Blood of the Future

See Elysium, gleaming and silver upon the hill. A jungle of chrome and steel. Concrete highways rise for miles and flow like arteries through the city. Zeppelins ferry through the air, carrying passengers between the great pillars of industry, coated in advertising, bright, cheerful, brimming with benevolence and promise. It is perfect in every way, this city. The final dream of capitalism made manifest. History dies here, and in its wake, only prosperity remains.

This prosperity is thanks to the work of one woman. A brilliant inventor, known only as Doctor H. Her work in robotics single-handedly shepherded Elysium through the ugliness of the great campaigns. Thanks to her robots, not a single Elysian citizen died in the fighting, and when they returned, none had to lift a finger to erect the great city it became.

Considered by many to be eccentric and reclusive, she eschewed any direct leadership role in the city she built, preferring instead to be left alone to continue her work in private.

What she works on, nobody knows.

What's less known is that she had a partner once. An inventor like her, who history has conspired to forget.

Let's call her Doctor P.

Doctor H's partner and friend during the war, Doctor P currently lies face down in a gutter, passed out after another night of heavy drinking. A sad sight, for such a once brilliant mind. It's not uncommon to find those who overindulge in the fruits of Elysium's fortune.

It just so happens that P's night of debauchery has taken her to the street just outside a certain old house, tucked away in the valley between mounds of towering steel. Untouched by centuries of progress.

As she snores loudly in the filth of the street, the door opens, and someone steps out and approaches the woman.

Doctor P wakes up at a long dining table. An arrangement of food has been laid out for her. Her head is pounding and her stomach churns.

A voice says: "you should eat something. It'll make you feel better."

The voice is familiar. A dark chill runs down her spine. Her vision slowly comes into focus.

"You should take care of yourself, old friend. A sound mind dwells within a sound body."

It's her. P hasn't seen Doctor H since the war. She looks like she hasn’t aged a day, sitting across from her on the table, her light hair in that same simple ponytail, and those large round glasses that always seem to catch the light and obscure her eyes, no matter how dim the room.

"How did you find me?" P says

"Find you? You practically collapsed on my doorstep. I was afraid you were going to get sick out there so I brought you in."

"Well, thanks for the help but I really must be going."

P hastily moves to get out of her chair.

H gestures to stop her. "Oh won't you stay? It's been so long since we've seen each other."

"I have stuff to do."

"Please, at least eat something before you go."

"That's alright, I'm not hungry."

"I'm afraid I must insist. I can't in good conscience let you leave in this state without at least attempting to get some food in you. You look like you're about to pass out again."

P glares across the table, but can't deny the rumble in her stomach demanding sustenance. Not to mention the thirst. She sits back down.

A robot servant walks out with a pitcher of water and begins to pour it into the glass beside P. She grabs the pitcher out of its hands and begins chugging it, water dripping down her chin.

The cool water brings a wave of relief from her violent hangover. The robot bows and leaves the room.

When she's done drinking, she tosses the pitcher aside and starts aggressively eating the food before her. The pitcher shatters on the ground, and a tiny robot zooms over to sweep the mess.

H smiles. "I must say, P, that it hurts my heart to see you in this sorry state. You are the most formidable intellect I'd ever known. Even to this day no one has come close to matching your brilliant mind."

P's glare grows deeper. "That was before..."

"Before the war? Before the accident? Yes I'm well aware of what happened, why you chose to abandon the work. It was a terrible shame."

"Would you rather I had joined you in basking in the radiant glow of your shining city on the hill? Sorry, I've never been one for the limelight."

"No," H says indignantly. "I would rather you had stuck around to finish the work. With you around I might've made a breakthrough sooner."

"Sorry you couldn't find a better lab partner, but I gave that up and I meant it."

"I know, I know." H sighs. "The past is the past. I'm not asking you to come back. It's just that, I feel an obligation to help you, for old time's sake."

"Help me? how?"

