The Scourgefields

Marlo woke up to the sounds of scuffling and yelling. His eyes snapped open, and as he rolled over, he saw Monticello and Nessa arguing in his doorway.

“…You were supposed to wake us up!” Monticello yelled. “You’re up all night, how do you not notice the time?”

“I was busy finishing my creation!” Nessa retorted “I am not the carer of any of you!”

“When I came in you were just staring at it! You had ages to get us up, but you didn’t! If we miss this window because of you-”

“I had to ensure that the piece was finished, and properly attuned with the will of those we have lost. If we lost my friend because the equipment I gave failed him, I could not live with myself!”

Monticello gave a roar of frustration and stomped off. Nessa turned, to see Marlo struggling out of his hammock. He fell on his face, and rolled back up, groaning. “What’s happening?”

“We are shipping out for the Scourgefields, to make our move, in ten minutes!” Nessa said, her anger gone, and her face bright.

“I… oh. No time for a shower?”

Nessa laughed “Do you see a shower around here? You are funny, friend. I am glad my new creation will keep you alive. Come, let us fit it.”

She turned and ran right into Wimund.

“Ach!” He jumped back “Watch it lass! You almost bowled me over. Where you bringin’ the lad?”

“I am taking him to fit the creation I made. I am certain it will serve him well.”

Wimund sucked through his teeth “Now? I dinnae ken if we’ll reach the drop point in time if you’re busy faffin’ about.”

“Without my faff, he will likely die, violently.” Nessa insisted. Marlo paled as she continued “Frankly, I am surprised he lasted this long. He has been running away from everything, but the luck that has carried him away from Hermes, Benkei, and even one of the ravens must be running low. Thankfully, he knows a craftsman as good as me. My creations can bridge the gap that his luck no longer can.” Wimund looked unconvinced, so she pushed “I promise you, I can have it fitted and operational in five minutes.”

“Promise?”

“Upon my honour as a blacksmith.”

“Then what the hell are you still doing here?” Wimund walked through the pair and slapped them both on the back. “Get fitting, that’s an order!”

Marlo followed Nessa, back into her workshop. The wave of heat blasted him again, but it had abated significantly with the forge now devoid of flame, and he was ready for it this time. Nessa walked behind the forge, and Marlo heard a metallic clank, the sound of her pulling a lever he couldn’t see. In the centre of the room, the floor shifted, the beige carpet splitting, and a coffin-sized and shaped section of dark metal which had lain underneath rising up.

“Quickly friend, lie down.” Marlo did so, as Nessa rootled around under a nearby desk. She turned, and Marlo saw that she was holding in her arms what looked like a turtle shell of leather, threaded with circuitry and metallic threads. It was wide, and had slots for a head and arms as if it would be placed over a torso. Trailing from the back of the leather, and dragging along the floor, were ten long metallic tendrils, each about two to three metres long. They were segmented, and light silver. Each one ended in a large, and equally segmented hand. The entire thing looked incredibly complex. Marlo stared in wonder.

“You made all this in one night?” He took in the intricate stitching, both thread and metallic, the perfect fitting of the arms to the harder material of the back, and the interlocking metal piece, thousands of smaller wedges and cylinders of dozens of shapes and sizes, all making up the arms.

“Yes! My friend needed help, so I had to.” She turned to him, and her face fell. “I meant lie on your back.” She drove a hand under him, and flipped him like a spatula, making him thud into the table. He made an “oof” and tried to move, but she put a hand on his back, and he couldn’t budge,

“The material is thermally bonded non-interval Kevlar fibre, wrapped in leather for additional comfort. It has heating and cooling coils for extremes, and I will be happy to adjust it, should it be necessary. I doubt it though, as I took your measurements while we were riding away from Benkei.”

“You did?” Marlo groaned.

“Indeed. Arms up.” Nessa said. Marlo obliged, and thankfully the pressure on his back lessened as Nessa pulled the vest down. Just like she said, it fit perfectly over the clothes he was already wearing, and he could barely feel any increase in weight.

“Great.” He said. “Now what do I-”

“I have been told I should warn people about this step. So be aware, you are about to experience the greatest amount of pain you ever have for precisely one point eight three seconds before the nerve suppressants kick in.”

