Guardians of the Dark

“Samael, hi.”

Samael stopped in the elevator’s threshold. The guy from the front reception stood before him, their faces nearly touching. He had shoulder-length, reddish-brown hair that draped across his face, revealing only a single eye. A blue-almost-silver eye. He smiled, and two dimples spotted his cheeks. Samael felt a twist in his stomach.

“Oh … hey,” he responded, stepping out of the elevator and rounding the receptionist-slash-guard, still with his foot in the elevator threshold. He walked down the lobby to the front doors, the guy short on his heels.

“I saw the footage of yesterday’s raid on this morning’s broadcast … and … I think what you did was amazing.”

Samael paused and turned. Of course he’d seen it. And of course he’d think his performance amazing. The Emperor had, after all, cut out his collapse. “Thanks,” was all he could manage, and resumed his walk.

“Heading out again tonight?” the receptionist-slash-guard went on. His voice at a crackle to it, harsh but entrancing somehow.

Samael scratched behind his head. “Yep, tonight’s my last run as a Tracker.” He stopped at the front doors, eyeing the panel. He would’ve reached for it, but the guy blocked it, almost as though to intentionally stall him.

The receptionist-slash-guard slipped in front of Samael. He raised his chin, and his hair fell away, revealing his second eye. They stood like this for a moment, the guy smiling at him from the corner of his mouth.

Samael cleared his throat. “I – uh – have to get going now.”

“Yes, of course. Good luck.” And with that, the guy opened the doors to let him go, but not without a final wave.

“Thanks, uh –”

“It’s Andy.”

“Yes, right. Andy. Goodbye.” Samael scurried outside and down the steps with much less finesse than usual.

Carrie and Yung waited for him at their normal spot on the curb. They danced around as he approached, and didn’t stop until they had each slapped him on the back. Apparently everyone had seen the broadcast …

“My man, Samael of the Dark!” bellowed Yung with his hands around his mouth. “You’re a real-life legend, dude.”

“He already was one before, Yung,” Carried corrected him.

“True, but let’s be honest for a second. The whole, I was left in the Dark as a child, routine was starting to lack flair.” Yung put his arm around Samael and pulled him in to his side. “But, going after the very man who left him in the Dark to begin with … now that’s the ultimate vengeance! I’d pay to see that anytime.”

“Wait, you guys paid to see the broadcast?” asked Samael, prying away from Yung.

Carrie nodded. “Not all of us have a projection pad at home, you know. We had to pay an entry fee at the Tarpit Tavern.”

“How much?”

“Twenty units. Each.”

Samael gasped. “Twenty units? Are they mad? Are you mad? That’s about two nights’ wages right there!”

“It’s expensive, I know,” Carrie admitted, “but it was totally worth it to see our boss slice throats with the big guns.” She moved in to hug him again, and Yung did the same. They squeezed Samael between them.

“Okay,” said Samael, “that’s enough.” He put a hand on each of their foreheads, and pushed them away from him.

Carrie was the first to give in. She stepped back, turned her head to the side, and wiped under her eyes. When she looked back, she wore her usual smile-half-scowl, and whacked Yung over the head for not letting go.

“Ouch! Carrie!” It clearly didn’t hurt, but Yung nonetheless rubbed his head. He growled at her, only to receive one back.

Samael accepted this as his chance to get away. He adjusted the belt around his waist, his hand resting on the lasso, and strutted down the curb. “Come on, you two. You can find a room later. We have a job to do.”

Carrie and Yung wrestled for a second, but yielded and set after him. They clung to each other as always, while exchanging loveable nibbles. Samael normally found their interactions quite cute – bearable, in the least – however tonight, the night of his final run as a Tracker, something about it annoyed him.

“Cut it out,” he said without slowing or turning, “we’re on duty.”

Carrie and Yung peeled apart. They upped their pace to catch up to him, but not quite fast enough to walk beside him. The moon cast onto the curb, illuminating its cracks and holes, and projecting their shadows ahead of them. They were three looming sticks, trudging through a once admiral city, now in ruins.

“Samael,” said Carrie after a while, “is something the matter?”

