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The Forge of Fire

Draft 5

By Joe

Inspired by the works of the legendary

Pink Floyd

Budgie

Iron Maiden

Black Sabbath

David Bowie

And maybe one Rob Zombie song.

Thanks for all the great tunes, guys. Couldn't have done this without you.

Intro

The Forge of Fire

“In this forge, we live our lives for the good of each other.

And for each other, we may suffer.

Never to yield, our loved ones will fight by our sides.

In this forge, we raise our young to follow in our footsteps.

No matter the shoes they need to fill.

They will prosper in the way we have before them.

In this forge, we wait for the Goddess to answer our call.

The one whom we believe in may not even know of our presence,

But we will press on for her, as it is her fires which we occupy.

In this forge, we reach for the stars with unrelenting wanderlust.

To further expand from our burning home, our kiln.

Waiting to explode with the technological advancements that may boost us to those dizzy heights.

In this forge, we prepare our shields for the endless conquest.

As there are those who seek to cool our kiln,

And take the forge as their own.

In this forge, we stand tall and defend our home with unending care and compassion.

For it is our young that we must protect.

Not only our young, but our people, and their people.

In this forge, we stoke the fires of life

Where they will burn from here until eternity

And if eternity should fail,

May the Goddess help us all."

“Ever since time began, the will of the Goddess has been to keep the living alive, and the dead down. It is the mantle taken up by those individuals deemed ‘fearless’ to carry out that will. For they do not fear death, but death wallows in terror as it sits in the shadow they cast. They hold the power to attain the glory that others would never dream of. To beat death until it may no longer be beaten. And when the dead rise, it is the duty of those deemed ‘fearless’ to bring them back to their graves.”

—-Khana M.

Act 1

A Foreign Feeling

Chapter 1

Leeroy Heartwell

I can hear the sounds of birds outside, singing their primal songs of the evening. They're free, but hungry. For almost my whole life, I’ve seen many families of birds come to the nest outside my boarded up window. There’s a crack, allowing me to just barely gain a view of them, but only if I put my face right up to it. They come, lay their eggs, then their young hatch, and they grow. Once the time comes, and the young fly from the nest, the parents will leave, allowing other birds to come in. Watching them makes me wonder about the world beyond this room. My caregiver says it’s bad to go outside. That I could be hurt, or worse. Killed. Of course, I believe her. Elly would never lead me astray. I don't think she's capable, being what she is. Still, I love these birds. I even named them. Started doing it a while ago, and have since never stopped. The current batch is a family of two, with a clutch of eggs. I can never tell how many eggs, since I can only see the bottom of the nest and whatever pokes out the top. The male, cornelius, is a studious character. He’ll often investigate anything and everything he can, including the boards that cover my window. Then there’s his partner, Olga. A stoic warrior, willing to protect her young with all her might. She’s fought off countless rodents, hostile birds, and even a snake! Truly, she is a master of battle.

Air flows through the boards that cover up the glassless windows of my tenament, making me blink and turn back to reality. My home only has two rooms, consisting of a living space, and a bathroom, whose lock doesn't work. I still make due with what I have. In terms of entertainment, the birds and my caregiver are plenty. Some would say that this is truly hell. Me? I’m okay with it. There are better places I could live, but this isn’t the worst.

Speaking of my caregiver, Elly Heartwell stands by the counter, preparing some of the rations we receive on a weekly basis. She's given up some of her own rations so I may eat and grow strong, though the food we have is barely enough to keep me fed. May the Goddess above bless her kind soul. Because of this severe lack of sustenance, I’ve grown to be about five and a half feet tall at my current age. Elly says that's bad. “A growing human requires a lot of food,” she once told me.

The two fleshy antennae that lie atop her head twitch and swivel in the air. They pick up frequencies that someone like myself could never even dream of hearing. Though one must wonder, what does she hear all the time? Never once has she ever properly elaborated on her receptions. Though I'm sure she has her reasons.

As she stands, Elly has to stretch her neck forward just to keep from bumping her head against the ceiling. Goddess, I feel sorry for her, all cramped up in this room. If only we had more space to move around, at least in our own home. She shouldn’t have to go outside every time she wants to stand up straight. Just wish there was something I could do to help her. Every time I try, she shuts me down. Admittedly, her attempts to do so are very polite. She’s as strong as a tank. For that, I love her like a mother. At the same time, I can’t stand it.