“I what-” Marlo started to say before Nessa pulled a metal spike out from its place in the back of the vest and stabbed it directly into the back of his skull. He got halfway through a scream before passing out, as his eyes rolled up in his head, and his whole body erupted into white-hot, blazing agony.

He opened his eyes, and realised his entire body was drenched in sweat. The pain was gone, but his head still ached. He reached up, groaning.

“Did you really have to do that?” His hand touched the back of his scalp and felt blood. Eyes widening, he felt around, until he found the spire of metal embedded in his brainstem and the cords that led from it into the jacket.

“Oh my God!” He yelled, grabbing it.

“Do not pull it out.” Nessa said, now sat on the side of the bench he had been lying on. “Then you will have to go through it again, and I doubt your heart could take another sudden spike.”

“Neither can my head!” Marlo yelled. “Why did you stick a piece of metal in me!”

“Well, it is the only way to connect you to your Armpak, at such short notice. I assumed you could take a second of pain in exchange for this. My apologies.”

Marlo got up, and staggered away, trying to block his view of her with his hands as his mind swam “Look, I just need a second here. My brain is a little preoccupied with the lump of iron you jabbed into it!”

“Oh no, not iron, not nearly conductive enough.”

“I don’t care what it’s made of, I care that it’s in my brain!”

“Why? It is remaking the neurons as we speak, and it appears you are a natural.”

Marlo stared at her, then realised the hands between the pair of them were not his own. Each about twice the size of his own hands, there were ten metallic appendages reaching from over his shoulders and under his arms, making a wall between him and Nessa. He took another step back, and they followed.

“Oh my God…” He breathed “That’s so weird.”

“How so?” Nessa suddenly looked worried “Is it not up to your standards? What is wrong with my product?”

“No, not that, just…” Marlo was amazed. He didn’t need to do or think anything. No buttons, no levers. The arms simply moved where he wanted, when he wanted it. He could use all ten just as easily as he used his real one. “It’s so easy!”

“Oh good. I am glad you like it. And yes, of course, it is easy. I could hardly expect you to learn something more advanced on your second day.” She cleared her throat. “The arms are an ultra-resistant alloy, heat and cold resistant. The brainstem connection allows for conscious and unconscious control. They have a reach of ten metres and-”

The door swung open. Monticello lent in, waved his hand to dissipate some of the heat and called “You two, we’re shipping out now, with or without you. Though I imagine with you, since you probably want to eat, so come on!”

Nessa stepped past him “I will explain as we go. Let us go get some nourishment!”

Marlo snapped out of it, and followed behind, the arms drifting off the ground like the tentacles of a jellyfish. “Sure, but where are we going? I thought there was a bounty on my head?”

“You are. But where we are going, we will all be equally hunted. We are travelling outside Asgard,” Nessa stopped in the doorway and looked back at him, her face alight with excitement “and into the Scourgefields!”

Waiting outside the window for them was Wimund, on a giant bird made of shadow. A second one beat its winds by its side. Marlo recoiled for a second, heart rate spiking as he thought the terrible raven was back. The ten fists coming from his back instinctively raised at the sight of dark wings, and the sight of that, along with the realisation these birds were a lot smaller, calmed him down. Monticello jumped on with Wimund, and the bird they were on backed up, allowing the other one to get closer to the sill. Marlo went first, and the act of standing on the windowsill, and staring down at the dizzying depths below was almost too much for him this soon after waking up. He staggered onto the bird, and collapsed to his knees, gratefully gripping the velvety feathers beneath him. Nessa squeezed through the door and flopped down in front of him, holding her hands up as if she were holding up reins, despite not holding anything.

“You paid off the spider thieves, right Wimund?” Monticello said, reaching over and shutting the window.

“I’ve been told I have.” Wimund shrugged. “Who knows? Not like there’s anything in there they’d want.”

“What about my forge?” Nessa exclaimed. “Everyone in the city would be after that, if they knew.”

