Sitting in the black vehicle of innovation, Mercury had installed a holo-screen into the car with an extension wire.
Plugging in a shining USB, he was able to generate the live camera he had placed yesterday. A camera at the gate of the withered garden . . .
. . .
I placed this late at night. How tired I was.
Suddenly, the video played on a wide hologram-like floating screen, adjusting itself to Mercury's seated angle.
It held a title on the top right on a bar: WIRE_CAM_0001
The wire-camera was low quality, hence why it was able to support video despite being a fraction of a regular camera. The ability of the holo-screen made any video enhanced through it.
Thin lines of static, due to the quality, made it look more like a VHS tape than a modern filming device.
It begins . . .
A tape that cracked, distorted, warped—slight voices bleeding through the hollow screen.
WIRE I. // FIRST_(ACTIVE)
Date: 06/03/00 - 7:12AM
Wired halls of red walls, gilded by torture within each room. A tall man with a fedora entered the view, his face half-covered, as he walked towards the door. He stopped, and knocked twice.
So they did get a watcher. At least they could do that . . .
Mercury leaned in closer, noticing a black rose in the breast pocket of his suit.
Hm.
The man stood firm, pale with pitch-black eyes. The camera flashed slightly, and he looked up. However, he hadn't suspected anything.
Immediately, the door opened. Amira answered. She looked heavily confused.
"Amira Bakir. I have been sent on watch for you . . ."
The voice echoed among the car. Mercury watched intensely. The man adjusted the black rose in his pocket as he entered without notice.
Amira looked concerned. Then the audio muffled. They had entered the apartment, and from there it was ambience All of a sudden, a certain word was discernible: "Bearer."
There's no mistaking it. I heard that. What do bearers have to do with anything there?Was he stopped by them before entering the building?They are quite no bark, all bite, after all.
Minutes of muffled speech lingered throughout, all drowned by the opening of two heavy gates on the car.
Sara and Lisan entered, Lisan in the passenger seat, and Sara in the back.
Mercury signaled them to quiet down as he paid close attention, not batting an eye to anything else but the video.
A black rose . . . is he a higher-up of Mala?
Abruptly, a cackle broke his train of thought. A sound of lacerating filled the hallway. Laughter of a woman so bloodcurdling it would make even the most jaded flinch.
Because it was real. A cry of true agony—but it felt as if she saw paradise as the end obstacle.
Oh no.
Hurriedly, Mercury grabbed a remote from a cupholder in the vehicle and sped up the recording.
No movement, until—
. . .
A flower was picked. Taken to a better garden.
The man had no struggle dragging the withered flower down the hall.
Amira!
Mercury paused the video. "No more . . ." he whispered.
Lisan sat, praying. Sara stared blankly.
Mercury noticed the intruder. He pulled out a silenced volvern from his pants.
Pointing it at her, the woman raised her hands, closed her eyes.
His veins popped, his expression of paleness, sorrow, and despair collected on his face. His white hair drooped as his wire-braid danced.
Then his blood soothed as he noticed—
"The reception lady?" Mercury inquired, lowering the gun slowly.
"She's with me. She can help," Lisan asserted.
Mercury shook. "Why should I trust you? You're just a robot. Don't think I haven't noticed." He palmed his head, still holding the silencer, grinning.
I know she attempted that on Lisan, but it seems as if she was forced to do it. Like something was out of her control here.
"Hey! You're just as inhumane as I am. What's the big deal?" She argued, then pondered.
I wanted to make a good first impression. He feels . . . different.
Silent, Mercury turned back to the paused recording.
Lisan kept his eyes sealed, calmly stating: "Her name is Sara. Treat that with respect."
Stillness came about in the dark car.
The replicant watched the paused frame. Frames of a shattered rose. The black rose now red as it dragged across the concrete floor. A moment difficult to watch, but one you cannot overlook.
Mercury sat still. He exhaled heavily as he looked up.
"Sara . . ." Mercury paused at a certain point where the tall man's face became noticeable.
She focused on his distraught voice, waiting patiently.
"To be honest, I don't trust you, Sara. But maybe I can trust you in telling me—who is the man in this video?"
Sara flustered, brows upturned, as Mercury replayed the clip.
Please Mercury, don't think of me like that. I can't disappoint him. If only I could speak up.
The screen flickered, buzzing with a hum of ignorance. There—with a smear of shadow—the black rose. The attire of the man was unmistakable.
Mercury's blood iced. Sara's eyes widened.
She recognized the rose . . . a rose of the heartless.
"Th-that's the rose. The black rose. A symbol of death from the bearers in Zi Jin Cheng," Sara muttered.
In that moment, Mercury lost all value he had built.
My last hope for value. The last remnant of what made me human. All I wanted was knowledge, knowledge of what I value. But now I know, whatever I had—it's lost. Grinded up and spat in my face.
