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bluepenguinstories · 3 years

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Remoras Full Chapter XLII: Refraction

There were more things I could have said, could have told the others as they ran, but that wouldn’t have done any of us any good. We had our paths to take, roles to play, and mine was to take down this enemy before me, the very same enemy that shared my own face.

“It’s just you and me now,” I let the venomous words pour out of my mouth. While I sounded bored, I was anything but; I was mentos and cola. I was downright itching for a fight. That slasher smile crept its way onto my lips and all I needed was the signal.

“Good,” ‘she’ too shared that same smile. Disgusting. I wanted to tear that smile clean off. No, forget clean. I wanted to make ‘her’ face a bloody mess.

“Who are you really?” I demanded while readying my rifle.

My foe, too, prepared and I watched their arms unfold like tapestry and shift into several small snake-like limbs with sharp, jagged tips.

“I said already: I’m Rhea Flection,” their smile spread. I could tell whoever it was behind that little monstrous form, they were taking delight in this.

“Bullshit.”

They lifted up their shirt (which may have been attached to them now as whenever they regenerated, the clothing did as well. Maybe it was a modesty thing, I wasn’t sure. Not like I minded either way, and besides, I’ve seen myself naked once or twice. It was just a body. Okay, maybe a dead body, but still) to reveal a large gash across their stomach, like fissures in the ground near a volcano. Just a deep slash; a horizontal line of dried, darkened blood from one end to the other.

All that confirms is that you took control of a fucking corpse. Big whoop.

After a few more seconds, they lowered the end of what I assumed was the shirt that once belonged to the other me and stared right at me as the sickening smile continued to display on that face.

“So you see, it is I: the original, reborn. As such, I’m sure you’re aware of the little rule about the universe, aren’t you?” They paced about, expression unchanged as they shifted behind one of the large kegs in the back.

“Yes. I’m aware,” I replied, my voice shallow. It was useless to pace as well. I closed my eyes and waited.

The same person from two timelines can’t exist in the same timeline. If one happened to cross over, the other would die, I recited that little thought. That rule which I was never even sure when it became defined, yet had rung true throughout history. Luckily, I don’t have to worry about that.

Those vine-like sharp appendages shot forth and I leaned back while opening one eye as I watched them pass me by just a hair’s breadth. In that same instance, I took my rifle in my other hand, then fired at my double, who happened to be situated between two large kegs. As I fired, they shifted again and in tandem, I shivered.

“Argh,” I ground my teeth. Out of all the times it had to happen.

This is what I get for choosing to live.

As the burst from the shell missed my target and hit the wall right behind them, they began to cackle a laugh that wasn’t very characteristic for the body they were inhabiting.

“You need to be more careful,” they sneered as they ran long, clawed nails against the wood of the keg’s exterior. It produced a sound like rubbing a coin against sandpaper. It was grating and made me shake my head and clench my teeth in frustration. “What if one of these kegs burst? And alcohol spilled out? Then, what if you fired your gun and it missed, and instead exploded –”

I adjusted my aim and fired right at the top of their arm, just under the shoulder. Sure enough, there was an explosion, but no puncture to the keg. What a relief.

They winced and heaved out breath after breath while I watched as what made up their arm wriggled as several tiny pieces. Like watching many worms or maggots. Whatever they were, tissue or something else, it was inhuman. Soon, they expanded and connected back to the arm in question and that smile smeared back onto her face with a very heinous scowl to accompany it. That was the last glimpse I caught before they dashed back behind the keg they stood behind.

I shook my head. How tiresome.

Little taps against the floor trickled into my ears and it wasn’t long before I saw their figure once more pass from the back and near the entrance to the tunnels, but stopped right at the end and shot forth both arms. Along the way toward me, they split into many more limbs, each with sharp tips. They spread out, making it so it wouldn’t be possible to avoid them all. On both sides, I was surrounded.

Time to get reckless.

I took a step back, then fired both of my pistols at the masses meant to surround me, the resulting blast caused a chain reaction which resulted in each of the little masses of limbs crumbling down and withering into bits of ash. At the same time, I ran in, knowing I had a short window of time as it didn’t take those things long to regenerate. As I darted toward the host in question, the multitude of limbs regrew and tried to close in around me as if they two tidal waves and I were in the middle of the ocean.

When I drew closer and the wave of wriggling limbs collapsed in on themselves, my impostor retracted their many vine-like limbs and returned to having long, clawed hands. They swiped to the side, but I ducked and fired the pistol their way, blasting a hole right in the center of their chest.

That time, no change in reaction. Worse, they stood in place and the gap in the center refilled itself.

“Are you sure you wanted to do that?” Came that sinister sneer and before I could react, they grabbed my arm, then lifted one leg up and kicked me so hard that I fell back onto the cold, hard floor.

Who knew they could kick so hard? I thought as I winced and jumped back up to my feet.

“These boots are mine,” they claimed, as if in response to my little thought. “I may be able to transform myself now, but I can assure you, it is I.”

Note to self: it’s not a good idea to get close to them. Too risky.

I darted away, off toward the giant keg barrel next to the entrance. It should have provided cover, but they sprinted forward and I jumped back just in time to line with their strike, then fired off one of my pistols. That time, a miss, as they ducked to avoid it, then opened their mouth and many needle-like appendages shot forth and tore through the thick sailor uniform I had donned and punctured the flesh of my arms. I hissed out and spat as I felt each cut, and then they went for my face, and I batted them away, but the little thorns and spikes cut through my hands as well.