“They cannae get a five-ton lump of metal out the window, lass.” The birds lurched away, and Marlo clung on tight as the wind rushed past. The city looked no different from the last time he was out here. It was still a black sky, flooded with lights of all colours, pinks and blues and greens and reds and neon purples slicing apart what should have been a dark night and serving the pieces to anyone willing to come out and buy it. Above them were untold floors of activity, more offices, factories, shops and slum housing, and above all that was a thick orange-brown carpet of smog, blocking out any interference from the sky. Below them were dark streets squeezed in wherever they could fit between the frequent spires. Marlo could see lumpy silhouettes moving on them, even from several hundred floors up. Large, amorphous shadows, much too big shapes to be human, and much too irregular to be vehicles. Marlo’s skin crawled, and thankfully his attention was grabbed by the advertisements they were passing.

There were dozens, in every colour imaginable. Ventilators to reduce smoke, all competing to have the higher amount by 0.0001%, businesses to fix or install new plumbing, air conditioning, heating, cleaning and a dozen other inane minor services that would probably break in a week. Others were like augmented versions of adverts he had seen in the world of the living. For an advert for perfume, a woman ten stories tall leant forwards in a figure-hugging sleek white dress. She tilted herself out of the billboard and kept coming, a gigantic figure made out of billions of points of light. She pulled out a bottle and sprayed it, and a haze of electronic particles flew towards him. When it hit the birds, Marlo could actually smell it, the sweet rich, honeyed layers. The woman winked, and straightened back up, returning to two dimensions, and holding up the perfume bottle.

They pulled ahead, and now the adverts were all cybernetic, enhancements for eyes, arms, legs, spines, necks, skulls, and hips. Half seemed physically boosting, spine braces to allow the paralysed to return to motion, lenses to aid the visually impaired, hearing aids that also styled your hair in line with the latest trends, all what you would expect. But the other half… arms that split into blades, legs with cannons hidden in the knees, hips with extendable bladed whip tails, skulls that became resistant to shock and necks that could swing hard enough to smash through concrete. This was a war economy, and judging by the number of ads, it was booming.

In front of him, he heard Nessa scoff “Tacky.” He followed her gaze. She was glaring at a billboard showing a multi-layered piece of mesh, which was advertising itself as a “Lung filter” guaranteed to repel 98% of all harmful particles from the smog up above. It said they could be stored, refined, and then blown into the faces of “those who wished to infringe upon the user’s privacy.” A small line of text in the bottom right declared “approved by Chalchuihtotolin”, a name Marlo couldn’t recognise, let alone pronounce. He was astonished that this bioweapon was being advertised so freely. Nessa however, had another issue.

“Only twelve layers? That will break down in a week, and then people will not only be breathing those toxins but will have fragments of mesh embedded in their throats. Terribly made, but I suppose that should be expected from Kerlan industries.” She looked around and nodded “Astonishing. The new lung fortification line is also from Kerlan.”

“So they sell them a problem, then the solution?” Marlo asked.

“Indeed. But I can see that these Lung fortifications contain Naphthalene. That attacks red blood cells, so buyers will need the Infusi, a classic Kerlan product that continually cycles blood. I believe the thirty-seventh model just came out and was found to have nanobots inside with the express purpose of weakening leg bones. This makes these people prime prey for Gerrn cybernetics to help their arms and legs work, and would you not know it Gerrn and Kerlan recently had a large merger!” She spat over the side of the bird.

“Friend, there are four organisations that run this city, which own the factories and produce the goods, which regulate food, entry and exit, and who lives and works where. Kerlan, Gerrn, Terass and Sprigol.”

“But you all only ever talk about DVIN. If these corporations are all this bad, why aren’t you moving against them in any way?”

“Those four companies,” Nessa continued “do not exist. They all are DVIN, disguised under layers of shell and ghost companies. They try to hide it with an avalanche of mergers, splits, rebranding and more corporate lies. But each of these companies is simply more of DVIN. Every minor company in this city is DVIN. The gangs in the slums are financed by DVIN. The company our rebellion has given us as a cover is part of DVIN. And while I cannot speak for sure in other cities, I am certain every single company in them is also DVIN. DVIN are king down here. They rule everything. And that cannot be allowed to persist.”

