That's Gonna Hurt in the Morning . . .

[Nayt]

That's Gonna Hurt in the Morning . . .

Hey Achy. Say cheese.

And then, brought forth by a hollow thud, a sullen, sunken darkness reduced all further pain to nothing, and rendered a woman unconscious for the duration of a brutal assault which she was--in the end--best off never recalling in the first place. It had been a surprise attack, and the voice that brought it on had been an unfamiliar one . . .

In most cases, a white light generally suggested some sort of near death experience or going to the "other side," as most stories suggested. This one was different, though--it was a literal light, nothing metaphysical, just a flickering source of illumination, brought forth from an aged light--electricity ran artificial illumination, running from an old, clunky converter, generating more vapid humming noise than it did light.

But that was just how some of them lived in this city. Electricity was a convenience that some of them preferred, while for people like Sturm, it was a stark requirement. Beyond his facility, however, it was optional and scarce to find--which would have suggested to the woman, upon her reawakening, that she may have been there, in Tyrian Sturm's facility. A hospital of sorts, at least in appearance.

Though, this room was nothing similar to one of the hospital rooms. First and foremost, the bed was actually comfortable. Examinations were rarely ever wholly pleasant because of this! She was also under cover, and heavily bandaged. The pain was unavoidable, too; she was going to ache all over, and that was all there was to it. The small room held only a bed, a dresser, and a door--not large enough for any sort of customization, but clearly not a hospital room. It was too new, too well taken care off . . .

[Eric]

The light struck her when she opened her eyes, causing her to blink several times. What the hell happened, she thought. Making as if to sit up to see where she might be, her muscles screamed in protest. With an involuntary cry of pain she fell back, the sharp jab of pain from her movement alleviating leaving behind a great bit of aching. Without moving, Achren looked around the room trying to figure out where she was, as instantly she knew she was not at her home. Achren liked being in the dark, with as little light as possible. In her home, she only ever had a few candles lit at any given time.

What the hell happened to me?

She only remembered someone saying her name, and then a being struck in the head. It was then that she had lost consciousness. In fact, she couldn’t even remember who it was that struck her, so hazy was the memory. After a few moments, however, the mystery of her location became a little clearer to her. The light was different from something she would have had, as it used electricity, and so few places had such a thing.

Am I at a hospital, she thought, No, of course not. This room is too gaudy for a hospital. . .

Her thoughts interrupted as she tried to move again, only to have her body yell at her in the form of great pain.

“What. . . the hell,” she finally said aloud along with her gasp of pain. Falling back and forcing herself to move as little as possible, she began to try and think where she was. The bed was comfortable, or at least soft, she could find no true comfort to rid her of the aches she felt. As she thought about the possibilities, she surmised that she was likely in Sturm’s facility.

Why am I here then? Who the fuck hit me, and apparently beat me half to death? Was it Cyril and his feminine companion? I don’t like all of this. A great wave of uncertain anxiety came over her, she didn’t like not knowing where she was and why she was there. All the woman knew was that she was in pain, and obviously under the power of another to be beaten and then spirited away from her home, as she saw, was the only thing that could have happened. I don’t like this at all.

[Nayt]

Shortly after Achren's awakening, the door to the room was pulled open, revealing a somewhat short--five feet and seven inches, to be exact--young man, walking in, a tray held in his arms, balanced, containing ointment and fresh bandages. Obviously, he had been the one that was taking care of Achren . . .

The youth had extremely light gray skin; he would have been able to pass off for a human were it not for all of his other traits. He had a boyish face and elongated ears--longer than those of the elves of Prompt, with natural pigments of blue upon the tips of his ears. Black hair was only long enough that his bangs could cover his eyes if he liked, but as he usually kept his hair in a right-side part, his bangs generally wound up covering his left eye. He had thin eyebrows and a habit for wearing tighter clothes--hip-hugging black jeans and a long-sleeved button-down black shirt.