Despite each little sting, I couldn’t be bothered to stop and react. I took off once more and the laughs of my enemy turned to a slow, deep taunt.

“Look at you: you were so confident back there, and now you’re running from me,” they bellowed. Whoever was behind that form must have relished in the fact that they were using the corpse which belonged to my other self. Like a little taunt in of itself.

You probably think it disturbs me to have to fight something that shares my own face, but I’m feeling quite the opposite: I’m excited.

“Let me ask you this: how did you manage to get down here without the others noticing? I know for a fact that you weren’t down here this whole time,” they inquired as their voice echoed and grew in intensity to match the sound of their ever closer footsteps.

“I was in vent,” I replied, not caring that they were an enemy. At that point, it didn’t really matter what I told them, as I would bring them down either way. Soon they would draw near, and in anticipation, I reattached the two guns so they were once again a heavy rifle in my arms.

Even if I go down along with them, I won’t draw my last breath until they’ve drawn theirs.

“Of course. I should have taken that into account. An oversight on my part,” they acknowledged, then lunged beside where I stood and those same claws reached out at me.

Running toward does me no good. Neither does running away.

I blocked those claws with my rifle, then it was my turn to kick them away as in one swift motion I raised a leg and thrust it into their side. They were knocked back and taking such an opportunity to my advantage, I pointed my rifle and pulled the trigger, its blast pushed me back as well. My eyes managed to lock on to my enemy who was struck and their head was obliterated, the place where their neck had been burnt as the sparks reached down to claim their torso.

I shook my head. As much as I wished it were that easy, I knew it wasn’t yet over.

Before I could react, hope to finish things sooner rather than later, those same worm-like appendages swung around from the stump that once made up their head, and soon more accompanied them. I reached into the sailor outfit, hoping to use my secret weapon, but I knew it wouldn’t have done me any good. Not yet.

Yet I didn’t want to give them any satisfaction, either. I shot forth once more, this time in the chest. Just as the head was beginning to reform, as well, but it became useless; their entire upper-half was gone, incinerated.

Their legs became the only thing that was left of them and I lowered my aim, but before I could, two long appendages emerged from the top and I saw mouths at the end of them, open wide and hungry, having taken on a life of its own.

They swerved around my rifle, much faster than I could aim or avoid, and tore into the sleeves of my sailor’s outfit and bit into the flesh of my arm. I reached for those...whatever they were. Goddamn leeches, for whatever I cared, and pulled them off. But when I looked up, saw what they were attached to, I knew the fight was far from over: they had regenerated once more, a full, taunting display. That same sinister face.

“You can try many times, but I’ll continue to come back and I just know you don’t have an unlimited supply of ammunition,” again, that taunt. “Sooner or later, you will run out and the question will be whether your life or your ammunition will run out first as you, meanwhile, only have one life.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I brushed off. “I’ve heard it all before. YOLO.”

It was true, though, that I couldn’t just keep shooting and hope that one shot would put them down for good. If I wanted to put an end to this, I would have to make whatever few shots I had count.

Of course, I have other means to finish you off.

“But you know,” I continued, with little regard for whatever their next move would be, “in a way, that’s my strength. You see, pain means little to you as you can just recover within an instant. But me? I bleed, and I feel the weight of every one of my injuries.”

“How is that a strength?” They asked, incredulous.

Really, I could have given an answer, but if I was being honest, I didn’t know how that worked either.

Maybe I just prefer being mortal, if I’m being honest. That sense that there will be an end.

They ran forth, going on the offensive. Figuring the time to pull it out was drawing near, I dashed out from between the kegs and back into the middle of the room so that I would have more space to work with. However, their many appendages were faster and swung forth at the back of my heel, cutting through the skin of my ankle and causing me to trip over. I landed on my side with a heavy thud.

“Damn it,” I hissed. At least I landed smack dab in the middle of the room, right where I wanted to be. As I turned to my back, I grabbed my rifle and aimed toward the creature who had taken on the image of that other me. But before I could fire, they shot one of their appendages from out of their back and tossed my rifle out of my hands. To add insult to injury, or maybe just more injury, before I could pick myself back up, they leaped forward and stamped down against my chest with their boot.

I wheezed out a little, “oof” sound and tried to get up, but they just dug their heel further into my chest. They looked down and as hard as it was to admit, I really was pinned down.

“You really have become so weak, haven’t you? Your old self wouldn’t have sustained so many injuries, wouldn’t have fallen for so many obvious traps, but here you are, a feeble shadow of your old self. Now that I’ve worn you down, I’ll stamp out every bit of life left in you, tear you limb from limb, devour you, and at last, take your place.”

I gasped as she dug in deeper and my breaths soon became shorter and more shallow. Their heel was so close to my neck, weighing down on my throat.

This is so uncomfortable, was my only thought, is this what Demetria wanted me to do to her way back when? I don’t get it, though. It doesn’t feel good at all. So why? Why would she want something like that? What’s so attractive about this? It makes no goddamn sense!

“...Why…?” I managed to wheeze out.

“Why? Really? That’s all you have to say? The answer should be simple enough: you don’t belong to this world. You were just an opportunist, thinking you could –”

I turned my head and my shaking hand grabbed their ankle and squeezed down, then pulled.

“No. Why does anyone find this attractive?!” I gasped out, and that time I was furious.

