Cry Havoc!

Anh | Sept 5, 1998 | 18:45 ICT | Generation X Internet Cafe | Buy N Save SuperCenter | District 3 | Saigon Autonomous Zone

Dance and dance with the corpses on the floor.
Now dance, motherfuckers, till ya can’t dance any more.
“I’m losing my miii-ind.”
“It’s the dance of death.”
“One body, two body, three body, five.”
“Dance till there’s nothing left.”

I’m in hell. It’s timeless. It’s eternal. I can’t get out.

It feels like an eternity ago that I was trapped in this dance with Kente. My legs were sore. I vomited. My back was stiff. Every moment was painful.

I’d give anything to go back to that.

I dream of being back in the Smooth Jams Cafe. I hate music. I will kill musicians. I must keep dancing. I can’t stop dancing.

Is this faith? What god do I need to call on to get out of this? I’ll believe it. I’ll say whatever oath you want. I’ll worship your god. I’ll join your party. I’ll write your pamphlets. I’ll fight your enemies. Whatever cause you want!

Just let me kill the musicians.
Just stop the music.
Just please let me stop dancing.

Dance and dance with the corpses on the floor.

My partner, Kente, has stopped speaking to me. We ran out of things to say. The assurances are a waste of breath. The plans are a waste of time. Whatever fights we had aren’t worth discussing anymore. There is no point making us more miserable than we already are.

And so we dance with torn muscles, blisters, and strained tendons.

“It’s the dance of death.”

Kente’s gold-laced lenses merely look out into the distance. Whatever happened to the man of the moment? The quick thinker? Whatever happened to him has finally retreated inward. Kente, my partner, has surrendered.

“Dance till there’s nothing left.”

Subaru and Missy are sitting in purple light, obsessively completing their tasks. Subaru is at the stage where his body has betrayed him, and shaky hands have undone in the last thirty minutes what took him hours to achieve. And yet he persists.

Haiku is reciting numbers, but she seems to be speaking more slowly now. Or the music is getting faster. Is my brain slowing down? Maybe that’s what is happening.

My awareness is killing me. Every moment I think, I get interrupted by my body telling me it’s falling apart.

Maybe if I listened to my uncle, I’d have mindfulness training to manage this. Maybe if I listened to my Christian teacher, I’d have a God to comfort me. Instead, I’ve got three coworkers more eager to die than I am.

I think I’m starting to understand.

“Superpowers need superpowers, you dumb bitch!”

I recognized that voice. It was the gangbanger, Mark... something. He was talking to someone. It sounded familiar.

“Your superpowers are the allure of damnation.”

“Well yeah. Someone’s gotta do it. Everyone’s gonna do it. What makes you so righteous?”

Perhaps it’s time to try my hack.

An eternity ago, I figured out that if I close my eyes, it lets me move. It’s temporary. It makes my eyes burn, and every step away from the boombox feels like someone turned up gravity. But I have to hear. I need something. Anything.

I circled around Kente and closed my eyes, taking a step back, following the direction of the voices.

I can hear them.

A voice that sounded like a Mitsuki Haiku spoke. Not cheerful. Somber. Almost angry.

“Our cooperation only exists as far as your advancement of the Lord’s plans for this country. As does my tolerance for your activities.”

“Save it, bitch. You want to help HICE dig its head further in the sand, then you aren’t worth our help.”

“Pay us and get the hell out!”

The fighting grew more intense. I closed my eyes and embraced the pain, silencing the cries of my ankles.

Survive for another cycle.

A new voice emerged. Masculine. Familiar.

“You can consider your assistance to us charity. We will not use righteous funds to finance sorcerers and onanists.”

The NatSels laughed and snickered.

Where had I heard that voice before?

“We have just revealed our cause to the world. Join us properly, or depart from us empty-handed.”

Wait. That guy. The one at the cafe who stole the relic. He’s here.

What was his name?

“The fool says in his heart, ‘There is no God.’ They are corrupt, their deeds are vile. There is no one who does good.”

