La-Bastille

Verse Quatre - Villainous Automatons

Verse Quatre – Villainous Automatons

Cid has lived a full life. But he doesn’t know it yet.

—Cardinal Neumann, La Bastille 2089 AP

A short blade of blue light emits from the tip of the handle.

“Wow,” Cid’s mouth drops open, his entire face alight with fascination, “That is so cool!” he tips his head from side to side as Orem swivels the blade in his hand.

Orem has managed to get the thumb drive working again, with the addition of a safety handle for a better grip, making the device look like a knife handle with a retractable blade of blue light, “Can I have it?” Cid asks, “Pleeeeaase?” he adds almost desperately, with his blue and green eyes gleaming bright with unmistakable mischief.

Orem looks to Ulna who’s portioning their daily ration of oats and wheat, “Ulna?” he says, as if soliciting her approval.

The mother smiles and jerks her chin up to say, “Okay, but promise us that you won’t be using that for mischief,” she takes the device from Orem with a much firmer grasp, and then retracts the blade of blue light so she can hand it over safely to her son.

Cid smiles wide, clasping the handle in his hand with the sliding switch between his thumb and index finger, “Is it sharp?” he inquires as he thumbs the switch to slide up, pushing the blade light to come out.

Orem grabs a piece of wood and dangles it in front of his son, “Why don’t you try it? Give it a go and slice through this.”

Cid crawls by the knees to near the wood dangling between Orem’s legs, and with a flick of the thumb switch the blue light comes out. Tinkerton’s googly eyes speculate, zooming in and out as if trying to watch the spectacle happening in their midst.

Cid slowly runs the blade through the wood and it splices through and through like a knife to butter, seamless and with no effort which goes to show how sharp the blue light is and how dangerous it can be.

“Oh my,” Cid murmurs in silent wonder, “I don’t think that’s for me,” he hesitates, “I can’t think of any use for it.”

Orem smiles, “Glad you realized that,” Cid gives it back to his father but Orem says, “It’s okay. Keep it. It might come in handy.”

“Handy for what?” Cid questions, unable to place what the device can be used for. It appears like it’s only good for bringing hazard.

“For self-defense,” Ulna suggests, looking to Orem for something else to offer, “Or for when you need to cut your way out of a binding predicament.”

‘Or to slice up some bitches!’

“Tinky!” exclaims Cid, and it makes Ulna laugh.

‘Sorry.’

The robot’s binoculars shrink into its shoebox body, almost ashamed of itself for making the gratuitous suggestion.

Orem chuckles, he obviously has something to do with Tinkerton’s debauched programming. The automaton almost has the uncanny ability to recognize the language people use in their conversations, analyzing the voice patterns in their delivery then uses its library of information to land a response without giving mind whether it’s appropriate or otherwise.

Ulna smiles, “Tinkerton could be right. To slice up some…you know,” she stirs her mortar and pestle in the air, “You have a job order today?” she asks Cid.

“No. I’m thinking of taking Tinkerton near the pond at La Darkleth.”

Ulna almost believes her son, “Is that really what you want to spend your day of rest on?” she lifts an inquisitive eyebrow and Cid has the decency to blush, “Just don’t go bringing trouble to yourself, young man. You’re a very smart kid, and I know you’ve been sneaking off to take a peek of La Bastille since you first learned how to climb a ladder when you were fourteen.”

Cid makes a sour face.

“Which reminds me,” Orem says, rising, “I have to meet with Jack because there’s a problem with one of the cranes in Sector 5. He’s a bit rusty with the mechanics and how the gears work together. I might as well teach the old dog some new tricks.”

‘Teach the old b***h some new tricks.’

“Oh my God, Tinkerton!”

‘Pardon.’

Orem laughs, “I’ll be home before supper,” he kisses his wife, his son, and then stubs Tinkerton with his toe, making the robot attempt a squint using the swipers over its googly eyes.

‘I’m a robot with feelings!’

“I know Tinkerton, I know,” Orem says by way of mocking, “Cid,” he calls to his son, “Be careful.”

Cid nods. He and his father already have an understanding and it makes Ulna shake her head at the stubbornness of the two.

