Arc 3 - Chapter 46: Darkest Pitch of Black

(Reverence 5, 59 / 1:02AM)

A van’s tires scraped against the pavement.

Two doors opened, and the driver and passenger walked toward the set of back doors. One man wore a tuxedo, and his hair was silver. The other was a woman wearing the same attire, her glasses circular shaped.

Once they reached the back, the tall agent pushed in the code, and he heard a click. Opening the doors, Ada went in to bring them out, one by one.

Stan, Gary, Alexandra, Jumbo, and Loraine looked around, their eyes darting through the dark. Fred and Diego rolled off, their stomachs slammed against the pavement. Getting up from the ground, groans perched from their throats, as their faces still swelled in purple.

‘There it is…’

“Get moving! All of you!”

Given no other choice, Stan and everyone else began their walk forward.

His eyes locked on a train, its width took two railroad tracks. Coated in black, the mystery and aura that radiated placed a cold spell on him. Seeing one of the carts open up, he lowered his head.

Agents lined up near them, their rifles locked with bullets. Their barrels aimed low, they analyzed each figure that walked. Reaching the cart, Stan gulped, before walking up the steps toward that darkened container.

‘The belly of the beast…’

The air was damp, and the walls were thickened with metal. Walking toward the side of a wall, he slumped his back against it. Lowering himself down, he kept his eyes facing downward.

‘And it smells exactly as I expected it to be…’

“Hello? Who is there?”

A voice came from the darkness, one that Stan was familiar with. Raising his head, Stan sprawled out his legs.

“Miles? Is that you?”

“W-What are you doing here? Wait… why are you all here?”

“I could say the same thing to you…”

Stan couldn’t decipher Miles’s body, as the night was already throttling his eyes. Hearing rustling noises, if Miles was inside that same prison container, then that would mean…

Stan darkened his eyes, and kept his hands still tucked behind his back.

“Is Luke there? Hey Luke.”

“He isn’t here.”

Another voice spawned out.

Hearing it tremble his ears, Stan took note of the pitch it had. Coming from the same direction where Miles was, Stan didn’t look up this time.

“He was about to get us, but it was too fast, even for me. I don’t think he’s captured… but I think he’s somewhere in that marshland.”

“Oh… so then—”

“I don’t think there’s a way out.”

Jack ruffled his handcuffs, the same ones that binded all of them. As he spoke, the only source of light was from that container door. With the street lights reflecting against Stan’s face, the rest of the darkened Dark Angels stared at that lingering sight.

“Even if Luke somehow returns… What about us? I mean, it’s as Fred said…”

Glancing down at his hands, he could barely trace them. Using his dilated eyes, he couldn’t perceive his own nails or palms. Lowering his voice to a mere whisper… he trailed it through parched lips.

“Luke stole all of our luck.”

“That ain’t true.”

She barely controlled her jumping throat, and it didn’t have the usual coldness. It was as if she still relived that fear, that plunge from that high tower. Stan heard her, but it was further away from them.

“We’re here because we failed him.”

“We didn’t fail anyone Luna. They got us by sheer planning. That’s why we were caught.”

Shuffling his body in the dark, Miles’ handcuffs jingled against the damp air, leaving his ears to tickle.

“So you’re saying Luke’s plan failed?”

They all turned toward Stan. With the streetlight still reflecting against his face, he had his back hunched forward. His eyes focused on that smooth metallic floor, his eyes intertwined in eye bags.

“If your trust in Luke is that low, then tell me… who planned out that counterattack? Who defeated that harvester when no one else would…?”

Silence took hold of them all. They couldn’t retort back. After all, they aren’t putting their faith in Luke. But was it reasonable?

“One screw up… one fuck up, and ya’ll are jumping ship.”

