Atelier
I
watched a familiar pack of sand wolves gnaw off the tough, slimy skin of an
Unman corpse. The grey humanoid’s stomach burst open, exposing the content of
its last meal. The hairless mutts had no interest in the meager Unman meat, as
the creatures’ musculature had evolved into a micro-fiber, thinner than their
rubbery epidermis. The sand wolves pulled bits of human meat and hair from the
monsters’ chest cavities. The wolves scarfed down every last morsel, consuming
even the bones. The coughed up one thing: child-size
metal prosthetics. Finally, I found a clear indication of whom this outpost
belonged.
Returning
to the camp, I searched for the package that would confirm what I already knew. It did not take long. The fact that I had not
detected a pearlescent pink box in the corner in my previous investigation
surprised me. I tore off the luminescent fabric with my claws, uncovering the
rusty metal box inside.
I tapped
the fancy Old English letter ‘A’ protruding from the side of the box. The box
churned mechanically before expelling a cloud of hot steam from its top. A
rotating circle of lights raised up, projecting a crude sepia-colored hologram
in the hot mist. An outrageously ornate
young girl appeared and curtseyed. Her lips began moving. Hearing nothing, I
kicked the box, starting up the lagging audio. I looked back at Fleurette’s
cot. She turned in her sleep, but did not wake.
“Why hello
there, future friends,” cheered the hologram’s cherubic, high-pitched voice.
“We come representing the Atelier Alliance, indeed we deedy-do. We’re the
friendliest little friends you ever will find in this weepy wasteland, yes we
arry-are. We understand you’re nudey neutral in the wars, we do dang-doodle.
But you’ll listen to our sweet ol’ song, won’t you, you poopy poodles?”
“Give me a break…” I groaned.
Hearing the
messenger’s saccharine gibberish instantly nauseated me.
“Dear dear
little Lyonnais,
You loopy doopy lovely place,
AA comes in
pretty peace.
You have us
to fear the least!
We just
know you’ll let us play,
Reply,
replay right away!
We’re just
a bunch of girly girls,
With cherry
cheeks and auburn curls.
You hate
war and so do we!
Forgetty-get
this and sip our tea!
Think
you’re happy? No, no, no!
Thank
you’re safe? Ho, ho, ho!
Take it,
take it, right from me.
You’ll go
bye-bye, yessiree!
Let us
takey take you from it all
Kiss your
boo-boos when you fall.
Kissy-kissy,
we don’t want much.
Give you a
hand for a tiny touch.
We want
your town as a basey base.
Turn it to
a real fun place!
We wanty
want your—”
The song
ended prematurely, snuffed out by a swipe of my claw.
“What’s the
matter with you!?” shouted a voice behind me.
“You had no
right to smash that, Jean-Luc,” Fleurette scolded groggily, apparently more
awake than I’d realized. “That message was intended for Lyonnais.”
“What you
overheard was a fancy save-the-date for an incoming slaughter,” I said, turning
around.
“Coming
from that cute little child?” the girl scoffed. “I think not.”
I shook my
head.
“Another illusion of your naïveté.”
“Have you
considered that you might just be jaded?” Fleurette growled.
“Naturally,
the hue of reality shifts from shades of rose to jade the longer you spend time
with it.”
The maid’s disrespectful
words resonated with more truth than she knew. Optimism. Trust. Happiness. Love. The luster of such human concepts
had long gone dull for me. In the process of becoming virtually all-knowing you
eliminate hope and surprise, just as immortality forgoes consequence. It’s hard
to feel anything when you’ve reached such a godly level— the best argument for
the existence of one. There was a time when I envied the spectrum of emotions
that surrounded corporality. However, that feeling had long left me, like much
else.
“What good
is your eloquence if no one understands it?” Fleurette asked me.
“Better
than those who fail to grasp it.”
The human
shook her head. She picked up a bird and poster packaged with the parcel. The
former item was a clockwork parrot, a mechanical fowl that recorded voice and
flew back to its owner. It was to be used by Lyonnais for sending its response
back to the Atelier Alliance, presumably for the purpose of the AA’s amusement. The poster was made of pheelograph film and
depicted a gorgeous young girl labeled as ‘Audette.’ A pheelograph is a special
type of photographs that featured highly detailed textures. When touched, the
image feels exactly like whatever the image depicts.
Fleurette
ran her hands down the precious poster girl’s otherworldly beautiful, ruffled
gown. She pinched the tiny angel’s soft rosy cheeks. A
“Aww, this little girl is absolutely adorable,”
Fleurette cooed, uncharacteristically feminine. “She reminds me of Lady Etienne
at that age. Is this their mascot? Like is she the leader’s daughter?”
