What emotions do people like me feel?
A lot, actually.
Many portrayed us as emotionless husks. Again, not true. We weren’t completely devoid of emotions—I was certain I wasn't—but we do experience it differently than normal people. That was the reason I called some of my emotions as ‘approximations’.
I also couldn’t hold a specific emotion for long, like I couldn’t hold a grudge. Take Myra, for example. I was no longer angry with her even though she had tried to kill me. At that time, I was, duh. Not anymore. I think normal people would be angry at their would-be murderer forever or could also choose to forgive them. Neither was the case with me.
On an emotional level, I just didn’t care.
However, that didn’t mean I was letting her off the hook. She still needed to be punished, and I was going to set up her death in a fitting way as Rule #4 required. Something ironic…something funny…
It’s just the Rules. All business.
This wasn’t about revenge.
Never was.
I could have a bit of fun on the side though.
Emotions or their approximations had no part in the applications of the Rules. Same with the law. Which was why Lady Justice had a blindfold on. Impartiality and such, yada, yada.
Which begs the question: How could Lady Justice see the scales of justice if she’s blindfolded?
Moving back on topic, I wasn’t sure how to explain this difference in emotion between my kind and normal people. How could someone blind since birth explain to a person with sight how they viewed the world? I'd assume they just saw black, but I was sure that wasn’t the case. A more outlandish view: if we could converse with monkeys, could we relate or understand their experience of having a fifth limb in the form of their powerful tails? Could a mantis shrimp explain to us the colors it could see but we could never ever visualize? Could we understand how they saw the world?
Perhaps a more apt and understandable analogy would be an experience of mine when I took judo classes back in undergrad. We had elective PE classes and were free to choose what we wanted from the wide offerings of the college—fancy college, right? I recalled around that time, a student was assaulted coming home from a late-night party, so my group of approximate friends wanted to take self-defense lessons and I got dragged along.
There was this submission hold in judo that we just called ‘chicken wing’ hold—I forgot the Japanese name for it. Basically, it was a bent arm lock used to apply pressure on the elbow or the shoulder. I couldn’t, for the life of me, understand how to execute that move. Why? Because I couldn’t feel pain when that move was done to me.
It turned out I had a very flexible shoulder joint. I’ve popped my shoulder a few times in the past and could pop it back in myself with only slight discomfort.
Emotions for me were like that judo move. I could never experience them in the same way as normal people, hence I could never relate to them. Like when I used that move on an opponent, I just couldn’t understand why she was feeling pain because that move didn’t work on me. For all I knew, she was just faking it. Which was probably why it was easy for people like me to be brutally violent, both physically and emotionally. We just couldn’t relate to the suffering we caused.
Phew. Profound thoughts just after lunch.
I was reminded by that judo thing because Deen kept on telling me to take self-defense classes with her as if knowing grappling techniques was going to help against Adumbrae or BID agents. I guess some people just liked their security blankets. The same in law school, many students printed or photocopied piles of notes and paint pages with highlighters even though it wasn’t useful other than to give the impression of being prepared for exams.
My phone buzzed. I checked it and groaned. Deen forwarded to me several posters of mixed martial arts lessons we could take. She also told me she was going to pay for both of us. “Let’s just wait for all of this to blow over,” I texted her.
“Fine then. Maybe next week or so,” she replied. “Promise you’ll take them with me.”
I rolled my eyes while typing, “I promise.”
“Where are you? Did you eat lunch yet?”
“I just finished eating at Jenny’s, MOM,” I told her, capitalizing ‘mom’ and adding in a couple of smiley faces at the end.
“Just checking,” was her message. “Where are you now? You didn’t answer me.”
“So bossy,” I added in another smiley to show I was kidding. “I’m having hot cocoa while studying at a cafe a block from Jenny’s.”
Her messages were relentless, checking up on me, telling me to go to her house. Her latest text was that “Erind, come back to Cresthorne and wait for my class to end so we can go home together. It’s safer.”
She was annoyingly paranoid now for some reason. Weirdo. Yesterday, she was moping and inconsolable, barely talking, worried about something she didn’t want to tell me. I got slightly concerned she might’ve realized I was the monster she saved in the arena. Could she have peered into my possible futures with our connection and spotted me transforming back into human form?