I slammed them down and that time they were the one on the ground. That meant it was my turn to stomp down, and sure enough, I did. Over and over and over and – you get the idea.

“Why?!” I stomped down and shouted.

“Is this hot to you? Huh? Huh?” I stomped down. Again.

“It doesn’t feel good at all, does it? DOES IT?!” My voice grew more shrill as I aimed my own boot right at their head and stamped down, hard enough to squish through their skull like it was a pumpkin.

“What if I kept going? Huh? Does that turn you on, then?” I huffed and puffed and continued to stomp around, disregarding the fact that it wouldn’t really kill my enemy. That no longer mattered to me. I went on until at last, a deep breath and I willed myself to stop.

As soon as I stopped, my foe wriggled across the floor and reformed a couple of meters away from me. It only took a few seconds for that replica Rhea to stand across from me once more. Just as I was confused about what made something so violent a turn on, my enemy also had a confused expression as their brow curled and their head tilted. No grin, just pursed lips and a tilted head.

“Did you get that out of your system?” They asked.

“Yeah,” I let out one last deep breath of relief, “I think I’m good now. Thanks.”

“Good. Shall we continue?”

I nodded.

“Yeah.”

We both charged at each other, our fists readied. I already knew I was at a disadvantage, but that didn’t matter anymore. At last, I began to feel it: the heat of battle. As if little drafts of hot air flew past me.

As their clawed fist opened up and those long talon-like tendril nails shot out, I ducked and reached into the sailor uniform and pulled out the small spear I had crafted and swung it upward, tearing that vessel in front of me clear in half.

They shrieked as blood spilled out onto the floor and I thought I saw a massive maw of teeth and a tongue split in two right in the middle of what should have been their torso.

“You,” they growled, the ‘mouth’ on their head also having been split in half, yet able to speak just fine all the same.

“Yeah, it’s crude,” I held up the small spear. Once just a metal rod, but I had a particular mineral tied to the end of it, “but while I was out at sea without my rifle, I had to make do with what I had. There could have been any number of creatures of the deep ready to strike, not to mention that I knew that if I wandered through that fog, you’d have wanted nothing more than to tear me apart then and there. So I fastened a shard of an angel’s essence to the tip of it.”

They scowled and grimaced. I dunno, I guess they didn’t like the exposition. Here I thought they’d have appreciated an explanation, but I guess being Remora was a thankless job. Alas, while my bullets contained similar kind of material, it was amusing to think that what could have done them in was just a poorly made spear.

Alas, that wasn’t the case: no, it wasn’t a straightforward reformation like before, as their left fist clenched and their face scrunched up, like they were trying to connect the two halves, but couldn’t.

“Ha,” I scoffed. “I’m amazed you’re even able to stand at all right now.”

But the many worm-like pieces of each half did move, and the ends to the left half sprouted many tendrils and appendages as it filled itself out until the left half was one whole fake-ass Rhea. Then, with the newly formed right hand, they grabbed hold of their former right half with their new right arm and reshaped it into what looked to be a large, one-sided ax or butcher knife, but made up of veins and muscle tissue.

“No fair!” I whined. Of course, that should have been expected. An opponent who could reshape itself after being destroyed several times over wasn’t meant to be a “fair” sport, now were they?

I composed myself. I had to, as they charged on once more, no longer that sinister smile, and just an indignant scowl. As they approached, they swung forth and I dodged to the side, then swung my spear down and chopped off their left arm. No cry of pain this time, no indication that it held any meaning to them at all, and it fell to the floor, only to regrow. But by then, I swerved to the back and shoved the spear right into their chest, then swung upward.

Again, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. Regrowth without a second thought.

Guess the same trick won’t work twice.

In fact, they turned and swung their large fleshy ax right at my face. I stepped back, held the spear in front of me for protection, but watched as the ax split it with ease and little shards of my spear from the tip flew at me and made little cuts across my cheeks.

Well, great. There goes my secret weapon.

Things weren’t looking so cool after all. Odd, too, how it worked so well back in the alleyway even without an angel’s essence. I just had to get to their heart and that was that. Not the case with the one in front of me, was it? It was like I had to go for total annihilation, no trace remaining, and I just didn’t know if I had the firepower for that.

Maybe if I set this basement on fire, but I’m not about to risk the lives of the people above. Say what you will about my cold heart, but even my old self didn’t believe in collateral damage.

I stepped back and wiped the blood off my cheeks.

“Ha. You’ve been disarmed. Your little makeshift weapon broke. You’ve been made into a bloody mess. You’re at the end of your rope,” they recited as if they were some sort of judge reading off my list of crimes.

“Are you kidding? I’m just warming up,” I snickered, and I couldn’t help but smile. Yes, I was more desperate than I had been before, but if nothing else, this was fun.

“You have nothing!” They roared, but I shook my head and ran toward them anyway. My move prompted them to swing their fleshy weapon, but I ducked down and swung my fist into their false face. Their free hand caught it, then dug their talon-like fingers into my fist and I bit my lip just to avoid yelling out, then I decided that wasn’t very efficient: so, I reached in and bit down on those fingers which held my fist themselves, sunk my teeth in. It tasted less like flesh and more earthen, like dirt or mold.

I spat out as the impostor had little choice but to release their grip and upon doing so I headbutted them. For not even a second, a thought arose that cautioned me not to do so, as there was the chance that my own head would sink into the strange wormy mass that made up their head. But that thought didn’t matter to me in the slightest, and it didn’t seem to matter much to them either as they reeled back and winced in pain.