Marlo looked around. She was right. Every advert he saw, regardless of if it was for cybernetics or some other good, he saw the logos. The spiked red writing of Kerlan. The enticing, uneven green lettering of Gerrn. The Bright yellow of Terass. And the cool blue of Sprigol all shone back at him. Even the much smaller adverts, family businesses which made up a small panel of a great catalogue of adverts they flew past, a great mish-mashed collage. Every single one had at the very least “Sponsored by” or “quality assured by” one of the four.

“As long as these people persist, every cybernetic will be made to break, and the cures will be even flimsier. If they try to sue, lawyers enhanced with cybernetics that let them pull any rules from the judicial system and tweak them will take even more from them. That is how things work down here. For a donation of one million rations or R-coins, if the seller does not wish for the discomfort of having to carry one million cans, you may tweak a rule of your choice in the city’s governing for a day. Two million gets two days, and I believe five gets a whole week. The issue is, winning these cases can earn the companies so much money it is always worth it. It is easy to stay at the top, but very expensive to even persist at the bottom. You are lucky to have a mechanic as excellent in her craft as I. With a little care, that Armpak will last forever.”

Marlo looked down. In and around his lap, so light he’d forgotten they were there, were the ten hands, connected to the long arms trailing from his back. They were a much lighter colour than all the ones in the advertisements and looked beautifully made. The arms alone advertised were crude, poorly welded, uneven sheets of metal laid side by side with exposed wiring and rivets sticking out at random.

“I can tell you every alloy, every material, every piece of wiring. I can count the number of times I hit that with a hammer. Certainly, my magnetism made it easier, and faster, but it is a work of love. Harlo, Yoki and Giuseppe are all in that, along with a part of myself. They will keep you safe. Far better than anything here could.”

The arms wrapped around Marlo. “Thank you.” He whispered. “It means a lot.” Nessa nodded, and as they pulled further out of the city, Marlo spent some time getting used to the arms. Just like Nessa said, they could stretch out up to ten metres. They were swift and agile, the multiple segments letting them bend into coils like silver snakes, far more flexible than real arms. Despite the inherent alien nature, he was adapting quickly. It was as if he had always had twelve arms. He found he could even fold them back in, so that only ten hands stuck out of his back, the entire length of the arms collapsing in on themselves like an accordion. His head had also stopped bleeding

“A coagulant.” Nessa informed him “It will stop sending it once your head gets used to the spire. You will likely have to keep it on for a few weeks before you can risk taking it off, unless you want severe blood loss. But then you should be able to attach and detach it at will.”

Marlo couldn’t see a reason to take it off. These things might even be able to carry him, and then he could run away much quicker. Hermes would still be able to catch him of course, but it looked like his job was to stick by that gate. Ten ultra-long arms, which did anything he wanted before he even thought it, in a giant urban jungle… it was a good thing to have.

But, as he looked around, he realised they were leaving that jungle swiftly. They were flying past buildings with decreasing frequency, and the sky was getting brighter. Below them, they flew other a massive thick barricade, coated with marching soldiers and floodlights, shining down into the streets. Marlo turned and tried to see what was in the beams, but the best he could get was a mass of roiling grey flesh, almost like a wax sea. Then they were past the border, and he could actually see the roads below them. The birds turned left and right, following one, until it led them out of the city, and ran along, through light brown ground. It was speckled with dark patches and didn’t look like dirt, more like an endless carpet of auburn leaves, but nonetheless, it was closer to an environment Marlo could understand. The air felt decidedly less poisonous, and the light much more natural. It was a welcome change, a nice reprieve from the constant violence of the sensual bombardment that was the city. The birds looked even stranger in this landscape, blotches of pure shadow moving through the air. They kept flying, hurtling at surprising speed, wind streaming past their passengers as they travelled on and on.

“We’re looking for a large convoy!” Wimund yelled, after a while of silent flight. “Big metal vehicle, heavily armoured, likely floating a few metres off the ground. They’re made to defend from below, so we should be able to get on nae trouble. It’ll have a lot of armour, but Nessa will be grateful for the ammo.”

