Ruby rain against pure white skin. Play it back real slow, slow enough to savour every frame.

Every drop was a curse. Every wave was sin.

Smiling stains no cleansing could ever remove.

I saw it when I closed my eyes. I saw it in my sleep. Three days later, that half-crescent grin still haunted my every waking moment.

According to several eyewitnesses, a malfunctioning drone wandered through the streets of Hadron dragging two corpses behind it.

Sights like these weren’t uncommon through the Frontier, though they were a rarity in modern-day Hadron. Advances in medicine and corpse disposal meant the streets were always clean; this was a rare disturbance in the great scheme of things.

The drone came out of a Raven Gate provided to the members of a cancelled suppression early in the morning. Gatekeepers confirmed that the drone and corpses were part of the mission (though most returning Hunters reported heavy memory loss due to events that presumably caused people to turn into corpses), so no enforcers had to be called.

Since it had a civilian ID tag recently assigned to it, the Inspector dispatched to the site decided to not interfere and instead blocked off street access. Autonomous machinery wasn’t cheap to come by — no Hunter or Bureau Inspector wanted to deal with the fall out of messing with a rich bastard’s toy.

The ID tags on the corpses belonged to two Relic Hunters, one of which was the owner of Kon Atelier, a workshop known for its high output. The drone attacked trash cans and vending machines on its way with wind-based abilities, later barricading itself inside the workshop.

Rationalizing this as the carrying out of some sort of last wish, the Inspector wrote off the incident as a false alarm and allowed the drone to its own devices. He made sure it arrived at its destination. Even if it was slightly broken, it should be fine; if it really was a problem, somebody would put forth a commission and get it taken care of when the corpses started stinking.

Machines could always be fixed.

Worst comes to worst, you could always find a replacement.

It took me two days to stitch them back together. So many broken pieces, failing parts, rotting flesh; the procedure convinced me that the human body is simultaneously the best and worst machine ever designed. Easy to replace parts, but the moment you threaten the integrity of the system, it all starts collapsing down. Total organ failure was a single twitch away — this wouldn’t fly by any conventionally trained engineer.

Whoever designed these people should be executed by firing squad. What a terrible design. If there was a God that did this, I’d have to kick the shit out of him myself.

They were still broken when I tucked them into their beds. At that point, I did all I could do — their bodies were still alive, but I’m not sure if they were there anymore. I couldn’t feel anything where their spiritual cores should’ve been.

Hope was all I had left. As long as I checked up on them once a day to see if there was any healing progress, I could pass the time however I wanted.

And so, I found a nice corner to lay down in and willed myself to stop thinking anything unnecessary.

I received a message on the Nexus unit informing me that I had received a payment. I turned it off by flinging it against the nearest wall.

Jaxl woke up later that night. Took a shower. Saw that everybody was recovering. He ordered take-out and scarfed down three burgers and an entire platter of curry rice. Then he wrote a note on a piece of paper and placed it on the workshop counter, helped himself to the armoury, then left in the middle of the night.

Did he notice me? Or was he just ignoring me to be polite?

I’m not sure I would’ve had a good reaction to being approached. My mind wasn’t functioning properly; I was stuck between wanting to be alone and desperately wishing for some sort of guidance.

I didn’t know what was wrong with me. It was easy to get back on track and fight the good fight. To get stronger and fix my mistakes. I even had the chance to run away entirely — I’m sure Nina would understand if I explained what happened and she’d maybe help me escape to a peaceful country.

But I couldn’t move.

I was paralyzed.

I had long abandoned my romantic notions of an idyllic society. There may be a place like the one in my mind somewhere in the world, but it sure as hell wasn’t here. I could run away there, but it wouldn’t change my current problems or the world I lived in.

Living was one challenge after another. I got that. I understood. Internalized the fact. But this — that bloodied woman was too much for me. She revealed a biting truth I had been trying to avoid, a reality I tried and failed to deny.

Weakness. Injury. Terror. Death and crimson smiles.

No matter where I went, the same terror awaited me.

It was a curse, the curse of a bamboo flute reflected in a grey glass moon. A curse of repetition, of trying to reach stars that were no longer in the sky.

Humans without humanity. A monster covered in blood.

I was covered in scars that wouldn’t heal. The trauma and pain I had experienced long ago were still fresh in my mind; I couldn’t look away from them.

I couldn’t look away.

I couldn’t look away.

My mind couldn’t escape.

These scars were my punishment. But I couldn’t endure it any longer.

With a single swipe of her claws, the monster named Cassandra illuminated the weight of a world of blood.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

Leave me alone. Save me.

Stop smiling. Stop bleeding. Why won’t the blood end?

Get away from me.

Live to fight another day. Die another day. The muck is already up to your neck.

Terrified of living. Terrified of dying. Suffocating blackened air.

Ruby rain against pure white skin. Play it back real slow, slow enough to savour every frame.

Every drop was a curse. Every wave was sin.

Smiling stains no cleansing could ever remove.