Never once have I seen her show too much happiness, or too much sadness. There's a state that she deems to be “just enough” for everything, and that's how she remains. All of that tends to be useful when the Vizier's officers come and do their weekly inspection of our home, but others are not so lucky. Just one moon ago, our nextdoor neighbors--who were a family of three Sirin--were taken from their home. I heard every last bit of it in brutal detail through my apartment's walls. The father of the family tried to resist, said he was tired of all these constant checks and invasions of his privacy. A single, air-piercing gunshot later, and all that followed was screaming and the stomping of boots. I cried for them that night. Elly remained silent in her place of rest. She's used to it by now.

Elly's slender, shavii-inherited body adjusts itself in place, piercing the wood beneath her two needle legs. Her hands are of a similar fashion, also coming to points. “You know, Leeroy,” she says, dumping a spoon into a bowl of gruel and starting to mix. Her hand-mounted levitational devices allow her to do so with ease. “Your nineteenth birthday is tomorrow.” The shav's vocalization sounds out from her rapidly vibrating antennae.

I briefly cease my curiosity of the world beyond the boards to gaze over at her. “You're still keeping track of that?”

Elly is from a distant planet called Earth, where she says people track how old they are by years. Here on Setolvia, ancient migrants from Earth tried to transfer their yearly system over, but it didn't seem to stick. In the past, or at least the last time I can remember, Elly told me she was two thousand one hundred and twenty seven years of age. Considering how old I'm supposed to be, that must make her really old, like really, really old. “Well…” she stammers, lifting the bowl off the counter. “It is nice to have some sort of reason to celebrate around here, correct?” She carefully transports the container of gruel across our apartment, handing it to me. It's cold, lifeless even. Though food is food, and I have to eat somehow.

I look up from the gruel at Elly's featureless face. The only organs on said face, her pitch-black eyes, stare through me. Meanwhile, the afternoon starlight that creeps through our window shines down upon her bleach-white, membranous skin. “Truly, you never know when you will be capable of celebration again, so you might as well take part when you can.” Ever since they first existed, Shavii have been able to reprogram their brains at will. As such, they dedicate a great amount of concentration to staying upright. So much so that to make it a subconscious effort, they have to sacrifice feeling most emotions. Since they originated from the weightless depths of space, it only makes sense that they're not used to standing in a gravitational environment.

Elly sits across from me at our uneven table. She leans forward, prompting a creak from her chair as her knees monstrously hang a good few inches above the tabletop. “I guess you're right” I reply, reluctantly taking the spoon out of the gruel, scooping a bit, and shoving it into my jaw. It tastes just the same as all the other food I've ever eaten, bland. Slowly, I swallow the disgusting paste down. “So what do you have planned for it?”

The shav's eyelids raise, only momentarily breaking her usual expression of pure stone. “That is a secret, and I personally doubt you will correctly guess what this secret is.”

A multitude of assumptions rip through my mind. Maybe she smuggled me a gift? Or maybe she made me something? I know she can't take me anywhere. There's nowhere to go. Everything in this dreaded containment facility is exactly like my home. People struggling to keep themselves fed while the Vizier sits up there in his tower, living the life of a demigod. I guess that's just how it goes for those like Myself and Elly. “If I had to guess...” I pause, waving the spoon in the air.

Before I can even finish my thought, Elly interrupts me. “You do not have to guess, so stop that fruitless estimation and eat your meal.”

Like before, I take another spoonful of the gray slop and reluctantly shove it in my mouth. Goddess, it tastes awful. That reminds me, maybe she was able to obtain some real food? Not sure how, but there's still a slim chance.

Elly lets out a long sigh. She's not made to be cooped up in this tiny home. Her species is meant to roam free amongst the stars. It is said that shavii like Elly have a natural wanderlust, a need to explore their surroundings. For ages upon ages, shavii have been traveling through space and fulfilling their prime directive. They’re supposed to spread their species as far as they can. Their method for this is dropping off little away teams on unknown worlds, like Earth once was. I wish I had that drive, that passion to see the unseen. Even if I could, there's so many worlds out there that I’d never have the chance to witness every last one. Why even try? Better off staying at home and living happily with what little I have.