H’s face turns serious. "I took the liberty of running a diagnostic check on you. It's not looking good. Your liver is shot. Your heart and lungs aren't faring much better."

"Don't go poking around another girl's organs like that." P leans back in her chair, rolling her eyes.

"On your current path, I reckon you've got about 5 years left."

"Fuck, that many?"

"I can help you get on a better path. If you'll let me."

"What, are you about to give me the 'just say no' talk?"

Despite herself, H chuckles at that. "No, no. This goes beyond simple platitudes. I can reverse the damage that's been done."

"How? You're a roboticist, not a medical doctor."

"Ah, but you see! Robotics is simply the study of humanity, applied."

"I'm sure the real doctors would love that one."

H sighs again. "You weren't always so cynical, you know."

"War will do that to you, I guess."

"You forget I was in the war too."

"Yeah well, you're different."

"Different how?" H smirks.

"You have no regard for human life."

"I built a utopia. Strange thing to do for someone who cares nothing for humans, wouldn't you say?"

"Don't act like you built this monstrosity of a city out of the kindness of your heart. You built it as a means to an end, just like everything else you do."

"There's that cynicism again."

"You're not denying it, though."

H chuckles.

"I admit to having some... ulterior motives, yes. Don't we all? That doesn't mean my work hasn't benefited humanity."

"Humanity as a whole or just the ones in Elysium?"

"Same difference."

P scoffs. She reaches for the empty glass beside her plate, hoping to find any amount of water. Another robot saunters up and begins pouring wine into the glass. The velvety red liquid swirls in the glass as the rich floral aroma graces P's nostrils. P raises an eyebrow at H.

"By all means, drink up! When I'm done with you, you'll never have to worry about hangovers or liver damage again."

"You talk like some kind of miracle worker. What are you gonna do, give me a metal liver?"

"The body is just another machine. Whether flesh or steel, my job is to bend it to my will. There are many things I can do for you, my friend."

H gives P a smile she finds very uncomfortable. There's a hunger in there. Something predatory lurking just behind the facade of scientific curiosity.

There's a beast behind those lenses.

H says, "if you want, I can even heal your face. I'm sure that scar must be bothering you, even now."

It does. That shining river of charred, glowing skin that snakes along her cheek and down the entire length of her torso, it burns even now. The pain never goes away. But then, of course it wouldn't. After all, P built the bomb that scarred her own face.

P takes her glass and swallows a heavy mouthful of wine.

H says, "I see the pain you're in. I know you think me a monster, but it really does hurt my heart to see you suffer like this. Give me a chance to relieve your pain."

"You can really do all this?"

"All I ask is that you give me the chance to try."

P looks down at her wine glass. Her face ripples in the dark liquid.

She says, "fine, do what you want to me. Like I care anymore."

H smiles and claps her hands with joy. "Oh, excellent! You won't regret it, I promise! The procedure will take about five days to be completed. By the end, you'll be a whole new woman!"

"Yeah, I bet."

"Get some rest, tomorrow's going to be a busy day for you."

Day One

Beneath a red sky, a city burns and burns. The air is choked with ash, the smell of the burning dead suffocates the scene. Legions of metal men march across charred fields, searching for anyone who'd escaped the flames. There's no one left to scream, and still the bombs rain down. Pummeling the ungrateful dead who dared to resist the tide of progress…

P awakes in a dark room. She's in a bed she doesn't remember climbing in, wearing clothes she doesn't remember putting on. Her head is pounding and her scar burns white hot with agony. She reaches into the dark and finds a lamp on a nightstand. Beside it is a bottle of wine and a glass, and a note.

"Please enjoy. I need you in good spirits this morning. -H"

P frowns.

She takes the bottle from the stand and drinks directly from it. She's barely able to hold herself upright by the time she stumbles into the lab.

A dazzling array of machinery and equipment fill the room, beakers of bubbling, glowing fluids and antennae arcing with electricity. A part of Doctor P missed places like this. The old work, from another life.