“Go ahead…” Ulna drags her words, trying her best to roll her eyes with a look of parental condescension, but she fails miserably as Cid lands a loving peck on her cheek, “…you’re growing up so fast,” she pulls Cid into her midst and kisses the boy long and hard, “Go. Go before I change my mind.”

Cid looks to her mother with a huge smile on his face. He waves his goodbye as he dips to gather Tinkerton in his arms.

“You ready Tinky?”

‘I was born ready.’

“Of course you are.”

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Cid is snug with his back against the wall, his chin up with eyes looking skyward. Tinkerton is right below him, snug between his ankles.

Directly on top of them is a flailing yellow shirt dangling off of a steel rod. Cid’s been trying to fish the article of clothing using one of Tinkerton’s antennas. Why the robot has a retractable antenna Cid doesn’t know, but he’s happy that he brought along his robot, for it proves its use in the most unusual circumstances.

The shirt is a very vibrant yellow with a three-fourths sleeve, and it looks big enough to swallow Cid’s entire body.

“Ssshh…” Cid hushes, “Be very still, Tinky.”

‘b***h I’m not moving.’

“Word deletion,” Cid commands, “Delete Bitch.”

‘Deletion completed...............you are no fun.’

A half-naked man with a pot belly yawns then stretches his arms over his head before spreading his palms on the balcony. He scratches the hair on his chest and is about to take his shirt when the wind suddenly blows, affording one of Tinkerton’s antennas the purchase and the angle it needs to fish the shirt from its pole.

A curse is uttered in the air as the pot-bellied man mourns over his prized yellow shirt. It lands directly over Cid’s head and it makes the boy laugh as he and Tinkerton go around the back alley to where a huge trash bin can offer a spot for hiding.

Cid quickly strips his hooded vestment made of sack in exchange for the big and vibrant yellow shirt. He pulls it over his head and the bottom hem rests just above his knees. The sleeves roll down to his wrists, completely covering his arms. The extra large shirt offers him the perfect disguise and it makes him look like a normal La Bastillian.

“Tinky, it doesn’t look right. It’s too big. Help?”

Tinkerton sifts through the many images stored in its memory and then projects what he found for Cid to see. An image of a girl wearing the same shirt is projected and around her waist is a tight belt.

“Hmm,” Cid contemplates, “I need a belt?”

Tinky does a mechanical sound and then projects the word ‘Affirmative.’

“Okay…um…but where do we get a belt?”

Tinkerton swivels its googly eyes without moving its body. It then wheels itself to bump into the trash bin several times as if to suggest for Cid to simply dive in.

“Oh, of course…” Cid pulls the lid open and starts rummaging through the trash. It doesn’t seem to bother him because the garbage doesn’t look like garbage. What’s inside the bin is nothing but an assortment of cartons among other useless stuff that people throw away. The garbage in La Purge is much worse compared to the trash of an average La Bastillian.

After a while Cid pulls a gift box with a green and red lasso. He pries open the box and finds it empty, “Empty. Oh well. Just the ribbon then,” he separates the green and red lasso from the box and uses the green lasso to ribbon around his waist, giving his body an hourglass shape. He then fastens his shirt even tighter using the green ribbon and ties a cute little bow at the center of the waist.

‘Gay.’

“Huh? What’s gay?”

Tinkerton pulls up an assortment of images of guys kissing each other then projects them in a 2D slideshow along with a track by the British singer Gerri Halliwell titled It’s Raining Men.

“Oh my, is that what gay means?”

‘Affirmative.’

“Guys kissing each other?”

‘Affirmative.’

“Show me more.”

‘No.’

“Huh? But why?”

‘One moment, please.’

Tinkerton performs a thorough scan of all the content stored in his database, and after a couple beats, instead of displaying more results, he simply projects a hologram message stating ‘Content Rated.’

“What’s Rated?”

‘Ugh.’

“Huh?”

‘Never mind.’

Now that Cid is fully-clothed, he looks at his cape made of sack and spreads it on the ground. He folds it into a square so it’s not too big, then he rolls it like a scroll and uses the red lasso he hasn’t used to tie around the sack, making it look like a clutch purse.

Cid ruffles his golden hair. It has gotten longer now that he’s all grown up. It’s neither short to make him look like a boy, but it’s not too long either for him to pass as a girl. It’s grown just right to cover his ears and fringe over his eyes. But he chooses to do a side-sweep of the bangs to open up his vision.

