Chapter 2 -> Smoke and mirrors

Ears perking, the tiny mouse turned up its snout to find the source of its disturbance. Hidden in shadowed corners and under ruined furniture or rotting cloth, dozens of other rodents mimicked. After a moment they gave up their search, but by then the near-invisible figure had slipped through their sanctuary.

Two bright blue lights flickered for an instant and a black form slid along the corridor towards a point of light a few hundred meters down the abyssal, abandoned hallway. Then the shadow and the blue starlights slid around a corner. From the perspective of the intruder, gliding snakelike towards it, the glowing pinprick did grow into an imposingly empty doorway, its dull gray light looking blindingly intense in the relative blackness. In truth, the minimal light filtering in through the door was a sickly blend of two moons’ reflections and a distant, dying yellow street lamp. Still, for the hunched form who slunk towards it, this was the light at the end of the tunnel.

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Bathed in a familiar, pale, yellow, artificial glow, an olive-skinned Human let a worn and patch-covered trenchcoat slip off his shoulders. His lips were turning blue, and the Mediterranean-tanned skin showing through his ripped and torn garments showed the genetic carry-over from better insulated ancestors. Scratching at the tiny bumps, Ayaroko Hyuga looked across the street into a narrow alleyway.

Hope Mirko isn’t getting cold in there...

She doesn’t, remember? We might be able to ignore it, but she just doesn’t feel it.

Shaking his head with a sad smile, Ayaroko pulled the coat up over his faded red tee-shirt. Even for the unfeeling Human, there was comfort in covering oneself. That thought floating through the black void of meditative thought, a pure white light cut through the gray misted air.

Mirko Kusotari’s blue-white skin gripped a shining blade, signaling her lookout. And lover. He jumped to his feet, but then regained his composure and slipped into the mists down the wide street, hugging the shadows. Mirko grinned, and stepped cautiously out into the alley. A single night-bird flew from the warehouse’s three meter high ledge deeper into the city, leaving a black trail of clear air behind it. Mirko turned her attention back to the spot where Ayaroko had disappeared, and strained to hear any sign of his return. Taking another step forward, Mirko entered the eerie illumination of night-time’s fog. She nervously smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from her skin-tight pants. The clothes did not leave much to the imagination, covering only the uniform pale tone of her skin. Their shape, especially in the frigid night air, showed more than it concealed. Though the garments lacked the lustre of cured black leather, they were as slick as their organic inspiration. A pair of blue tinted lenses adorned her masked face, determined black eyes peering out from under them. Mirko pulled back her hand from the black cloth, her slender fingers covered by the same material up to the last joint, showing just a centimeter of near-white flesh. She ran her fingertips over the few dozen pinholes allowing her to breath, then dropped them to her side.

A low rumble grew as a bright light approached, white mingling with red in the swirling mists. The lights drew up to a stop at the end of the alley, and the rumble of an engine became clear. A helmet flew from the alley’s mouth, and Mirko, catching it but not donning it, climbed onto the idling motorbike. When there was no reaction from the driver, Mirko grudgingly pulled on the black helmet and wrapped her arms around Ayaroko’s middle. The vehicle bore the two riders into the depths of the night seconds before dozens of pursuing soldiers opened fire into the narrow alleyway.

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Mirko tossed the helmet over her shoulder and carefully removed the tinted glasses and dull black mask covering her unnaturally pale complexion. She shook her waist-length raven hair free of the mask and threw it onto the bed. As she twisted her arms towards the zipper on her back, Ayaroko wiped a trickle of blood from his nose. “Do you really have to wear that in public?” He seemed to pause for a moment, examining his own choice of clothing. “It’s bad enough you insist on risking yourself and not letting me do anything to help, but do you have to do it half-naked?”

As if to illustrate her companion’s inquiry, the Inhuman laid her shirt down on the bed. “I’m not half naked,” she looked down and added “in that.” He smiled at the qualifier. “It covers every inch of my body.”

“You know what I mean! but more importantly, how come I had to sit there tonight wondering if I’d ever see you again? if one of us has to get ourselves killed, it’s gonna be me!”

A dangerous glint reflected off of Mirko’s eyes. “Oh?” A pair of boots and gloves joined the shirt and mask. “And what makes you think I’d allow anyone else to take the risks?”

“I didn’t say anyone else, just me. It’s not like I’ve got anything to live for at all besides you,” starting to slip out of his own clothes, he paused to pull his shirt over his head. “you’d still have your ‘mission.’”

