(pov : Asmara)
I can still taste the bile in my mouth. It clings to the back of my throat like a second skin. Warm blood is everywhere around me. The ground trembles beneath my palms, but I'm not even aware of the pain. Everything is focused on one thing: the demon.
I back away with the help of my hands, my nails digging into the metal. My body responds in slow motion, as if each movement must cross a threshold; my heart feels like it's going to give out. The images of… his head rolling… his fingers flailing, those black filaments rising up… They loop in my head, vicious cycles. That look, his broken words, then the laughter.
I no longer know where to flee, to melt into this wall that prevents me from escaping, and hope, to reach something. Others, another outcome. Perhaps let myself be eaten. That would be easier, this turtle is over for just a moment and it's over, I can't do it anymore.
-ah~aha~huu~aaaahhhhh~ha
Trembling, sweating, and with a trembling voice, tears flowed freely, just waiting for the end.
The walls are closing in around me. This time it's the end…
I sob. I'm going to die, all this effort seems to be happening… And yet, the voice I'm searching for, Roum's voice…
- A DEMON, DEMON, DEMON, A DEMON, THERE'S A DEMON, A DEMON, ASMARA THERE'S A DEMON, HELP ME, HE'S GOING TO KILL US
-HAAAAAAA AHHHHHHH AHHHHAHAHAHA, DIE, GO ALL TO HELL
I move forward. I move forward because the law that governs me is simple: I move forward. Or I die. One or the other.
Biiiiiiiiiiiiip
A whistle
I am saved
Finally, a light
A smile appeared on my lips.
The air changes. It's not a forest breeze. It's mechanical, regular, precise. My shoulders relax.
A capsule.
ONE CAPSULE~
I crawl away, hurtle down the slope, slip, catch myself. Memories of my teammates—Joy, Roum—hit me like a slap. I messed everything up. Maybe I killed someone. Maybe I caused this. Or maybe I did nothing. Everything blurs together. My surprise burns, but deep down it's normal: a decision made for them. And? Now I'm alone.
The blue light appears first, blinding me, revealing me like an insect, a pest in the mist; I cover myself. A sharp, meager, clinical halo. The capsule rolls slowly, emitting a metallic whine. The trees recoil as if they respect this thing. Perhaps they know it. Perhaps they themselves once let machines like this in.
I stop. My heart is pounding. Is this the end? A foolish hope flickers: they'll come back, everything will be alright, we'll rebuild the world with the right words and clean hands. Then the door opens. I shouldn't have
Covering my tearful eyes
Everything is dark, a little too dark.
A figure appears on the threshold: her.
Alpha-1.
Hein!
I don't know when I started trembling. Perhaps the moment her shadow fell upon me. She passed me like a queen who cares nothing for her subjects, with a gait that erases any trace of empathy. Her suit is intact; her hair… perfect, a face smooth for a human being. She looks like a walking statue. Yet her eyes… her eyes are like two blades of ice heated white-hot: beautiful and dangerous.
She looks around with the same gentle curiosity one reserves for insects in a jar. Then she takes hold of it. My muscles refuse to calm down. She strokes its head, as one would with a remarkable animal.
"Asmara," she said. "Your punctuality amazes me. You did a great job, it's perfect."
There's a velvety quality to her voice that rings true: no hatred, no coldness. Just a fit of laughter. She knows. Everything. From the beginning. EVERYTHING.
I don't answer. The words get bogged down. My throat is a tight trapdoor. My dirty fingers knot around my neck as if it were all that remained tangible to me.
I had fallen into his trap again and obediently followed him; his smile was the same.
Alpha-1 turns again.
"You made some interesting choices, Asmara," she murmured. "You understood perfectly. Well done. Well done HAHAHA HAHA
My fingers are clenching.
-ALPHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HAAAAAAA HAAHAHAHA NOOOOOOOOO
I feel anger, no, not anger: stupidity. Everything is aligning in my head like gears being wound up by sheer force of fist. She sent us. She knew. She prepared a plan of which we are merely the raw material. I thought I was capable, I believed I could play at your table.
Roum slowly straightens up. His head held by the filaments, his body distorted by thread. He looks at Alpha-1. He seems different and the same. His eyes fix on me: I'm sorry.
Alpha-1 smiled, an expression designed to signify total control.
"We have a lot to discuss," she said, as if announcing a routine meeting. "We're going back to the dome. My roum..."
I see Roum looking at me. There's something more in his gaze: a plea, perhaps even a supplication. Maybe he's understood something I don't want to accept.
I demean myself. Tears sustain me; I thought that was all I was capable of.
Alpha-1 takes a step towards her capsule with Roum on her arm. She opens her arms wide and glances back.
"Get in, Asmara," she said. "It's time to stop playing the resistance fighter. Follow me, I'll take care of you. You don't have to feel guilty anymore; anyway, it's not your fault, it's never your fault."
Words are blades she knows so well how to wield. They reek of promise and condemnation. My insides twist. My whole being screams: flee. But before me stands Roum, or what's left of him because of me, so I get up and throw myself into his arms and the capsule purrs, ready to take off again.
I feel the forest clinging to my back. I feel the ghosts I left behind of those I lost. And I feel, faintly, the first stateless glimmer of an idea: to know your enemy, you must live with him. You must enter the wolf's mouth. You must speak to the hand that strikes you.
I bend my knees. My muscles respond. I submit.
The capsule door slams shut behind me like the jaws of that beast.
Alpha-1 smiled again, and, for the first time, without anything betraying the slightest doubt, I knew that she knew: she had foreseen that I would come.
- Asmara