“Do I look okay?”

‘Affirmative...............you look slammin’

“Tinkerton, what’s wrong with your vocabulary?”

‘Urban Dictionary. It’s the bees knees.’

“Um…okay. I don’t know what that means but let’s go.”

The two set out to have a fun day in La Bastille. It’s a Sunday so there is an open fair with different kinds of fun for all the kids to enjoy—there’s even an old and clunky cotton candy-maker beside the man selling balloons which captures Cid’s attention. But he can only watch for he doesn’t have a Cid to spend.

“Five Cids for a balloon, choose your color, would you like one?” offers the man, “A container filled with cotton candy for the same price,” he flashes his pearly whites.

“Um, I don’t have money.”

“Aw, you sure?” the man looks at Cid and frowns, “Here, just take it,” he separates a yellow balloon and gives it to Cid, “Matches your outfit. Hold it tight, or better yet…” the man looks down at Tinkerton and for a moment the vendor tilts his head, trying to understand the strangeness of the automaton, “…er, weird,” he whispers, “Um, anyway, tie the balloon to your ah…um…is that a pet?”

“Yes,” Cid beams as he bends his knees to tie the string of the balloon around Tinkerton’s body, “There. Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t mention it.”

‘I look stupid.’

“No you’re not.”

“What the…” the man gasps, “It can talk?”

‘Technically I don’t talk. I project text and images.’

“Whoa…touchy.”

“Forgive him,” Cid says, “He’s a little sensitive.”

“Yeah,” the man snorts, “I can see that.”

The sun is quite bright and it makes Cid marvel at the brightness of everything that surrounds him. It’s the exact opposite of what it is down in La Purge where there’s no natural light; only that of old fluorescents and clunky old light bulbs.

Vehicles are mostly sparse in the lower levels of La Bastille, but as the altitude picks up more and more flying cars drive through the air in predictable patterns, criss-crossing in different directions.

Cid feasts his eyes upon the many digital paintings as he walks down to visit Old Town, a place in La Bastille that is filled with neon graffiti on the walls and moving images that cycle like photographs in a slideshow. The walls seem alive with moving images and Cid finds himself admiring the art deco for minutes, almost an hour just trying to understand the patterns and how the many colors form different works of art.

“Tinkerton. Photo-mode. Take still-shots,” he commands his robot and Tinky’s googly eyes start zooming in and out to take as many photos as it could, “We’re going to show mother and father later when we go home.”

The two spend time taking pictures of Old Town, and after a while they approach a bulletin board rendered in a floating hologram.

Cid goes over the tacked information on Old Town’s bulletin board and starts playing with the hovering touch-pad prompts. True to Old Town’s style, the bulletin board rolls down information in the form of medieval scrolls. The info describes La Bastille as a magnificent engineering marvel, designed to make life that much easier and negate the effects of an overly dense population. It further notes how transportation is made much easier and more accessible since sky trams snake around the city in every station, barreling through tunnels and archways with enough speed, thus reducing the need for a La Bastillian to spend time in commuting so they can become more productive members of the society.

“No wonder some of them are getting fat,” Cid comments, “They wouldn’t have to walk to get to their destinations. They can just sit and enjoy the ride,” he considers with weighted thought. The La Purgians have it harder because there’s no physical means of transport. All locations down below are trekked and located by foot.

Cid reads further to try to learn more about the floating city. In its entirety, La Bastille is a sprawling network of tiered platforms, and every level is either home to its residents or a location for retail shops, office spaces, entertainment centers, or low-rent apartments.

Hospitalization is solely taken care of by the Academy. There is no need to work towards getting health care benefits since there are very rare cases of people getting sick. Only a handful do get hospitalized and it’s mostly because of a poor diet and lack of exercise.

Schooling is also under the nurturing wing of the Academy. The students the Academy hones is where La Bastille’s workforce comes from. Whether the child grows to become a law enforcer, a merchant, a physicist, or a designer, they all come out of the Academy like woodwork. And they all eventually work to keep the city afloat.

Cid drags his attention away from the bulletin board and looks skyward to watch flying cars zip in all sorts of directions. As was said in the bulletin, if a La Bastillian prefers a more private form of transportation, they may also opt for a hovercar but must sign a treaty with the Valkyria—Academy’s main security force—agreeing that they relinquish their hovercar should their driving cause any form of casualty.