“You’re desperate,” they groaned.

“I’m alive!” I declared. It was the rush I always craved in battle. That moment which seldom lasted long, but always brought with it a taste of what I should have felt more often.

But of course you wouldn’t get it. Even if you were her, you wouldn’t have, would you? That thought brought with it a tinge of sadness I didn’t think I ought to have felt.

Their claws swung forth faster than I could have reacted. For all my boast, for all the thrill that came with such a struggle, I had no defense this time and I felt the extent of each sharp finger dig into the side of my face.

Along my cheeks came three or four deep cuts and my eyelids slammed tight, barring any entry. When I struggled to open my eyes, all I saw around me were various hues and blurs, the notion of colors I couldn’t quite put names to as even my thoughts turned to fuzzy static. Wetness filled the bloody side of my face which reminded me of ants running down a sugarcane, or if I wanted a more normal comparison, icicles melting into clear water down a windowpane.

Clear...no, murky…

My thoughts would not cooperate. Analogies did me little good and as I staggered back, I felt a tug at the collar of my sailor uniform. Damn, I should have taken off the blasted thing a while ago. It was too bulky for its own good.

I blinked a few times, my senses regaining. Blurs of colors took concrete shape once more. However, I felt the vibration of numbness surround myself as I peered down to see the enemy lift me up above them.

“I bet you think you did the right thing,” the creature, impostor, animated corpse, whatever they were, declared, “letting the others run off while you held me off. You don’t get that they too will meet their deaths in time.”

You underestimate them…

“The old you wouldn’t have cared. You would have been more concerned over yourself. But now I take it that you expected the possibility of not making it out alive. That it didn’t matter, as long as they survived. How commendable. You’ve gained emotions. You’ve grown to care about them. But it’s made you weak and naive. After I’ve finished you off, they will be next, and all your efforts will mean nothing. It shouldn’t take me long at all to get to them and tear them apart.”

Are you done? I know I can’t really do anything right now, but you’re really annoying. If I’m really finished, couldn’t you at least grant me the courtesy of shutting the fuck up?

I glanced over and noticed them ready their little whatever weapon.

Ugh. This is so cringe. I bet the other me at least went out in a cooler fashion than this.

“Hey grossface!” Yelled a shrill, mouse-like voice in the distance. Some sort of voice which might have been cacophonous in a certain context, but for me it brought a certain sense of joy. It was a familiarity that said, “yes, this is a comfort voice.”

However, “grossface”? Really? That was the best insult?

With my mind preoccupied, I was a little startled when I saw a knife flung into the side of my impostor’s face. They must have also been unprepared, as they didn’t manage to react in time and in their effort to block or deflect it, they ended up dropping me back to the floor.

I collapsed at first, but found my footing and stood back up. My first course of action was to turn and yell at Demetria, who stood near the entrance to the tunnels.

“What are you doing back here?! I thought I told you to go on ahead!” I chewed her out (not literally. Look, I knew some figures of speech).

“And I would, had I not been aware that you would pull such a reckless move,” she replied with a scowl and if I wasn’t mistaken, it was like she was scolding me right back.

For all my disappointment that one of the others returned, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit of joy from seeing her once again.

Even though I knew I shouldn’t, I touched the side of my face once more. I thought for a moment that I had blushed, but nope, it was just blood.

When’s it gonna dry already? This is so lame.

Demetria’s knife flew out from the side of the enemies’ face that it had been wedged in and returned to its owner. That’s when I had a sort of idea. With a few hops backwards and my head continuing to spin, I made some distance between the false Rhea and I and Demetria ran over to me as well, allowing us to meet halfway.

“Are you so weak that you’re having to rely on the help of another to bail you out? Just a moment ago you were frail and in peril. What happened to being strong? Independent? Do any of those things mean anything to you?” My false reflection taunted, or demanded answers from me. I couldn’t tell which. Whether it was a playful sneer or a harsh bout of confusion. For my own sake, I preferred to think it was the latter.

“What you fail to understand is that I was never given an option,” I replied in earnest, “no one ever asked me if being strong was something that I wanted, and if given the choice, I would rather be weak and feel than cold and lifeless.”

Although I am still very much cold, and maybe that would always be a part of me. Still, there’s more to me now.

“That’s something you would get if you were really her,” I added, “it’s never been about strength, but about finding some sense of warmth, whether it be physical or something else. How even though it may not have been possible, even futile, the search continued until the very end. Even now, I’m looking for it. If you don’t understand that, then you lack a fundamental understanding of who Rhea is. Who I am.”

“Such drivel. None of what you said will matter when you’ve reached your end. It doesn’t matter if you have another supporting you, you’re still at the end of your rope,” that vessel growled.

“Is this what you’ve been dealing with?” Demetria turned to me and asked.

“Pretty much,” my voice weary, I replied. As bad of a shape as I was in, I felt rather good about my odds. Not to mention that I was sure I’ve been in worse shape before. “Anyway, I’ve got an idea. Are you up for a distraction?”

“I’m up for anything that will put an end to this,” she answered.

Oooookay, a simple yes would have sufficed. But I’d take it.

“You take the left. I’ll take the right. Let’s keep them occupied,” I instructed. She nodded along, then the two of us ran at our respective ends.

“That won’t work,” Not Rhea warned, on on cue I watched as they shot out multitudes of writhing tentacles in both of our directions.