“That is the leader,” I said. “Audette Atelier,
evil in a tiny package. Your
mistress has never been that age, nor will she ever. That’s an Im.”
“Ah, so the
messenger was an Im, too,” Fleurette said. “And the other girls in the
poster….”
“Not
quite.”
Fleurette scratched
her head.
“At its
surface, the Atelier Alliance appears to be comprised entirely of young girls,
but facts supply a more disturbing explanation. As far as I know, Audette is
the only Im in the organization. She indoctrinates young girls into her ranks
the moment they can walk. Once these child soldiers grow out of their preteens,
Audette amputates their limps and replaces them with shorter prosthetics. Modified
Earth-life orbs that produce helium in addition to oxygen are placed in their
larynxes to simulate a young girl’s voice. In addition to heavy makeup, cosmetic
surgery is administered monthly.”
Fleurette’s
face squirmed, deeply affected by what I told her.
“T-that’s
absurd…” she stuttered. “No one in their
right mind would do such a thing. I mean, mutilating people like that…”
“Audette
Atelier is one rarely accused of sanity,” I assured.
“Well,
whatever,” Fleurette muttered, composing herself. “If this sick group does
exists, Lyonnais has a sizable militia in place. I’m sure they can handle a
bunch of ‘children.’ The Unman you
promised to exterminate, on the other hand, pose an immediate danger. If you
make good on your word, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“You have
things reversed. A million Unman is but a sneeze compared to the threat of
Atelier.”
Fleurette
gulped, finally starting to feel the gravity steadily pulling down Lyonnais.
“… This is
something you can stop, right?” she asked me shakily.
I shook my
head.
The girl’s
brows furrowed and her scalded face boiled red.
“No wonder
your services are free,” Fleurette snapped. “Nothing is all you’re worth.”
“I cannot
sway large-scale conflicts,” I said firmly. “Once an opponent realizes I am
unkillable, I’m simply ignored. I become nothing but a ghost on the
battlefield.”
“Sure you
can,” Fleurette insisted. “You could take out their leader. Hold a choke point
indefinitely. Cleave a path through their defenses. There’s plenty of ways to
put your dead weight to good use, Jean Luc.”
“Successful
execution tends to lack the ease of speech,” I said. “Come to terms with the
loss of Lyonnais. Immortality may preserve my life, but it does little to save
the lives of those around me.”
“You mean
YOU do little to save the lives of those around you,” Fleurette loudly
interrupted.
I widened
the eyes on my mask in reflex. Stunned, I fell silent.
“I’ve HAD
IT with your fatalism,” Fleurette snapped. “You think being stuck so far in the
past gives you a better view of the future? I’m afraid it simply does not work
that way. By abandoning us… you fulfill your own lazy prophesy.”
“Lazy? Lyonnais is miscarriage in time, a
city that died before it was born. You
cannot abort that which is DOA. It will fall sooner or later, with little
difference between the two. Time has no regard for such a futile outcropping of
humanity as Lyonnais, and I share its lack of concern. There is not much worth
saving, no matter the scenario.”
“Stop
talking down to me, Jean Luc,” Fleurette growled. “Just because you outlive
something doesn’t mean it lacks worth. Lyonnais is completely worth saving. Are
the people there a bit rough? Sure. They’re not bastions of wisdom or anything,
but they’re ALIVE. Life will never stop being valuable. That’s what YOU don’t
understand.”
I looked
outside the cave. The sandstorm had worsened, burying the Unman remains. As
impassioned as the girl’s words were, they failed to move my iron heart a
millimeter. A millennia ago I may have respected Fleurette for that blazing
speech, as I admit it was well formed and reasoned for one of her years. Still,
she was wrong. The truth may be cold, but it’s always correct.
“Grasp this,” I said hoarsely, losing my even
tone to anger. “Unman. Atelier. The name changes but the fate is the same. With
luck, yes, I could make a difference. What you fail to understand, is the depth
of my apathy toward your cause. Keep talking and it will turn to ire. I could
murder your precious lady with my own claw, so please, keep in line.”
Fleurette
staggered back.
“I’m
fulfilling my obligation to you,” I continued. “Be grateful I’m doing that
much. I have no reason to, what with that attitude of yours. I don’t care for
humanity, and I especially don’t care for you.”
The glossiness
coating the girl’s eyeballs told me my point had driven its way through. My
perspective was not simply pragmatic, but weighted in disdain. Humanity had
wronged me throughout my existence, and its most recent transgression. Staring
deep into my unfeeling, copper mask, Fleurette’s moist eyes beckoned what was
left of my compassion. To her dismay, the only trace of humanity she found was
her own reflection. Fleurette dashed out of the camp, leaving a trail of tears
behind her. I ran after her, for some reason… regretting my harshness.