“Would you like a beverage?” a faceless robot made of ceramic, with a short torso and very long legs asks in a soft and hospitable voice.

“No, thank you,” replies Cid, but then the automaton’s eyes flash red as if scanning Cid’s retina and after a few calculations the robot pulls a juice carton from the see-through glass compartment strapped around its neck, then hands it to the boy regardless.

“Um…” Cid takes the proffered refreshment from the automaton whose face remains expressionless, but its eyes gleam a warm yellow. This robot’s job in particular is to sell edible merchandise to people. But for some reason after scanning Cid’s eyes it gave the boy a carton for free like it didn’t matter.

The robot shuffles to get to more people, leaving Cid with his own thoughts.

Cid finds it odd that he’s getting stuff for free, but he just smiles. He smiles so hard his face hurt.

Now left with an odd-looking juice carton, Cid wonders how he can consume its contents.

“Tinky. Enter How to drink juice carton.”

The robot bleep-bops and instead of searching for information decides to roll its wheelies to where the other kids are. Cid then sees a couple children skipping towards the same robot vendor that offered him a juice carton. The children buy their own refreshments. Cid copies the way they puncture the carton by way of extending a straw from the side flap.

“Oh wow,” Immediately a flavor he hasn’t tasted before bursts in his mouth as he sips to have a drink, and then some, “This is so good,” he whispers in quiet delight as he skips and bunny hops, enjoying the whoosh of cool breeze on his face as he immerses himself in the crowd like a true La Bastillian, “Faster Tinky!” the robot boosts its hydraulics and wheels itself to catch up with Cid.

Cid feels alive, filled with uninhibited laughter as he joins some of the kids ogling at a retail shop that sells candy.

“Mr. Jack,” he whispers like it’s a reminder, “Tinky, let’s go!”

Cid is uncertain whether he’ll get more treats if he tries to have his retinas scanned. And so riding on the presumption that he might get stuff for free, he trails behind the other children who are crowding to enter the candy shop.

With cautious optimism, he pulls a wicker basket from the service station and starts filling it up with candy of many colorful shapes and interesting sizes. After filling his basket to the brim he then goes to fall in line and waits for his turn. His heart beats frantic because he doesn’t know whether he’ll be able to pull this one off.

When it’s finally his turn to check out, the person behind the counter looks at Cid as if to study the young man. If it wasn’t for the clothing Cid stole, it would have been easy to deduce that he’s not a La Bastillian.

“How are you this morning? Having fun?” the man wearing a dixie cup on top of his head asks with a genial smile, “You have a lot of candy. Don’t eat it all in one day,” Mr. Dixie cup winks and smirks knowingly, then glides a finger to tap on a scanner on the side, “Just place your basket under the scanners.”

Cid does what he’s told and watches as a film of blue light crawls over the contents of his wicker basket, then the light turns to green and the number of Cids flash on the floating screen above Mr. Dixie cup’s head, “That’d be 200 Cids.”

Cid gulps, not knowing what to do.

Mr. Dixie taps on the retina scanner and asks for Cid to look directly into the red dot for a scan, “Go on. It’s not gonna hurt.”

Cid takes a calming breath and looks right into the gleaming red eye. A thin film of light snaps several times like taking a photo and after a couple seconds the ‘200 Cids’ displayed on top of Mr. Dixie cup’s head changes to ‘Paid.’

“Enjoy your candy,” the man smiles, “Have a great day!”

Cid cannot believe it as he leaves the line with his wicker basket full of candy. He thinks to himself that maybe he just got lucky, and he vows not to do the same thing ever again as he leaves with a lemon drop melting in his mouth.

Not far from the fair on the open grounds overlooking the Academy, is a platoon of Academy Militants, a group of highly-trained soldiers consolidated from the most highly-skilled patrol guards, who took an oath to serve the Academy and uphold its judicious efforts. And that includes keeping safe the city whenever and wherever danger rears its ugly head.

They are assembled in rows facing a podium where the Valkyrian General addresses the public. Today happens to be the day the Academy Militants are to be promoted to Valkyrian Guardsmen, which is a step higher than being a mere patrol guard.