H is hunched over a desk on the far wall of the room, pouring over some lab notes. "I see you got the bottle I left for you. I'm glad you enjoyed it. I need you nice and loose for today."

"Just tell me what you're gonna do to me."

H turns to face P, that placid smile still on her face. "Nothing much today. I'm just gonna give you a little injection and monitor your vitals."

"That's all?"

"For today, yes."

P sits down on a wooden chair beside her. H walks over with a syringe filled with glowing green liquid. P looks at it nervously.

H says, "it's nothing to be afraid of. Perfectly harmless I assure you. It only looks scary." She chuckles.

P relaxes and rolls up her sleeve reluctantly. H gives her the injection. The fluid is cold, and P feels it spread through her veins. A chill runs down her spine. Something feels very wrong, like something has been lodged inside her that shouldn't be there.

"There you go. Not so bad was it?" H says. Her voice is unpleasantly cheerful, like she's talking to a child.

P asks, "Just what was that stuff anyways?"

"Don't worry about it."

P is about to protest this, but she's too drunk to care. Of course, she knows that was the point of leaving the bottle in the first place. She's long past caring what happens to her now.

H pulls out a clipboard and begins writing something down. Then she pulls up a machine and hooks a series of electrodes to P's body.

"How are you feeling?" she asks.

"Drunk. And angry. How long is this gonna take?"

"Patience old friend. Progress is measured in inches."

P leans back and sighs in her chair. A silence passes between them as H fiddles with her machines and takes her notes.

Finally, she cuts the silence. "Do you remember those old days? Back at Miskatonic?" H asks from behind her clipboard.

Miskatonic University. That's a name P hadn't heard for some time. It's where she studied her field, and where she met Doctor H. She can see it now, the lush gardens of its courtyard. A sharp contrast from the expanses of cracked concrete and tar and mud she came from.

"Why do you ask?" P responds.

"I find myself thinking back to those simpler days more and more lately. Perhaps because I sense I'm nearing the biggest breakthrough of my lifetime. It was actually quite fortuitous that you arrived when you did."

"Happy to be of assistance."

"Oh, but you have been. More than you'll ever know."

P sighs and scratches at her arm. Her bones itch.

H says, "do you remember that professor we used to have? I think he taught physics. He would always come in wearing that ridiculous tie, with the yellow stripes."

"Dr. Gerstman."

"That was it!" H exclaims.

"He would always say 'a sound mind dwells within a sound body,'" P says.

"Yes, I picked it up from him. Remember when he had us investigated for academic misconduct for selling essays?"

"Of course I do."

"All those long boring hearings, and they were so absorbed in the evidence they didn't even notice when we-"

"I said I remember!" P blushes.

It was a simpler time. The university held so much promise for them, then. They had both barely scraped their way into it by the skin of their teeth. And even after getting in, they needed to find ways to pay the bills. Nothing came easy for either of them. Still, but it was exciting.

When P managed to get into Miskatonic, she felt as if her entire life were about to change forever. And she was right, just not in the way she might've hoped.

And H...

She could see her so clearly. She looked much the same way she does now. Her features seemed to resist the years. She was more timid in those days though. Less secure about her place in the world.

They both came from homes broken by grief and poverty. Their fathers both killed in the line of work, laying the foundations for what Elysium would become.

Miskatonic was a way to escape that life. P had brute forced her way in, but H got in through the sheer impressiveness of her talents. H was shy, insecure, unsure what it was about her that earned her a spot in this important place, and unsure if she would lose it somehow. It wasn't until she met P that she came out of her shell. Beneath the surface, her personality was much the same as it is now. Her smile, her manner of speech. Her curious detachment.

It was a lot more charming back then, though. Before P had seen that same smile bathed in the red glow of burning villages. And P by her side through it all. Helping her. Encouraging her. The blood was on both of their hands, but only P was bothered by it.

"Do you remember our spot on the roof?" H asks.

"Yes."

"Miskatonic was a place of many discoveries for me." She laughs. "I think you might've been my most important teacher."