Don’t think so. If she discovered my secret, she would’ve already confronted me. At least that was what I expected from her personality. I was wrong about her once though; I didn’t expect her to accept an artificial Core, yet she did.
I may be wrong again, but my instincts told me her problems weren’t connected to my secret.
More likely, she was mentally burdened by the weight of everything she went through.
In the aftermath of what happened last Saturday, the city declared an everyone-stay-the-fuck-at-home order for Sunday and Monday. The National Guard came. Reinforcements from the BID came. Emergency response teams from other cities came. Excavators and other heavy machinery came. It was a big rescue operation. However, many people, including the cops and BID agents who participated in the raid, were beyond rescuing.
The whole city was in panic mode.
The casualties were too high for a normal BID operation, so people began speculating they fought something not so normal even by Adumbrae standards. News outlets, possibly under directives from the BID, were quick to allay the fears of the public, spinning a story that it was ‘nothing serious’—just a criminal organization engaged in the trade of illegal Adumbrae parts.
No real living Adumbrae in this city, none of that they said. Unfortunately, the news informed us, the criminals also smuggled heavy weaponry and explosives which detonated during the fight. That was the cause of the massive explosion.
I could understand why they didn’t want to release the true story of the night’s events.
We watched it all unfold on TV last Sunday. ‘We’ being Deen and me. Her sister decided to stay at her boyfriend’s place, so we had the house to ourselves and could discuss freely. We were eventually able to contact the others and confirmed everyone was still in one piece. Deen’s anxiety lessened—it was already getting annoying pretending to care about the safety of the group while talking to her. We decided we'd all stay low and keep safe:
Don’t contact each other.
Don’t act suspiciously.
Continue with our lives.
Keep safe.
Remember, we don’t know nothing about anything.
Deen was still fine last Sunday. But by yesterday, something was weird with her. I did ask her what was wrong, being a good friend, but I didn’t pry too much because I was too tired to pretend to care. It was probably something stupid like her conscience bothered by all the people who died; she couldn’t have done anything to save them anyway.
“You should listen to your class,” I told her.
“Am I too annoying?” she answered. “I’m just worried.”
“Worried about what?” I paused, thinking about what could shut her up. “Nothing to worry about. The BID is here. We’re safe.” And send.
“Just be careful.” She eventually replied, getting the hint to watch the messages we sent.
You are reading story REND at novel35.com
“Yep, I know. I’m studying here.” I sighed. Fine, I’m going to be considerate. “Tell me later when you’re leaving Cresthorne. I’ll go to Podium and we can meet there. Buying something.” There, now she'd feel like she was keeping me safe by meeting me later.
Was I actually studying at a café? No way. I hated studying in crowded places. I didn’t even study in the university library because there were just so many fucking people. It didn’t matter that the library was quiet; the fact that there were people was the problem. I couldn’t concentrate on studying if I had to keep my face up all the time.
Deen would kill me if she knew where I was.
I was actually going near the crater.
Criminals always returned to the scene of the crime—a belief so prevalent it was a staple trope in crime mystery TV shows or movies. It was like when one posts a picture on social media and then checks later if someone liked or commented on it. I don’t do that though. I barely maintained my social media accounts because of Rule#16. The more extreme reasons for returning to the crime scene could be on the sexual deviant side. The perpetrator might get off from it or something—it still stemmed from the need to check one's handiwork and people’s reaction to it.
Well…I was going to a crime scene but it wasn’t necessarily my crime.
And I couldn’t get near the crater because the city cordoned off a radius of several blocks away from the center of the explosion.
Still, I was symbolically going back to the crime scene.
I was surprised to see a lot of people hanging out at the police blockade of the main road going to the quarantined part of the city. Most of them, as far as I could tell, had businesses located in the locked-down zone, trying to force their way through to check what happened to their properties. Others were just curious idiots who wanted to see the site of the battle, maybe eager to find Adumbrae's body parts. A small group seemed to be relatives of people missing in the rubble, waiting vigilantly for any good news.