The hierarchy in terms of security starts at Academy Patrolling Officer [Dominic’s designation], Patrol Guard, Academy Militant [Dom’s supposed rank which he vacated after getting demoted], and then finally, a Valkyrian Guardsman. At the top of the food chain is of course the Valkyrian General who is about to give a speech to address the communal public.

The Valkyrian General’s voice booms to introduce one of their latest innovations in upholding security—the Atticus.

The Atticus is a security automaton. A robot made from the toughest ceramic, armored with several coatings of steel polymer, molded to take the form of a praying mantis with retractable blades for arms, and eyes that are yellow with warning, turning bright red at the sight of an anomaly.

Cid has never seen a robot quite like the Atticus, and so he meanders excitedly through the crowd to where the communal public is watching as the Valkyrian General marches down the podium to finally unveil their latest project.

A round of oohs and aahs from the crowd heightens Cid’s excitement as he squeezes himself into the crowd, “Come here Tinky,” he picks up Tinkerton and places him inside his wicker basket, pulling the cover down over his robot to hide him as well as to protect his candies from spilling out.

The Valkyrian General voices a series of commands into the communication pod strapped around his forearm which makes the Atticus maneuver itself in its glass cage, breaking off from its chains as the glass slides open to reveal the automaton’s magnificent form and beauty.

The Atticus stands at a staggering ten feet, with its mechanical limbs poised like the claws of a praying mantis. It makes hydraulic sounds with its thin legs spread far apart, taking heavy steps that clink on the metal floor as if to threaten and at the same time entertain the crowd.

Among the patrolling officers standing watch is Dominic, who has just recovered recently from his close-call. He still suffers a slight pinch of pain in places around his midsection, but it’s nothing an ex-soldier like him couldn’t handle.

He surveys the crowd along with five other patrolling officers assigned to watch the perimeter.

“Wait a second…” he whispers, and then speaks into his communication device that he spotted an anomaly that might need some checking. Receiving a green light from his co-officers, he leaves his position to comb his way through the crowd to where a young boy wearing bright yellow is watching.

Cid pulls another candy from his wicker basket, this time it’s a slender piece of rainbow candy that’s shaped like a worm. He chomps the gummy piece of candy into his mouth but then startles as a strong hand grabs his arm and starts pulling him away from the crowd.

“Where are you taking me?” Cid protests, but then his blood runs cold and all the blood drains from his face when he looks up to see who the man is, “Oh no.”

Dominic drags Cid into a back alley away from all the people, “You,” he snarls, pointing an accusatory finger between Cid’s eyes, “You almost killed me you little brat!” he jabs his finger onto Cid’s forehead which makes the boy shiver with fear, “What are you doing here? Actually, fʊck that question. What exactly are you? Are you the devil incarnate!?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Dom grabs Cid by the shoulders and slams him against the wall which makes the boy’s eyes erupt in tears of pure horror.

“Don’t play dumb,” he breathes down the boy’s face and it makes Cid shiver with intense fear, “A couple days I think…yeah, a couple days. It was just the other day when last I saw you and…” Dom examines Cid’s clothing, his hand going down to vice-grip around the boy’s delicate arm, “…there, that purse tied around your hip. I can’t be wrong. It’s the sack you wore. So it’s definitely you.”

Cid starts to shake, not a moment ago he was filled with so much happiness. But now it seems like his entire body is pumping adrenaline mixed with terror, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what was happening okay!? I blanked out and next thing I know you’re on the ground squirming and—”

“You saw her didn’t you!? You saw my sister!!”

“You’re hurting me! Let me go!!”

Dominic loosens his grip, “I don’t have time for this…just…just tell me how you knew about my sister and I’ll let you go.”

“I told you already. I don’t know what happened! I’m just as clueless as you are!”

“Bullshít!”

The heated conversation between the two is interrupted by the screaming sounds from the throng of people stampeding away from the exhibition area.

Another Atticus charges through its glass confines, shattering its cage and littering the ground with broken shards as it propels, surging forward in its attack mode.

The automatons appear to have short-circuited and have gone berserk. Embarrassed by this untimely outbreak, the Valkyrian General orders the newly-appointed Academy Militants to subdue the out-of-control automatons. The General then makes haste to mount his hovercraft and fly to safety, leaving the rest of the dirty work to be taken care of by the now duly-promoted Valkyrian Guardsmen.

