Soune ran her fingers along the gouges in the concrete wall. They were at her head level, four inches in at the deepest point and about a metre and a half wide on the longest cut. The cuts were smooth, only broken by bubbles in the concrete. Water cutters couldn’t remove material this cleanly, nothing man made could.
And he said he wasn’t holding back.
She turned around, back towards the intersection of the town's main streets, the dead centre landmark. She’d been walking around for about an hour now, painfully alone with her mixed thoughts. Investigating was the best word, making it sound better than aimless wandering. More puzzle pieces of the town were acquired, but even more questions raised.
She’d made a mental map, the town was roughly square shaped, entirely fenced off with rusted razor wire and sectioned into quarters by two, interesting main streets. The further out from the centre she went the scrappier the architecture became. The outskirts had small houses and storefronts formed of sheet metal and bricks held together by flaking mortar, while the centre maintained the quaint, solid buildings built off concrete foundations. She was against one of the large partitions that hid the dank alleyways from the paved road, and bearing the scars of some awful event.
The outskirts were barren too, she’d poked her head into some of the open buildings, abandoned and unused for decades. It sent a pang of anger through her, seeing these absent places when she knew how poor the conditions were for most of the King's citizens. She tried to stoke that spark of anger, feed it into a righteous fire towards Ingram, they had the means to help and they refused.
It was snuffed out with each glance of the claw marks and damaged buildings. They’d all thought of Ingram as a quaint, small peaceful place, the more Soune looked around, the more it seemed like a prison. The townsfolk she’d seen seemed happy enough with their bounds, though she had noticed that most of them were middle aged or older. There were a few younger adults and a handful of children, but the ratio was severely skewed. She crossed her arms and went back to study the clawed out concrete.
“Keeping you in, I get. Keeping new blood out though…” She muttered to herself, lost in thought she didn’t notice the old woman slowly come up to her side.
“I’m not sure what I’m more shocked of, you being out and about or that you haven’t run for the hills yet…” Eleanor said, dirty white mug of mud in hand. She stared absently at the scars.
“You did say I was free to go…” Soune retorted.
“That I did.”
A long, sullen pause as they watched the wall.
“Did you have this planned?” Soune broke the silence, staring sideways at the woman.
“Hm? Have what planned?” Eleanor didn’t return her gaze.
“You and the Baker being nice, the Doctor ripping me a new one, Gress being…I don’t know how to describe that.” She turned fully towards Eleanor, crossing her arms. “...I feel bad, there. I feel bad and conflicted about my job. Is that what you wanted me to say?”
Eleanor sighed, sipping her coffee before using it to gesture to the wall. “You think if we let that happen, we’re organised enough to have some kind of emergency plan for guilt tripping suit lackeys?” Sharp eyes caught Soune on the side. “...If you feel bad, that’s not on us girl.”
“Well, I was just saying it to feel you out anyway.” Soune turned back to the wall with a huff. The giant gouges begged her to ask the question.
“Whose fault was it?” More dancing around the core topic, though it was no mystery what she was really asking.
“No-one’s. Eleanor looked down at her coffee, sighing deeply at how tired and old her reflection was. “Maybe everyone’s…”
Curiosity finally got the better of her, pushed over the edge by the non-answer. She couldn’t contain it any longer, that burning question she’d been holding back, pulling at its chain with every friendly wave or nod from a bystander in the town.
“...What happened?” She finally breathed.
“In a word? A divide. Why do you want to know?” Eleanor’s response was flat and honest, too exhausted to lie. Soune was rapidly doubting that this was all some elaborate trick.
“Curiosity.”
“The professional kind?”
“No, the puzzle-solving kind.”
El looked over at the shifting, pouting woman with a wrinkled smile. She checked her wrist.
“...I’ve got a meeting in about twenty, after that it’s my guard shift, come on.” A sideways nod beckoned Soune to follow, she eagerly stayed at the woman’s heels.
“How’d you get out, anyway?” El started, breathing the main street of her town through the dense coffee fumes.
“Gress let me out, I figured you set him as a guard…” Soune realised the statement and idea sounded stupid once it left her mouth. Eleanor’s light chuckle confirmed it.
“Hardly… The boy does what he wants, luckily he’s got a good sense of doing, well ‘good’...Though I imagine I need to ask the metalman to make a new bolt for the lock?”
Soune confirmed with a half-hearted huff, the edge of a smile flickered at her lips.
El sighed and continued. “Gress does what he thinks is good…That sort of starts the whole story. Want me to go from the start?”