Only now did Samael slow down. South-east city surrounded them with its border a few feet ahead, giving way to the wastelands, and, ultimately, the Metropolis of Light. It lay in the distance, about a five-minute walk from their current location. The Southern Collection Point shone brighter than the moon, expanded by yet another few metres of Light, and surrounded by a new fence – another day’s failure for the Dark.

“I got a promotion,” he said, halting by the final building, the toppled remains of what was once a petrol station. He upped a tank on its side. “I’m officially a Raider, shared second-in-command with Theon.”

“What?” asked Carrie, stunned.

“That’s awesome, man! Isn’t it?” added Yung.

They surrounded Samael to congratulate him, but when he didn’t respond in any way, their smiles faded, and they lowered their arms. For a couple of Corrupted, they sure loved to hug. Perhaps it was a normal thing to do, and he, Samael, was the defective one. Most likely. He never really did understand social cues.

Yung cleared his throat and pretended to scour the area.

“Samael, why aren’t you more excited?” asked Carrie.

Samael sat down on the tank with extended legs. “I am … or, at least, I want to be. It’s just, things didn’t turn out as I thought they would.” A pause in which he looked at the sky, at the great heavens above. Kasen’s face appeared before his eyes – his old face, his kid face. “The Raiders are surrounded, enveloped, by death.”

“No kidding,” scoffed Yung. Carrie scowled at him, and he shrugged. “What? It’s the truth! And personally, I don’t see anything wrong with that. The AOL have killed thousands of Roamers. They steal our Dark to expand their borders, live in luxury while we have to scavenge, and look down on us as if we’re vermin.”

Samael had nothing to say to that.

“You agree with me, babe, don’t you?” Yung looked to Carrie, who briefly glanced beyond the wastelands and shrugged.

“Yung’s right, Samael. When we watched you drive your staff through the General’s heart, a spark of hope kindled inside of us.” Carrie joined Yung by the edge of the petrol station, the edge of the Dark Capital. “You filled us with hope for a better future. A – excuse the pun – brighter future for all Corrupted kind. With you as the shared second-in-command, the Raiders will destroy the beam and take back the world.”

They stood up straight with their arms by their sides and their chins raised. They kept their eyes narrowed on the Metropolis of Light – on the beam of Dark – beyond the sand dunes. Yung even started to hum a tune.

When Samael didn’t say anything, Carrie spun around. “That’s why you joined the Raiders in the first place, isn’t it?”

“Yea, you wanted to seek revenge on the brutes who wronged you. You wanted to stand tall for your people,” added Yung.

They looked at Samael for a moment, their expressions fading. The hope in their eyes no longer burned as bright, and their trust in him no longer stood as strong. He knew it. He felt it. They were about to see who he really was, what he really was. A coward. An orphan. A lost boy who had no idea what he was doing anymore.

Samael pulled himself together by snorting. He stood up off the petrol tank, and unclipped the lasso from his belt. “I won’t stop until I’ve destroyed the Metropolis of Light,” he said, then whipped the lasso down his side.

“Ah, there’s the old Samael!” cheered Yung and Carrie together.

The lasso lit up, evoking a Roamer’s hiss from somewhere behind them. It jumped out from behind another, still-standing, petrol tank, and slinked into the Dark, into the wastelands, its footsteps crunching in the sand.

“Yung, you were supposed to be keeping guard!” Carrie scolded him.

“How’s this my fault? We were all having a moment!” Yung whipped out his own lasso, lit it up, and looked to Samael for orders. “What do we do, boss? It’s not technically endangering anyone, but it’s out of control.”

“That thing can return to the city at any time,” said Samael, “so I suggest we capture it before it does.” He reeled in his lasso, bundled it under his arm, and set off into the wastelands. Their feet rustled up billows of dust, and they couldn’t run as fast due to collapsing sand. Samael covered his lower face with his sleeve.

Carrie and Yung did the same.

“Do you guys see it yet?” shouted Yung from behind.

“No,” replied Carrie, “but I know how we can get its attention.” She grabbed Yung’s lasso, unhooked her own from her belt, and whipped at the sky. The wires cracked as two bolts of lightning, echoing down the dune.

And, astonishingly enough, it worked.

