Chapter 8: Run

"Oh," Sybil gasped when the call went through. "Ah — hello!"

"Who is it?" Red heard in the background, and Red blinked. Sybil had never been busy before when she picked up Red's calls.

"Sorry — is this a bad time?"

"No — oh, no! Not at all. No, I'm — I'm happy to hear from you. Just give me a moment." The screen darkened as Sybil held it to her chest.

"Who's that?" Red heard, muffled.

"It's Red —"

"Finally," someone else said, and then the speakers thumped as Sybil ran off somewhere. When the screen lightened again, Sybil was adjusting her hair.

"Sorry about that. Just some business I needed to sort out."

"Are you sure I shouldn't call you later?" Red asked, and Sybil shook her head vigorously.

"No, no, definitely not. They understand. Actually, I've been telling them all about you, they're — um — really looking forward to your next performance. You're calling me because you want to set up a concert, right? Or," she said, continuing to pat her hair, "maybe you wanted to grab some food?"

"The former," Red said, "though maybe the latter could come afterward," and Sybil smiled.

"Yeah. That would be nice." Sybil paused, and her eyes unfocused, settled blankly for a moment at the corner of the screen. And then, suddenly, she was back to business.

"Anyway, I've already got the perfect place," she said, and her stylus poked the screen as she interacted with peripheral displays. "The Empty Set, tonight."

"To — tonight? That's so soon," Red said, surprised. "How did you even get a venue on such short notice?"

"Anything's possible when you have the right people," Sybil told her, not sounding as proud about it as usual. "And I guessed you'd probably want to perform soon."

"You did? Sybil, this isn't just soon — it's — it's instantaneous."

"Come on, Red. Haven't you been working on your songs for weeks? And it's your Selection! You're fantastic. You can do it."

"You definitely can," agreed another voice, and Sybil peered over Red, watched as he set a cup of tea down between her and the screen. He nodded at her.

"Hello, Sybil."

"Nobody," she said, and her voice quieted. She cupped her hand over her terminal's speaker. "You'll be coming too, right?"

"I guess I could," he said.

"You should! Red, tell him that he — um, that he should." Sybil glanced back over her shoulder as she said it, and Red's brows furrowed. So unusual for Sybil to be this distracted.

"Well? Did you tell him?"

"You should come," Red said, smiling up at him. "You can be backstage with me, rather than way up in the balconies. Come on, I'll need you for emotional support."

"Well, in that case, how could I refuse?"

"So I'll see you both tonight?" she asked. "For sure?"

"For sure," Red told her, and she expected then that Sybil would cheer, or something — after all, hadn't she been pressing her about performing for weeks? But Sybil just nodded.

"Alright, then. Gotta go. I'll meet you at the Set."

"Sybil," Red started, "wait. Is everything alright?"

Sybil made a smile. "Yeah. Everything's fine. Don't worry, I just need to make sure everything's perfect. Bye, Red."

The call disconnected. Red sat back, frowning.

"What's up?" he asked, and Red turned her terminal off.

"Sybil was so strange. I've never seen her like that — unfocused. And she wasn't as cheerful as usual."

"I wouldn't worry about it," he said, after a moment. "I'm sure she's got...other things she's dealing with."

But when Red asked him to elaborate, he just shrugged.

:::

The Empty Set looked as perfect as Sybil had promised. The walls were patterned with gold and teal and ivory and brick: vibrant, interlocking, a palette that might have put Yon-Dale's atmospheres to shame. Red arrived with him and was directed to a dressing room.

"Fancy," he remarked. It was; after so long of being away from the Set, she found she saw it with new eyes. Gilt mirrors, velvet furniture, a glimmer in the walls that raised or dimmed the lighting with a single stroke or word.

There was a single knock on the door before it opened. "Red!"

Sybil burst in, her arms wrapped around a huge dress bag. "I heard you two just arrived! I was — just a little concerned — it's so late. Didn't you want to rehearse?"

"No, I'll be fine. Like you said, Sybil — I've been working for weeks."

Sybil but her lip. "Well, sure, but I thought you'd at least make sure everything sounded right."

Red shrugged. "Everything will be fine."