Just like all Ersatzshad, he, too, had a pair of horns upon his body: up on his skull, on the side of his head, just above his right ear. They were pressed up against each other and quite small. He was easily identified by all Ersatzshad as "Zeto," an awkward young man who was known to work for Sturm. He was a monitor, one of those who kept watch of the city in a fully electrified room, covered in flickering screens. Those monitor rooms were scattered about Sturm's facility, and those who volunteered for such pay-less jobs often didn't get out too much, and it was common for some of the other Ersatzshad to dislike them for potential invasions of privacy.

"Oh, you're awake," Zeto noted, a bit surprised. "How are you feeling?"

[Eric]

Achren looked over, not moving, to look at the Ersatzshad that entered. The light grey skin, which she saw was almost white, the feminine demeanor, but most of all, those distinct and vivid yellow… Zeto. From the looks of it, she surmised that it was he whom had taken care of her during this recovery. She could not help but wonder if he had also saved her from whomever it was that had harmed her. The felled Ersatzshad knew him to be one of Sturm’s eyes that watched the city through the immaculate surveillance system that the man had come up with. Many were offended by it, and hated him, Achren however transcended such prejudice, it was something she could not help, and he was naught but a minion doing what he was commanded. There was no fault within it.

In fact, Achren was glad it was he, as opposed to some of the others. He was not nearly as pretentious and haughty as so many of the others, nor as insufferable as she found Usurii to be. I wonder how long I was out. For a moment she contemplated not saying anything at all, for she figured it was fairly obvious how she had to be feeling. However, she wanted to ask him questions, and thought it wouldn’t be a great idea to offend him.

“As if I’ve been mauled by a thousand shades,” she said quietly, the vibrations of her throat causing her a little bit of pain. “What happened to me?”

[Nayt]

Zeto shook his head. "I wish I knew . . . Whoever it was, they knew what places weren't monitored."

It was unfortunate to have no answer, but such was the Ersatzshads' situation. This injustice could be investigated, but their main tool for investigation was essentially blind, here: Achren must have walked into a blind spot before she was beaten to near death. The perpetrators must have also been using blind spots to move, too . . .

"A lot of crazy things have been happening here since the activists started up," Zeto sighed, before going off topic to say, "Could you lift your arm a bit?"

He needed to change some of her bandages and apply more medicine, or else she'd wind up with one severe infection. All of Achren's wounds were blunt force trauma. Something wide and metal had to have struck her each time, as she suffered from both broken limbs--ribs, mainly, but as she moved a bit, she'd find her left arm in a makeshift brace; Zeto didn't have the supplies on hand to make a cast for her. Blunt force trauma broke skin when done hard enough, though, and it seemed to be the case. The breaks in skin, where there were the most bandages, were surrounded by fairly substantial bruises. Achren had bandages all over her--on her cheek, from her forehead wrapping around to the back of her head, around her arms, chest, legs, and even her feet. She may as well have been mauled by a thousand shades, all injuries considered.

Zeto had kept her clothed--well, decent, at least. A tank top and the underwear she was wearing at the time was the best he could provide, as he had to get the bloody clothes off of her, and bandage her up without adding too much that'd just irritate her injuries. Nonetheless, were he permitted, he'd gently strip the lengthy bandage that covered her right arm like a mummy-wrap, so he could try not to hurt her in the process of medicating the wound and replace the bandages with a spool of fresh, cleaner ones. Sadly, not causing pain wasn't going to happen . . .

[Eric]

Achren’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t move, she knew he was going to change her bandages. There was a slight dread that hung in her throat, as much as it hurt her to move, removing and replacing bandages was going to cause her a bit of pain as well. Though, the pain was less present within her mind while she was thinking. A blind spot, she thought cynically, The cowards. Achren was surprised by her own thought, and her eyes said as much, though she was sure it only made her look crazy. Generally she would have regarded it as clever and quite proper to beat one of the Ersatzshad to near death where the masters of the Ersatzshad could not see you do it. Though she supposed, even she could be less rational once beaten half to death.

Achren did, however, lift her arm and winced with the pain that jolted through it. It may not have been so bad if she had not wasted her energy on the invaders. Then her natural shadow powers might have healed her slightly, or even more, she might have been able to fend off her crude, blunt attackers. Then again, she hadn’t really had time to respond, so she had to think of the former.