P scoffs at that. "How so? Because I taught you how to fuck?"

H sighs and shakes her head, still smiling at her notes. "You taught me what it means to be human."

P blushes, she can't help herself.

"You taught me why it was so important to escape this flesh," H continues. She pinches the fat on P's arm. "Why the work can't stop with merely healing the sick or building towers. Our little excursions made me realize how hideously fragile we are. How precious."

P looks up at H in confusion, searching for answers in that cold gaze behind the flash of her lenses. She finds nothing there, as always.

Something churns inside P's stomach. It feels like something is gripping her guts by the fistful and yanking them out through her throat. She doubles over in her chair and heaves. Black oil spills out of her mouth and onto her hands.

"Oh dear."

"What the hell did you do to me!?" P says, hoarsely.

"This happens sometimes, no need to worry."

P heaves again and more oil spills out.

H says, "This purge is necessary for the operation to succeed."

P feels too sick to argue. Something is being forced out of her body by the new presence. It's expanding, leaving no room for anything else. H walks P back to her bed, a trail of black oil following behind. An army of sweeper droids dutifully rush to clean it as they walk.

H lays P down in bed. She stands up and removes her labcoat. She climbs into the bed beside P and wraps her arms around her. H runs her fingers through P's hair as the heaves come. P hates to admit it, but the gesture is soothing.

"There's no need to worry," H says. "I'll stay as long as it takes."

Eventually, the heaves subside and P drifts into an uneasy sleep.

Day Two

A vast and barren valley stretches out into the horizon between towering bare mountains, the grave of a once mighty sea, now dry. A bridge juts broken and twisted out of the landscape, now little more than a giant heap of crumbling steel.

Beneath it, throngs of metal beings wander the wasteland aimlessly. A lone figure emerges, standing upon the wreck of the bridge. The masses of androids turn to see them. A new messiah of the wastes.

It's P. Her skin is pristine and untarnished, her metal body humming beneath synthetic skin. She leads them to a new land, somewhere far away from the ruins of Elysium. Somewhere unimaginable to those still caught in its spell.

P wakes up.

H is not beside her. She's nowhere to be seen.

P gets up and walks down the hall. For some reason she feels compelled to find H. This house feels threatening and lonely without her. Her legs are shaking, and she has to lean on the wall to keep herself up. Black oil covers her clothes.

H is in the lab of course, but there's someone else in there too. A man. It's the chief executive of Elysium. Functionally the owner of the city.

"The city is going to need to lease the military droids again," he says.

"Sir with all due respect, the combat series has been retired," H says. "The campaigns are over. There is no one left to stand against the might of Elysium."

"The new threats facing the city come not from without, but from within. The people grow restless in their decadence! The city provides so much for them yet they grumble for more!"

"You mean the undercity."

"They threaten to revolt! They would rather tear the city down than work to raise themselves up!"

"A tragedy."

"The riots must be quelled! You must give us the droids to maintain order."

"I am busy today. Something I could've told you if you had not barged into my home unannounced. I will contact you when I'm available and we can strike a deal."

"Busy!? With what!? What could possibly be more important than the future of Elysium!?"

"Many things. Things you cannot possibly comprehend. Now please kindly leave."

The chief turns around in a huff and sees P. He laughs.

"Another one of your guinea pigs? Christ, woman. I thought you were done with these experiments. How many does this make now?"

"Goodbye, Chief."

The chief smirks at P and storms out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

P tentatively turns back to H.

P asks, "are you going to do it?"

"For the right price," says H. "Come. Sit."

A wooden chair is set up in the middle of the lab. Beside it is a table with a helmet hooked up to a large, beeping machine by a series of thick cables. H leads P to the seat with her hand placed softly on P's back. It's a nice feeling to be touched by her again. P can't help but relax a little.

When she's seated, H places the helmet on P's head. P frowns.

P asks, "so you're just gonna hand over weapons to squash the underclasses?"

"That's right."

"I didn't take you for such a cutthroat businesswoman."