"A bearer," the replicant whispered. "Hah. Ha. HAHAHAHAHAHA!" It cackled.
Whilst he laughed, the video kept playing. Every second of the flower being dragged across the hard floor felt agonizing. He grabbed the remote and sped it up, passing every second.
Every second that he dreamt was another she suffered.
I let that happen. I killed her. What is this? Hatred? It can't be . . . I finally have something to truly despise. To blame, just like all.
A bombardment of doctors, engineers, officers rushed into the clip—their faces the same, their expressions the same, only their uniforms differed.
Nobody's safe.
As the clip played in double speed, the man came again. Mercury's eyes sharpened, his teeth grinded. The tall man with the black rose returned—with another.
Another that was aware. Another that stared at the camera, making no effort to conceal themself. Another with no shame. The smile of another felt like a knife pointed at you behind a screen.
His jet-black side part. His shorter but laid-back nature. A blue fang emerging from full lips. Lips that guided nothing but a reflection on the screen. Pale skin of lies, just like the hair that fell from a replicant.
Interrupting, Sara blurted: "That is the only known public head-bearer, Yulou Xiao . . ."
Yulou smiled for the camera, as if posing for a family photo to hang on the wall.
Have I failed yet again? What do I do?
Mercury twitched, starting the ignition. Taking one last glance at the video, letting go of yet another blossom. Instantly, he made a U-turn and blitzed to Amira's apartment complex.
With blurs of promotions for sexualizing people. Advertisements of products that promised life-changing results. Courses that promised education.
An exploitation upon human nature. For mankind is driven by sex. Mankind is driven by results. Mankind is driven by knowledge. But among those, the one thing that truly drives it . . . is lies.
Arriving there, he held the gun, wasting no time.
"Wait until I get back. Do not leave," he insisted.
Exiting the car, he rushed through the open empty hall leading to stairwells. He climbed them once again. Footprints of dirt and grime lingered on the ground. Finally, seeing the fifth floor's blue exit sign, he passed through.
Speeding across red-wired walls that looked like entrails hung on display. That didn't matter anymore. What mattered was only the garden.
Amira!
The replicant charged like a bull. Counting room numbers flashing through its enhanced vision.
14–14–14– . . . it halted. Taking a breath, he noticed he had passed it. The door in front read: 145.
With a step back, he saw the dreadful corridor.
144.
It shook, holding the gun in hand, smiling. It planned to take a life. Shaking, shaking, attempting to snap out of it as he crumbled to the red-cold concrete.
Finally, he stood. Mercury exhaled, and faced the door. His hands relaxed, he pierced the door with a yellow-green gaze.
He didn't knock. He drove his boot through the doorframe. Wood and metal cracked like thunder. Dust clouds rose as he kicked again. The door burst open, slamming into the wall with indentation.
What a sight.
A still garden. Too still. No wind, no smell of roses. Yet two flowers hugged each other in the midst of a withering nation.
Mercury held shears at them, as the little rose held her mother.
Amira?
Mercury's shears glowed blue, pointed right at them, without remorse. His hand trembled in the grasp of steel. Everything was wrong—the air, the smell—but the girl only whispered:
"Mommy."
Mercury lowered his shears, fell to his knees. Clamping his hair, attempting to rip it off as he failed to weep.
"Mercury . . . ?" Amira asked firmly.
Her eyes looked healthier, her skin rejuvenated with a less-pale tone.
"Amira, you . . . are you . . ." he blurted.
"Am I what?"
"Nothing . . . forget it. I'll be right back."
Mercury rose, put the volvern in his pocket, and went down the stairs.
He reached the car again, knocked twice on its window. The priest awoke, rolled it down.
"I have to stay here for a while. Be on guard," the replicant enforced.
Lisan nodded, rolled the window back up, and went to sleep. Sara kept a blank smile on her face.
Weird woman.
In the apartment, the door stayed open. Amira hugged her daughter tight.
"Nora, sweetie," she spoke softly, twitching.
"Yes, Mommy?" The little girl responded with bright eyes.
"Do you know how much I've loved you—"
Gasping, Mercury sighed as he entered again. "Forgive me." He took gentle steps, closing the door.
"What is this about, M–Mashia?"
Mercury giggled. "I'm ordered here to watch over you. So please, ignore me."
They take me for a fool. I'll just have to prove my suspicions.
Sinking into the crimson couch of prior sacrifice, Mercury smiled.
Amira got up and held Nora's hand, leading her to the kitchen. Suddenly, from her forearm, a vein popped. Mercury's eyes locked on it intensely.
A voice of deception barged in his thought: "Mashia, would you like to help us make a snack?"
Mercury smiled, brows furrowed, and nodded as he rose.