The room remains still as I continue to spoon the disgusting gruel into my mouth. Elly's antennae twitch. They're turned away from the table and toward the brittle door of our home. Both of them seem to jerk about above her head in a certain rhythmic motion, to the point where I'd estimate there to be roughly half-second long intervals between each twitch. I stop eating for a moment, setting the spoon down in the bowl as I swallow what remains. “What're you hearing?” I ask in a hush.

She stays quiet for a moment, folding her arms on the tabletop before responding in a tone that's just as hushed as my own. “Footsteps. Heavy ones. I would advise ignoring them for now, but they are coming this way.”

In response, I nod and keep scooping away at the slop in my bowl. Now that she mentions it, I notice a faint stomping that didn't seem to be there before. It’s distant, way too far for me to know it was there without Elly's inherited hearing ability. Probably would've been way too late by the time I finally noticed.

She leans back against the wall, leaving her hands in her lap as she takes a deep breath. She's thinking. Thinking rather hard, I might add. Sure, she thinks like anyone else would, but sometimes she just has to stop acting and start turning those mental gears if she wants to keep herself collected. Every moment in this walled-off city-scape is worrisome, yet somehow Elly manages to be calm, almost as if she were asleep. A long time ago, I asked her if all Shavii do this. She told me that some of them do, and those are the ones who stay alive.

The far off clomps grow even closer, but they’re still too distant to hear clearly. I hope they're not for us. Oh Goddess, what're we supposed to do if they are? Sweat drips from my brow at the mere thought of their intrusion. Last time didn't go too well. Elly almost lost it when the Vizier's crews came in and turned the whole place upside down. I could practically see steam emanating off her head as the previous corporal just stood there, running his tirade on me while his officers did their work. Flashes of the things he said and the things he did race through my conscience as the footsteps grow ever closer. I dare not repeat them.

All of a sudden, the footsteps stop. It’s as if the entire tenament complex has gone silent. No birds chirping, no wind, not even the sobs of dwellers make themselves heard. Such prolonged lack of noise could easily drive someone insane. Only the sound of three knocks are able to break the gripping quiet. Three knocks on our door.

Elly stands up, looking toward the entry as her chair adjusts to the lack of weight. She walks to our door with a precise gait, her slow footsteps making a sound similar to knives being stabbed into wood. Carefully, and almost reluctantly, my mother uses her levitational equipment to grip the door's rusty handle. She then twists, pulling it toward her to see what lies on the other side. Surely enough, it is a female corporal with a good six officers standing behind her. She is a Sirin. A rather restrained one, at that. Hell, it looks like she's never even seen the sky, let alone fly like her ancestors did. A pointed, yellow beak protrudes from the front of her head. All of her other facial features are obscured by a spherical helmet, which consists of a black, mirrored visor and plastic of the same color. A shotgun, holstered upside down hangs from her waist. Her expression is almost as raw and emotionless as Elly's. The rest of the officers behind her wear similar garb, the only difference being a symbol signifying the varying ranks on all their shoulders.

Elly doesn't say a word, while the corporal just stares at her from the ground. Breaking her gaze, she turns around to face her squad. “Alright, officers!” squawks the sirin. “You know what to look for, so move!” Her squad of soldiers files past her, shuffling into our apartment. The corporal turns back to Elly, staring up at her once again. She's practically a midget when standing next to my gargantuan shavii mother, but so is anyone else who dares to cross her path. “Don't worry, shav. This won't be long.”

Elly just crosses her arms and huffs, like a bull about to charge.

Each member of the squad fans out across our tenament. Two are looking under the couch, one is checking our cupboards, another is reaching into Elly's floor-bound mattress, and one more investigates a space in the floorboards. Each of them alternates, looking in places where others may have missed something.

Eventually, her officers make their way into the bathroom. I can only assume that they're looking for anything we may have flushed. The corporal strides over to me with her wings folded behind her back. If I were to stand up next to her, then she would be at least a foot taller than me. “Enjoying your rations, boy?” she asks, standing on one leg and resting one of her talons on my shoulder. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her claws glint in the light that creeps through our windows. Razor sharp, made to kill.

Not even bothering to look back at her, I nod. Worry solidifies in my eyes while the rest of my expression remains as blank as I can possibly make it. “Good!” she exclaims, shoving me with the flat part of her talon. “Your former neighbors worked hard to make it.”

I almost shudder at the thought of this vicious murderer making casual conversation with me, but I know that doing so will probably have me killed. Again, I don't respond.