In response, I slipped out of the sailor’s uniform and tossed it in front of me, then bolted, only looking back to see it be torn up and in tatters.

Good riddance. Thing didn’t even keep me warm, anyway.

With a small window of time available, I rolled out from behind the keg barrels and reached for my rifle, then darted to the other end where Demetria was situated.

“So, what’s the plan now?” She turned beside me and asked.

“I need to grab that spear,” I answered, “it should still have a small fragment of the angel’s essence. Even something so tiny should be enough.”

“What? All your other shots haven’t been enough, have they?” She argued, and really? She just had to bring that up? When I was so sure I had some semblance of victory?

“I’m not going to say this time will be different, but a plan is a plan.”

“Redundant, but I get your point,” she commented, then nodded as she took off. She tossed one of her knives to the fake-ass Rhea, but they caught it between their fingers (or whatever they were).

“Nice. Try,” the creature uttered and from their mouth shot forth many appendages, ever increasing in size, and all headed Demetria’s way. However, she just stood, as if every last one of them meant nothing to her, and just as they were about to hit her, she raised her arm out and a translucent barrier erected.

A miniature bounded field? But how did she get such a thing?

I thought that I could run out while they were focused on Demetria, but of course, that was wishful thinking as more appendages sprouted from their arm and soared in my direction. I fired my rifle in the center of the creature’s palm and slid down to the floor to grab the spear. Indeed, its end had been chipped off, but not completely broken.

Good. Now just like back in that alleyway. Only this time, it will be much more explosive.

“Out of the way, Demetria!” I shouted and just in time for the impostor to turn around, but it was too late: I took the spear and shoved it right into their chest, where their heart would have been, had they one.

“All that effort, just for something so useless?” They looked down and reacted with incredulity.

“Who said I was done?” I sneered, then split my rifle in two, back into the pistols. I then explained, “here’s the thing: yes, my rifle uses ammunition, but my pistols? Pure energy, self-replenishing. Almost like what you’ve been doing with your body. They don’t do much damage on their own, but they still pack their own kind of punch.”

“So what? You’ve already shot at me with those and I just regenerated. How will this time be different?”

My smile widened and I aimed at the end of the spear which stuck out from the creature’s humanoid form. Maybe at one point the thing in front of me was human, was even who they claimed to be, but that time had long past.

I took aim and the resulting blast surged through the metal rod and created a charcoal-like cloud of smoke. As the smoke began to clear, I lifted my leg up and rammed the heel of my boot right into the end of the spear.

That impostor, that endless sea of thorns in my side, had fallen, a great collapse roared as the floor we all occupied shook for a full second.

I knew it wasn’t over. That mocking voice said as much:

“Great show, but I’m still here. I can still regenerate.”

Yes. Great show indeed. Before me lay a crude display as the spear was planted firm within their chest and the blast had taken out both of their arms. Little bits of static jumped around their disgraceful body and I saw as they winced. That wince soon turned to a frozen struggle of anguish.

“Why? Why aren’t they coming back?” They grimaced, groaned, and soon their voice grew to a panic. “Come on!”

I shook my head and approached them.

“You wore her face, you used her name, but you didn’t know anything about her. How she should act. What her name means,” I began. “you know, I used to be ashamed of that name, because of the knowledge of who else had it. Yes, I was a groundhog, afraid of my own shadow. I would criticize myself, and when I would, it would be her name and face doing the criticizing. It was like I had to live up to some standard that didn’t even exist because she didn’t know me and acted in accordance to who she was. I knew that’s how I should have been as well, but I couldn’t help but think that I wasn’t worthy of that name, that it meant something important, and indeed, it did.”

“Ugh. I’ll bite. Humor me. What does it mean?”

“It’s a pun. Reflection. That’s all it is. It means little unless you state the full name, as anyone could have that name. Even then, even if you state that full name, guess what? It wouldn’t be the only name. If you were her, you would know that. Because Rhea Flection isn’t just Rhea Flection. She’s also Clara Waters, Mira Image, Claire Skye, Clair Ritty, Dee Flecked, and many more. I know this because I am Rhea Flection, and I’m not the one that was her, but the one that is me. I’m also Remora, and to top it off, I just came up with a new one: Rhea Fraction.”

“Are you calling yourself that because you’re just a fraction of who you once were?” They asked, an obvious attempt to get under my skin. Really, poor attempt. 2/10.

“No,” I shook my head, “it’s because Rhea is just a fraction of my names.”

“Can we hurry this up?” Demetria demanded with impatience as she tapped her foot.

“I’m almost done,” I dismissed her, “this is important.”

Then, I turned my attention back to the creature:

“I used to think that I never knew you, could never know you, but I do. I understand you because you are also me: you were afraid, afraid that you could never feel anything, that you could never love, let alone be loved. That despite the fact that you wanted friends, wanted people in your life, you just felt that you couldn’t have that because such a thing and yourself were incompatible. You felt alienated from the very concept of connection. So day after day, you would do your job without purpose until eventually you found others that you wished you could share a connection with, and upon realization, you ran.”

“You don’t have to do the whole speech, you know,” Demetria informed me, “that’s not really her.”

“I know. But for my own sake, I need to say it: I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I never saw you as your own person. I’m sorry that you didn’t think you could have those things. That you saw no other way but to go out the same way you’ve always lived. I want to tell you that it’s possible, that you could have had those things, however difficult, but I can’t. I think you would have loved meeting all these people, finding out that you could have friends, have connections. I’m sorry, because I can’t even blame you for thinking such things, because even now, it feels unreal.”