Amira arranged an array of fruits, sweets, desserts, and laid them on a plate. The taste of liquid sugar, frosting, and cold bitterness mixed gracefully with the meal.
Laughing, Amira recalled memories with Mercury from the first time they met.
"Ha! I remember when he wore a white suit to the ball. He spilled red wine all over it, Nora."
Giggling, the girl stared at Mercury, who hadn't spoken much. "Mister, why aren't you talking?"
Mercury glanced down. "Oh! I was just thinking, nothing much," he said, eyes still fixed on Amira's pulsating vein.
Shifting the matter, Amira blurted: "Say, why is your hair white?"
There it goes.
He clenched his fist with a forced smile. "I dyed it . . . say . . . why don't we watch a movie to entertain us?"
"Sure! If only Kadir could see how much of a man you've become, Mashia."
"Yeah . . . a man," he hesitated.
They sat on the red couch. Amira planted herself in the dead center, turning on the television.
It displayed thousands of possible pieces to detach yourself and enter its world. No wonder nobody wanted to leave. Three quarters of the films were generated by artificial intelligence—creating a movie in this age took only a click.
Amira handed the remote to Mercury. He scrolled through catalogues, then chose an anthology spanning ten hours.
It was titled: "Eclipse of Blossoms."
It spanned hours, the plot about a man named Cupid who had lost his wife. The last gift she had given him was a rose. In the world, love had dropped exponentially.
Love, beauty, compassion were tossed aside. Lust lingered in that dreadful world. The man decided he would gift every man and woman a rose, in hopes of regaining what was lost.
He read every book, every text on love, but none captured the emotion he felt when his wife gave him the rose.
A slow-burn series, needing patience. Nora yawned halfway, going to her room.
Near the end, the man preached to millions. He held the rose high, speaking of it's beauty, it's feel, it's reality. The crowd booed, sighed, and saw him as crazy. A blimp-like aircraft flew overhead.
While he stood tall, he cheered his wife's name: "Arima!"
He had tricked the population into believing it would be a concert—that's why so many came. They never expected a downcast of roses.
Roses of every color, collected from their world, a dystopia without realms, only lands connected. The man smiled as roses glided down like falcons.
The man's name was Cupid, and he had no bow or arrow. His only tool: a flower.
People below caught them—the stems, the petals, the stomata overwhelmed them.
When two caught the same rose, they collided. Their irises met, and they fell into the rose's spell.
A small lie led to a deed so great it rejuvenated "beauty" in the eyes of the world. For he saw he would not be content if only he was happy; he would find tranquility in objective beauty.
The crowd lifted Cupid like a king. They cheered his name, and his wife's, looking up. Cupid wanted the whole world to love, and as his words spread, he finally did it.
He connected the world.
Not by land, but by heart . . . The End.
They both yawned. Amira asked: "Do you believe such a movie can exist in the real realms?"
Mercury whispered: "I hope so." Sadly, he knew it was only a story.
We are divided by land and hearts, led by stubborn and selfish governments, and people now have no desire to connect.
Relationships have lost value since devices replaced what humanity once brought.
"Do you see it as fantasy, Mashia? Quite frankly, in another world, I believe my Kadir could've done it if given another chance—like you."
He stared into her new eyes, frowning with a bitter taste. The trilogy left him empty.
"The limits of our fantasy are the limits of our realms," he uttered gently. "Our realm doesn't align with others. When they don't harmonize, it is labeled chaos."
Amira stared thoroughly into his eyes, confused.
He continued: "Our realms differ in love, wealth, and power. What can we do to come together? In truth, it's fantasy. But only when we accept beauty through purification, can we become our treasured fantasies."
"Interesting . . ." Amira said. "But do you truly believe it can happen?"
Mercury sighed. "In our nature, it can. In our reality, it can't."
Amira smiled, yawned, and waved as she went to her room. "Goodnight," she whispered to Mercury and her daughter.
Mercury stared out the window. Pitch black. The hum of fog echoed across dull buildings, whispering of what they lost.
He sat still. The television turned off. Only the lonely air moving through the apartment. Blinking blue lights of a smoke detector flashed on his face.
Hesitation in his hands as he pulled the volvern. Glowing blue stripes illuminated the room.
He hunched forward, contemplating.
I've spent so long here. To just cling on? I know something isn't right. But . . . do I want to accept that? It screams louder than every other thought. I haven't made sense of anything.
Instinct took his body before thought. The bathroom sung low. He moved down the narrow hall, two doors by the kitchen. He strolled toward the master bedroom.
The door creaked. Cyan light flickered, etching the silhouette of the woman asleep. Beside her, a sunken empty spot. Mercury looked down, jaw clenching.
I don't want to believe it. She even said my name. But she only knew Mashia.
Standing above her, he pulled the blanket back.
Until he saw—
A core.