“What’s happening!?” Cid screams by way of getting Dom’s attention.

“It all went to shít,” Dom grinds his teeth as he radioes in his co-officers, “Voltaire, Tabitha, safely usher all civilians away from the site. I’m taking into custody a La Purgian………yes, I’m within the vicinity, Tabitha, I know! Just do what I asked you to do. Voltaire, you’re in charge.”

The Valkyrian Guardsmen go into battle formation with their guns drawn to try to quell the rising threat of panic as one of the automatons head for Central Bridge. Given the violent behavior displayed by the two Atticus, it’s safe to say that they are out to cause some serious casualty.

“What’s your name?” Cid asks nervously, fighting to normalize his breathing as Dom walks him by the collar to one of the officer stations in Old Town.

“Academy Patrolling Officer Dominic Reinhardt.”

Dom fastens a cuff around his wrist with the other end bound around Cid’s arm, the cuff resting just below the handle of Cid’s wicker basket, “Jeez, don’t you eat anything?” Dominic remarks, noticing how the other cuff goes up to Cid’s elbow because despite the boy looking healthy, Cid appears to be thinner than the average boy.

“Dominic, are you going to kill me?”

“What?” Dom snaps, power-walking to one of the hatches where guns are stored, “No! Why would you think that!?”

“Because I almost killed you.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past. What I want to know is how you knew about Freya.”

“Who’s Freya?”

“My sister. The girl you saw screaming. You saw her didn’t you!?”

“You’re hurting my arm!”

“I’m sorry,” Dom collects himself, “Okay, you ah...” he slots a thermonuclear cell in one of the blaster guns and the barrel glows with blue light, “…you stay close while I do my job.”

Cid raises his cuffed arm as if to state the obvious.

“Right,” Dominic chides himself, “Just don’t get in my way.”

Cid raises his cuffed arm again, “I’m bound to you, remember?”

“I know, I know!”

“Dominic!”

A stream of piercing light lances through the glass window followed by a warping sound; the light’s radioactive pulse shatters the glass and it makes Dom act on impulse to protect the child by cocooning the boy with his body, “Are you alright? Answer me!” he shakes Cid who appears dazed and out of sorts.

“Bleep-bop.”

Out appears Tinkerton.

“What the fʊck is that!?”

‘A robot, you âsshole.’

“What the fʊck?”

Another wide ray of piercing light scans the impacted roof of the officer’s station, “Keep your head down,” Dominic murmurs, his one hand clutching the blaster gun.

With Cid safely tucked inside the cocoon he made with his body, Dominic turns his back against the sound of heavy metal footsteps as the Atticus scans the impacted perimeter. Dom shields the young boy with his body and all Cid can hear is the pounding of his own heartbeat, slamming against his ribcage in fear of the dangerous automaton.

“Aw shít,” Dom clenches his jaw as the wide beam of piercing light turns into a focused red dot, resting on the wall on top of his head, “Cid…”

“Dom?”

In a flash, Dominic stands up carrying the boy in his arms as he pummels through the broken door, running himself around a corner and into the Main Street leading to Central Bridge, “Dom! It’s gaining on us!”

Dom circles the booths stationed on Main Street, running in a zigzag pattern to confuse the Atticus’ laser sights, “Fʊck! Why are you suddenly heavy!?”

“I don’t know! And please stop cursing!”

“Shít! Shít!”

The scream of sharp iron rattles Cid’s bones as the Atticus slides with ease down Main Street. Dominic can hear the shrieks of metal colliding with metal as the robot rips into the booths, shattering them and shredding all sorts of flying materials into pieces.

On the right side separated by Central Bridge is the other Atticus wreaking havoc. It slices its way through an alley following civilians who are screaming for dear life. It then comes out bursting through a wall, stepping on some of the people with a sickening crunch, their blood coloring the pavement.

Crashing into a synthetic flower shop, the Atticus rips through the roof with its outstretched claws. It latches its sharp mantis claws to shred through the store’s awning and out its front door only to face an electric barricade set up by the Valkyrian Guardsmen.

An alarm system blares from behind the guardsmen as the station gates become sealed shut—a way to impede the Atticus’ progress.

Patrol guards descend from a hovercraft right behind the Atticus, and with electric-charged batons they start hammering at the giant mantis to subdue its impenetrable hardware.