I let out a deep breath.

“And the worst part is? The person I want to say this to isn’t around to hear it.”

I stepped back, then opened fire against the spear lodged in the impostor. By that point, there must have been enough of a shock to create a chain reaction, and if so, then every piece of that creature would feel its effects: complete obliteration.

Another step back, another two shots, and that time, I heard it: their gurgling wails of agony, the sounds of bugs being squashed and a thick, dark cloud of smoke formed. It soon engulfed the one who inhabited that corpse, the one who had caused so much trouble, soon to be gone.

Demetria walked over as I reassembled the rifle, then strapped it to my back. Another deep exhale found its way out from me, a sigh of relief.

“It’s finally done, isn’t it?” She commented, giving the dissipating smoke a quick glance.

“Yeah. Soon they’ll fade into ash until that too floats off and fades away.”

It was that same way with the one who called themselves Buddy Fairweather, much as it was the same with the guy who attacked Ceres and I in the alleyway. My eyes were fixed upon that cloud, that impenetrable smoke. After a few seconds, I saw it: the ashes, dust, whatever it was, rose into the air, then scattered until they too were no more.

“Let’s get goi –” Demetria was about to urge me to head off. After all, the others could have used the help. But something stopped me, kept me frozen in place, and then my eyes felt a stinging sensation in the same moment that my heart pounded away at my chest, begged for release. When I saw it, the reason for such an abject reaction, I shook and shivered, harder than I may have ever done: a pair of legs began to form as the smoke started to clear. Then two hands, arms, followed by a torso of someone wearing a thick, red jacket. Once I saw that face, I had to do everything in my power not to make my jaw drop.

“No…” I muttered.

Demetria turned just as the smoke cleared, and threw her hands up.

“Oh, come on! It’s still not over?” She complained.

“Be...be on your guard,” I advised, and my teeth chattered. I knew it wasn’t the same cold I usually felt: no, it was fear.

Demetria readied herself in a half-crouched stance, switchblade knife in her palm.

“What about you? Why aren’t you doing anything?” She turned and murmured.

“I’m...I’m…” I couldn’t figure out what to say, but everything felt different. There was a heightened sense of tension, despite what should have been a lack of danger. In fact, I wasn’t even sure if we were going to have to fight that impostor again, but I wasn’t sure about anything. There was no spear, no metal rod, lodged in her chest. There were hands, pale hands, and on her face, between her lips, I thought I could see something poking out, but I wasn’t sure of what.

Wait. ‘Her’?

I waited. For something, anything, so I could figure out my next move, so this terrible feeling could leave me.

I glanced over and saw her/their fists begin to twitch, and then her/their face stirred, the eyes left closed.

“Ugh…” Escaped a low and quiet moan and then her/their mouth began to open, just slow enough so that the thing between her/their lips stayed intact.

“Why have I woken up? I was enjoying a nice rest,” came the sprained words, its sound only a little more than a whisper.

“Don’t...don’t let us keep you…” my own voice trembled, a forced reply I did not want to make.

This is wrong. This is so wrong. Thisisowrongthisiswrongthisiswrong.

“Uh…” Demetria looked up at me, confused, maybe a little frightened, herself. I couldn’t even tell, but she asked me, through clenched teeth, “what’s going on?”

“It’s her. I don’t know how, but it is,” I concluded and my hands felt stiff, as if turned to a block of ice.

Our miracle guest lifted up one of her arms and placed it over her stomach, where torn fabric and a large gash with deep, red blood oozed out. She turned her head and her eyes continued to refuse to open.

“What are we supposed to do now? What’s the plan? What do we even make of this?” Demetria asked a barrage of questions, none of which I had the answer for.

“Mm...Juniper? Is that you?” Moaned out her dry voice once more, still only little more than a whisper.

“What?” Demetria groaned, flat.

Juniper...Hmm…

“I still don’t get it,” I rasped, “but she’s still not going to last long. You should be there for her before she goes. Comfort her.”

“What?!” She spat out, but I couldn’t bear it any longer, I bolted, ran for the tunnel.

“Do it. For me. Please,” I urged Demetria, and then, when I was far enough from those two, I collapsed, fell back against a wall in the tunnel. My hands still trembled, everything about me trembled. My heart rate continued to speed up.

If she’s alive...if she lives...then that means…

“No...please...I don’t want to go just yet,” I begged, slumped my head over, and felt dejected.

Was this what everything’s been leading up to? Just a hollow victory before I too disappear?

There were things I could have done. I could have at least tried to go to the others, see them one last time, but I was too scared to move. Too scared to do anything but sit and try to wrap my head around everything.

#remoras full #writing #stories #action #supernatural #horror #scifi #arctic #remora #impostor #rhea #drama

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wheremytwinwatches · 4 years

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[Where My Twin Watches]: Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood Episode 17

Ah, right. We left off with Ross being arrested for Hughes’ murder. And something tells me that the Goths having a member who can literally walk right into Central undetected, to say nothing of the Fuhrer himself being a Goth, means that the deck’s stacked against her.