“But we told him… I told him many times that the train was a bad idea. If he hadn’t listened to Sean, we wouldn’t be in this mess…”

“Wait what…”

Stan raised his head, and tried to pierce through the darkness. Unable to see anything, many of the Dark Angels kept themselves to the dark. His voice as low as molasses, he pulled his knees close to his chest.

“Sean… is this true?”

Not a word came out, but the silence turned to imaginary loudness. Booming his ears, it took so much hold, that he pushed his fingers into his palms. Keeping them there, he felt his throat jump.

“Sean.”

From the way the silence roared, it was like a conundrum that shook his ears. Just as he was about to try, again…

“What happened to Chris?”

It was a quaint whisper, enough to travel the air like mist. For a split second, everyone’s bones buckled, and nobody dared spoke. Stan furrowed his brow, and so did the rest of his group along with Jenny, Jumbo, and Loraine.

“I heard… he uhm… I heard he was injured.”

“Injured? Miles, is this true?”

Miles’s throat throttled. In a war between speaking and withholding, he didn’t know which route to choose. For a split second, he saw a blur of blue strike into that teenage boy. Then there was red, followed by the moving lines of what’s real and fiction.

Clenching down on his gums, he inhaled air through his nostrils, and marinated his lungs. Opening his—

“He took a javelin to the stomach.”

Hearing him nearby, Stan was familiar with that ruggish voice. Coming from a couple of meters away, Stan had to turn his head left.

“I saw what happened. How it struck, how it angled. That type of injury you can’t walk out of.”

“What are you implying?”

“Chris is dead.”

Stan began to shiver.

Feeling like ice had scrounged his muscles, he felt the fictional frostbite corrode his bones. Stan had no choice but to sit like a prisoner, as he slowly laid his right shoulder on the floor. Staring straight out the door, he saw two figures walking toward that container…

“And unfortunately… we’re paying the bill of a lifetime.”

Stan could barely trace the outline of those men. Hearing a small metal click, that metal door that stretched long and wide began to close. And his vision clearing in front of him, was a chubby man who stared at him.

‘Please Luke…’

Being right next to Benn, was a woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. Although she hadn’t expressed her voice, she stared at the street light that began to fade. The more those men closed that door, the longer the abyss was created.

‘Come back to us… we need you…’

She clutched her hands, like she was forming some kind of prayer. Right as she did that…

Darkness swept through metal.

________________________________________________________________________

(Reverence 5, 59 / 9:32AM)

Silence reigned.

Having a cowboy hat on his face, the man saw darkness within the leather. Both of his hands rested on his stomach, he laid on a couch, while the woman next to him sat near. They didn’t speak, as their breaths were sounded by the grandfather clock. Tick tock, tick tock, each second was a click to their ears.

Until the creaky door opened.

Releasing himself from his sleep, he arched his body off the couch. Taking off his hat from his face, he pushed it on his head, and straightened his back along. Closing the door, were a pair of siblings, whose eyes looked down and darkened.

“You two holding up okay?”

“Y-Yeah… mostly.”

David used his right hand to scratch his left, as dry skin rumpled from his knuckles. Breathing in, and then out, he relaxed all the motor nerves throughout his body.

“Whatever happened, happened. It's not your fault, or anyone else's. Things like this strike fast.”

“Does it?”

“Not every battle is a long run, or a case of glory. Most of the time, your luck determines whether you live or die…”

Christian didn’t want to turn to the backyard, nor did he want to look at David. Keeping his eyes on the wooden floor, he remembered that corpse, that smell of death that assaulted his nostrils. Remembering every scrap of detail on that figure, that same boy was laid to rest.

Next to him, Pacifica had eyebags that were clouded in dark chocolate. She couldn’t speak, nor could she emit a twitch of a muscle. Unlike Christian, who quivered his hands up to his wrists, she was stiff as cardboard.

“But I could’ve… I could’ve picked up her movement with my ears. I don’t know why I didn’t… that Zirardge Girl… she was too swift, even for me.”

He heard a snap.