“Good thing I chased ‘em out last night, right?” she laughs. “Wouldn't want ‘em to do anything irrational, now would we?”

Elly has now managed to sneak up behind the corporal, out of her line of sight. Acting as quick as she can, my mother lifts the sirin’s claw off my shoulder. She holds it with the blunt end of her hand, suspending the talon in the air. “That will be enough.”

The sirin's head swings toward her. Again, it is hard to tell if she's worried or not, due to the mirrored visor. All of a sudden, she takes to the air, beating her wings in an effort to hover while throwing smog-colored feathers all over our tenament. “You will unhand me this instant, shav!” she shouts, using her free grappler to seize her shotgun off its holster. Before she can even raise it, Elly bats at the shotgun in the corporal’s claw, causing her to accidentally fire it straight through the bathroom door. Several startled shouts ring out from inside the chamber. The gun is flung from her claw, sending it soaring across the room. “Leeroy, please take hold of the firearm and watch the bathroom door” Elly commands. I hurriedly stand up from my chair and pick up the weapon. My hands grip the handle. It feels… right in a way. Like I was meant to do this. I pull on the cocking mechanism. Once it’s all the way back, I push it forward. The two combined motions prompt a satisfying “chk-chk”. Elly ravels both the corporal’s talons around her arms. The levitative fields won’t allow for the kind of strength Elly has physically, so she must resort to more… creative methods. The bird thrashes, squawking as her former torture pet shatters both of her femurs at the same time. Sirin bones tend to be fragile, so she must not have had too much trouble in breaking the corporal like a twig. I shudder, keeping my new shotgun trained on the door while Elly keeps breaking every last one of the bird’s bones. Forgive me, my Goddess, for her screams sound so good. The sweet, succulent shrieks of vengeance for our fallen neighbors spreads across our complex. The sound has become rather normal for us, but now it’s different. Now we're the ones making them scream, not the other way around. After breaking her wings, her legs, and all of her ribs, Elly ends the sirin's suffering by thrusting her pointed fist straight through her neck, causing the vile avian to go limp.

The officers are still alive on the other end of the bathroom door. A vague whisper breaks through. “This is officer Tito, eight hundred fifty fourth division. I have two wounded, and my corporal is dead. I repeat, I have two wounded, and my corporal is dead. Send backup immediately.”

I keep my gun pointed at the door, ready to pull the trigger at an instant's notice. Not a chance I'll let a single one escape on me. It'll be like shooting fish in a barrel.

“Leeroy, please let them be” says Elly, approaching me from behind and placing a bloodied point on my shoulder. This drags me out of my bloodthirsty trance. What was I thinking? Shooting fish in a barrel? It's almost like I'm no better than that corporal. “We must evacuate immediately.” Elly’s hulking points spin me around by my shoulders. She then pushes me toward the open front door of our apartment.

The shotgun falls out of my hand as I jog beyond the threshold, and my legs hang a left out into the long, dimly lit corridor. Behind us is the sound of someone beating on wood, probably ramming a door down and bolting out into the hall. Elly runs alongside me as I reach a full sprint, making sure to keep my speed with her monstrous stride. The pangs of gunshots ring out in the long hallway, causing some of the lights to flicker, and others to break. A few of the shots impact with the hall’s carpet behind us, softening their blow with miniature clouds of fibers and dust. I let out multiple shaky breaths, both from need for air and worry that I may be struck. Need to keep running. More shots and some radio chatter fill the hall as we pass several pathways that intersect with our own. Thank the Goddess no one leaves their homes in curiosity of what's causing all this ruckus. They would probably be treated as mere obstacles by the wave of officers, doomed to be gunned down and tossed aside. That low-life, good for nothing Vizier has been torturing us for what Elly says is decades now. He just sits up there in his spire and watches with glee as we writhe in the pain he's wrought. I've never seen him, nor has Elly. Those who’ve laid their eyes upon that creature are said to never see the light of day again. In a way, we all fear it.

I can see the end of the hall. A pair of rusty double-doors sit at the final terminus. Hung above the egress is the Vizier’s symbol for “exit” in flickering, white light. The symbol is reminiscent of the sloped head of an arrow, pointed downward toward the doorway. “Please, continue to run. It is imperative that you refrain from stopping.” Elly demands. I nod as she increases her speed, sprinting ahead of me. Little clouds of microscopic fibers explode off the carpet floor with each of her pointy strides.