Nessa nodded, then turned back to Marlo. “Friend, even with your new Armpak, you should stick close to me. The guards in there will likely be Amnes, enhanced. Judging by the fact you seem characteristic of weaknesses the modern world is rife with; you will likely be unable to fight them.”

“What are Amnes?” Marlo asked.

“You will see soon.”

“Okay, then why can’t I fight them? Surely these arms could just keep them at a distance.”

“Stick close to me.” Nessa repeated, laying a hand on his shoulder. Marlo sighed and nodded. Nessa looked past him and gestured. “Soon has arrived. Those are Amnes.”

Marlo looked below him. In the time they’d had this conversation, the landscape had changed, shockingly in both speed and scope. The ground below them had gone from autumn colours to dark, rust-coloured grass. Dotted around everywhere, were grey tree stumps, long since chopped down. Dark fog clustered everywhere, and in the distance, he could see the rough outlines of mountain peaks through them. He could see fires at the top, and if they were so clear from this distance they must have been massive. The sky was darkening once again, returning to its oppressive gloom. It looked completely alien, the rust on the ground making it not quite rural, but everything else dispelling the possibility of urban.

And through it all, wandered those same white splotchy humanoid figures he had seen at the gate. They didn’t look like people, not real ones. More like a child’s approximation, in a drawing, or maybe if they asked one to be described. They were all too thick, too vague, individual body parts hard to discern. Some were too short, others too long. They were mismatched and asymmetrical, their limbs not matching. Marlo found it hard to keep his eyes on any one of them. The gaze seemed to slide off of them as if his subconscious didn’t want to look at them. as they passed over, they stopped their aimless wandering, and looked up at them. They held up their arms and began to wail. At first, Marlo thought it was wordless, a mindless groan of sorrow. Then he listened and picked out individual voices.

“Please… Someone… anyone!”

“Where am I?”

“What is this place?”

“Why can’t I remember anything?”

“How long have I been here?”

“Someone help me!”

“Please… Anyone…”

And then, all at once, in a howling cry that shook Marlo to his core “WHO AM I?!”

He stared down, unable to speak. His eyes were wide, and his hands were shaking. He felt chilled to his core. The voices sounded weak, and so unsure, almost like the people speaking had forgotten what these words meant but were still clinging to them in the vain hope something would change. Their strange appearance, their milling about out here in the wastelands, and now this… It made him feel sick to even think about.

“This is the fate of over two-thirds of all of humanity.” Nessa said, her voice cold and emotionless. Marlo looked at her face but couldn’t read her expression. “It is estimated there are over seventy billion souls wandering these lands. They are herded down here en masse and left to wander for eternity. When I first arrived, there were trees here. Perhaps this is all that Limbo was ever meant to be. The last, sad shreds of a person, stumbling around, searching for the purpose they once had, and never shall again. This is the Scourgefields. In Limbo, if you are nowhere else, if you are no one else, no one who can remember who they once were even remotely, you end up here. The space between spaces, for those with five percent memory and less. The Amnes.”

Marlo shook his head. “But… that’s so sad. All those people… seventy billion, my god. And they can’t be helped?”

“Oh, they can.” Marlo’s head jerked to stare at Nessa. She’d said it so nonchalantly.

“What?”

“Friend, is there something wrong with your hearing? Has the Armpak had an adverse effect upon your cochlear-”

“They can be helped?”

“Indeed. In fact, from what I heard, Benkei came in as one of these.”

“What? How?”

Nessa shrugged “DVIN have their secrets. Those who are valuable to them enter a citadel as an Amne and exit a Hyakku.”

“But… why do these people have to suffer then? Why do they stay out here, in the dark, not even able to remember who they were?”

“It is not profitable to help the sick.” Nessa shook her head “Never has been in the fourteen centuries I have been here.”

“Oh.” Marlo sat back, defeated. He felt a sudden cold lump in his chest. It really was just that simple. “I think… I see why you hate DVIN now.”

“Oh do not mistake us, friend. We are not even remotely altruistic. In the years I stayed out here, I hunted and ate several Amnes.”

“You what?”