“If I was in a blind spot, and I know no one was looking for me,” she said bluntly, “Who just happened to stroll by and rescue me?”

[Nayt]

Was she . . . suggesting that he was in on it? Zeto didn't know, but he wasn't going to fault her if she did. Of course she should have been weary. She'd been nearly killed, and it was practically convenient that he was there. Zeto was used to weariness, though. No one trusted him. He had his eyes on the streets, and everyone knew that he and the others like him saw almost everything that happened on those streets. What if he saw something personal, and went and gossiped about it later? Zeto never held it against someone for disliking him or feeling hesitant to speak to and/or like him; the most he could do was be kind when people were around him.

"When someone enters a blind spot and never comes out, there's need for concern."

And rightly so. The issue with blind spots had considerable long term danger, especially since it couldn't be fixed. Their technologies couldn't be replicated. They were too old and clunky for reverse engineering to work, even for geniuses like those Sturm worked with. A shortage meant corners had to be cut--and those corners left blind spots for the watchers of the city. It was bad news if someone entered one and never came back out.

"Actually, to be honest, Sanguine thought you were with some of the people that travel the blind spots," Zeto sighed. "I was more worried than anything else, though. You're not the first one to get attacked in one of the blind spots, you know? This town is really starting to get out of control . . ."

[Eric]

Achren listened to him, and seemed nonplussed when he said that Sanguine thought she might have consorted with the blind-runners. It wasn’t hard for someone to envision her as an entity of betrayal. Her demeanor was sad, and pessimistic, and sometimes that could make someone amiable, since really she seemed so apathetic. If she were in Sanguine shoes, she might assume the same thing, and probably even could have justified why they might have hit her… for if she betrayed her brethren, she would have easily betrayed them too, and thus, be eliminated. This was, however, not the case and Achren’s mind worked furiously wondering who it was that had tried to kill her.

Those red eyes wondered back to Zeto as he continued with his work and spoke a little more. Worried, she thought derisively. Unlike the others, it was not her worry of Zeto and what he might see, she didn’t really care in that regard, what bothered her was the notion that he had might have come to find her out of charity and concern. Two things she was not generally accustomed too, as most would rather her die, and not be such a drag on their parties and other social interactions that she went to out of pure obligation.

“So it was you that saved my life?” Achren repeated her question, though making it more direct, as obviously he had not answered her. This isn’t my week, spared by humans and rescued by one of my own…. I do hate “owing” people.

[Nayt]

"Yes, it was," replied Zeto.

He didn't look at her face while talking, focusing primarily on the task at hand. He had to clean the wounds on her legs and subsequently replace the bandages, which in itself was difficult, as he had to be weary of the reflexes. Everyone had them, and with injuries all over her body, legs included, Achren might have been sensitive enough through her body to potentially kick him in the face by reflex alone, if he so much tapped the wrong joint.

"Truthfully, you should have been dead," Zeto remarked as an idle thought whilst he continued the process of changing her bandages and re-cleaning the wounds, "I honestly have no clue how you lived through all of that. Any normal person would have probably died during the attack, let alone after the fact . . ."

It was just one more bandage to replace--the one around her belly, which had an underlying wound that she'd find the most excruciating of them all. When there were bones to take a hit, internal damage was minimal, but shots to the stomach and sides could cause enormous amounts of pain, and in some cases, death. Achren was fortunate in that regard; she only had the pain. Death wasn't going to come to her through internal damage, that much was for sure. Zeto would have primed her for that possibility already, were it one.

Zeto smiled as he stepped back, continuing with his previous statements with a simple, innocent, and relieved conclusion: "But I'm glad you held on."

[Eric]

Achren listened to him talk, and trying to keep her body still so she would not harm him or cause more pain to herself than was necessary. Her only consolation was that it was not someone like Presmodia that had brought her to be healed. She would not have been able to bear that, or his haughty boasting she was sure would have ensued. For a moment she did not speak, but merely tried to control the gasps of pain from becoming too intense, it was embarrassing enough without looking weak. As he finished his statement, commenting on her luck at being alive, she could not help but reply.

Her words were cynical, and her tone the same melancholy that always emanated from her, “Yes, well, life seems to have a way of playing with me and making me suffer instead of releasing me to eternal sleep.”