Once at the door, Elly stops, but I keep running. What if she can’t do it in time? I feel like the Vizier’s troops would have us dead if we waste even a fraction of a second.

She reels back, and I continue my pace. Behind me, I hear more radio chatter and some shouting. The shots have ceased now.

At long last, Elly kicks the doors down, creating the almost mythical sound of metal being folded like a piece of paper around her devastating point. One of the doors falls off its hinges, clanking on the ground, while the other--the one Elly actually kicked--is sent flying in a bullet-like fashion, straight into one of the Grand Vizier’s Buzzard crafts. The aircraft has a sloped body. Its shape is vaguely similar to the Vizier's tower, located at the very center of this containment facility. It was waiting for anyone attempting to leave. Good thing it wasn’t waiting for this. The door eviscerates the ship’s outer hull, penetrating straight through the cockpit, and killing the pilot. It then breaks through to the ship’s fuel tank, causing the floating craft to burst into a few large chunks of fiery metal.

The glorious, heavenly starlight of Setolvia's main celestial body shines through the now busted egress. It reflects off Elly's skin and illuminates the hall. Setolvia’s natives decided it would be funny if they named the star something simple, so they called it “E”. I sort of like that title. Straight to the point, no messing around.

She heaves her body forward, starting to run again. I sprint past her and stop once I’m out on the rooftop. The explosion caused some of the already crumbled building to fall apart, creating a hole in some poor person’s ceiling. Seeing as there’s really nowhere for us to go, I turn around and look for another way out. Just as I’m about to start running in the opposite direction, Elly swings a hooked arm out toward my body, easily grappling me. She carries me in her arms with little to no effort. Her face remains in that stone state while she hurls herself out over the building’s edge. My stomach jumps, and we accelerate towards the ground. The smoldering remains of that Buzzard lie below. With the wind blowing through my hair, I scream in terror. Elly, on the other hand, braces for impact. In the midst of freefall, she quickly spins, her back turning toward the broken craft. Our building becomes a blur, we descend faster and faster, I scream for the impact to be softened, but all of a sudden, it seems to come to a complete halt. Elly contacts with the sloped body of the Buzzard, tucks herself into a roll, then stands back up on solid ground. She then sprints off, with me safe in her arms. Leaning up against the shavii’s barren chest, I feel her heart. It’s beating like some kind of meaty drum.

Light from E reflects off all the Vizier's metallic structures around us, and the familiar smell of tar fills my nostrils. Sirens sound, giving way to swarm upon swarm of drones and fighters that deluge from the distant central tower. Despite the amount of officers on their way, Elly's face remains as calm as it was when she jumped off our roof just a moment ago. She just stares straight ahead, the pointy tendrils atop her skull tilted upward. They twitch at the sounds of nearby gunfire. Her heart is relaxed, beating as if she were asleep. I frantically look around, finding it hard to take my eyes off the countless squadrons of Buzzards headed our way. All the troops have been sent in to clear out our building, while the rest take to the skies and wipe out strays. I guess we're the strays today. It’s almost like a waterfall of metal is raging out from the tower’s inmost seams. In contrast, the severe lack in people on the street gives me a feeling of great unease. Makes me wonder what the average day on these roads is like. Is it always this dead out here?

The black-top pavement has a plethora of cracks in it, accumulated over time from Goddess knows what. All the concrete buildings on this street don't look much better than our own, or the street for that matter. Some are a little broken with a few chunks missing here and there, though their structural integrity is mostly intact. Others are broken to mere bits and pieces, leaving full hallways open to the air. I never really had the chance to see any other buildings. Elly always ran errands for the two of us while I stayed inside, sheltered from where the Vizier's troops would normally see me. Sure, I've witnessed E’s beauty many times. In fact, I would often visit our rooftop just to have a bit of light on my otherwise pale skin. Elly told me that when she first found me, I was naturally darker. It was as if the Goddess of Fire herself had scorched my young skin. Sadly, time has robbed me of my tan exterior, giving way to a bleak shade of beige.