"But you know, the acoustics in Empty Set are wonderful right now — the algorithms were just updated this morning. You really deserve to try it out at least once without anyone in there. It really is fantastic — top of the line — incredible. I was hoping you'd do it before the show, but I could probably arrange for the stage to be open afterward…"

"Alright," Red agreed finally, "it does seem worth checking out. What do you think?" she asked, turning back to him. "You're alright with staying afterward a bit?"

"To hear you sing?" He pretended to muse. "Hmm, I don't know..."

"You have to," Sybil told him firmly, and he blinked.

"Ah, yeah. I will."

"Great. Now," Sybil said, setting the dress bag on a dresser and unzipping it, "take a look at this!"

It was gorgeous — feathered, striped and scalloped in browns and golds. And on the midriff…

"I had them add that," Sybil said proudly. "Remember? Because you asked me before, about the upside-down triangle."

He started coughing abruptly, and turned so his back was against the wall. Sybil glanced over, and Red put her hand on her shoulder to bring her attention back, holding back laughter.

"Thanks, Sybil. That's — really thoughtful of you."

Sybil raised her arms for a hug, and Red obliged, feeling a little more relieved. This was closer to the Sybil she knew.

"It'll look great on you," she said, close to Red's ear, "I know it."

"If you chose it, I'm sure it will."

"Red," Sybil said, arms holding her a little tighter, "is there anything else I can get you?"

"No, I'm good."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Alright. I'll see you later then." But rather than leave, Sybil pressed her forehead into Red's shoulder.

"Sybil, are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm alright," Sybil said quietly. "Just nervous."

"Nervous! Aren't I the one performing?"

"I just want everything to be right," Sybil whispered. "I just want everything to go right, for once."

"Sybil! You're Cloudbank's best Organizer." Red rubbed her back. "Everything's going to be fine. I trust you. Trust yourself a little too. To be honest," Red continued, "this will probably be my last show."

"Your...your last?" She looked up in shock. "Why?"

"No reason," Red said, as Sybil glanced over Red's shoulder. "It's...a personal decision. The point is," Red said, trying to get Sybil's attention back, "you're the only one in Cloudbank I trust to get this right, Sybil. And you can do it."

"Yeah," Sybil said, straightening. "I can. I definitely can. Thanks, Red. Thanks for telling me that." She took a deep breath. "Alright. I've got to get some other things settled. I'll see you later. Don't forget, check out the stage after the show!"

"I won't. Thanks, Sybil."

Sybil nodded and left, without another glance back. Red sighed. Something still seemed off. Maybe she could talk with her more later. For now…

"That dress is ridiculous," he said, as soon as Red worked her way into it.

"It's not ridiculous!" Red said, pulling her hair free from the feathers. "It's beautiful."

"I didn't say it wasn't beautiful. I said it was ridiculous. Walk toward me," he said, holding his hands out to her, and she stepped forward — just barely. The skirt was too narrow for her to move. She grimaced and continued, arms akimbo, wading forward.

She sighed. "Well, there's no need to walk around on the middle of the stage."

Backstage was a flurry — quite different than the upper balcony of any place he'd been. By the time they made it out to the crowded areas Red had managed the right pacing and walked in the dress like she'd been born in it.

"Red," someone with a small microphone said, "you ready?"

"Ready," Red said, tugging a feather out of her hair. "You got my music, too?"

"It's ready to go whenever you are," they said. Red nodded and turned to the stage, to the sudden hush. She took a step forward.

"Red," he called, and as she glanced back he grabbed her hand, her waist, and kissed her — lightly, deeply. Her fingers rose and gripped his lapels. The audience waited almost a whole minute. Then they released each other, and she strode onstage, eyes shining, and sang.

:::

It was different watching her from backstage. Before, at a distance, she always seemed otherworldly — limned in light, shining. From here, he could see her chest rise and fall with breath, see how the strands of her hair shook as she exhaled. Her voice rang out and with every clear note he could hear in his mind the echoes of her iterations in her apartment, all the imperfect loops that had brought her to the single bright line of song that she fed across the Set.

When the curtain fell, she was aglow.

:::

There. Right there.

Later. Wrapping her arms around him.

Let it all stop there.

Eyes closing. Holding him close. Understanding Sybil, finally, and the wrenching misery of wanting things to stay, and not change.