“They are remarkably easy prey. We oppose DVIN for our own personal reasons. We do not pretend to be any better, we merely wish to see them lose control.”

Marlo looked around. Flying to the right of them, on the other bird, the others were looking down too. And while Wimund was wearing an expression which looked like pity, Monticello… Marlo blinked. Monticello’s face was twisted in a rictus of biting, venomous rage. He was glowering down at the Amnes and gritting his teeth at their cries. Then, he looked to his right, and for a second, the pair made eye contact. Marlo broke away and almost shuffled to hide behind Nessa. He did not like what he had seen in those eyes. Pure hate, to those who had done nothing to him, and seemingly could do nothing for the rest of their existence.

Marlo didn’t know if they could learn to escape this without treatment. But what if they had forgotten how to do even that? The reason it was so hard to hear voices amongst the clamour was that most of them were howling indiscriminately, unable to remember speech. And if they hadn’t learned from each other after being out here all this time… Maybe there was no hope for them. Nothing beyond DVIN’s mystery method, and that would never reach them. Marlo would prefer hell to this existence, let alone death. At least when being tortured you’d know how to scream. How could anyone hate people as tragic as this? Marlo cemented this image in his mind, trying to make sure he wouldn’t forget it. It wasn’t hard. If he really was trapped fighting DVIN, he had to remember things could always be worse.

After a few more minutes they saw it. A series of snaking metallic rectangular silver carriages, each about the size of a bus. They were each covered in plating and thick metal strips, giving them the appearance of being caged and chained. They floated, several metres off the ground, on large black platforms that undulated hypnotically, coated in oil that rippled up and down, giving the whole thing a shimmering appearance. On the underside of these carriages, large spheres pulsed, sending out waves of light blue energy that struck the ground with a deep hum. It looked to be some gravity-altering mechanism, flattening the grass, and holding the entire vehicle afloat.

On either end of each of the carriages, gun barrels protruded, clusters of three spinning idly, rotating to watch all sides. Marlo watched as a group of Amnes stumbled into the path and closed his eyes as he saw the gun barrels rev up, spinning faster and faster. Even through covered ears, he heard the percussive gunfire, ripping through the Amnes and throwing up dirt from the ground so high he felt it hit him, hot and sandy. He opened his eyes again as he felt the bird rise beneath him. The other one did the same, inclining upwards to avoid those terrible turrets, and get a top-down view. They came up, over the top, and the reality of the situation suddenly hit Marlo. His chest felt tight, and he started sweating. Nessa looked and him and repeated, “Stay close friend.”

“I… I will.”

“No time tae hang about!” Wimund yelled from the other side, over the throbbing roar of the gravity orbs, which had only gotten louder the close they got. The birds were descending now, coming in over the top of the front carriage “We get in, we sweep carriage by carriage for guards, and then we enjoy our nosh! On three everyone!”

Marlo’s palms were sweaty, and as he stood up, the arms on his back rose up to float around him like snakes. He had to put his trust in Nessa’s technology, and Nessa herself. Neither really inspired confidence, he had to admit. The birds had stopped a distance above the carriage, and the others looked like they were getting ready to just drop. Marlo frantically scanned the carriage, and found an area he could land, having these hands grab plenty of plating to stop him from getting hurt, or worse still, falling off.

“Let’s go!” Wimund roared.

They jumped. The fall was about two or three metres, so it wasn’t insane, but Marlo hit the ground wrong and felt pain jolt up his legs. He cried out and failed to get a good foothold. He wheeled his arms, about to fall off the edge, but then the arms on his pack lashed out and grabbed onto the surrounding metal ridges, catching him.

“Thanks.” He panted, reflexively, then coloured and he realised he’d thanked pieces of metal. His legs ached awfully. It didn’t feel like anything was broken, but it hurt just to stand.

The sound of metal tearing made him jump back into attention, and he turned around to see Nessa throwing away a door-sized chunk of metal. As Monticello and Wimund dropped inside, she looked at Marlo, made a “Come on” motion, and leapt in. Inside, Marlo heard yelling, and the sound of gunshots, the loud, frightening bangs made worse by the sounds of bullets rebounding, the high whirring coupled with sharp noises as they hit metal walls. His mouth felt dry, and his plans felt sweaty. Shakily, he took a step forwards, towards the yawning opening, the edges ridged with sharp torn metal like the teeth of some terrible beast’s maw.

