"Please...please don't hurt me."
No, don't worry my dear, I will find you.
"I...I'm un-unarmed."
My dear..."I...I have a f-f-family."
They will pay.
"Please...please!"
I promise you.
"No...no...no..."
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My...Sylvia...Sol walked quietly, his eyes hidden under tufts of dark brown hair.
EastEven the broad blade balanced upon his left shoulder could not boast of a width superior to the size of Sol's massive deltoids.
Yet nothing about him seemed excessive; no muscles moved except those required to perform the necessary functions. And as of the moment, the required function was walking.
I should run.
Tch...what a bother.If he felt anxious, Sol did not show it. Every stride was equally measured, and the expression on his face was as remote as the gray horizon stretched before him.
You're going to miss her. Run dammit!Sol did not break his stride.
Indifference, perhaps that was it. For someone as old as Sol, the world simply ceased to be impressive. Excitement is not the first mental response when everything that happens has been witnessed already.
But this is the second time, the second time in your life!Sol knew that, but what tugs at his heart was still not excitement. The tingling in his legs was the urging of anxiety. The rigidity in his frame was the breath of sorrow. The dampness in his palm was the touch of anticipation. And the heat in his chest was the roar of wrath.
It's been too long.
And for the first time in the past few days, Sol realized something.
I need this.
The small city was typical at best, and filthy on average. How and when he walked through the gates Sol does not remember. He has set a direction for himself, and has followed it in unbreakable strides. It did not matter what or even who stood in the way.
Sol did not need to communicate that message. The relentless rhythm of his steps sounded his approach, and the dominating size of his shadow announced his arrival. The beggars and peddles of the streets have seen enough in their life to know trouble by sight, and they followed their instincts and stayed out of Sol's way.
Well, almost all.
As rigidly forward as he seemed to have held the direction of his gaze, Sol has been taking note of those around him. This was what he was trained to do—to instinctively know his surrounding without showing any apparent effort in the process. Among all the people he jotted down in his mind, Sol did not miss her.
A peddler? Hmm...young...The little girl, holding an old basket, looked 12, but was wearing adjusted overalls that, in their original cut, could comfortably fit an adult man. The cuts and patches were clearly done by an amateur; a part of the cut, shortened, and re-sewn strap was already coming apart.
Tch...bet she's wearing daddy's will.
Sometimes Sol shocks even himself with his pessimism.
Even so, he did not slow down his approach toward the little girl.
Move.
Sol mentally dictated, hoping that his unaffected approach would motivate the girl to step aside.
She did not. Instead, she moved even close to the middle of the road.
As Sol shortened the distance between himself and the girl, he realized that he could squeeze past her.
TchThat was not his style.
"Ex..xcuse me, m..mister"
The girl stuttered before Sol came to a complete stop.
She held the basket out in front of her, showing her white, skinny fingers. Her large, blue eyes did not move from sol's face and quivered slightly underneath her pairs of long, black lashes. She did not blink. She could not blink. Her lips trembled as she struggled to finish her sentence, but no part of her body was helping in the effort. From the grayish strip of cloth that pulled back her blue hair to the brown ropes that tied layers after layers of old newspaper around her feet, nothing was still. The girl was quivering from head to toe.
She was afraid. She was deathly afraid. Who knows how many times she has been beaten; who knows how long she has starved. Yet here she stands, trembling before a man more dangerous looking than any she's ever seen, when all she had to do was stay quietly in her alley.
...
She had nothing more to lose.
From behind the curtain of hair, Sol looked into the girl's eyes. She stood before him, cold, hungry, and scared. Yet it was he who could not show his eyes. He feared that he would...
"F....flowers? Puh...Please?"
...
It was all the strength the girl could muster. She did not even have enough left to lift the gray cloth covering the basket to show Sol the flowers. She has pushed her small body to its physical limit, and now she stood before Sol, trembling, and silently awaiting the blow.
Sol let Fireseal fall unceremoniously to the ground.
The great sword made such a racket that both were jolted to their senses.
That was closeSol slowly retracted his hands. He reached into his back pocket. He knew that all eyes were upon him, and he did not open his large fist to reveal that he had pulled out a large wad of bills. Pretending to look at the flowers, Sol lifted the gray cloth. A small bundle of withered lilies lied tenderly placed among a carpet of brown, dead grass.
The girl would not find fresh green blades in this wasteland and god knows how long and how big of a miracle it took for her to find those dead lilies, but with what she finally found, she tried to make it pretty.
It was hauntingly beautiful.
Sol reached inside, carefully putting the bills near a corner as not to disturb this pretty grave. The little girl looked down, then up, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips and tears forming in her eyes. She was still trembling too hard to bring herself to rejoice.
Sol pulled back the cover of the basket.
"No."
He almost choked on the word. He wanted to make it loud enough for everyone to hear, but still gentle enough to tell the girl that she had touched him.