“Sure.” Soune was eager for any answers, more information wouldn’t be amiss.
“Must’ve been…twenty-two years back now. In seventy-five*, just from a regular run of the mill couple, out comes Gress, complete with Splinter marks. You know how Splinters are made?” El looked back at Soune, already shaking her head.
“Not a clue.”
“Me either, was hoping you had an idea with that Shoulder friend of yours. Anyway, they didn’t want to deal with that so they just left him here and ran.” Eleanor’s gait hiccuped slightly, clearing her throat as she remembered the next part of the story. “...A stupid man decided to take the boy in. Even knowing the risks…Anyway, fast forward two years, the First Scouring hits- you’re familiar, I imagine?”
Soune swallowed blurry childhood memories. “Vaguely.” El caught the absence in her eyes, sighing before continuing.
“Come up to my side girl, going to hurt me constantly looking over my shoulder…Good, anyway, that’s it’s own mess, result was a lot of refugees looking for anywhere to spend the night huddled and worrying the Ring was chasing them down, lo-and-behold, this little pocket of paradise is nice and tucked away. Those refugee’s made the fence, and all the outskirt places. Can’t say I was the biggest fan but…Couldn’t say no really.”
Soune watched her keenly, seeing El’s expression flicker between indifference and dull pain.
“Getting off track. Fast forward again, town starts booming, word gets out of the weird kid with marks. The Red Shoulders-” Eleanor spat at the name. “Start poking around. Des and I- tsk… Gress was kept hidden, but the Shoulders did their damage. They showed a bunch of videos and photos of Splinters doing what they do best. Did your matchstick friend tell you what that is?”
“Yeah…I think we might’ve seen some of the same vids actually.” Soune remembered the macabre stories Kirche had told about the Red Shoulders, complete with visual aids.
“Probably…Anyway, a bunch of the old-folk got a bit shaken, sure, but they knew Gress. The new blood though…They got scared. They had nothing left, and now they were being told they were in a slaughterhouse. They started organising together, and then-”
Eleanor loosed a shaky breath. She checked her watch, hoping desperately that time had somehow bent in a way to get her away from this conversation. “In Eight-O, a kill team of them showed up for the kid. He was just five… They ran through the town, some of the folk guiding them, some trying to hold them back, some just watching their doors get broken down. They found him of course, and Des…”
“Oi.” Soune cut in, seeing the woman struggling. “I get the picture.”
“Cold feet?” El asked with a forced, pained smirk.
“No, just-”
“Then shut up and listen, you asked for the story, you get the story.” She sighed, turning into the door of the small police beat. “Anyone in!?” She called out, silence in response. “Gress? Davey?” Still nothing, she shrugged, and led Soune into the office they’d packed with the documents removed from the holding cell. Eleanor began to rummage through the boxes.
“...They beat him up bad. Cornered him in an alley, then out comes this ...where is it…oh.” An open, crumpled letter on the desk caught Eleanor’s eye. “...Oh no…”
“What’s wrong?” Soune cut in, clearing off a chair.
“...Gress saw something he shouldn’t have…” Eleanor didn’t take her eyes off the letter, Soune craned her neck to try and make out any details. It was snatched backwards before she could. “Sticky beak…that’s a problem for later. Anyway…here.” Eleanor handed an envelope to Soune, it was blank and unassuming. “...One of the townsfolk was handy with a camera, we confiscated it. Better that way…no evidence to back up rumours.”
Inside the envelope was a single monochrome picture.
“That’s Gress?” Soune whispered through furrowed brows. The picture sent the same alien chill of fear down Soune she’d experienced last night, the chill that already answered her question.
In the centre of the frame, a large dark mass was leaning out of an alley. Parts of it, particularly along its too-tall body, were impossible to distinguish in blurry monochrome from the shadowy alley, its savage limbs were clearer. One hoofed, reverse-jointed leg cracked the pavement below it, a long arm with knifelike-claws was carving the scars she’d seen along the town walls. It’s head was a long, bestial skull, caught between canid and equine. The unclear, elongated limbs, muddy flashes of her nightmares flicked into Soune’s mind. Her own demon projecting onto the picture.
Brighter spots in the skull were glaring towards the camera. Whether by the head's natural shape, the downwards angle, or the aperture, a foul smile was clearly immortalised in the photo.
Something else caught her eye, in the side of the photo, a blurry outstretched hand. Someone pleading or rushing towards the beast.
“Maybe. Maybe it’s him, maybe it’s something inside him, one using the other.” Eleanor shrugged away a shiver. “Doesn’t really matter, does it?”