The convoy was not going fast, so the wind was nowhere near loud enough to silence the horrible sounds inside. A mix of screeching metal and more fleshy sounds, along with a series of bangs. The gunshots had mostly ceased by now, but the idea of going in there made Marlo shake. He couldn’t do this. What the hell was he doing here, on a train roof, about to jump into a gunfight? The others hadn’t even hesitated, but just the idea of going down there terrified him beyond belief. His head felt light, and a sudden turn of the train made him fall to his knees, hitting the metal roof hard and creating a greater mass of pain inside his legs. He cursed and bit down on his bottom lip. Maybe he could just wait up here? Expecting someone like him to go down there was insane. Even with these new arms, he was just a normal person. The others were different. They were monsters. There was a reason Nessa had asked for him to stay right… behind her.

Marlo jumped in, the extra arms on his back reaching out and grabbing the walls of the train to make sure he didn’t break his legs upon falling. As he did so, the sound of those gunshots played in his head. Sure, those three were tough, but if they took a bullet? He didn’t want to do this at all. His thoughts hadn’t changed in the slightest. But his body was moving without his input, and he was not going to fight it.

When he entered the carriage, the first thing he saw was blood. Lots of it. Covering the floor, sprayed across the walls, drenched along the mangled spires of metal which jutted out at random, and even dripping from the ceiling. It didn’t look like normal blood, too pale, too watery and too omnipresent in this carriage. That, Marlo realised, was because it came from the bodies he saw strewn about the room. The bodies of Amnes. There were two or three dozen just in this bus-sized section alone. Face down in puddles of their own faded blood, impaled on metal spires, slumped against walls with chunks taken out of them. A few hung from the racks up above, or even were stuffed into the ceiling lights. Dozens more pieces of them lay around, half-formed legs, arms and heads. They were all encased in some strange metallic exoskeleton, their sides wrapped in metal rods, and their chests tied up in coils. As Marlo watched, their bodies were slowly fading, becoming transparent.

He found himself a lot less disturbed by these bodies than others that he had seen. He wasn’t sure why, because these clearly had been people too. But their odd shape, their strange blood and colouring, their fading away forms… it was like they weren’t people at all. At that, he felt a hole inside himself. These were people. Or at least they had been. Even as Amnes, creatures that just wandered and wailed, they had once been real people. Each of these had led lives just as complex as his own had been, as his afterlife continued to be.

But of course, they hadn’t remembered any of it. Maybe this was a mercy. He looked further ahead and saw that the next carriage was similarly splattered. Far up ahead, behind the windows of a few closed doors, he could see the large back of Nessa, moving ahead. He sighed, and started to walk, trying to avoid stepping in as much faded blood as he could. It wasn’t hard, as the puddles shrank as he watched, disappearing with the bodies they had spilled from.

This train was nothing like the one he had taken yesterday. The lights were cerulean, and the whole thing had clearly once been clean and clinical. That much was clear, even through the recently applied coating of gore. The few clean stretches of metal were crisp, free of rust and light silver colour. There was none of the terrible grit that had been caked all over the last one. There were no chairs or straps to hang onto but there were racks overhead, close to the ceiling, made of metal bars. On them, strange contraptions sat, some of which Marlo recognised as more of the metal rods he had seen on the bodies. They looked to be adjustable, set to run along a person’s arms, legs and outline, running along a body. The cables looked to be able to change too. Marlo couldn’t work out what they could possibly do though. He was just about to walk past it, when he saw something glinting.

He stopped, turned, and looked closer, getting up on his tiptoes. The Armpak reached up past him, and gripped it, pulling it down. What was held in those arms looked like a mangled deckchair frame, all metallic pipes and cables. But, on the inside of the long metal rods, the rods meant to hug the outline of a person if the bodies that still wore these were anything to go by… their insides were lined with thousands of needles. That was what Marlo had seen glinting. One of rows of rows of needles which jutted out of the metal poised to sink into the flesh unfortunate enough to put it on. He winced at the thought of it, and the big metal hands pulled a rod, lengthening it. Two sections came apart, and inside he found a syringe connected to each needle. Each one was filled with a bubbling light blue liquid, with clouds of fog swirling inside giving it a mesmerising look. Marlo peered closer, and for that reason, didn’t hear the Amne getting up behind him.

