Stainless

Narcissism was the word that came to Storm's mind. He was so busy studying his reflection in his shades; he hadn't noticed his bike had been sabotaged by some crazy Drone. He thought it was a Drone. He hoped it was just a Drone, if it were a normal Drone this would be a whole lot simpler. It sure didn't seem that way. This Drone was terribly intelligent and though it wasn't very strategic in its random bursts of snapping teeth and lashing tendrils, it didn't tend to charge head-first into combat like its brethren did. And as usual, Storm's eye for detailing everything about something lying before him cost him a crucial second as the Drone rammed into him and knocked him into the mud.

Storm pushed against the Drone's cold armor as it repeatedly attempted to snap its silver needle teeth on his face. Storm let out a sharp exhale. Another observation; the previous Drones didn't have breath. He pushed harder as he felt the cold teeth and its breath get closer to his face. Its tendrils came from behind and tried to pull his arms away. It gaped and growled at Storm's face as it bared its fangs once more. It reared back and lunged for one more attempt at a bite, just as Storm managed to kick the creature over him. The tendrils stayed entangled to his arms and were painfully pulled behind him.

Storm let out a cry of pain as he quickly stood up. The tendrils released themselves and went back to their host. He turned to face the creature just as it righted itself and leapt at him, drooling mouth gaping open. Storm sidestepped just as he and the creature met eye-to-eye. The creature fell into the soft earth and crashed into a stone. It slowly craned its head back towards its prey and let out a low hiss, just in time to watch Storm finally unsheathe his sword. The creature paused and tilted its head as it examined the blade in the moonlight. The stainless chrome blade, the markings that adorned it, and its very shape…

"…That is a very, very, old weapon. Where'd you find that…?" It spoke, yet again. Storm's breath was caught in his throat. The creature tilted its head back again. "Those weapons were only used when the Matrix just began… right before The End… The only ones around at that time were Ouroborus and Ramses…" The creature paused. It flashed a toothy smile as it got to its feet. "Well, I guess that explains things. Here I thought you were some scavenger… You're one of Ramses' handpicked to be brought from the dead. You're an Interloper."

Storm didn't know what to make of this. Part of him wanted to give up and flee from this strange Drone, but the other part of thought that this thing had answers. He almost found himself ready to ask it another question. The creature started hissing again. It reared to charge again. Storm readied his sword and took his stance. The creature growled as its fins started to glow… and then it faded. It put its face to the air. And then, much to Storm's astonishment, it seemed to start sniffing.

"…Three farther west… Two more from the south… and one heading off to… Oh—Hehe!" It smiled once more. "Well, I'm actually not in need of a meal anyway, not with them close enough for me to smell them! I doubt you'll mind-wuh?!" Storm took advantage of the creature's pause and ran forward; slicing his blade into Dagon's chest. The cold metal struck its armor and implants. The creature threw his head back and squealed as he pulled away from the sword. Storm pulled back as well. He stood there, defensively holding his sword in front of him, breathing heavily. Something on his sword caught his eye. A dark liquid drooled from the blade. Storm froze. He gently lifted the sword closer to his shaded eyes. He ran his fingers along the blade and drew back two fingers; their tips stained red. Blood.

Storm felt his body begin to tremble. An awful feeling came over him. He dared to look back at the creature and gazed on the red gash that had just found itself on the its body. He wasn't scared of blood, he had already seen enough wounds during his first seventy-two hours, and yet the thought of he himself drawing blood horrified him. The Drones were synthetic, he knew that. Their lives and the life that they bled was created by another. But this one bled like a human. It reminded him of something he didn't remember. He dropped his sword.

The creature gripped its wound and dragged itself to its clawed feet. It looked down at the wound. Slowly, the gash closed and the black layer on top of that regenerated. The armor however retained the scar from the blade. It looked back at Storm, whose mind was racked at the concept of true killing. It snorted. "…I don't have time for an interloper who can't stand violence." It held out its hand and shot out a tendril from behind its back. The tendril dug into a rock and started to retract, pulling the creature away. Storm watched as the creature jumped over the rock and disappeared. He crumpled to his knees and stared at the bloodied blade. He found himself trying to rub the color away. He took a rag, the very piece of cloth he used when he wiped his blade the first time, and smeared away the color.

The blade's pure chrome color returned, but the rag had red to add to its already unsightly green stain. Storm, ever so cautiously, brought the sword closer to his sight, handling it as if he was holding the weapon of a killer, or himself. Something inside him made the line between the two uncomfortably blurred. But why? He already felt this before. When he first engaged Drones, he carried the strange feeling that each Drone he had deactivated added to too long a list. He had no memories. What kind of person was he before he awoke? He blinked once, and when he looked at his sword he froze again. The color had returned. Tenfold.

He almost screamed as he started to wipe at it again, but the stains never left. The ugly red color never left his blade. It jeered at him. He may never know his past, and yet his mind still reacted when its wounds were struck. The red taunted him. The blade's color stayed. The rag swept the surface of metal, but never drew back anything. It never cleaned. In frustration he threw the rag to the ground, only for another horrific site to meet him.

His hands weren't his own. They were the claws of a beast. Sharp, stained, armor plastered, concealing the flesh underneath. Storm gripped his two hands together. He felt their claws dig into each other. His arms had the same ugly armor crawling up them. He squeezed his eyes shut as the trembling became worse.

I… never killed… not since I woke up… I never killed… The creatures don't live… that thing doesn't live! Nothing I've ever hurt lives… Nothing in these wastes are alive! Not even… not even… The trembling stopped, as if something in his mind had flicked a switch and shut all fear away. He slowly opened his eyes. His hands were human, and his sword was clean.