Soune tucked the photo away, her conscious grateful to not be looking at the anomaly.
“Guess not…” She paused, unsure how to continue.
“...It’s not in the photo but-” El placed her cup down, saving it from trembling hands. “-It wasn’t just the Shoulders it went for. Once it was done there, it just started lashing out for fun. Seven dead Shoulders, seven dead townsfolk, must’ve been funny to it-” She spat out the ‘It’, disdain for the creature crystal clear. “And a handful more were injured, like the Baker.”
“What stopped it?”
Eleanor huffed a mirthless, pained sound. She did not answer.
“He changed back but his hand stayed the way it is - actually, it’s gotten worse over time, spread further up. And his eyes. Damn those eyes.” Eleanor straightened and checked her watch to recenter herself. She took her cup back up for a long, slow swig. “...five minutes. To wrap it up. After that, we gathered up all the ones who called the Shoulders, the ones who agreed with them, the ones who wanted out after that, and just the ones who were scared…or we thought they’d break, and we just kicked them out.”
A fresh chill ran through Soune, new fearful respect for the callousness of the old woman across the room. It made her think of Marley, killed at that bizarre quarry. The flickering ember of an idea nagged at her again.
“...After that. Nobody that came in could stay, we had the occasional visitors sure but once they started to settle we pushed them the other way. We can’t risk it. If Gress did that when he was five, I don’t know if that damned thing grows with him but… you saw what happened to the Suit with you last night.” Eleanor fell into her own seat, shoving boxes of papers away to expose a radio setup, complete with a small, old terminal buzzing to life on the desk.
“...We just can’t risk it…”
Something odd occurred to Soune, a few details still not adding up. She was sure Eleanor was hiding some key details, that just seemed like the usual for this town, but it was exactly that. This town still bothered her.
“A small town like this doesn’t just disappear and become self-sufficient…how are you all managing?” Soune poked for details, Eleanor looked up with a raised brow.
“...Old trade deals from the settlement days are still ongoing. We get grain products from up north, no livestock though. We grow our own greens in the north-west of the town. Utilities wise we’re hard wired into the Priloca lines.” She cocked her head slightly, smirking at the curious woman. “Most of the documents in here are receipts and tax sheets, this entire town is a rounding error in the grand scheme of things. Unnoticed and unimportant, until now.”
Soune perked up, the convoy.
“These supplies you get, do they come in convoys of unmarked movers? Heavy sort, with security?” She blurted out. Eleanor’s confusion was honest.
“No, It’s small deliveries, two or three branded trucks every month from the farm sector.”
“Ksh, damnit.” An answer to the mysterious, trapped convoy still eluded her. “...Something still doesn’t add up.” Soune mused, trying to run over the hard facts once again.
“Oh? If you have any more questions, cut it quick, my meeting is soon.”
“...who’s your meeting with?”
“Am-Ray Holdings,we’re coming up to decision day…”
It clicked, that’s what it was. If they spent years hiding from the world, what changed? All of a sudden groups of suits were ready to fight over Ingram.
“Twenty-two years you said, right? Why is this happening now? The Corps would’ve known about this place before…King would’ve known too, especially if this place gets outside supplies” She saw Eleanor pause, knowing she caught something unintended.
“Sharp…You’re right, something changed, on your side.” Soune stiffened, not looking at the sharp smirk of the woman. “Your King knew about this place from the start. He used to visit here long ago - loved the book store. Before the Second Scouring when he started his little crusade anyway. But we were protected, even from whichever Suits he pissed off, up until the last few months they were blind to us. King’s changed. Somethings wrong, and we don’t have the means or time to figure out what.”
The radio started beeping with an incoming feed, Eleanor sighed and looked at it, Soune cut in before she could pick up the receiver.
“I know something about King. Something important, something he doesn’t want known.”
Why?
Why the fuck did she say that?
Why did she have to complicate this? If she just kept her mouth shut, let it play out, she came out a winner. Stupid, stupid move.
“Well, care to share?”
“Not really…” She stared at the radio, still beeping away. It reminded her of Rhapsody, she desperately wished he was here, she needed someone to talk to that would help unravel her thoughts.
“...I can’t put this off any longer. If you’re going to speak, speak now.”
“...Can you give me the day to decide?” Soune asked.
“Argent. I understand your hesitation, but this is a town of three-hundred and change people. If you have something that can help them, I implore you to tell me now.” Soune closed her eyes, and shook her head gently.
No. She couldn’t.