The Roamer hissed from somewhere behind them. Its feet crunched in the sand, growing louder, more frantic, with each step, headed right for them. They spun around together, ready to capture it, but the Roamer ploughed past them in the opposite direction. Samael lashed the lasso at its feet, but it moved too fast, too determinedly.

“Let’s go!” he commanded, and the three of them scrambled through the sand – on their feet, on their hands, then on their feet again – up the dune. Samael reached the pinnacle on all fours. He upped his pace when the Roamer disappeared over the top, bracing himself to leap after it – on top of it – when instead, he fell flat.

“Hey, what gives?” shouted Yung from behind him, still at full speed.

Samael stuck out his hand. “Shut up!” he hissed, inching aside to make space for Yung and Carrie next to him. They both fell on their stomachs, only the top of their heads poking out at the top. A gentle breeze brushed across the sand, showering them in stray particles, salting their skin. He covered his lower face again.

“What is it?” whispered Carrie.

“People,” replied Yung, just as stunned.

“Gatherers, by the looks of their insolation suits,” noted Samael, thinking out loud. “Just a couple of soldiers sent out to … to do what, exactly? They never travel out this far.” He followed them with his eyes.

The two Gatherers walked a great distance apart from one another, which he found odd. In fact, the front person – Gatherer X – appeared to be pursued by the second – Gatherer Y – although unaware of their presence.

Neither of their genders were clear.

“What are they doing?” asked Carrie. “They’re not even gathering. Should we report this to the authorities?”

“We are the authorities,” mumbled Yung.

Samael placed his finger before his mouth. He motioned for them to watch, to listen, as the scene unfolded.

Gatherer Y called out to Gatherer X, over and over, until he or she responded. Gatherer X spun around, terribly shocked – perhaps angry – and gestured for Gatherer Y to go back. When Gatherer Y trudged onward instead, Gatherer X threw their hands in the air and stomped back. They met up, heatedly arguing about something. Samael narrowed his eyes. He turned his head to listen, and could just make out basic words and phrases:

“You shouldn’t be here,” declared Gatherer X.

“Neither should you,” insisted Gatherer Y, nervously peering around. The wind all of a sudden took up, and he or she jumped. They stepped in toward Gatherer X. “What something doing something here in the first place?”

“I something you the same thing. How something even know I something here? Something follow me all the way?”

“My duty something protect the Metropolis of Light, and when I something anything suspicious, I something intervene.” Gatherer Y took another step forward. They towered an entire head above Gatherer X, and had a slightly broader frame. A guy, likely. “I know this is something derestriction. And I know something Mary Bates.”

“Well,” said Gatherer X, “you’re something wish you didn’t.” He or she whipped out a knife – one of those Theon liked to collect – and stabbed at Gatherer Y. Gatherer Y grabbed Gatherer X’s arm just in time, and tilted it so he or she sliced their own shoulder. Gatherer X screamed, dropped the knife, and drove their knee in between Gatherer Y’s legs. Gatherer Y squirmed, allowing Gatherer X to overpower them.

“I’m sorry about Mary,” huffed Gatherer X, punching Gatherer Y in the throat, “and I’m sorry about you …”

Another kick between the legs.

“But the Metropolis of Light needs to be destroyed!” Gatherer X placed his or her foot on Gatherer Y’s chest. Gatherer Y squirmed to say something – to plead, perhaps – but Gatherer X stomped on their stomach.

Gatherer Y yelped aloud, but lay back afterward, yielding. They stuttered, “W – Why something doing this?”

“Because, dear Gatherer, this world no longer belongs to the Light,” came another, much louder, voice from somewhere.

Yung and Carrie both turned their heads, but Samael stayed still. He already knew who it was, just by the sound of their voice – by the roll of their r’s, and their lyrical tone. Emperor Sumuri strode into the open, dressed in a black-and-purple, flowered kimono, and his usual wooden sandals. He held one of Samael’s own inventions in his hand: a leash. It lit up like the lasso, and could restrain ten Roamers at once, which the Emperor did.

When Gatherer Y saw Emperor Sumuri, he or she scrambled back in horror, but Gatherer X pinned them down.

“Emperor Sumuri,” said Gatherer X, lowering his or her head. “I was just on my way something rendezvous point, when –”

“It doesn’t matter, my child,” tutted the Emperor. “I can see you’ve been tied up. Hindered, so to say. But, I must admit, you’ve handled the situation quite gracefully. I’m happy to see I can count on your loyalty.”