"This city is a machine. I need it running properly. That's the chief's job. If he needs combat droids to do that then it is what it is."

"And the people?"

"Necessary sacrifices on the road to progress."

"You really are a monster."

"Many have said so, yes. I never said I wasn't."

"It doesn't bother you at all? Hurting so many people for your inventions?"

"My inventions are the best part of me. They do the good in the world that I alone can't. With every advancement I bring the human race closer to the next stage."

"The next stage of what?"

H just smiles.

P sighs. She asks, "why did you come to bed with me last night?"

"You were in pain. I wanted to comfort you."

"I thought you didn't care about other people."

"I never said I didn't care. Everything I do is because I care."

"Such an altruist. What did he mean by 'another one of your guinea pigs'?"

"Nothing you need to worry about."

"I'm not the first human you've experimented on am I? Is that all I am to you? Another project?"

"It isn't like that."

"What did you mean when you said I taught you how to be human? If this is human to you, I clearly did a bad job."

H sighs. "Do you remember what happened to old Dr. Gerstman?"

"What does that have to do with it?"

"Sometime after we left he got fired for drunk and disorderly conduct on campus. It turned out he had a lot of debt with the banks that he was struggling to pay off already, so it wasn't long until he lost his house after that. When I heard what happened to him, I took him into this very house. Thing is, by then he had drunk himself into an early grave. Nothing I could do for him helped. That bed you slept in is the bed he died in. That is what being human is. The sad, desperate pain and misery. The failures of our flesh and minds. Rot. Decay. Death. That's what I'm trying to save you from. To save everyone from."

P looks down at her feet. There are a million rebuttals to what H had said, but P couldn't think of any of them. Her scar had begun hurting again.

H walks over to a switch on the big machine hooked up to the helmet. She grabs it and looks back.

"This is going to hurt. I'm sorry."

She flips the switch.

Immediately, Electricity jolts through P's body. It's like being stabbed on the inside with a flaming knife. Heat and pain overwhelm her, and silence her thoughts. Her scar lights up with energy. She feels it arc through her nervous system, trailing the damaged tendrils spreading out from the scar inside her. That network of agony implanted and burrowed into her from the chemical bomb that exploded in her face all those years ago, ensuring she would never experience another waking moment untouched by pain. Untouched by the reminders of war. The electricity fried it, cleaning her body from the inside.

When H switches the electricity off, P is left limp and drooling in her chair. H runs back over to her. She kneels before the drooling woman and looks deep in her eyes. They're faded and empty. P hasn't quite recovered from the shock yet. It was necessary. The poison left by her scar had to be purged. It would’ve interfered with the transformation later.

H places her hand to P's cheek. With her glove, she wipes the drool from P's mouth. She leans into her face. Their lips are almost touching. "You're perfect. If only you knew just how much you meant to me. You're worth more than this entire city combined. Someday you'll see that."

Day Three

The bodies pile up to the heavens and show no sign of stopping. Already they're too high to see.

Standing above them all is H.

She is naked, except for her glasses. She dances some feverish dance to a beat only she can hear. They are standing in Miskatonic University. The courtyards are empty and the lights are off. A bonfire burns at the gates. The glint of the fire obscures her eyes behind the lenses.

P looks up to the heavens. The sky is black and empty. There's only them and the bodies. Nothing else remains.

P wakes up.

Again H is nowhere to be found. P looks to the nightstand. Another bottle. Another note. Whiskey this time. The note reads:

"Something a bit stronger today. You'll need it. Worry not, old friend. We're nearly done. -H"

P takes it and chugs half the bottle.

As she stumbles down the hallway, it strikes her that her scar doesn't hurt so much anymore. The rest of her body aches with fatigue and chemical unfamiliarity, but her scar doesn't burn. Could it really be healed?

She takes a detour into a lavatory to look in the mirror. The shadow of it is still there, but it doesn't shine anymore.

In the Lab H inspects another machine. She seems more somber than she has been up until now.