Just after she spoke, he began to work on her stomach and her vision became blurry as her head swooned with the pain and a cry escaped her lips before she could stifle it. He spoke the truth, when he said she should have been dead. A part of her wished she was, for she did not fear death, even if she did not seek it out. The pain was so great, that she felt if she were to burn in hell, that is what every waking moment would be like, a pain such as that.

Breathing heavily she heard what else he said, and without being able to stop herself, she blushed. Though her blush was not what a humans might be, for it was not in her biology for her cheeks to turn that delicate shade of pink. Her sallow cheeks merely darkened. She was not used to people saying such things, and for whatever reason, was even more embarrassed than before. For once, she did not speak, or make a snarky remark. Though as quickly as it happened she tried to force it away, remembering her pain and trying to ignore what he said. She was not touched, of course, no she did not think that was the feeling, she was plainly humiliated.

[Nayt]

Pessimism, a purely melancholic attitude towards life. It was what drove most of them crazy with Achren, and primarily the complaints she received or heard about passed between other Ersatzshad. Zeto had no complaints about it, though. Even with her overbearingly melancholic attitude, he could maintain a certain degree of happiness. He didn't buckle under the pressure of constant suspicion and veritable lack of trust from his peers; if that didn't drag him under, nothing was going to. There was a good reason that he had his job.

For the rational folk among them, that was no reason to go out of one's way to try and kill a person. Even if she was a drag on social gatherings at times, that didn't mean she deserved to die. Even someone as unstable as Sanguine lacked the honest desire to do her in. What happened couldn't have just been an elaborate revenge plot. The very fact that she was still alive spoke that much; were it some sort of revenge, she'd have definitely been killed. Even if the revenge was petty--for something like ruining another person's day with "advice" that was synonymous in some way to "kill yourself, it's the only way to avoid future conflict."

"I suppose it's too early to ask this, but . . ." Zeto trailed off, pausing for a moment as he stared at the floor--ashamed? No. Disappointed. Not with Achren, but the situation, and how it had escalated to the point of attempted murder on the woman. ". . . do you know anything about what's happening in this city? Or why you were attacked?"

Too early, indeed--and it didn't seem as if Achren knew much about it at all. Zeto just needed to get a bit of understanding first. If he had to throw out his theories, he didn't want to have to repeat things she already knew.

[Eric]

Achren did not have to think for very long to find her answer, if only because there was so little there. All she could do was speculate. In fact, the only reason she was even entirely sure she was attacked was because of the blur of pain before passing out, and lying on the bed she was in now, bandages and wounds galore. What she did have to think about was why he was asking her. It wasn’t her way to accept the obvious answer, it was however, very much Achren to be suspicious and paranoid. For all she knew little Zeto, the eyes and ears of the entire city, could have orchestrated this. Luckily, for her own sanity, she was able to deduce that she doubted him capable of such a deed.

If he had not looked to the floor in shame, she might not have wondered at all, but he did and she could honestly say she didn’t understand why. Then again, if there was a feeling Achren could comprehend, it was a bit of shame, and she figured that was what it was. Though she didn’t know why he was shameful for asking the question, it seemed completely relevant to her. Her brain was not broken after all, only her body.

“You know almost as much as I do, Zeto. I was walking down the alley, and was struck from behind, or so I figure, knocked out and then beaten while I lay there unconscious. In truth, I was already weakened from a fight I had with those invading humans. I suppose it could have been them, though I do not think so, they allowed me to leave with my life,” she paused for a moment, if only to acknowledge the fact that wasn’t something she had meant to voice out loud. “It would be redundant for them to have killed me, so no, I know next to nothing, only that I was struck from behind and beaten within an inch of my life…but you knew that already as well. So I suppose instead of knowing almost as much as I, you do know as much as I.”

[Nayt]

It seemed that maybe she didn't know what was going on in the city--if only because she couldn't explain why she was attacked. Zeto concluded this, as his question had actually been redundant. If she had known the details about the city's current "situation," then she would have been able to draw her own (presumably correct) conclusion about the nature and reason for her attack.

