Stars, the few times Uzi saw them, shined all sorts of colors. Blue, yellow, red. Beneath the streetlamps, acid-tinged snowflakes glittered, bright and scattered in the same way, but they were only white. Crap replacement.
Uzi keeps eyes on the sky; she’s savvy, and knows to stay on-guard. Two scavengers chit-chat beside her, eyes on facial animations instead. But they listened as she’d ranted railgun electromagnetics and anime choreography. Seemed interested. She thought of Doll, back when they were sleepover-sisters. Crap replacement.
No time for angst, just action. Uzi holds her railgun, and thinks of Khan.
Shadows scowl and loom. Spooky streets. Uzi knew spooky all her life. In Doll’s sleepovers they played dare-games in closet darkness. Rumors said if you shut out all light, you sometimes felt watched. Doll did every time. Uzi too.
Dark is nice, sharpens senses. Uzi’d thought her railgun needed a glowing green spare part. A macguffin. Then she brought a copper-wrapped tuning fork to a room with no lights. Completion sung to her, and the railgun felt done.
Just needs a target.
Till then, it’s scavenging.
An apartment block stands, no lights powered, but copper’s in the walls.
Crack. Quin sledghammers wall-plaster. Pipes burst, water gushing out. Cracking piñatas, copper wire candy.
Streetlamps flicker outside. The wind stops, choked breath. Transformer fails — whole block in overcast night. One lamp left, shines a vigil.
Knife-whisper. When you see yellow, he’s already dead.
Neck cut, life gushing out. Cracking piñatas like color-inverted eggs. Quin-candy.
No angst, just action.
Anime choreography. Duck under wing-sweep, copper wire lasso, gotcha.
Acid burbles — vocalsynth fries — name’s Marina.
The railgun sings. Point-blank. Core bursts, scream-roars, blood gushing out. Street’s lit anew, green light like lightning.
Still no wind.
Uzi is cold-hot. Alone like a glacier. Angry like a simmering volcanoes.
Fatal Error beneath bowl-cut and pinstripe suit.
Fatal Error beneath blue-dyed fringe and crop-top.
Plug a wire, mount file storage like an external hard-drive, Uzi is looking for mementos, funeral fodder or catharsis to carry back. Searching just makes her feel hot.
She looks to the victory-defeat.
Materal Collection: initialization failed, retrying... beneath afro and sweater vest.
They don’t even die like us.
Kick and smash and kick and smash and it’s action but it’s nothing.
She’s smaller even when it’s dead.
Digging through murder drone carcass, those bones and sacs, you still find electronics. Like a radio — buzzing.
Wind again, ice scratching her cheek. Electromagnetic humming — on-edge. Above glittering snowfall, that yellow glint. X marks your death.
Frickin’ cooldowns! No railgun. Detatched murder-claw? Crap replacement.
Cloud-crash, snow debris. No pouncing? Idiot ball?
“Yeesh. R got cooked by a toaster?” Wary, circling.
Shotgun-barrel jabs. “You reckon it bears the devil’s fork?” Still, focused.
“Hate seein’ a fork stuck in a toaster.”
Uzi blurts, “That’s right. My corpse-meal!”
Wary, focused – then blink. Quick as death, gone as wind.
Uzi’s frame rattled. Like digital adrenaline. Robot hormones.
Murder drones fled. She bluffed, they believed. She looked back, met eye with red error.
Better act the part, could be watching.
You wanted to carry back part of them. You wanted catharsis.
Murder drones probably don’t even taste like us. Right?
Intrusive thoughts didn’t make sense.
Uzi felt cold-hot. Ice makes stones crack. Electric voltage fries circuits. Uzi felt broken-growing. Hormones.
That was just angst. This is action. Hands cupped, plastic goblet for king’s wine. Queen’s royal jelly.
Railgun whines red overheat. Cool hands cradle it. She walks away.
Snow crested Uzi’s beanie, above icicle-feathers like an inverse crown. Her rime is undisturbed. Winds went still; clouds ran dry of false stars.
Digging through her bat-wing backback, you find extraneous electronics. MP3 player. Nightcore? Anime OPs? Not hitting. Corrupted file, howling static. That’s it.
Uzi groans loud in night, frame rattling. No one to talk to. Angst-abyss. She’s melting glaciers, she’s dormant volcanos.
Her feet crack like sledgehammers against ice-slick roads.
She’s remembering two smiling scavengers she’d left Outpost-3 with. Then thinking of Doll. Thinking of Khan.
Of her mother.
Her railgun cooled quiet.
The world’s different outside of Outpost-3. New key, her core beating new tempos, orchestral remix.
Uzi knows how. Khan read door blueprints like bedtime stories. Never explained why Door Two, just what it was: a faraday cage. Canceling that fundamental song of light and iron: electromagnetism.
Murder drones use it to hunt: communication, triangulation, disruption.
Uzi runs a finger down the railgun’s barrel. Guess I use it to hunt, too.
In that dark room, watched and sung to, Uzi felt completion and it attracted her. Like mom.
If she’d felt repulsed? Now she understands why.
Time to change keys.
Stars, the few times Uzi saw them, had four points. That’s how light diffracted through lenses; squishy human eyes saw differently. They’re all messed up.
What do stars look like to murder drones? They don’t even die like us. Probably don’t see like us either.
That carcass was squishy inside. Muscles in place of servos. Crap replacement.
Last bridge back home is perilously slick. Last gust of wind tugs her hoodie. And she slips. Last moment, she ledge-grabs — with both hands.
Railgun tumbling down. One hand holding secure, the other’s thrown to reach out in a futile, dramatic gesture.
Three prongs of purple code erupt in miracle-glow between splayed fingers.
It’s mirrored ten meters abyssward, cradling the fruit of months brainstorming, months tinkering, months hoping. The railgun that sung to her (in the same tonality murder drones hummed.)
Her replacement for — what?
It rises like snow never could. When it’s inches away, she stares down the symbol.
The devil’s fork.
Did she hate seeing it? Stepping off the bridge, her electricity hummed in the gun she cradled. She sees Door Three, and cloud-rift high above.
Those stars still shine, all sorts of colors — three-pointed and ever-shifting.