Shepherd of the lower world and guardian of the upper,
Guide, light of everything, O Shamash, art thou.
Thou dost constantly pass over the vast wide seas,
Whose innermost depths even the gods know not...
- Great Hymn to Shamash
Wednesday
The street stretched dark and silent, straight in both directions until it was swallowed up in the steel and concrete tangle of makeshift buildings. Across a narrow canal filled with dark polluted water lay that road's mirror image, the two streets connected at intervals by walkways framed with crooked and rusted railings. No sky arched overhead, only the intricate weave of metal girders supporting the more fortunate citizens on the city's surface. Zone One seemed so different without the usual crowds, an alien and undiscovered world bathed in the arylide glow of sodium lamps. Chaya leaned against the wooden balcony railing, watching the November wind dance on the surface of the water. Where it passed over the reflected lights it scattered their images like the death throes of failing stars.
It had been like this for three nights, ever since the president had declared a curfew in Zone One to keep "undesirable elements" out of sight in the nights leading up to the Ziggurat celebration. Chaya knew not all obeyed the curfew, and there were other ways to move about the zone anyway, but never had she seen the streets so empty. Her breath steamed on the night air, unexpectedly bringing to mind a childhood fable of a great dragon whose breath could turn whole villages to ice. She idly wondered if villages even existed anymore, or if everyone lived in cities like Metropolis.
Somewhere off to her right came the muffled sound of boots on concrete, and soon after a small troop of Marduks came into view on the far side of the canal, moving at a deliberate pace as they scanned the night for any who might violate the curfew. Their leader's hair glinted dark as polished rosewood passing beneath the lights, while the other three wore the trademark red Marduk hats. The men kept a tight formation, eyes watchful and guns in hand. The last in line, not much older than Chaya herself, glanced up as the troop drew even with her perch, and she couldn't help but smile at him in hopes of quelling the fear in his eyes. The boy returned a hesitant smile as they passed her by.
A sudden gust of wind pulled a dark blonde tendril free of the black bandanna around her head, and with a muttered curse Chaya unwrapped the cloth, freeing an unruly tide of spiral curls. She bound her hair up again swiftly, fingers moving with the practiced ease of one who has long been taming her wild locks –
A sharp bang sounded from the street below, loud as the wrath of God brought to earth. The noise bounced from the salvaged sheetmetal buildings along the street, returning a hundred different echoes in nightmare chorus. The shockwave from the blast threw the leader backwards like a broken doll, slamming him into a derelict storefront with enough force to shatter the glass in the dusty windows. The three behind him were knocked to the ground where they had stood. A plume of white smoke still hung in the air, a magician's trick with a terrible finale.
Half a second later came the staccato burst of gunfire, and Chaya reflexively pulled the rifle from her back. Through the lingering smoke a line of robots emerged, humanoid models built for skilled labor. Articulated fingers meant to build the city's goods and structures instead gripped an assortment of guns. One of the recruits lay still stunned in the road, one was fumbling for his gun where he had dropped it, one was already returning fire while looking wildly about for cover – but the ambush site had been well chosen, the concrete bare for a dozen feet in all directions.
Chaya's gaze flicked to the squad leader. To her surprise, he was already crouched behind a crate in front of the shop, firing with the calm precision of a man at target practice rather than one pinned down and facing greater than two-to-one odds. Her mind made up, Chaya rested her rifle barrel on the balcony railing and followed his example.
In a matter of moments it was over, the robots disabled, some still sparking in their death throes. As Chaya climbed down from her perch and crossed the street, the Marduk made his way to his fallen comrades, checking one after another for signs of life. He was swearing more fluently than Chaya had ever heard in her life, using words that would make even a slum-dweller blush.
She had almost reached him when he spun rapidly, bringing his pistol to her forehead in a single fluid motion. The blast had knocked his dark sunglasses from his face, and Chaya found herself looking into eyes so blue that she had never imagined such a color might exist until that instant. He was younger than she'd expected, and breathing hard as the adrenaline rush of battle started to wear off. She could feel his hands shaking through the vibrations of the gun barrel pressed against her skin. A long moment passed, and Chaya wondered if he would fire just out of nerves, regardless of what she did next.
"Don't shoot, I'm dropping my gun," Chaya whispered at last, and let the weapon go. It clattered to the ground, coming to rest in a spreading puddle of oil from one of the robots. When he still didn't move, or even speak, she stammered, "Look, I'm on your side. I helped you out-"
"I know," he said, breaking the gaze as he lowered his gun.
Chaya noticed for the first time the trail of blood emerging from under his thick sweep of bangs, snaking down his jawline until it disappeared into the bright red fabric at his collar. "You're hurt."