"I don't think they left you alive on purpose," Zeto replied, first and foremost, "Whoever attacked you was either new to this, or altogether sloppy. Whoever it was left you for dead--for which you're extremely lucky. In the few other cases of violence, the victims within the blind spots weren't left to die, they were outright killed."

It felt like the best way to lead into the explanation he was about to provide. For a moment, he paced. He wasn't calm, that much was for sure, but he wasn't angry, either. Zeto was . . . worried--and not just about those that were subject to violence scattered through the City of Shadows, but for those that were inciting it. This whole situation was becoming more and more dangerous over time, and the longer it went unresolved, the worse it was going to get, which could only mean a higher body count.

"Some time ago, "activists" appeared amongst us--people who . . . didn't agree with our Master. At first, they just openly disagreed--then, they started to do things to get Master's attention--from refusing orders to vandalism. And now, at least six of us have been beaten to death while passing through blind spots . . . that I know of. It would have been seven, had we not found you sooner," Zeto sighed, "I understand you not knowing about this, though. You live in the south side, while all of this has been occurring in the northwest sectors. This is the first time there has been an attack outside of the northwest sectors of the city."

That I know of . . .

[Eric]

“Pity, isn’t it? The one time I am attacked and left for dead, my attackers were not thorough enough.”

The morose comment seemed so natural, and she didn’t even seem to have to think before making the semi-sarcastic comment. It was true she had heard next to nothing of the attacks. Even if she had, she surmised that it must not have been important to her at the time, thus she filtered the information out of her mind. Now it seemed very important, for despite her melancholic and cynical outlook, she didn’t like being beaten from behind, especially after a sound defeat from the humans she had encountered.

A question did post itself in her mind, and that was how could their Master not do anything to stop such acts? The activists obviously had no intention of stopping. Those red eyes followed Zeto as he paced back and forth. There was a hot feeling in her face, and quite amusedly she found herself feeling angry. Angry that she had been attacked, and even more that they had not even found it appropriate to make sure she wasn’t dead. She was also angry at their Master for allowing it to continue and spread throughout the city.

“Is anything being done to eliminate these foolish ‘activists’?”

[Nayt]

Zeto didn't respond to the relatively pessimistic statement of Achren's. He didn't facilitate that sort of thing, but also found it difficult to reply to, when the dialog could become volatile as a result. Personally, he was thankful that at least one person had survived the attacks, and saddened that not only had people died, but the attacks were yet to stop--and spreading like a cancer into the rest of the city . . .

"We're trying," Zeto replied, personally unconvinced--not of their efforts, but of their potential for success. He had been reassured that it would be taken care of quickly, but that reassurance hadn't come directly from their Master, which made Zeto feel less at ease. "We've tried communicating and contacting who we assume to be the leader of the activists, but . . . it hasn't worked."

Sullenly, Zeto leaned against the wall nearest the door. He was tempted to let himself sit on the floor, but refrained. He folded his arms over his chest and stared at the floor, a frown upon his lips. He trusted their Master, that wasn't the problem. There was no question of loyalty for him. His conflict was entirely with the issue of potentially fighting his fellow Ersatzshad. Regardless of loyalties, he had a problem with that.

"Now, it's a matter of mobilization . . ." Zeto sighed, "Honestly, this couldn't have happened at a worse time. Master hasn't the time to personally attend to the matter--though he hasn't told me why, the fact that he's been in the company of Brenden and out . . . not even in the city half of the time. He even canceled and postponed most of the medical checkups he had scheduled for the next month. This whole matter has been left in the hands of people like Pruzo and others like him."

Pruzo was one of Tyrian Sturm's more trusted Ersatzshad. It wasn't really a hierarchy as it was an appointment. Sturm "trusted" these particular Ersatzshad to do a job, and that job was to keep the peace if necessary--while others had the job of personally assisting Sturm in particular experiments, not as the experiments themselves, but as other opinions and other perspectives so that Sturm could get more than just his own angle on something. That allowed him to do better work most of the time. Likewise, if he had particular men and women there to keep the peace when he was busy, it allowed him to keep to his prior commitments without guilt. That was how Zeto understood it, at least.