Only when it moaned did he turn, eyes widening and pulse racing. In that second, he only had time to take one step back, his gaze seeing a figure missing one arm, their torso twisted unnaturally, and several ribs literally piercing that odd pale, ghostly flesh, still dragged forwards by the metal that was digging into their body. Then, with a wordless scream, the Amne lunged, their arm being pulled forwards so violently Marlo heard it dislocate from the socket, and the fingers trapped around metal slamming into his throat. He was borne to the floor and slammed his head against it, sending waves of sharp burning pain made worse by the fact the other body part to hit the ground was his still injured arm

“Who am I?!” The Amne screamed, spraying bloody spittle into Marlo’s face. His throat felt like it was being crushed, and his whole body was alight with pain. He tried to push them off with his working arm, but the force they were pushing into him was inhuman.

“Everything hurts, what’s happening?” The featureless person howled, as Marlo kicked and spasmed. His Armpak arms were trapped under him, and he felt like he was going to break his back with how hard he was being pushed into them. He had no chance of getting this person off him, so he tried to scream for help, but all that came out was a weak gurgle. His hair was coated in blood, and he had no clue if it was one of the puddles that had already been there, or if this much blood really was gushing from his scalp. He had to get out, or he would be choked or crushed to death.

“Gaaghh.” He managed, throat feeling like he was throwing up fire. No good. No one could hear him. He looked up, and saw that, set into a face made of a material the same colour and appearance as clouds, two very real, very human, and very frightened eyes. Whoever this person had once been, they had as little control over their body as he did over them. These rods, these wires, and the needles that he could see even now stabbing into every part of their body were puppetting them, dragging them around and treating their body with such little care it was breaking under the strain.

“I can’t stop!” The Amne sobbed. “I’m so sorry!” Marlo felt the fingers around his neck break, and the bones start to push into his flesh, furthering the torture for both parties. His vision was going dark, and his whole body was awash with agony. He had to get them off somehow. There was no way he was going to die here, to a nameless person they had forgotten to kill, choked out while their back was turned. No way… none at all. He had to… get them off…

The air was suddenly rended asunder with the sound of tearing metal and rushing wind. Marlo suddenly felt himself falling, out of the Amne’s grip. He fell through the floor of the train, which had been torn open, and looked up, mouth wide and body numb, into the equally shocked face of the Amne. The Arms on his back, the same arms that had shredded the sheet metal of the floor to free him, lashed out. One pair grabbed the edges of the hole he’d fell through, while the others went for the Amne. As Marlo stopped dead mid-fall, two huge hands encased the Amne’s head in their metallic grasp, lifting it off the ground, kicking and screaming. Marlo, suddenly able to breathe, and rushing with adrenaline, barely understood what was happening.

He watched with an odd detachment as the three remaining limbs of the Amne smashed themselves against the silver segments of the arms, uselessly breaking themselves, before being grabbed by two more pairs, the fourth constricting the body like some great serpent. The Amne’s screams were muffled, partly by the sudden distance he felt towards the situation, partly due to the sudden influx of other sounds, and partly due to the thick piece of metal placed over their face. Then, with a dull horror that quickly sharpened as he realised he couldn’t stop it in time, he realised the hands connected to his back were still gripping, still pulling, and still crushing.

The Amne, the creature that had once been a human and had begged for his help and forgiveness, burst in his grip, coming apart like paper torn apart. Gore splattered down onto him, and as he threw up his hands and screamed, the arms that gripped the sad remains of the head unclenched, and a red slurry of brain, bone and blood rained down on him, getting into his eyes, up his nose, and even in his mouth. He fell, and even as the arms, on autopilot reached out below him and stabbed their fingers into the soil, stopping him from harming himself, he was throwing up.