Yup, Ross is in an interrogation room, a scowling MP just dropped a deformed bullet onto the table. The very one that killed Brigadier General Hughes. Ok, so what if it’s the same caliber as her pistol? This is the military, everyone’s gonna have the same firearm. What about the ballistic fingerprinting? Fire a round from her gun, and see if it matches with the killing round. Unless the Goths stole her gun for the murder and then returned it… Oh! Well that’s pretty damning - a requisition form for a single bullet. But that shot was fired to defend Ed… at the “unmanned” Fifth Laboratory that’s now a pile of rubble. An eyewitness? Bleh, that’s right, they would have seen Ross (or Gracia, but I’m assuming Envy switched back to Ross afterwards) leaving the scene. But who saw her? Paperwork that she fired one bullet around the time of the shooting, an eyewitness saw (someone looking like) her leaving the murder scene, and her only defense is family testimony that she wasn’t there that day. Yikes. Ok ok, she doesn’t have a good alibi, but what about motive? Why would Ross of all people want to kill Hughes? Explain that, copper! Outside, Armstrong’s been turned away from seeing Ross while she’s being questioned. And then Brosh comes running up. Ouch. He’s confirming Ross’ story, saying he fired a single round at the Fifth Laboratory too, but everyone’s ignoring his report. Armstrong wonders if the Conspiracy is trying to frame Ross for the murder. Episode 17 - “Cold Flame” Winry’s still looking sad, cleaning Al’s armor and remarking how up close she can see all sorts of dings and scratches. Al’s brrrrr, sorry, bit silly and creepy at the same time to see headless Al just calmly polishing his helmet. All Al can do is give a weak chuckle at the comment. Aw, why must my babies be upset? Winry asks Ed what their next move is. Ed doesn’t know. [Flashback!Elicia]: “Mommy… please don’t cry.” NO. BAD SHOW. VERY BAD SHOW. Ed asks what Winry thinks. The mechanic is surprised that Ed’s actually asking her for advice. Damnit, stop being melancholy, show. I don’t want to listen to Winry’s voice shake as she talks about the brother’s digging up dangerous information that could get them killed. [Winry]: “I mean, you could die… I’d still be here, and you’d just suddenly not be there anymore. Like my mom and dad.” GUH. Would you quit it, show? Stop being so Leto-damn depressing! So to sum up, Winry’s torn between supporting their goal to get their bodies back, but also wanting them safe and alive. In the end, she really doesn’t know what they should do. THANK you, Al! Little bro teases Winry about how nice she’s being, lightens the mood at the expense of a few more dings and scratches. Good for you, little guy. In the Warehouse, Falman and Barry are playing chess when the newspaper comes by, no question what the main story’s going to be. Yup, Falman takes one look at the paper and jumps to the phone. Ed’s in his room, going over his notes when WHAM Al bursts through the door with the newspaper. Wait, convicted?! The brothers rush out to see someone in charge. In prison, oh hey it’s Ling! Who’s complaining about his ID cuffs, while chatting up the guard. Wait, only 15? Huh, I was thinking early 20’s. Running guards? Intruder? Oh, the Ninjas must have finally tracked down their wayward master. Although the music’s a bit spooky… NOPE, not the ninjas! It’s Barry! How did he get out of the Warehouse? He’s just striding forward, bullets bouncing off of him.