“Always, Your Imperial,” promised Gatherer X.

Carrie put her hand over her mouth, and gasped. “Samael, what’s going on? Is the Emperor working with the AOL?”

“I don’t think that person’s with the AOL anymore,” replied Samael, unable to take his eyes off the assembly before him. He studied Gatherer X, trying hard to make out anything about them from inside the suit. Their voice? Their eyes? Nothing. Their helmet was too dark, their breathing too heavy, and their voice too static.

Emperor Sumuri reeled in the Roamers on the leash. They clawed at him, but the leash’s light kept them from afflicting any damage. “Now, my child, I suppose you’ve seen the attack on the Eastern Collection Point?”

Gatherer X nodded. “I did, and I something Samael of the Dark is as ruthless. Your Imperial raised him well.”

Gatherer Y writhed again, and Gatherer X bent over to slap them, but winced at the cut in their shoulder. Gatherer X felt around their wound, blood running all over their greyish sleeve, showing their skin underneath.

“You’re hurt,” acknowledged Emperor Sumuri, “and your suit is broken. Watch out, the Dark might corrupt you.”

“Your Imperial knows I’ve already been corrupted.” Gatherer X straightened out. “The suit’s only for security purposes.”

Emperor Sumuri approached. “Even so, you should have that looked at.” He stopped a hand-width away from Gatherer X, then leaned in. “But, before you go …” He whispered something in their ear, then stepped back.

“I promise I’ll be ready, Your Imperial,” Gatherer X replied, shaking their head. Emperor Sumuri traced his fingers along the cut in their shoulder, smearing it through the blood and pressing down on the wound.

Gatherer X winced, but did nothing to stop him.

“Don’t let me down, my child,” he said, pressing down harder. A satisfactory – almost lustful – grin spread around his mouth, and he licked across his teeth. “Otherwise, you might just suffer from more than just a cut.”

“I – I promise, Emperor Sumuri, I won’t let you down. Your plan is my plan, and together we’ll overthrow these something of the Metropolis of Light, once and for all.” Gatherer X spoke through terrible pain.

“Good, I knew I could trust you.” The Emperor let go of their shoulder, then stepped back and gestured for them to go.

Gatherer X didn’t linger another second. He or she reversed the way they came, then turned around and sped into a jog. Clouds of dust rose behind them as they ran, mostly skidding, struggling to stay on their feet. At the same time, Emperor Sumuri unclipped the leash. The Roamers went for him at first, but he warded them off with the light. They went for Gatherer Y next, who tossed a handful of glowsticks at them.

The Roamers hissed and retreated. They listened and sniffed around. Gatherer Y scrambled across the sand, trying to crawl away. He or she barely made it to the nearest dune – the one Samael, Carrie, and Yung hid behind – before the Roamers set upon them. They fell on their knees around and on top of Gatherer Y, their bluish skin sort of sparkling in the moonlight, and their growls slicing through the silence of the night.

Samael sank behind the dune, unable to watch as the Roamers shredded Gatherer Y apart. He wanted to plug his ears, but couldn’t. If he ever sought to become a Raider – a true one – he had to get used to the sounds of torture, of death. This was his future, and the sooner he accepted that, the easier he’d manage to change.

To live up to his name.

Yung pulled Carrie into him, her head pressed against his chest. Not even they – the ones who just defended the Emperor’s cause mere minutes ago – could watch the merciless death of an innocent person. A person from the Metropolis of Light, nonetheless. Carrie sobbed silently, clinging to Yung’s shirt with both hands.

Maybe the Corrupted weren’t as heartless after all.

“Samael,” said Yung in a cold, distant voice, “what just happened? What did the Emperor say to that other person?”

Samael wiped his hands across his face, exhaling loudly. He peered over the dune to see the Emperor strut back into the shadows, not at all bothered by the screams, the growls, the sounds of shredded cloth and flesh. He swallowed, turned, and sat back. His bottom sank into the sand, but he couldn’t bring himself to stand.

Not until the Roamers had gone.

“I – I don’t know,” he said, struggling to speak from the adrenaline in his veins, “but I’m going to find out.”