled one of the maps from the wall. "Something like this would be trivial for me to create."
Roland was holding a pencil. His hand was partially supported by the desk. He looked over the illustration and sighed. "It is a hobby of mine, drawing. It's a coincidence that it's useful."
"For a hairless ape, your level of visual memory is disgustingly advanced." I waved the paper. "In the old world. You would have been able to amass great fame and even greater wealth for such talents."
He shook his head. "Yeah, but in the world I know this stuff is just a distraction. My dad used to tell me that, at least." He chuckled. "He was right. It won't stop the enemy, it won't feed anyone, or heal the sick."
I looked up at the ceiling for a moment. Then, I looked him in the eye. "I used to think something similar. I am a being designed for the singular and unfaltering song of warfare. The only music of my kind was the roar of gunfire, the only form of expression was the cutting edge of a blade."
"So? What do you think about it now?" He leaned forward.
"My father sang a different song with his dying breaths. I can't recall it… But, it changed me. It altered my function." I sat atop the edge of the bed.
"Art doesn't keep you alive. It simply gives that life meaning." I could scarcely believe the words I was speaking. Yet they seemed… right. I could feel them resonate with my frame, with my mind, my soul.
Roland's brow furrowed. He had a look in his eye, one of disappointment, of regret. "I wanted to be an artist." He tapped the pencil against the wood. "Yet, here we are." He cackled then. It was that same sound he made back when we were in the manor. That hopeless, grating laugh.
"Why are you here? What reason do you leave the confines of your territory and come to clash blades?" I asked.
"We are protecting supply lines." He suddenly adjusted his posture. The emotions from before were buried up instantaneously. "We have more than enough food and water back in the city. What we lack is the space for heavy industry. We outsource production to old-world factories and we set up small towns around them." He flicked the ash from his cigar.
I nodded. "I assume this also entails seizing production zones from other groups."
"Yeah, we kill monsters and take their stuff. The population grows, we get to make what we need, whether it's aspirin or bullets." He took a puff.
"And why expand at all if you lack the current infrastructure?" I leaned forward.
"The king demands it. And so, I know it is a cause that I must serve. I don't need to understand everything to uphold my duty, it is an honor to die for such a cause." A sudden sternness filled his voice. But, the exhaustion remained.
"Such pretty little lies you humans tell yourselves. I remember once seeing a man try to call for his mother, despite having his lungs blown out. Not one thought of honor remains when death is upon you." I matched his glare.
He looked away. "You are wrong. Not completely, but you are wrong."
...…..
We spent a few minutes gathering the maps of our current location. Roland spread them out over his desk, and my eyes scanned over them. I had already been brainstorming ideas. Now, I could gather my thoughts and solidify them.
I traced a finger over the buildings surrounding the hotel. "We should spread out and set up defenses. Expect the enemy to breach the outside; order your men to prepare for indoor fighting."
I pointed to the hotel. "Set up some defenses here as well, but don't concern yourself with it nearly as much."
He looked up, confused. "Isn't this our headquarters?"
I shook my head. "It is just a building. They will attack it because no one sets up defenses without needing to protect something. It is a lure. I will lace the inside with C4 and blow it sky-high once William approaches. I will lace some of the surrounding buildings too."
I pointed to a building a block over. "You, Steven, Kiara, and Idris will stay here. The enemy won't find you."
Roland stood up. A fierce look filled his eyes. "Have you lost your mind?"
I replied calmly. "This plan ensures your survival."
"But it damns everyone else." He gesticulated, then began to pace around the table, his eyes moving over the maps in disbelief.
"You don't have any issue with that, Captain Roland." He stopped pacing when those words left my mouth. "I don't care about the rest of your men. I only care about who I mentioned."
He shook his head. His eyes tightened into twin slits. "You don't understand anything, do you?"
My wings shuffled. "You said it yourself. You have no issue sacrificing others in the name of your king. You are trading fifty men for the head of a powerful foe. A foe worth no less than a thousand soldiers." I reached out and gripped his shoulder. "You don't sacrifice a queen for a bunch of pawns."
He swatted my hand aside, then reeled back. His eyes darted madly across the room. He seemed to struggle with himself before he pointed, finger jutting and teeth grinding. "I am sick of all this sacrifice, machine. I am done with the pretty little lies. Lies won't redeem me, they won't change the truth of my actions."
"You make sacrifices because that is your duty. I don't agree with your views, but I know what you think." I cut him off. "You have pulled that trigger — click — and snuffed out more than fifty lives already, all because, to you, it was right. All I ask is that you let me pull that trigger today."
Roland suddenly stilled, then he walked up to me. He looked at my feet for a moment, then—
CLANK
His palm struck my cheek. My head didn't budge an inch. But something else shifted. I finally caught the look in his eyes. Finally, I saw him.
"You think I ever actually believed in this sacrifice bullshit?" he whispered. "I had to make myself believe it. Because if I didn't keep pulling, if I didn't keep butchering those I was meant to protect, then it would have meant that I was wrong, pulling it for the first time."
My wings drooped. I stepped back slowly. He laughed under his breath. "Machine, a few years back the city started supplying men with gas masks. We needed them because our foe had retreated into the old metro tunnels; some were filled with noxious chemicals."
He sighed, then sat down against the bed. "My men had refused to charge when the foe was upon us. They were frozen in terror, one by one they were picked off." He said it as if commenting on the weather. "I was given some more men by my superior officer — he reprimanded me, of course. This time I didn't hesitate. The enemy was upon us; that same fear began to paralyze my men. I raised my gun and shot the closest soldier. Almost at once, they began to fight back. I took out the opposing leader myself."
He laughed. "I received a medal for it." Suddenly, his laughter died. He looked down, his back tensed. "The next day, I saw them burying the bodies. There, I saw my own son with a hole in the back of his head."
I took a moment to process. Then, something boiled within me. I clenched my fists. "You motherfucker."
Roland's eyes widened like saucers. "Yet, you saved everyone else. Tell me, Roland, if you had shot any of the other men in your squad, would you have still kept killing?"
Roland raised his finger, his mouth opened, but he found no reply. "You would have. You would have, because it means saving everyone else. You tell me this little sob story as if it will bring me to tears. Yet all it makes me think is that you are an idiot. You already have a perfectly good reason to keep killing — for victory. Yet, you decided that you were going to be some selfish asshole just because you shot your own kid?"
"If I had to butcher the rest of my squad just to save my son, I would have done it a thousand times over," he shouted. Tears streamed down his face. "Fuck you."
I took a step closer. "Exactly. I would also sacrifice everyone else for you, Captain."
He swung his fist into my chest. I could hear his knuckles bruising underneath my unyielding steel. He struck again and again, he struck till streaks of blood ran down my chest from his split skin. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He heaved, panting like a runner after a sprint.
"Machine, I said you were wrong before." He spat. "You are wrong. You are so very wrong, machine." He cackled. "You think I am stupid, that I am irrational? Well, I guess I am then. I guess I am human."
I gently pushed him off. "Yes, you are human."
He straightened up. "Machine. For once in my life, let me fight to save someone. Not for duty, not for honor, but because I want to, machine."
I couldn't hold the truth back anymore. "William wants only you, or Shen. But it seems that he has fled. Give yourself to him."
Roland smirked. "Fuck sacrifice. I won't give anyone up, not even myself. I will leave this world just as I entered it, screaming and covered in someone else's blood. Do you understand?"
I shook my head. "I don't, I don't understand it at all." Then I grinned. "Fuck it, let's do it anyways."