“Hyuga, OUR mission is to make life in Cedya more livable,” she was now completely naked, her bluish white skin not showing the slightest evidence of the cold. “And military rule or no, love is the only reason I bother. I love you,” she kissed him lightly on the cheek, “and I like the prospects of peace and freedom. But love is what makes any of it matter.” She walked past him to the water closet “so I’ll keep having fun with the police, and I’ll keep wearing this so YOU can have fun.”

Ayaroko’s slow rebuttal was drowned out by the couple’s apartment shower. Sighing, he debated prolonging the argument. I am getting... rather... sick of word games. maybe in the morning. As if on cue, the soft red sun broke over the artificial horizon of buildings and monuments, bridges and catwalks. The city’s universal time piece, nostalgically and fondly referred to as just “Ben” was brilliantly outlined by the crimson morning star’s reflection on the low cloud canopy. Squinting out at the 10 meter wide clock, the sickly young human grumbled. …Bloody dawn at quarter to 5.” He yawned. “Get some sleep ‘afore we have another bloody ‘mission.’”

Stripped to the waist, the Human fell onto the neatly-made bed and buried his face in a pillow.

Kyare, wake me up in an hour or two?

Sure thing Aya.

Drifting off into a fitful sleep, Ayaroko Hyuga was dimly aware of the water stopping, and the smiling girl who climbed into bed next to him, her soft, well-meant jests mingling with the dozens of other voices whispering in the Human’s tired mind.

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For Ayaroko, being asleep was the same as waking, only there were fewer distractions. He stood in a mist of swirling colors, recessing greens and blues yielding to the chittering, pulsing, yellow clouds. A puff of black occasionally surfaced, pure hatred and bloodlust trying to break through to him. Little bursts of red fear and anger danced in tiny rings with the conscious thoughts seeping bright violet from the other mists. A shining silver fog would float through now and then, taking shapes of Mirko’s bright smile as she watched him sleep, or of the soft, velvety feel of the sheets in the double bed.

But these were all just imagery; mental projections of the white Human shapes as they tried stalking each other, only to lose their respective trails as their quarry disappeared around a corner that was never there, or behind some wildly shaped tree whose branches twisted and creaked like a swarm of descending locusts. They hunted silently, alone, as if expecting an ambush at each corner. And likely there was, for each pulsing white form would not hesitate to devour the next, seeking favor with the Two, Kyare and Ayaroko, or at least the current Ayaroko. For a moment, Ayaroko’s attention was caught by a pair of familiar forms circling, teeth bared, but he looked away as they were ripped apart by two others, clawing deep into the imaginary flesh of exposed and unprotected backs.

Turning instead to Kyare, Hyuga sighed. What’s wrong with my life, Kya?

Aw, poor Aya-kun. The girl shifted unconsciously to her dragon form. Mirko’s just devoted. She’s devoted to you too, but freedom was her first love.

...Freedom...

She’s never known freedom like you have, Aya.

Now you’re just being ludicrous. My freedom’s been just as limited as anyone on Cedya. I’ve lived here under martial law my whole life--

And SHE’S lived in captivity for most of her life. Don’t you get it, Hyuga?! She’s trying to save everyone-- you especially-- from going through what she had to. She’s doing it for you. Not for herself.

The form that was Ayaroko Hyuga’s mind looked down at the imagined ground beneath him, trying to find some rebuttal of his lover’s selflessness.

Well? Why do you have to be so difficult? She wants nothing more in life than your approval of her cause... you are her “inspiration” after all. Returning to human form, Kyare chuckled. Besides, she just wears those outfits so you’ll associate her excursions with pleasure...

Kyare!

It’s true. She’s a dabbler I psychology, remember? Nonetheless, the guardian smirked.

Hyuga growled.

Sighing, Kyare continued. Aya, she loves you more than anything. Why do you have to make things hard for her? She... Loves... YOU.

The man let a small smile grace his lips. I know she loves me, and I love her. but why can’t she let me take the risks if they have to be taken?

Because you refuse to have any part of it! Can’t you see that she’s begging for you to join her? She’s hurt that you want to replace her! ...Hyuga, eventually you have to wake up.

Eyes snapping open, the physical being turned, peering through the dark at his companion. Even before his eyes adjusted, Ayaroko unconsciously matched Mirko’s restful breathing. Sighing, he brushed a stray, long, black hair from her face. Not today, Kya-san. Not today.