Halfway between our former home and the outer wall, the first squad of Buzzards descends upon us. Elly swings her gaze behind, seeing that we have five of them on our tails. The rest are hovering up ahead, waiting to make their bombing run. Elly leans in close to me as she increases her speed. “Leeroy, you will start running when I tell you to do so. Do you understand?” she asks, still acting rather calm. I shakily nod in response. Watching the sky behind us, I see the formation of Buzzards inching closer to firing range. “three…” she says while I brace. No holding back now. I have to run ‘till my legs give out. “two…” the guns that are mounted on the Buzzard's noses start to rev, creating a whirring noise. May the Goddess have mercy. “One… Leeroy, you may now begin to run.” Elly says as I leap from her arms and into my sprint, which remains far inferior to her’s. She slows down, using a serpentine-like movement pattern. This allows her to dodge fire from multiple Buzzards at once. Elly reduces her speed to a trot. I try my hardest to mimic her pace, but her light jog is still my full sprint. The group sails right out over our heads. They probably didn't think about a decrease in speed from their targets. All the squad members turn in tandem with one another, stopping to join their comrades in the bombing run. The roar of what I estimate to be at least forty jet engines sounds out, echoed and amplified by the containment facility's buildings and walls. They all combine to create a wail unlike anything else in this world, and we're running straight for it. Over our heads they go, causing my hair to fly in their gales. Several explosions sound out behind us as the first few pilots miss their targets, but I don't dare turn around.

Just keep running.

Elly is weaving in and out of Buzzard paths, while I stay in my straight line. Weaving like she is could really slow me down.

The second wave of Buzzards roll in, screaming over us just like the last bunch. This time, they're more accurate, though they still miss. I can feel the heat from the explosions impact on my back, but I must keep going. Just as the second wave trails off, the third wave rolls in. The ships rip across the sky, like heads of arrows armed with explosives. As the third wave rolls over, their bombs are close enough to make me stumble a bit. The blaze tears across my clothes, making me sweat more and more as the seconds go by. Elly remains strong though. Her will is as tough as nails, like it always has been.

Almost to the wall, but the fourth and final wave shrieks by. Before I even have the chance to leap out of the way, a bomb hits the ground near me. It sends waves of infernal heat through my body, almost like someone is trying to burn the flesh off my muscles, and my muscles off my skeleton. I fall on my stomach, ears ringing.

My vision remains black as I feel the wind wrack my hair and burnt clothes. Nothing is left. At least it doesn't feel like I have anything left. Elly. She must have lived. No way would she just roll over and die on me. Maybe I would give out on her, which is what I'm pretty sure is happening now. My vision seems to light up, but I don't feel like I've opened my eyes. The light is a bright white, ever expanding over a black vignette. I focus on the image, making it less blurry as the seconds go by. Then it comes into view; the majestic form of a woman made of flame. She bears no mouth on her face, just a pair of eyes that dig into my soul like knives. Just like Elly, though these are different. They’re not black. Rather, they shine with a light that’s brighter than E. Her hair is a mass of fire, stretching high into the blue sky above her. Is-is this Deika? Have I finally gone and met the Goddess? In an attempt to figure out what's going on, I try to speak up to the corona in front of me. “Am I dead?”

The massive being folds her arms with a graceful slowness, looking down upon me. “Almost, young warrior” Warrior? What's that supposed to mean? “But it is here that you have come, where you have been before, where you will go again. You are not done yet, warrior” she nods to herself, placing a hand on her chin. "I would love to meet with you in due time. If only I had such a precious resource." She removes her hand from her chin, then looks down upon me, her eyes stare into my soul. “No, you will go back. You have work to do, and your time for eternal relaxation is not yet here.”

It is then that Deika fades from my vision, giving way to blue skies, peppered with a few clouds here and there. I feel something running along the top of my back and clinging to my shoulder, and another something supporting my knees as they jiggle in the air. Looking to my left, I see Elly! She came back for me! Though something feels off about her. She displays an expression of worry, something I've never seen her do before. I shift my head farther to the left, catching a glimpse of four buzzard bombers speeding toward us with maximum thrust. Finally, I throw my gaze all the way to the right. Elly is still bolting toward the wall, at least a hundred feet from it now. She looks into my eyes, then back at the wall, stopping in her tracks.

I jerk my torso up in her arms. “Elly!? What are you doing?”

She doesn't respond. Her face reddens as a single tear drops from her eye. Her levitational grips shift on my body, raising me above her head with the same ease she had when she picked me up on the roof.

“Elly?” I ask again. No response. She reels back, her muscles tightening. The Buzzards are upon us, revving their heavy machine guns