“It is
still too dangerous for you to venture out alone,” I said, quickly catching up.
I grabbed
Fleurette’s arm, but she tugged it violently away.
“What does
it matter to you!?” she yelled back, sobbing.
I lowered
my head. As it so happened, it did matter to me— though I could not determine
why.
“So where
are you going?”
“I’m going back
to Lyonnais and do whatever it takes to protect it. I know how to kill an Unman
now, so go on your way. I can teach the militia all it needs to know. Don’t you
DARE help us.”
My words had not flown over Fleurette’s head,
but, rather, directly though her heart. As much as I resented humanity, this
girl and the rest of Lyonnais were not the ones who wronged me. I grabbed the
girl’s hand and pulled her in the correct direction. At first she fought it,
but eventually she gave in. I never verbalized any sort of apology, but the
girl knew. As much as I hated to admit it to myself, it became clear that I’d
developed a slight attachment to the girl. Key word, slight. Her fervent tears
shook something up in me. Something I’d long believed to be unshakable. I still
had microbe humanity hanging on somewhere within me after all. When this minor epiphany dawned on me, I
smiled— though I didn’t change my mask to show it.
I let go of
the girl’s hand once nightfall hit, to which Fleurette responded by immediately
darting off. It did take long for her to tire, taking refuge within a large
circular pit surrounded by enormous rock formations. While not nearly as safe
as the cartographers’ camp, the shelter of spires at least shielded her from
the harsh sand gusts. As Fleurette drifted into sleep, I perched myself upon on
the tallest spire to survey the area. Without much analysis, I determined our
destination had been, in fact, reached. I leapt off the spire and landed beside
the sleeping maid. The noisy collision ripped Fleurette from her slumber.
“Will you
leave me alone already!?” Fleurette screamed, shoving me away. “For an
immortal, you have the maturity of a teenage girl, I swear. When I want to
follow you, you disregard me. When I try to rid myself of you… you stick to me
like a leech!”
I took a
defensive stance, pulling the fuming human behind me. I raised my over my head,
prepping a strike.
“Jean-Luc!
Hello!? What are you doing now?”
A sickening
choir of curdling squeals and gurgles sounded off, reacting to Fleurette’s loud
outburst. Jet black eyes, darker than the darkness opened all around us.
Moonlight reflected off hundreds of silvery bodies. The ground shook beneath our feet as more
shimmering humanoids rose from the ground to join the other’s ranks.
“W-where
exactly… have you led me…” she sputtered, now drained of fury and filled with fear.
“Where you
wanted to be,” I said calmly.
“And where
is that?”
“The Unman Cradle.”
Legion
after legion, Unman rose out from the ground. The Unman Cradle refers to the
central hub in the creature’s subterranean network where their infants are
created and stored. All Unman not seeking food gather at this point. Unman dig
out a crater and surround it with a hedge of stones to mark this base of
operations of sorts and to ward off other Unman tribes from entering their
territory. If I were to ever make any sort of dent on the Unman population
threatening the humans of Lyonnais, taking out the Cradle would be the best
option. Initially, I’d planned to sweep it myself and leave Fleurette behind at
a safe distance. Clearly, this did not occur. The human picked a fatal location
to throw her tantrum.
“I, uh,
see…” the girl said weakly. “Hop to it t-then… On with the slaying.”
“Your name
is Fleurette, is it not?”
The girl
nodded. I feel a slight twinge of regret stir inside me. This what our little
adventure amounted to. I hadn’t felt a connection with a human in such an
unfathomably long time… and this was the reason. The stare down would soon cease. Given their
numbers, I’d be hard pressed to both repel and defend.
“Your name means ‘little flower’ in French, an
extinct tongue from which this region’s language is derived.”
Fleurette
looked up at me, equal parts confused, afraid and fascinated.
“A flower
is a beautiful type of plants that came in a breathtaking array of shapes and
fragrances. You can still see them in designs everywhere, but they have not
grown on Earth for a great deal of time. No matter how much time passes,
flowers always will represent of beauty and remain a lasting symbol of love—
even outliving the flowers themselves.”
“Why are
you telling me this?”
“You
deserve to know how strong your name is,” I said solemnly. “Pure as well, much
like you— a commendable quality in this, the Vermilion Years. Like the flowers,
when your petals drift off in the wind, Fleurette, your beauty will carry on
after you. Despite the brevity of our
time together, I will remember you.”
My kindness
caused trembling to overtake the girl’s small, scrappy frame.
“I’m… going
to die, aren’t I?”