"What's the matter with you?" P asks.

"Please lay on this table here." She gestures to an operating table behind her.

P lays down on it.

H says, "this is going to hurt. I'm sorry."

With a scalpel, she makes an incision into P's arm. She slides a thick black tube into the hole. It hurts but it's nothing P can't handle. Why was H so worried about this?

Again H makes an incision, this time into P's other arm. Another tube is inserted. She does this several times all around P's body. It's definitely uncomfortable but still not worth fretting over. The cables are all hooked to a machine. It hums to life when H flips the switch to activate it.

P feels a fluid pour into her body. It's cold.

"Hey, H?"

"Yes?"

"How much do you still think about the war?"

"I try not to. I’ve put that regrettable business behind me."

"I think about it a lot."

"Yes," H says, "I know you do."

"I remember the first time my bombs were used in battle," P says. "I made a point to be there to witness it. At the time, I found it kind of underwhelming. From where I was, I barely heard them, and I only faintly saw the glow of the flames."

"Why did you need to be there?"

"Artistic pride, I suppose," said P. "I wanted to see my work in action. I didn't comprehend the suffering at the other end of the glow. It was all just numbers and statistics. And a faint warm glow. Like candlelight."

"Do you still feel that pride?"

"... I do. Despite everything."

"You can't help it," H says. "The work you put in, the amount of yourself you sacrificed to it. You can't help but take pride in it."

"It wasn't just that. There was also the awe of destruction. The majesty of the scale of it. It's hard not to feel a little special for taking part in something so grand."

"I know you're probably disgusted with yourself, but I'm actually glad to hear you say that. It's good that you still take pride in your accomplishments, even if the circumstances under which they were made are regrettable."

"How did you feel?" P asks. "When your inventions were first used in battle? Did you watch it happen?"

"No."

"Did you feel pride?"

"I was proud of the breakthroughs I made. I had no say in how the robots were deployed. By then it was out of my hands. Leave the generals to fret over the consequences of their orders."

P thinks back to that pride. It's still there, despite her attempts to kill it. She had tried to drown it in booze but it simply refused to die. Much like her.

The ache came on slowly throughout the day. She had been left alone in the house while H took care of other affairs. She was obliged, however, to drag the machine connected to the cables in her body behind her.

As the day progressed, so did the ache. It was subtle at first, emanating from the insertions in her flesh. Then it grew to encompass her whole body until it was nearly unbearable. Just hurt, and weight, crushing her. Cables protruding from her body like a sad sick joke, clattering awkwardly together, snagging on nearby nobs, dragging on the floor. Each disruption in their trail was another wince of agony.

That whiskey had only helped for so long. There's some pain that can't be numbed. It was so hard to be alive. Why was she still alive? Why had fate conspired to save her, when so many more deserving lie dead in broken scarred fields.

Her scar no longer hurts, but she wishes it did. Something felt missing without it. She felt further away from it now. Further from her own pain. The flames that burned her still burn in her memory. They haven’t gone away, but she lost the ability to touch it. To feel the hurt she had inflicted upon others in the name of progress.

It was a town to the east she had witnessed burning, not too far from here actually. It burned for days, and didn't let up until the chemical compound was exhausted of fuel. She didn't even know what they had done to warrant such a response, but it was not the only city to get the treatment.

Having the pain there reminded her never to allow that pride in her heart a chance to shine.

In the evening she found H in her private study, sleeping. She was sitting at her desk, hunched over and drooling onto some papers. Her glasses were off, and P can see that woman's eyes for the first time in years.

She looks so peaceful when she sleeps.

See H, young, timid, lying in the bed of their dormitory. Her dark brown eyes uncovered and staring deep into P’s, their breath mingling with heat and sweat.

H smiles.

They lie together for a long time in the warm dark. Glad to be alive.

H turns to P and says:

"What do you want to do when you leave school?"

P doesn't know how to answer. She never thought she would make it here in the first place. "Just try to get a decent job, I guess. Settle down somewhere peaceful."