Even Ling’s guard with a high-power rifle just knocks his helmet off. Crap, run red-shirts, ru- wait, he knocked them out? [Barry]: “This would be a lot more fun if I was allowed to cut ‘em up.” Oh! It’s a prison break! With the conspiracy framing Ross, Roy’s crew sent Barry to bust her out! How in the world did they convince him not to kill innocents, though? Ling asks the Soul Armor to let him out, Barry almost walks by, but picks up on Ling being from Xing. That opens the door for some reason, and Barry tells the Prince to go with him. Hey Ross, wanna leave this dump? Of course Barry has to be unnecessarily creepy breaking her out, but shows her the paper and offers an escape. After a bit of despairing about a life of crime and apologizing to her parents, Ross is heading for freedom. And methinks Barry has yet another crush on a tough lady. The Inquisitor gets news on the jailbreak, orders the men to scour the city for her and her violent accomplice (what, doesn’t Ling get any love?). Along with shoot to kill orders if she “resists”. Cue picture of Angry Roy donning gloves. So wait, was this your plan, or did your crew do this on their own? The escaped convicts are running through the alleyways, when oh hai Elric Brothers! [Al/Barry]: “Ah! You’re that guy!” Aw crap, the Elrics are trying to figure out what’s going on, but Barry’s irritated at them being slowed down, orders Ross to run to the Warehouse while he holds them off. Ross has to run into the darkness as the Elrics call after her, asking about Hughes. Aargh. Ok, ok, miscommunication continues to stand in the way of a good time, but as long as Ross can get to the- oh. Oh crap. [Pissed-off!Roy]: “You’re Maria Ross… right?” Roy. Roy, just hold on RoY ROY NO WHAT THE FUCK ROY That was an explosion. Um. Al’s arrived to find Roy facing away from a burnt… body. Um. Was Roy in on the plan? Part of me is thinking that this is a decoy, convince the authorities that Ross is dead (oh jeez this is gonna kill Brosh). And once “they got her” Barry was quick to run away… but if Roy wasn’t in on the plan? Then he was facing down the person that was convicted of murdering his friend. I honestly don’t know which way the show will go. ...those are the burnt ID cuffs. W 6186 Maria Ross. Kinda leaning towards Situation #2 here. Mid-show cards ID the Inquisitor as Henry Douglas. Back in the alleyway, Ed oh dear he’s charging Roy. And Roy just decked him. [Roy, adjusting collar]: “You threaten a superior officer?” Maybe he’s just acting so detached? If the Conspiracy is listening in, then Roy has to act the good soldier, following the “shoot to kill” order. Even if it means standing over the possible charred corpse of a friend of the Elrics. Leto, these poor boys. The MP have arrived, taking pictures of the evidence while Douglas demands an explanation from Colonel Mustang. Who has no chill as he questions if one of Roy’s crew helped her escape, just so that Roy could kill her personally. Roy calmly says such speculation is best avoided. All while the Elrics sit quietly against the alley wall, Ed glaring daggers at Roy. At the hotel, Armstrong’s apologizing to the boys for not telling them about the murder sooner, tries comforting Ed when he says that it was his fault. Wait, doctor? Ah it’s the hospital, not the hotel. Aaaaand the doc says while the body was almost completely destroyed, the dental work says… it was Maria Ross. Um. The Doc proceeds to chide Roy for turning her into charcoal, while Roy just sits on a bench and says nothing. [Doc]: “Is the vengeance as sweet as you imagined it?” Roy gets up to leave, when Armstrong… [Armstrong, trembling with emotion]: “Colonel… Please allow me to apologize for one of my own officer’s actions. I could never have imagined that Second Lieutenant Ross would commit such a heinous murder. She was so straightforward and earnest… compassionate… A truly fine officer!” Armstrong’s glaring at this point. Argh, if this is all an elaborate ruse to get Ross away, then Armstrong doesn’t know about it, does he? He’s not in Roy’s crew. So from his perspective while he speculated that Ross was framed, he believes Ross was killed by Roy in vengeance for Hughes. Roy just tells Armstrong that he looks fatigued, recommends he take some leave back where he was. No big city noise, and lots of beautiful women. Is… is that his way of saying Ross was sent east? Or just Roy being the womanizer from the shorts? Monsters in cages, Envy is meeting with the Goths and letting them know about Ross’ fate. Lust is irritated that the plan to keep Roy amiable fell through, but Envy points out that he shouldn’t be distracted with Hughes’ murder being free now, and that there’s a bonus of his crew not trusting him anymore. Cue Riza putting a request for leave on Roy’s desk. Ok, still hoping beyond hope that it’s a ruse, but if it’s not, if Riza’s leaving to get away from a murdering boss for a while… Leto. Roy approves the request and Riza briskly leaves, slamming the door behind her. Wait, Roy’s smiling? Please tell me… Barry’s humming while he sharpens his cleavers, Falman’s freaking out over Barry going out on his own? Crap, if there was a plan Falman wasn’t in on it? Oh, and Barry brought back Ling as well! Who’s building a signal fire/cooking a fish oh hey Ninjas, nice of you two to finally show up. [Snarky!Ling]: “Wow… Impressive response time.” Poor Falman. Roy’s chatting on his office phone, to Elizabeth? Wait, who’s this? Why does Roy call her when Riza’s not around? Where’s this character coming from, messing up my ship? In any case, Roy’s paperwork gremlins are irritated as Roy natters about how he hasn’t had a day off since he got to Central, invites Lizzie on a fishing trip. Sudden bombastic military music as the Blonde Trio lounge in their room, Ed goes to answer the door and SUDDEN MIGHTY ARMSTRONG PUNCH what the Leto. Ed’s sent sprawling as The Mighty Armstrong strides in and picks the boy up, announces that his automail is broken and says he’ll escort him to Resembool immediately for repairs. I am just as confused as Ed right now. The Mighty Armstrong glares directly at Al, saying that he’d stand out too much so he must remain in Central. Wait why are you breaking up the Brothers? What on earth is going on here? If The Mighty Armstrong needed an excuse to take Ed somewhere, was saying that his arm needed repairs while standing next to his mechanic and telling his brother that he’d stand out in his own hometown really the best one? The Mighty Armstrong’s carrying our Protagonist through the hotel foyer like a sack of flour, says that he can’t put the boy down because of his orders. From “him”? Cut to Roy being told that The Mighty Armstrong and Ed are on the train, causing him to smirk and think that “everyone’s out of the way.” What is going on?! Is Ross dead or not?! In the Goth Cage Room, Envy’s passes on a sketch of Barry as the one who orchestrated the breakout. No direct connection to the Colonel known, but Envy bets that he was the one behind it. Doesn’t know where Barry is though, complains that he’s short on manpower. Are these chimeras finally going to get play, then? Wait, what? [Lust]: “Looks like you’re finally on… Barry the Chopper.” [Humanoid in cage with bone-skull-mask-thing]: “Graaaah!” Hold up, did the Goth’s kinda-sorta resurrect Barry? But his soul’s still in the armor! Or is it like a soulless clone, a chimera copy? Oh crap if they can make chimera clones, as much as I freak out about having a shapeshifter the ability to make evil copies of our heroes has the potential to be much worse.

Well, I’m lost! I honestly can’t tell if Ross is dead or not, I mean how do you fake dental work? I suppose the Doc could have been in on the scheme, but if Roy isn’t even telling The Mighty Armstrong about the plan then I doubt he’d bring in anyone else. If she’s not dead then please let us know soon for me and the poor kids’ nerves, if she is dead then what the hell show.

#wmtw #where my twin watches #ranubis #full metal alchemist #full metal alchemist brotherhood #fmab #fmab 17

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