Still having his head down, he glanced to his left. She didn’t quake, but it was clear she radiated a silent rage nobody could reach. Wanting to reach that same passion, that same vengeance… all he could do was grind his teeth.

“It’s just like what happened to Manny… it was all—”

“It’s not your fault son.”

“Then whose is it!?”

Pacifica twitched, as the sound of his voice tightening her shoulders.

Scrunching up his eyes, down to his chin, his nose wrinkled once he tilted his head up at last. His cheeks maintaining his hardened face, he wanted to cry, but his creased eyelids made it impossible.

“I ain’t stupid! I had one job, one power that could detect sound, yet I failed! How can I call myself a… a…”

“Calm down.”

“I ain’t special!”

Christian breathed heavily through parched nostrils, leaving his air to wheeze. In and out, his chest became hard like iron. Having a firm grip on the floor, he raised his right hand up to his hat.

“Nobody’s calling you special.”

“Then what about—”

“You think Luke is? Tell me son, what makes him good?”

Maintaining his breathing, he flowed air through his dry throat. Keeping his eyes downward, he let his thoughts roam until flashes appeared like snaps.

“He’s a genius in a lot of things. Science, chemistry, adapting, he’s like a cockroach.”

“But can you beat him in arm wrestling? Can you sprint faster than him? Is he really that special if he fails at some normal aspects?”

David took off his cowboy hat, and lowered it onto the side of his thigh. Keeping it there, his fingers were glued to the leather of his hat, while seeing Christian’s eyes lift up.

“We all have strengths and weaknesses. Even a man like me has one.”

“Then what is it… what weakens you then…”

“Memories.”

Pacifica loosened her fingers from her palms, and kept her hands to her sides. Her blood was still flowing out, a stream that flowed and ebbed casually. For the first time in her stiff body, something began to jump. Her throat, yes, her throat shook and throttled the more she remembered those memories…

“What I’ve gone through, what I’ve lost… and what I might lose, do you think I’m some machine? Some superhuman with little to no emotions?”

David’s fingers began to wrinkle the leather. Wanting to narrow his eyes even further, wanting to ball the hat with ease, he kept it well smoothened.

As his words mellowed out like molasses.

“Even the strongest men have fears…”

His breathing faint and silent, he put on his cowboy hat once more. The strands of his hair flowing out from his temples and forehead, it made him look ten years younger, although his temples carried wrinkles.

Turning his eyes toward Iris, she was all too silent.

“Iris. We got to discuss something with your father.”

“Does it look like I know?

Iris didn’t fold her arms, nor did she have her hands on her hips. Having them relaxed on her sides, she wanted to look down, but she kept her posture firm and straight. But as she turned to David, her eyes quivered upon eye contact.

“What will become of us David?”

“I don’t know. But if I were to guess…”

David huffed air through his nostrils. Trying to reclaim some of his energy, he looked away from Iris, and pushed his eyes on a random toy train. Keeping his attention on it, it was an antique that could be found in toy shops, but David knew of its shape. Trailing the outline, he balled his right hand.

“We definitely have our hands tied to our backs.”

—A knock came from the door.—

The four of them pulled out their weapons, but their barrels aimed low to the ground. Wielding his pistol, David kept his palm glued to the metal, but he slowed his breath.

Walking through the polished wood, his footsteps were so silent, not even a mouse could rival. No decibel, not an ounce of creaking wood, it was all smashed in silence.

Reaching the handle of the door, he used his left to grab it. He felt the silence, and he felt their weapons be strangled by their own fingers. Sliding his right foot back, he began opening that door. But the person on the other side…

“No way…”

“David… I need to speak… I need to speak with Mr. Sumiko.”

Everyone lowered their guard. In front of David, was a young man with light brown hair, and baggy eyes and cheeks. Looking like he had escaped from a prison camp, his clothes were rustled with mud and dirt.

“I need to speak to him now…”