I fought my own legs to shimmy toward the sound of the Mitsuki Haiku voice. Every move was agony as my limbs begged to freeze but weren’t allowed.

“Take your Bronze Age sky-daddy bullshit and shove it up your onahole.”

What was the name of that knight?

I can’t think. I’m too tired.

Wait. Even if I do remember, last time he tried to kidnap me. Couldn’t be worse than this.

I cried out as loudly as my body would let me.

“Peter! Help!”

The voices went silent.

I went back to dance in the abyss.

“You have hostages?” The Mitsuki Haiku voice rang out in judgment.

“How about you all mind your own aff—”

With a gurgle and gasps, Mark’s voice was silenced.

I looked behind me and saw his round head roll past the boxes.

“You double-crossing piece of—”

An explosion and gunshots cracked. Instinctively, I tried to duck.

I could only dance.

An RPG struck the ceiling of the warehouse, sending shrapnel and splinters raining down. The power flickered on and off.

Including the lights binding us to our fates.

In the darkness, I tried to get out, but my body wouldn’t move. Stiff with pain, I stood still.

Please. Please.

Kente snapped to his senses, but he was no more capable than I was.

“Subaru, help.”

Subaru dropped the tweezers. Missy continued her sieve of prime numbers.

“Missy, stop,” Subaru said. “You will burn yourself out.”

Missy continued, her voice warping and slowing, yet somehow gaining renewed vigor.

Subaru looked at Missy. Then at the explosive.

Realization crossed his face.

He sprang up and ran toward the bomb, fishing out his laser pointer. He wrapped his body around the explosive and looked the computer screen in the eye, waving the laser.

“Hear my words, Gold 17-95. I bind your circuits to my will, as I know your true name.”

Dr. Makoto Subaru gathered the last of his bravado, drew breath, and spoke his final words.

“Misaki. I command you to silence.”

For the briefest moment, the room was silent.

The music stopped. The guns faded. Missy stopped counting.

There was only a beeping.

It sped up, then became a single tone.

I saw Subaru carry the explosive away from us. In the distance, there was a burst of flame and noise.

Missy’s screen flickered as her avatar spasmed, trying to regain composure.

“Signal sending. Extraction request sent. All known and available channels.”

I tried to move.

:No. No no no no no. Please no."

The power came back on.

So did the lights. So did the music.

Now dance, motherfuckers, till ya can’t dance any more.

“Missy, help!”

My broken body leapt back into the dance.

“Sending help and distress signals on all frequencies. Must help. Must get help. Must not fail Dr. Subaru. Must save Kente.”

Under the purple light, Missy broadcast on all available frequencies.

Someone would find my corpse, I guess.

“That damn sanctimonious bitch!”

“They whacked Mark. We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Plug all the leaks. Game over!”

The NatSels turned on each other, looting their own headquarters, fighting over prizes.

And yet here I was, circling the disco ball with Kente.

We locked eyes.

We didn’t need to speak. He saw the fear in me. I saw it in him.

It was all we had left.

Either our bodies would give out, or the NatSels would kill us.

Either way, a pact was made.

We would witness each other.

“Агрон, десять часов, двое врагов на ящиках,” a female electronic voice shouted in the distance.

I heard pistol pops, English and Vietnamese profanity, then submachine guns, silenced one by one.

I heard growling.

“This isn’t fun anymore! I can’t die like this!”

One of the NatSels ran toward us.

He was tackled by an eight-foot-tall black dog.

“Ahn?”

Agron looked at me and Kente. He seemed amused at first. Then his face fell.

“Agron… help.”

Sirens rose outside.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Two shots shattered the boombox and the purple light.

Then he vanished.

Flashlights and megaphones flooded in as Kente and I collapsed.

“Missy,” I asked, my head light, my body heavy. “What time is it?”

Her screen stayed dark, but her voice answered softly.

“It is three o’clock in the morning, September sixth.”

“Oh thank God,” I whispered. “It’s over. The day is over.”