A/N: Honestly, people- do you realize that this is the first update to the section in nearly a month? Talk about your slow fandoms! (-_-) (The author acknowledges her own slowness as well). No real notes this time, save that my english midterm's short story was a bit of metropolis fandom without names in it. (go me. Have scored high on that test. ^_^)
Things were blurred for a time.
There was work and preparations for the Marduk parade (The finishing touch on the Ziggurat's completion celebration), the normal and routine jobs of constant patrol and surveillance, the approaching stirrings of revolution- But I couldn't concentrate on anything for any length of time. Time sped and slowed of its own volition. I'd sit down for breakfast then find myself inexplicably in zone one, talk to one of my Marduks and (where had the day gone?) suddenly find it after two in the morning as I stared at the sparse stars outshone by city glare through my bedroom window. I slept little and ate less.
I was losing my tenuous grip on reality until the news came in: The Revolution had begun.
Things sped up. The Marduks were deployed to fight the militants, a small pocket of order in the face of Chaos. The history books no doubt will record the failed coup as just that, a failure masterminded by a half-cocked commander, a mindless, undirected mob.
But I tell you, we fought and paid in blood for every inch of ground we gained. Duke Red, now officially in charge of Metropolis due to President Boone's unfortunate "deposition" and Mayor Leon's complete cowardice, did not mobilize the ground troops nor the air force until we had gained nearly three kilometers of city. These rebels, whoever they were, were no inexperienced crowd. Each and every one of them threw molotov cocktails with unerring accuracy and fired into the confusion created. The battle was loud and blinding and things were blurring again, when one moment the enemy was far away and the next I was in the fray with someone else's blood spattered across my face.
I looked at my hands in that odd quiet moment and they were as crimson as the ground. In looking up, I thought I saw a hint of honey-blonde hair and the briefest of smiles, but I could be wrong. The whole city is in chaos, what's one more little girl that looks like her? She's dead, dead and gone.
Reminding myself does not ease the sudden foreboding and quick image of falling and flame I have in my head. Then time regains its hold, pushes forward, and I am too busy to think.
*******************
The battle has ended.
People dead, dying and praying for the death that will be a long time in coming line the streets. I slip sideways, out of the smell of charred flesh and pooling blood mixed with oil and crackling electricity, and into Bel square. It is cold here and the snow bites fiercely with the smoke, but at least I can see the sky, washed-out thing that it is.
The bitterly cold snow bites into me and crunches under my boots. I make my way forward, slowly, watching the fallen around me. A man the same age as I (slightly older, perhaps?) slumps against a pillar, breathing in faint gasps and pressing a spread hand to a blood-soaked shirt. A boy runs to him, his brother perhaps? I wonder how they ever got into this mess. And on their right...
Gold... No, is it?! She, no, IT is right there! How can they not sense her wrongness? The short, plump man standing near places a comforting hand on her shoulder, and I wonder that his hand does not burn at the touch. I draw my gun, still warm from the last use.
It is confusion and gunfire and blood and ends and beginnings all in those few seconds but one thing, one moment is encased forever in crystal before shattering-
My Father- He-
He can't do this-
Blind to her wrongness, I will make him see.