He shot her a cold glance before turning to retrieve his fallen sunglasses. "And my men are dead."
"I mean, you're really bleeding a lot. You probably need stitches." She stepped close to him again; from this distance, she could see his shoulders trembling with each breath.
His eyes were unreadable beneath the dark lenses, but from the stone set to his jaw she was sure he was about to tell her off. He took a step toward her, then suddenly his knees were buckling beneath him, and he stumbled forward. Chaya caught his arm to steady him, moving beneath his shoulder to take his weight. "My place is only a block from here. You know you won't make it back to the lifts like this."
He considered a moment before grudgingly agreeing. Leaning heavily against her, they made their way through the empty streets. As they turned a corner, a decaying facade came into view. The place must have been a grand hotel once, back in the days before construction of the surface layer had turned Zone One into a living tomb. A crude wooden sign hung from the carved stone lintel: Jack's Place, drinks Saturday nights. She led him up the broad front steps, opening the peeling door with a creak. To one side of the deserted lobby was a hotel bar, closed now but still very much in use from the looks of it. Chaya nodded toward the stairs instead.
The narrow hallway on the second floor was lined with doors painted every color of the rainbow. She stopped in front of a door that sported a rather fresh coat of dark green paint and swung it open wide. The room beyond was small, but he knew the simple fact that it was hers alone put her well ahead of many families in Zone One.
She guided him to a faded blue couch, still structurally sound despite the many holes and thin places in the worn fabric. Without a word she disappeared into the tiny adjoining room, what had probably once been a walk-in closet in the hotel's glory days. After a minute, she emerged with a bag of medical supplies, handing him a clean cloth to press against his wound while she moved to boil some water on an old hot plate in the far corner. He leaned back into the couch, finding it surprisingly comfortable.
A moment later she was perched beside him, and her small hand closed over his to move it aside, meaning to check the wound. He gasped and flinched away from her touch, eyes suddenly wide behind the dark glasses. Inside she felt a pang of sadness; did no one ever touch him except to inflict pain? "Calm down, I need to see that cut." He nodded shakily and stilled as she brushed his heavy bangs out of the way, careful not to touch his skin. "Yeah, that's gonna need stitches, it's really deep. Looks like a piece of shrapnel hit you."
As Chaya left the couch to prepare, heavy footfalls echoed from the hallway. He froze in place, his hand going to the gun at his side. She stepped between him and the door, looking down at him sternly. "Please don't shoot my robot."
Before he could react to that statement, the door opened and a tall figure stepped through, its features disguised by a hat and long jacket. "So please don't overreact, but-" the girl began, stepping toward the robot, but it had already spotted him.
Man and robot stared at one another for a long moment. Its skin was a pale shade of gold, just metallic enough to meet the regulations forbidding machines from adopting human skin tones. Of course its face was expressionless, but its eyes seemed to hold a cold glare as it stared him down. At last, the robot gave a very humanlike sigh. "You brought the leader of the Marduks home, did you? Not that it's any business of mine." Its synthesized voice nearly sounded sarcastic.
The girl shook her head, but she was smiling. "No, it's not." She turned to her guest. "Rock, this is Dreamer-C." The robot gave a slight nod of greeting.
"You aren't supposed to name them," Rock began, but stopped as he realized something else. "You knew who I was the whole time?"
"Well, everyone knows who you are down here. Why would I be any different?"
"I'm not exactly popular in Zone One."
Chaya shrugged. "You needed help. What else could I have done?" She began to arrange her supplies on the small table next to the couch. Reaching under the table, she produced a bottle of whiskey and handed it to Rock. "Sorry I don't have anything to numb the skin with. You might want to drink a little of this."
As Rock stared at the bottle, the robot spoke up. "You know that's Trilby's, right?"
"I'll just have to owe her some later."
"That's what you said the last time, too."
"Well, then she should learn not to keep her booze over here."
Rock briefly wondered if he had hit his head harder than he thought. Never in his life had he heard an exchange like this, a human and a robot bickering like old friends. He took a deep swig of whiskey and grimaced as it burned all the way down.
Here's hoping that I'm not the last Metropolis fan left on this site. The idea for this fic has been bouncing around in my head ever since I first watched the movie about eight years ago, but I never wrote it down until yesterday. If there are still any readers left out there, please let me know and I'll continue this... I already have the entire plot figured out, so I ought to be able to manage regular updates.
And in case anyone was wondering about the quote at the start of the chapter, it's part of a hymn to the Mesopotamian god of the sun and justice. A much looser translation of these same lines forms part of the image projected on the building in the movie's opening scene.