Many of them wore masks, the medical ones. Actually, I also noticed a few students in my Crim and Consti classes earlier today wearing masks. Did they think the fallout from the explosion was dangerous or something? I could make fun of them for being too paranoid, but I wasn’t sure if the air was safe. A lot of inhuman creatures were included in the massive barbeque pit. Who knew if there were contaminants in the smoke?
Some people set up stalls, selling masks and other stuff. I went closer for a look and giggled in amusement. There was a pile of t-shirts with the print “I survived the Adumbrae invasion”. Other shirts have pictures of the more popular Corebrings on them, like the beautiful Overseer Katherine who had many male fans all over the world.
I had to applaud these people for being business savvy.
Shouting and marching. A group of angry protesters, about a couple of dozen or so, approached the police line. They weren’t going to try and breach the cordon, they just wanted coverage from a media van that was stationed nearby.
“Arrest the Mayor!” said one of the placards. “Mayor is an Adumbrae!” I read another.
“Is that true?” I wondered out loud.
“Don’t think the mayor is one,” a man beside me said. “He’s a fucking crook, but ain’t no Adumbrae who'd want his disgusting body. Fucking sellout.”
“He’s coddling these illegal traders in the city,” a woman, probably his wife, chimed in.
“Fuckin’ tradin’ Adumbrae parts right here. Mayor has a part in that, take my word for it.”
“Now, we don’t even know if our store is still standing because of him.”
Something might’ve happened yesterday. I wasn't aware of it because I kept on changing the channel whenever Deen wanted to watch the news. It was annoying seeing her concerned face each time something related to our mission came up. But I did gloss over some articles about our mayor getting investigated when I browsed my phone while I ate lunch.
A news reporter followed by a cameraman exited the TV5 van and rushed to cover the protest.
“Excuse me,” I said to the disgruntled couple and passed between them. They didn’t mind me and joined the protesters in chanting. I made sure not to get in the sight of the camera.
While it was cool to see the results of what happened that fateful Saturday night, I wasn’t sure what I wanted here. Was I perhaps, deep down, still looking for traces of Vanessa?
But she was already dead.
It wasn’t like I was some evil villain in the movie and left her before making sure she was dead. I saw her body burn. That eyeball I saw—or I think I saw—a couple of days ago was just a hallucination, my mind wobbly from having woken up from SpookyErind’s dreamland.
Rob’s garage wasn’t anywhere near here, so I couldn’t check it. And I wasn’t dumb enough to show my face there.
I stood still. Pondering. I guess I was just sad, or an approximation of sadness. Although we only knew each other for a short time, I did consider Vanessa a friend. Very weird behavior, I know. Some serial killers kept body parts of their victims because they considered them their friends, even talking to them. I wasn’t at the point I was talking to Vanessa’s bracelet, but I missed her somehow.
“Woah, my bad.” A man carrying a bunch of flyers bumped into me.
I took a few steps back even if he didn’t have the strength or weight to push me off balance. “It’s fine,” I said, adjusting my glasses. These were new. I lost the pair I wore while escaping the tunnels—might’ve slipped out of my pockets.
“Sorry miss,” he said, stooping down to pick up his dropped flyers.
I helped him. “What's this about?” I asked, looking at the writings on the paper. “Prayer Worship of Lady Isolde of the…”
“Of the Flying Fortress City!” His face lit up in excitement. “The High Overseer Isolde has awoken! Praise the Mother Core! It’s all over the news! Just think, okay? Just think. We get this disaster and then there’s news of a High Overseer waking—”
“Erm, here are your flyers,” I said. It was a religious group worshipping one of the High Overseers. I remembered they were more common when I was a kid before all of the High Overseers decided to sleep because the world became relatively peaceful.
Worship a deity of a religion from ancient times or worship an actual godlike being hanging around on this earth? It was easy to see why many people jumped ship and started new religions.
“You can keep one,” he said. “Here’s a pamphlet too. I’m guessing you haven’t heard about her awakening yet because all of our news over here is about this—”
“Thanks for this,” I interrupted him. “I have to go—”
“We’re just starting meetings. Saturday nights at 8:30—”
A woman screamed. A large crash followed. More screams.
“What the?”
There was gunfire. An unearthly shriek. Many people running away.
Trouble?
Time for me to transform and save the day!
Just kidding.
I followed the fleeing crowd.