“...Tomorrow?” Eleanor said, softer and coaxing.
“Tomorrow. I need to weigh my options.”
“...Tomorrow it is then. Is this something I should coordinate with Am-Ray?” Her tone was soft, bordering on pleading, but maintained the careful edge of a lawyer.
“Yes…and that Doctor-” Soune started, remembering how Bedan had stood up to C2. “-...Him too. I don’t know what his deal is but if he’s involved with C2. That will matter.”
Eleanor nodded, and picked up the receiver.
Tomorrow.
She mouthed it to Soune, echoing her bouncing thoughts, before nodding towards the doorway.
“Apologies for the delay, Mr. Camby. I hope you have good news for me…” The conversation turned to murmurs as Soune closed the door behind her.
She walked towards the exit, then jogged, then nearly sprinted out the door. She needed air, fresh, dusty, arid air. Soune took a deep, arming breath, and then-
“Fuuuuuuuck!” She called to the air, twisting to kick the bricks of the police beat. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid girl!” She switched to bashing it, her fist throbbing with the slams. “One! Fucking! Job! Idiot!”
“Well, someones moody.” Kirche’s singsong voice cooed from around the corner. She turned it with a wild smirk. “Hey good lookin’, what’s cookin?” She looked terrible. Her arm was still in a dirty sling, the other red and ragged as Soune’s own now. Her face was flushed and rough, eyes sunken and dull. Scarlet hair curled over her head like a mop. “Come on, you’ve seen me worse. And on that note!”
Kirche strode towards Soune, fast and confident, the white-haired woman was breathing ragged and heavy from her venting. It didn’t click with her what Kirche was doing until her good hand wrapped around the back of her head, dug into soft hair, and tried to pull Soune in for a kiss.
Memories.
Instinct.
Anger.
Fear.
Hurt.
All there in a flash.
Not again.
Never again.
Soune slammed her forehead down into Kirche’s nose. She recoiled with an ugly, guttural noise.
“Don’t. Touch. Me!” Kirche was blind to the fury in silver eyes. The heaving, feral anger directed at her barely being constrained to roars. “Not you! Never again! NEVER!” Soune bellowed. She froze as she realised Kirche wasn’t listening, wasn’t aware of anyone but herself at the moment.
Kirche backed away holding her nose. She was chuckling, then laughing, the bellowing a broken cackle. The snorts of laughter stabbed into her face like knives, pulsing out from her throbbing nose. “That’s it! That’s my Silver! That’s the Silver that killed Bell!”
Soune froze, her anger present but halted. She stood and snarled at Kirche, waiting for an explanation.
“That’s the face too! That’s the face I had nightmares about! But you didn’t, did you? As much as you wanted to, as much as you wanted to hurt me! You didn’t kill him!” Tears flowed freely from Kirche, sobs were accompanying her snorting cackle now.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Soune hissed through gritted teeth, knuckles still white and ready to go.
“King lied to us, Silver! And we fucken’ bought it! Bell was never in that transport!” She kept cackling like it was a bad joke, but concern shot through Soune, and realisation that had skipped Kirche’s mind.
“...He’s lying to you now, Kirche.”
“What? No.” Her mad laughter halted, though she still occasionally heaved up with it. “He was lying before so he had dirt on me. I’m gonna kill him after, don't worry, but I’m getting Bell back first!” Soune straightened, moving closer to Kirche with stone steadiness. “And-and see! Because you didn’t kill him, we can still-” A heavy, open palm rocked her face. It knocked her to the floor.
Soune leaned down, and grabbed the babbling mad woman by the front of her jacket. She was blind to the gathering onlooking seeing their intruders infighting.
“Listen to me-LISTEN” She accentuated her point with a forceful shake, bringing Kirche’s dull eyes to her. A small twinge of pain struck at Soune’s chest, she knew that feeling, it was the second time she’d felt it towards Kirche.
Pity.
Laden with scorn and hatred.
But still pity.
“Your brother is dead. I killed him. I-LISTEN!” Kirche was drifting again, Soune released the jacket to punch her in the damaged shoulder. She squealed out in sharp pain, but refocused on Soune. “I killed Bell. You know that. I know that. King damn well knows that because he fucking organised it!”
“He-but…he lied? He said he lied.” Kirche whimpered out weakly. Soune pulled her lips in, pulling back for another punch but halting at Kirche’s wince. Strands of crimson hair crusted with blood and tears webbed her face like exposed veins.
She was hurt.
Properly, and badly hurt.