:::

He waits in the back room for her and she races down, as fast as possible in that dress. He has flowers, and she kisses him over the blooms, crushes the bouquet between them.

"You're amazing," he tells her, and she smiles and spins her ring.

"Thanks. Or maybe I should say, thank you. I think I'm better when you're beside me, rather than way up there in the those dark balcony corners."

"Ah, quit it, Red, now you're just being a sap."

"You started it!"

"Did I? Guess I'll have to finish, then."

He sweeps her up, seats her on the vanity, dislodging rows of cosmetics and perfumes with a riot of clinks. The feathers and her hair press against the mirror. They kiss, and kiss, gripping harder, breathing harder. She tries to move her legs but the skirt keeps her from maneuvering that much, keeps him from getting too close.

He sighs. "Red, can I please just rip this dress off —"

"No!" she laughs. "This is a gift from Sybil!"

"Not the whole thing — maybe just, uh, this entire bottom part —"

"Don't you dare!"

"Fine," he grumbles, and then says nothing more because her mouth is on him again. Their hair is disheveled. Feathers are floating. The mirror's screen begins to blink.

- Stage is ready for you two to check out. —S

"She's not coming?" he asks. "I assumed this whole thing was so she could have a private concert."

"What do you mean? It's just for fun. New algorithms and all that."

"Well, if it's just for fun, maybe we should just — you know — go home."

"No, I'd really like to try it out. Just for a bit." And when he grimaces: "Come on! The Empty Set is always busy. When's the next chance I'll get to just try it out on my own?"

He shrugs, but offers no further protest, and she slides off the vanity, takes his hand, and leads him back out to the stage.

This time, he stands with her at the center of it, tapping the mike curiously.

"It's not on."

She taps it too, head cocked, then shrugs. "Well, it doesn't need to be. All I need is my voice." But she takes the microphone anyway, out of habit, fingers domed on the steel.

As she takes a breath, there is no one in the world but the two of them: no audience, no stagehands, no passerby, not even the sounds of crowds outside. The whole venue is as empty as its name.

And then it isn't.

Footsteps, stage right. The sweep of a curtain. He glances over, just in time to see something large heaved through the air, heading toward them —

— no, heading toward her —

"RED —"

No time to think — he grabs her arm, shoves her, she is out of the way but he is not fast enough not fast enough not —

A hiss, a crackle — a crushing pain in his stomach — a crushing pain overflowing into his entire body. In the blaze of green and gold, Red's shriek starts, and suddenly stops — leaving just the drumming of blood, the snarl of static.

It happens fast. The moment passes; and then they are gone.

:::

Outside, Red sprawls, stumbles. Gasping.

Searching.

When she finds him, she screams his name, and hears nothing.

From either of them.

Until.

[Hey...is that you?]

Her heart leaps. For one moment, she thinks that he is fine.

Just for one moment.

[Say something, will you?!]

She opens her mouth. Her tongue and teeth move, to no effect. She touches her throat, hands cold, and trembling.

[Oh, no.]

The — thing — speaks again, pulsing with blue light that sears into her retinas. She touches it, and recoils.

She wants to sob, to demand answers, to shout at someone — anyone — everyone.

She tries to.

She tries again.

She covers her face.

Then takes a deep breath, and stands. There's only one thing she can do.

She musters her willpower. Clenches her skirt in her fists, and shreds it.

Then she lifts up his jacket and slings it over her shoulders. It embraces her, still warm, and her heart twists it hurts it hurts it —

Her breath shakes as she shoves the sleeves up over her elbows. Adjusts the lapels.

[Hey, Red…]

He speaks again, pulsing with blue light that sears into her retinas. She touches him, hand wrapping firm around his handle.

As she pulls him free, his voice echoes in the empty streets around them.

[We're not gonna get away with this, are we?]


End notes:

+ Alright! If you're reading this…THANKS SO MUCH FOR COMING SO FAR. This is one of the longest things I've ever written and finished and I'm so happy you somehow made it through all of it!

+ And super special thanks to everyone who took the time to leave comments/encouragement! I appreciate you so much! Thank you! HEART()

+ aaand now that it's all done…brb gonna play Transistor again :'D