Somewhere far away from the mines.

"Yeah. Me too, probably," H says.

"I don't know, I think you could probably do a lot more with your intellect."

"I don't have the constitution for anything ambitious," H says, "I really just want to be left alone."

"I don't believe that. Not from you."

H laughs that beautiful, nervous laugh.

"Well, I guess it would be nice to help people. Maybe use machines to do the work of men, so no one has to die like my father did."

P says, "who knows, with your talents, maybe you'll even build a machine that can cure death."

H laughs out loud, unrestrained. "That would be nice." She rolls over and looks into P's eyes again. "Or we could take the money and run away together. I'm sure you would prefer that."

P laughs too.

Slowly, their lips meet in the dark. Some time later, they fall asleep in each other's arms.

Far in the future in another life, P weakly drapes a blanket over a sleeping H, and shambles off to bed.

Day Four

The pain is too great to sleep. Agony fills her body and mind. The moment she lays down in bed the pain intensifies to the point of immobilizing her. Her veins are on fire, her bones are being crushed, her tears burn like acid on her cheeks.

Even breathing hurts.

Even blinking takes effort.

So she lies there in the dark, eyes staring up into nothing, and hurts. Her job now is to hurt. Her purpose in life is to hurt. All other concerns are rendered meaningless by the business of hurting.

Her body becomes one large lump of pain sensations, so her mind leaves it behind. She retreats deeper and deeper into herself as the pain encroaches from all around her. Even as she travels a million miles away, to vast and distant lands, the pain is still there, suffused in the mountains. Bearing down from the sky. In that desert of suffering she finds her true purpose.

A looming titan of steel and flesh towers over the horizon. A monument to the blood that was spilled in the name of progress. It's her. Her face carved out of the garters and sinews. A placid, unmoving portrait, perfect and radiant with heat.

In her outstretched arm, she holds a sword of shimmering flames, pointed to the horizon where the sun rises. A great, redeeming blade to smite the land and cleanse it of sin. To destroy the false utopia of Elysium.

Is this the great evolution that H seeks? Is P to be the catalyst of this great redemption? Agony stripping away all pretense, all illusions. This was never about healing.

P must die in order to be reborn.

P must be reborn in order to bring about the rebirth of the world.

P is only dimly aware when H finally comes for her. She is far too weak to move on her own, so she's placed in a wheelchair and pushed to the lab, the machine dragging behind her by the cables in her body. She puts up meager resistance, straining to crawl out of her chair, but she can barely lift a finger through the pain.

"I am sorry," H says. "I did tell you it would hurt."

P can only grunt feebly in response.

"It's almost over now," H says. "Soon the pain will be gone."

The table is laid out before her in the lab, bare and free of restraints. Beside the table is a metal automoton, more advanced than any P had ever seen before. It looks human. Really human, with shining metal skin.

"This is your new body," says H. "Don't worry, It'll look indistinguishable from human flesh once the skin grafts are in place."

P strains again and manages to lift herself out of the chair, tumbling onto the floor. The cables rip out of her skin and spray black oil all over the floor.

"Goodness sake, P. There's no need for all these dramatics. What did you think was going to happen? I am a roboticist after all."

P struggles to lift herself up.

"Consciousness transfer," P says, feebly. "How long have you had this technology?"

"It's one of the first things I figured out. How do you think I built those robots?"

"You've been turning people into these things. Those are the experiments the chief was talking about."

"Drunks, the sick, the dying. People like you. I gave them another chance at life. A chance to be part of something bigger." H bends down and lifts P's chin up. "Like I'm giving you."

She lifts P off the floor and places her on the table.

"It's too late to back out now anyways," she says. "Your old body is dying. It needed to."

"I'd rather die than be a part of this."

"You don't mean that. You're in pain and afraid. You'll understand in the end."

H hooks P's head up to a helmet, the wires are connected to the metal body.

P says, "I'll burn you. I'll burn this whole city."