King had ripped open a wound. A noxious, festering wound that had been eating away at Kirche for years, sealed but spreading its infection further, unnoticed only from the willing ignorance of it.
Kirche desperately needed help, and came to the worst person she could for it.
Soune dropped her to the ground, crouching down to speak loud and firm into her face.
“Kirche. He is lying. Bell is dead. There was a ledger for the transport. I checked it from the wreck.” Soune shook her head, letting the point drive in. “He couldn’t fake that.” She stood up, letting the facts sink into the woman, hopefully breaking her from the mad, broken trance King had put her in.
“Got it?” Soune asked.
No response, just wet, wheezing, desperate breaths from the Shoulder.
“GOT IT?!” She asked with a jabbed boot, Kirche closed teary eyes and nodded. Soune turned away with a deep sigh. The group of townsfolk scattered away now the sight was finished.
“Trust you to make this messier…” Soune grumbled, rubbing at her head. She could still feel Kirche’s fingers digging into her hair. The phantom invasion made her feel sick, the deluded, casual intimacy sending shocks of panic down her spine and across her skin like fouling insects.
She needed space, neutral space to think. There were too many moving parts going on. She paused with a hand down her face, turning back to Kirche who was slowly climbing to her knees.
“How did he tell you that, anyway? I haven’t seen any radio stations or terminals around.” Kirche meekly nodded towards their transport outside. Past the locked gate.
“...there's a gap in the fence. Back of the north-west quarter…” She whimpered. “Silver…” Soune took a few steps closer, waiting to see if Kirche had any further details. “If we get the Splinter…He tells me about…nevermind. You get out.” Kirche couldn’t meet Soune’s eyes, eyes vacant and distant. “He’s desperate. He gets the Splinter. You get your year and land back…”
Soune stepped back, rubbing her face. Why? Why was he desperate enough to do this? What was so important about this place that he would break Kirche and free her to secure it?
A giant wrench thrown into the already smoking and breaking machine.
“Oi, look at me.” She crouched again, waiting for Kirche to defeatedly look over. A tense finger jabbed at her.
“Do not fucking do ANYTHING. You hear me? Leave the Splinter alone, leave the townspeople alone, just…don’t fuck anything else up.” Soune had no better way to put it, just turning the inwards thoughts outwards, using Kirche as the pincushion. “...North-west?” Kirche nodded, but couldn’t stop herself from adding one last, spiteful remark.
“Why do you care?” An open question that cut to Soune’s core. No matter what it was about; Ingram, Kirche, any part of the messy situation. Why did she care? For years she’d just followed instructions and gotten by, why complicate it here?
Soune turned north, back up the main street.
Kirche was left broken, battered, and silently sobbing. Watching Soune walk away, answerless.
A moment they’d shared before.
Soune didn’t let herself dwell on what had happened, couldn’t let it. Her chest was still beating painfully, adrenaline coursing and expecting an out. She needed a hellishly hot shower, or a painfully exhausting fight. Something, anything to wash away the filth.
There wasn’t any, there was no outlet for her spiteful energy or the twisted disgust, all of it just stuck in an inward, shuddering storm.
Kirche hadn’t lied about the gap at least, right near the northwest corner the rusted edge of the fence snapped away from its support poles.
Soune slipped through, and was finally given an outlet to exert herself, sprinting against the fence back towards the entrance. All the twisting, stabbing thoughts drowned out for the moment by her thumping heart. She’d made it to the vehicle, heaving in the afternoon heat and rushing into the cab.
“Come on, come on please…” She felt around the dashboard for the key, finding it lazily hidden in the glove box. The machine hummed to life nicely for her, receiving praise in response, shaky fingers punched in a frequency.
“Please, please, come on, please.” She muttered through the scrambling static, it stabilised with a blip.
“Rhap?” Soune asked, quick and desperate.
“...Took you long enough.” She nearly sobbed at hearing the machine's voice, compressed and ragged through the radio but still familiar.
Still home.
Kirche managed to raise herself against the wall of the beat station, gasping, sore and red-eyed, but on her feet.
Rage and grief sparked realisation.
Silver was right.
King couldn’t have faked the ledger on the transport
She heaved out wet, shaky breaths, looking to the sky as it all clicked together. Bloodless fingers curled tight into a fist, the crust on her face cracked with a scowl. She looked around the corner towards the surgery.
King couldn’t.
* 0275. P.L.E. (Post Landfall Era), the time period after E.F.E. (Environmental Formation Era) where the first settlers of Durendel began to populate the seeded cities.