"Grace? Are you up?" Gentle nudging shook the picture away. The picture blurred and faded until it vanished entirely. She flicked her gentle eyes open. The shadow of her sister hovered above her, hand on her shoulder. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to recall the image she had seen, but it had faded from memory entirely. She opened them again and looked at the world around her in clear light.

They lay under a slab of stone that shielded the cold stone floor on which they rested from the sun that began to rise. She rose up and yawned. Was it a vision, or a simple dream that spirited her mind away for that one moment? She studied the stone floor beneath them. "We should go, now. Our guide's waiting for us outside." The older one said.

"He's still with us?"

"Did you expect him to flee?"

"I didn't expect him to wait for us… exactly."

"And yet he is. He's not one to be scared off so easily."

They left the shelter of the rocks and approached their guide, who sat on a large stone, just managing to swallow a small stick of hard-tack. He noticed the two's arrival and quickly gulped, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and slid down the rock.

"Ready to go so soon?" he asked, trying to sound hearty, but scarcely keeping the weariness from his voice. It was obvious he didn't rest well, or rest enough for that matter.

"The sooner the better," the older one said. Veron sighed and nodded. He put what tack was left back in his bag.

Veron's pace was steady, but he seemed to stumble a whole lot more. He didn't walk quite as fast as the day before, and soon the Sisters were able actually pass him as they walked. The younger one turned around and noticed Veron had stopped altogether. He was holding his forehead. She grabbed her sister's arm and they both stopped.

"What's gotten into you?" the older one asked. Veron shook his head.

"Fuzzies… head rush… didn't actually sleep last night… whoo…."

"Were you keeping watch all night for Drones? We could handle anything that would come upon us at night."

"…Kinda like that…" Veron looked up, shook his head, and started walking again. The older one came to a quiet realization.

"Or perhaps …Were you making sure I didn't stab you in your sleep?" Veron choked and stopped walking. The moment after he quickly paced back to the front of the small group and started forward, quickly passing the two. The older one laughed as the two resumed their pace. "Why would Ramses send someone so fearful of people like us to escort them to a meeting?" She asked tauntingly. Veron spun on his heel and pointed a finger.

"I'll have you know… I spent two days in the custody of Devilkin, and in the end I waited to be broken out! I'm no more scared of you people than Ramses' men!" Long pause. Veron yawned, but then straightened himself as if he had just shown weakness. "Sorry…Let's just get going please… I'm not having the time of my life either…" He turned around and started walking again, still stumbling every once in a while. The sisters followed. The younger of the two walked much more slowly than the both of them, and though she didn't stumble quite as much, every so often she would stop and cling to her staff. Her sister sighed. She was touched by the Matrix, yes, but she wasn't advanced to the point that fatigue wasn't an issue, and for her it was always an issue.

The older one looked at Veron, weary from fear, and her sister, who was actually tiring out herself, much faster than the both of them. "How much farther to this lab of yours?" Veron stopped marching and produced a small, makeshift map from his bag. He looked up at the sun, and then at the horizon, mouthing a few numbers to himself. He looked back at the map.

"…Another day's worth." He answered a little slowly. "Unless of course we double our pace… but that probably won't be such a good idea." The older one looked to her sister. She breathed heavily and slowly, clutching her stave and driving it into the ground.

"Is there no faster way to get there?" She asked.

"Well… if we took the day to go to another colony instead... we could find a ride to take us closer to the meeting point; that would save us a whole lot of time. I'm sure we wouldn't have too much trouble. But… it may throw the others off. We're supposed to be there by tomorrow, and if we spend the day to go to a settlement and can't find a ride, well… they'll come looking for us. Not sure how you'd feel about that."

The older one thoughtfully tapped her stave. "…We'll try to get a ride." Veron nodded. He looked to the younger one.

"Think you can manage another day of walking?" He asked.

"I'll be fine," she whispered. Veron had just started on his way when he heard the sound of the older one ready her weapon. He froze in place.

"Before you decide to make yourself comfortable, I'd like to make a something painfully clear… This situation had better be worth our time. Otherwise, things will become very, very unpleasant when this is over."

"…Alright." Veron said in a calm voice. He continued walking. The older one put her weapon away.

"You seem disappointed," the younger observed. The older one didn't say anything. "You were right, he isn't one to be scared off easily." The older one almost allowed herself a smile.

"Perhaps that's why Ramses chose him." Veron took one glance behind him and sighed.

Dagon snarled as he felt the gash in his armor. It was a tried and true fact; feeding, and often still the thought of it, was enough to leave him terribly vulnerable in battle. Normally a simple drop in his shielding system was required in order for him to feed properly, and that left him susceptible to physical harm. What allowed the Interloper to land a blow on him was nothing more than pure carelessness.

The gash was deep enough to have torn both his synthetic and mortal skin underneath. It was strange. He had almost forgotten that he had mortal flesh. Though not quite a Second-Phaser, he had little reason to assume mortal form. Perhaps it was the synthetic neck and maw that held him back. An overgrown and synthetic jawbone wasn't exactly subtle a hint that he wasn't normal.

He fingered the gash, and then sweet smell invaded his senses. He turned his head and took in the different traces of potential victims. Still the three… still the two… 'Lost track of the other one… and then there's the Interloper. Still hasn't moved, I see. He took in another breath. …Wait… those two… what if… Those three… what if they're the followers…? Then the two must be… the sisters? They were too far away for his senses to pick up important qualities like he could when he was submerged, but he could sense and compare their Eon strains. One is a twig, the other is a powerhouse. That smells like Siren alright.

Dagon dashed into the burning day. They're closer anyway. If they are the Sisters, then this will be much, much easier.