shiver (FEATURED) | ✓

o28

evanna

The square is a void of grey at this hour of the morning, when most are at work or in the educational compounds. Julian's staring at the bleak sky, their lips catching snowflakes that melt upon instant contact. 

But we are not here to admire the clouded, 'illogical' sky above us, but rather to scout for Bernard. He had told us how little he had gained from his interrogation- or, attempted interrogation- of Vance, and so, naturally, Julian had offered us both up to stay around on the streets of Tetrahmon. So here we are, trying to look inconspicuous in front of the White Guards, when I would have much rather stayed with the Red Hand to practice my shooting.

"This was an idiotic idea," I mutter to Julian, sticking my hands into my pockets.

"I approve of your alliteration," Julian replies, grinning. "But I don't approve of your opinion, so I'm going to elect to ignore it."

Something bubbles up my throat that almost sounds like a growl. "I could skin you if I wanted to," I hiss.

What's annoying about Julian is that they stop responding to threats after some time, so really, most of what I say has absolutely no effect on them. It's irritating because it strips me of my purpose, in a way. I was built to kill, to scare. Julian's reactions reduce me to a harmless child's robot-doll and oh, it's ripping. 

"Shhh! Don't let people hear that. And I know you could, I'm not idiotic."

I raise an eyebrow. "Clearly not," I mutter sarcastically.

"Except I also know that you won't." Julian's teasing, sing-song tone is really beginning to grate on my nerves. My left hand turns to a fist in my pocket.

"Is that so?"

"Mhmm." Their expression is one of tremendous satisfaction. "You know what, Evanna? Because you're not full robot. Because somewhere, deep down, you've actually got a heart, and proper feelings, and I know you actually care about me- to an extent, obviously- and that you don't want to kill me."

I'm momentarily stunned, but I don't stop in surprise as we walk down a side-alley. "Are you suggesting at I am a sentimental being?"

"It's not a weakness, Evanna," they answer, shrugging. "It's natural."

I shake my head, running a hand through my white hair. "I've never heard anything so stupid. Sentimentality is a weakness. You see, this is why  I'm better. This is why you need me. Last time I checked, lips weren't the penultimate item needed for survival, so if you don't wipe that smirk off your face, I'm going to physically rip it off."

As expected, Julian doesn't listen. "Oooh," they say, wiggling their fingers in front of their face.

Angry, now, veritably pissed off, I restrain the urge to twist their wrist around twice until the ligaments and the muscle tear and the bones grind. Julian is spared from my wrath by the fortunate timing of aircraft above us.

"What the hell...?" Julian mutters, looking up.

"What, never heard an airplane before?" I smirk.

A scowl accompanies Julian's reply- and then a worried frown as what seems to be a v-formation of drones passes over our heads, a majestic display of regularity, before each drone parts from the arrow in a curve, heading in multiple different directions. "No... it's just that there is supposed to be no aircraft here. Nobody leaves, nobody gets in- that's what it's supposed to be like..."

Now that is a worrying prospect, even for me.

▿

"How many?" These are Bernard's first words to us as we re-enter the Red Hand's facilities.

"Ten, maybe fifteen. They were also quite small... for aircraft," Julian mutters, before giving a sigh and going to sit down beside me.

Bernard shakes his head. "This hardly tells us anything," he says, wiping a hand over his face. For a moment, the only noise is the sound of his boots against the wooden floor, and Julian's sharp breathing, accompanied by the sound of me playing with the pistol, twirling it between my fingers, treating it like a mundane, broken toy. It's loaded, of course.

"They looked like drones," I finally say. "There was no living heat signature being given off from any of the ships. I just know that, don't ask how. Perhaps it has something to do with an increased sensory perception. Either way, there was nobody in those drones."

"Perhaps they're expanding the system," Julian suggests. "Are you sure Vance didn't tell you anything of importance?" They ask. 

"He refuses to cooperate. He's no longer intimidated by anything. It's like they're drawing him in with the Project."

Julian looks somewhat worried: I wonder whether they're worried about Vance himself or about the Red Hand risking exposure with Vance's new supposed confidence. "We must put it upon ourselves to save him."

"It's useless. He thinks he's already saved," I say, standing up. It smells musty and damp in here, unwelcoming. "He believes that this transparent city is his only life, that this is his only way of finding himself, of not being so lost." I've seen it in him, a fear that results from the concept of life, and not from that of death. He's afraid of losing himself, and that I could read on him. "He's a lost cause."

"He's our only link to them," Bernard protests.

"There must be something else. Something better. Vance is far too unreliable," I argue, and I can tell that Bernard is starting to get a little worked up. 

I stand up, not wanting to push him too far. "Julian, come on. I need to shoot at some targets before I actually end up killing someone in this room."