Poking through the back of her shirt. Pulsing with the vein on her arm.
Above her waist, truth revealed. Instinct clawed at him again. He lifted the hem of her shirt just enough—
There it is.
It pulsed.
He turned away.
His throat convulsed, lungs collapsed, eyes shook, hands tightened. No sound. Desire to scream until the complex split apart. Need to sob—but courtesy not to wake the girl.
The shears in his grasp silenced him. He pulled her shirt down, covered the blanket. He dropped his heavy breath, walked out carefully.
Jaw locked, veins crawling like insects.
Closing the door, he entered the red hallway of self. Night pressed his skull with glass shards.
Did a miracle walk this hall? Or a monster?
Ears fuming, teeth grinding, nails digging into palms. Gardens burned down flashing in his face.
Dragging himself, he slammed the wired wall with his gun. Breathing heavy—fire escaping his lungs.
Hah! What a joke Zaleth likes to play! Come on! What else is there? Surely you can find another way to screw me over, huh? You know the exact buzz that gets me on my nerves, don't ya?
Mercury cackled down the hall, louder with each step. Entering the blue exit. Laughing harder as he descended. Reaching the second floor, he smiled at the ceiling.
I see now. It was not a tragedy. More like . . . a challenge . . .
Mercury palmed his face, nearly collapsing from exhaustion.
Suddenly, a woman grabbed his shoulder. "Mercury, calm down!"
Shrugging her off, he aimed the gun—eyes wide, smile carved with fangs.
"Back off!" he spat, the face before him a blur. "How do you know my name, huh?" The gun edged closer.
She said my name. How does she know? Is this Amira? Hell, I can't even see her face.
His finger twitched on the trigger—then—
A hand of penance pushed it down, slow.
"At ease," the hand spoke.
Mercury looked. The priest's hand.
"Lisan?" he whispered weakly.
"Snap out of it. I know what happened."
"Do you now? Do you know that—"
"Yes. And I'm afraid she's another flower picked from the garden, withered by the Black Rose of Bearers."
He continued lightly, "Quite odd isn't it? Every blood trail points to you, yet you never seem stained?"
What is he saying?
My head hurts, it feels like my head is a pot of stew being stirred with a mechanical-whisk.
Mercury shook his head. The priest was clear now. The woman still vague. Rubbing his eyes, the warped face dehazed.
It was—
Sara?
She uttered with slight worry: "We . . . were just going to check on you."
Mercury marched, snow leopard pounce, inches from her. "You know something," he hissed. "You know names, don't you?"
Silent. Lisan, arms folded, eyes closed.
He pressed the gun to her temple. "One shot and you're done," he giggled. "So tell me! You knew the man who murdered Amira! She's dead! So who in the f**k dragged her?"
"I—I don't—"
"You do know, and I'll find out anyway. But you piss me off. I could care less if your robot brains spilled right here. That's the first thing I want to do. The second is know who the hell killed her!"
Why are you like this Mercury? I only wanted to understand you . . .
"The Watcher . . . I've tried to tell you." Her voice was pure, but her gaze was gilded.
Mercury sneered. "Let's go."
The priest smiled, following Mercury back into the car.
Sara stood blank, only worry clouding her face.
How long must I wait? For you to love me?
She balled her fist, strolled back to the car.
Mercury fought to hide his frailty. He wanted to collapse. But he couldn't. He wasn't human. Not made to break. Replicants don't mourn. Replicants only do what they're told.
Well, nobody's giving me orders!
Shut up!
You're annoying!
. . .
Behind the military base resided barracks. A graveyard of roses, soldiers in endless dreams. Only Selune stood, hunched over a sea of files. Hollow eyes rubbing, stamping names beneath a crimson lamp.
Wiping sweat, she shed her coat, placing it on the seat. Work done, ready to slumber.
Cracking her back, she noticed—
The door creaked.
Confused, she inched closer and—
SLAM!
It imprinted into the wall. Handle broke on impact.
A figure with long hair stood before her. Taller. Angrier.
She grabbed a pen from the desk as a weapon.
The figure flashed—snatched the pen, broke it in half.
"Huh?" She gasped, olive skin glowing red.
"You didn't get a watcher . . ." it spoke.
I know that voice . . .
The figure shoved her, hostile.
"Mercury?" she gasped, catching breath.
It stepped forward. Red light on shadowed eyes, stone-carved face, hair flowing like a white leopard's mane.
"Tell me . . ." it insisted.
. . .
"Now you decide to stay silent. Pathetic. Your salary means nothing when I can take it all away with the palm of my hand."
Is he serious? What's up with him?
"What's up with you, General?" she tried calming. "We can sit, talk. Just calm down."
It didn't speak.
The only visible manner on its face—sheer malice.
Malice reborn. A withered rose of malice, watered in hopes of saving.
But it's no more.