Understanding that physical attacks are not enough to debilitate the robot, the Valkyrian Guardsmen twist what look like steel balls in their hands, throwing them onto the ground around the Atticus.

The steel balls crack open to emit a powerful electric pulse bursting in all directions. The sparks crawl up to seize the body of the robot, and with a few jerks and twitching the Atticus slouches, its hardware powering down, slowly losing its energy reserves as it depletes to give a dying mechanical sound.

“Oh no,” Cid whispers as the wide ray from the Atticus turns into a red focused point behind Dominic’s back, as if highlighting the soldier as its target. The red dot expands, pinning them in a sea of harsh red light.

“Dominic look out!”

“Huh?” Dom turns around in a moment that seems to stretch for far longer than it should as the Atticus puffs its chest, the red circle of light beaming with a powerful glow as it consolidates its power into a huge proton blast.

Dom backs away while holding his blaster gun with Cid burying his head into the man’s shoulder. The soldier releases shots of blue pulse light that seem to only leave a scratch on the surface of the Atticus.

Everything appears to be happening in slow motion as Dom turns his back to protect Cid from the incoming blast.

Awaken, my child. Embrace your true potential…

Cid hears the slow, lilting voice in his head as he unconsciously raises his open palm towards the Atticus. He feels strangely warm in his hands, his digits humming as if the sound of blood is vibrating through his veins. He can feel the blood in each fingertip pulse with an unknown power.

He can sense something evil growing inside of him and he’s unaware of his eyes turning red. And in his hands he can almost see a ball of beating energy, like a pulsating heart.

That’s it, my child. Realize your true potential!

The voice excavates the deeper darker corners of Cid’s memory. As if the boy’s thoughts are not his and are being controlled, magnified, and stretched beyond his personal space.

Lightning strikes like pulsating veins of energy gather in Cid’s hand. After having gathered the beating pulse of energy in his palm, Cid squeezes tight, and the Atticus standing before the boy makes violent sounds of crunching metal with a shower of sparks.

The mantis drops to its knees as it jerks violently like its circuitry is being eroded by a black hole from the inside out. In Cid’s eyes he can see in his hand the power cell at the heart of the Atticus. He can see its decaying form in his hands and he destroys it by clutching his fist tight.

The moment ends and warps back into its reality as Dominic slowly makes a turn to say, “What the fʊck?” with his eyes wide open, “Did you just…”

“I did it,” Cid whispers, before fainting in Dominic’s arms.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

He raises his staff and it floats from his grasp. It is an immaculate crystalline scepter with a fist-sized gemstone fitted on top—the precious stone intricately wrapped in a nest of gold, like golden twigs curling up to protect the egg in the middle. The long handle is forged using the same crystal, giving it a look of fragility like a stalactite made of sharp ice.

The floating staff goes rigid, and then turns clockwise like the long hand of a clock.

“There, there now…you will heal, you will heal.”

The staff then turns counterclockwise as if it’s meant to reverse something.

“Clockwise you will decay. Counterclockwise you will heal. In my hands your life will prevail. Just learn to put your trust in me.”

A shimmering film, almost like wings of iridescent light unfold around the Cardinal as he lowers his hands to heal a wounded guardsman.

The scepter spins much faster, as if reversing the ailing state of the guardsman whose body is spread on a raised marble platform before the Cardinal.

The guardsman appears to look like an example to the communal public as they watch the Cardinal heal his many wounds using the power of Time.

The man’s organs roar and throb as they return to normal. His blood gurgles, hot and pulsing wanting to come out as the Cardinal heals every inch of the guardsman, down to the very last cell.

The guardsman wakes up with a violent coughing spell, choking, and then retching. And his awakening is followed by the solemn whispers and hushes from the crowd, watching as the man sits upright, as if nothing ever happened.

The Cardinal’s staff ceases from its revolution, slowly dipping to fit into Neumann’s hand, “The chaos bringer has awakened. But do not fear his presence, my dear La Bastillians. For as long as you keep your faith intact you will never waver, you will never fall. Remember. When you strip away all that is good in a man, what’s left is his true nature. And that can either be good, or bad. The chaos bringer is neither of these two. The chaos bringer is an endless void, a dark chasm. And that, my dear La Bastillians, is the true definition of evil.”