She touched him.
Sol quickly picked up his sword and walked away. It was all he could do to control his emotions.
She looked like her. Those eyes...those same beautiful, blue eyes.
For that one moment Sol lived the past, when he used to hold her, when he used to love her. He had wanted to reach for her. He wanted to hug her close to his chest. He wanted to warm her with the heat of his body. He wanted to caress her hair. He wanted to feel her warm breath upon his skin and comfort her. He wanted to wipe the tears from her eyes and tell her that everything will be fine, that daddy will protect her.
He wanted to feel alive again.
No...it's not her...Sol had fallen back into his regular strides.
Behind him, the little girl did not move from her spot. Her moist eyes quietly followed this mysterious man, and her lips, though still trembling, whispered,
"Thank you..."
I need this.
Sol had lost count of how many times he's been telling himself this, but ever since he left that little girl it's all he could think about—her. He realized, after coming so close to holding girl, how much he missed her.
TchHe did not quite understand why. After so many years, he thought he would never feel the same again.
It happened so many years ago, when he became a gear, and memories of her precede even that.
For the longest time Sol thought he had died and lived again. It was necessary, he was told, to rid himself of all attachments if he were to accomplish his task.
No, he was coaxed.
No, he was promised.
It was driving him insane and he wanted to run away from it. He could not stand the pain of living without her. Ever since that day, when she disappeared from his life, he wished he could follow her, even to hell.
But he did not know if she really died, and he did not want to die knowing that it was still possible to see her again. All he wanted to do was to look for her, to find her. But he needed to get away from the pain; he needed to keep it from breaking his concentration.
And that Man gave him the solution.
He wanted to believe that Man, and he did believe that Man. He allowed himself to be turned into what he is today because, he was promised, a gear was much stronger and a gear would not cry.
Now Sol realized that it was all a lie. Something had awakened in him today, and as much as he did not want to feel it, he embraced it desperately, as if he had found a part of what he was looking for.
He would've never passed a police station had it not been in his desired path.
They all looked the same, bleached walls and flat roofs. Sol did not want to think about the overcrowded jail cells or mega-computes that occupied the spaces between the sparse, narrow windows.
Boy scout's camping ground.
Sol fought back a chuckle.
He has almost forgotten how it feels to chuckle.
As Sol walked past the front gates he lazily gazed inside, anticipating a glimpse of that over-enthusiastic fool laboring over paperwork.
He was greeted by an empty, red wall.
Hmm, guess he's not... Dammit!Sol's mental curse was barely completed before he bolted inside. Those stiff-neck knights always painted their walls white, not red....with blood.
Sol looked under the desk, not surprised by the body.
He had barely examined the corpse before the realization hit him.
No...Was it his imagination or did he feel a little uneasy?
It can't be...The marks on the body, the wounds, the gashes, were all unmistakable. Sol knew who did this.
A shadow slithered towards Sol's heels.
"...?!"
With a quick flick of his wrist, Sol held Fireseal ready by his left side while his right hand swiftly struck out. It almost caught the man by surprise and would have hit him squarely in the face had he not possessed senses superior to sight.
Zato caught Sol's fist with an open palm and stopped it centimeters from the bridge of his nose.
"I did not mean to attack you."
"..."
"But of course I understand if you do not trust me. I apologize for the intrusion."
Sol retracted his arm as Zato loosened his grip.
"What are you doing here?" Sol said though clenched teeth.
Detecting no tone of accusation in Sol's voice, Zato smiled.
"Well, being the poor blind man that I am I thought I'd stop to ask for some directions."
Sol did not smile.
"Answer it."
Zato's face suddenly became completely serious.
"Why are you here?"
"Tch..."
Sol
knew he was wasting his time. He didn't want anything from Zato,
although the presence of the shadow man did arouse his curiosity,
nothing more. Should Zato try anything else Sol would make sure that
he'd live just long enough to regret his decision.
There was no doubt to Sol as to who the murderer was, but what burns in his mind is the motivation. Yet somehow, his instincts were telling him that the motivation is no more different than his own.
But that means...A gust of wind blew through the door.
Sol and Zato directed their attention toward the figure clearly outlined against the bright rectangular doorway.
"Lord have mercy..."
Sol was already getting ready to leave.
"You! This time I caught you red handed! You and your accomplice. You will both pay for the crime you have committed on this day!."
Tch...he's actually mad.
Ky raised Thunderseal above his shoulders. Intensely blue sparks of light coursed through the blade. Sol didn't see any easy way out of this fight.
"Badguy! Take THIS!"
Note:
That one review I got really helped motivate me to write another chapter. I used to read other authors' notes and notice how they always want people to comment, and now I realize how important comments can really be. So please, if you found it worth your while, comment. I've left a lot of loose ends, and if you want to know what happens next, please help motivate me to write more and write better.
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Thank you.