"I hope you do. This place has fulfilled its purpose. I only hope you'll build something better in its place."

H leans over and meets P's eyes. "I always wanted it to be you. You're far too precious to die." She plants a kiss on P’s cold, tired lips. "Don't let it all be for nothing."

H walks over to the switch on the wall and takes one last look back.

P relaxes and lets it happen.

H flips the switch and it all...

goes...

black.

Day Five

The pain is gone.

The fear is gone.

She feels nothing. The perfect empty bliss she's been chasing since the war ended.

She searches her war memories. They play before her in perfect high definition clarity, yet they feel distant somehow. She can't touch them anymore. It's like they happened to someone else now, which they have.

She reaches up to touch her scar. It's gone. Her skin is pristine and perfect. Nothing of the blemishes and scars of the life she lived.

She is a perfect simulacrum of herself.

Her skin senses the air in the lab. Circuits send signals to processors which read the information as cold. She understands that she's cold, but doesn't feel it.

Before her on the table there's a body, covered by a bloody sheet. Just a corpse, nothing more now.

She takes a step forward off the stand holding her body up. She feels her mind making the necessary calculations and sending signals to the servos and pistons that move her body. She flexes her fingers. The skin is tight and leathery over the metal. From the outside, it's indistinguishable from human flesh, just like H said.

H.

P runs out of the lab. There's a trail of blood drops leading down the hallway and up the stairs to the attic. P follows it. In the attic, a door is open leading to the balcony.

Outside is H.

She's looking up to the night sky, her hands behind her back. They're dripping with blood.

"It is done," she says.

"What have you done to me?"

"I think you already know. I promised I would cure you, and I have. How does it feel?"

"... cold."

"You'll get used to it."

P closes her eyes. The night air moves through her synthetic lungs.

Before her, fields of silicone stretch out into eternity, intricate circuitry glittering gold under the moonlight.

H turns around and faces P. Her glasses are off. Her eyes wear a smile warm with pride. "You're beautiful," she says.

H walks to P and caresses her cheeks. She says, "you want to cry, don't you?"

"I would if I could," P says. "It's so empty. Everything I was has been taken out. It's like I'm someone else now. It's like I'm nobody."

"Not nobody," H says. "A whole new being. You can be whatever you like now. There's no need for crying anymore. You're perfect."

"I meant what I said. That I would burn you. I still want to, even if I can't remember the pain anymore."

"A promise you made in another life," H says. "You may do whatever you like to me. My work is done."

P takes H's face in her hands. H's eyes are deep with a joyful sorrow.

P leans in and kisses H. She tries to savor her tongue but finds no warmth in her mouth. Only a dim understanding of H's tongue. A hollow comprehension of the shape of it.

P pulls away.

H says, "I'm never going to regret saving you. No matter what you do. I want you to live."

P says, "nothing the gods of robotics won't let you into heaven for, surely."

P's hands slowly slide down H's cheeks and wrap themselves around her throat.

Even through the pain of strangulation, H manages to mouth the words: "I love you."

P squeezes and squeezes until the circuits in her hands tell her the movement has stopped.

Even as H goes limp on the ground, her placid smile stays, frozen in her pride.

P looks up to the night sky, drinking in its vastness. All the stars and planets and the emptiness between them.

It all fits inside her now.

No one outside knows what became of those two scientists upon whose work this vast and prosperous city was built. Some of the more observant noticed an old house that had once stood there, sandwiched between towering mountains of steel, now a pile of cinders and ash.

Nothing else remained.

Epilogue

Mechanical people toil away atop rising scaffolding. Combat droids stand at attention, ready to be deployed to carry out the violence necessary for their city.

Above them all, a figure emerges, standing atop the highest tower.

All those metal souls turn to look at her, stopping their work.

She soars on wings of burning chrome and brandishes a shining sword.

With a swing of her blade, she bathes the city in redeeming flames.

All those sick, the drunks, and the dead follow her to a new horizon over the hill, and leave Elysium behind.

End