XIII: SANCTUARY
Faster. Min's lungs burn in her chest as she hurls herself around one corner, then another. The MetroClave has long since disappeared behind her. Ahead: an endless maze of alleyways and access corridors. As her legs carry her forward, the twists and turns whip by her in a blur, as insubstantial as the backdrop of a nightmare. Willow's holographic cat dashes ahead, flickering into and out of existence, glitching its way through the industrial labyrinth at a breakneck pace.
There's a thunderous crash behind her, followed by the dull smack of flesh on flesh. In her mind's eye, she can picture them: bodies, countless bodies, smashing into and over one another as they spill into the alleyway. A chorus of hisses, wails, and animalistic screeches fills her ears.
Keep moving, she tells herself. Run as fast as you can and don't look back.
She looks.
The Botched surge toward her in an avalanche of flailing limbs. They're close—much too close. Red light shimmers over the loops and coils of intestinal tubing that erupt from their hollow abdomens. The nearest have already unhinged their jaws; milky saliva pours from their gaping mouths as they scramble toward her, hissing like vipers. Behind them, more sinister shapes undulate and convulse, lashing the air with tendrils that bristle with human teeth.
Min doesn't scream. Her security grafts won't let her. Instead, they channel the energy of her panic down her spine and into her legs, which hammer the ground ever faster. Her perception of time reduces itself to a series of flickering snapshots: The red-lit alley. Eruptions of fluid as her feet slam the deck plating. The sanctuary door.
The door! It irises open so suddenly that she nearly overshoots it. Acting on instinct, she throws her weight backward, cinches her hands around the rim, and uses it to arrest her momentum. Her feet slide out from under her, but her grip on the doorway holds.
A moment later, a gangly figure goes crashing past her, slamming into the deck plating. The vestigial limbs that sprout from its torso flail convulsively as it struggles up onto all fours. It locks eyes with Min, white drool streaming from its multitude of nested jaws.
She hurls herself through the doorway, and it irises shut behind her.
***
Min lies curled into a ball, her hands clasped over her face. After so many hours in the dark of the MetroClave and under the deep red of the emergency lights, the warm glow of Willow's sanctuary seems blinding. Her heart continues to hammer in her chest; it reminds her of a frenzied animal, struggling to escape.
Slow. Calm. You're okay now, she tells herself as she struggles to control her breathing. You've made it. You're safe. Little by little, she allows the light to filter through her fingers, and her environment gradually reveals itself.
She's locked in a spare, self-contained chamber with bare metal walls and grated flooring. Its size is modest, not much bigger than a coffin apartment. The door by which she entered has disappeared entirely, and the only apparent way out is via a small, recessed hatch in the wall near her feet. It looks like the mouth of a maintenance conduit, just large enough to wriggle through.
The center of the chamber is dominated by a NeuroSim network interface with an integrated hibernation system. There's an autosurgeon set into the far wall, with a nutrient spigot and a sanitation pod alongside it.
There are no other furnishings, and no other occupants. She's alone.
"This isn't a sanctuary. It's just a hole to hide in." Her voice sounds distant in her ears, as if it's coming from someone else. "Like my bedroom. Another cage."
A hologram of Willow flickers into being in front of her and gestures toward the NeuroSim terminal. "It can be whatever you want it to be," she says softly. "I prefer a garden."
Min frowns. "Where are you, Willow? The real you, I mean. I thought you were going to be here."
"I am here, kiddo. As much as I'm anywhere." The hologram stoops to look Min in the eye. "If you're asking about my physical body, I have several, but I'm afraid that they're all busy. The Arc is vast, and you're not the only one who needs saving."
"Wait. If you're not in your body…"
"I live where you first met me," she gently replies. "In the place you call the Dead Empty."
A cold lump forms in Min's throat. "But… the Dead Empty isn't real."
"That's what they told you, isn't it? But deep down, you've always known better." The hologram puts on a smile. "The Dead Empty is as real as I am, Min. When I saw that you'd found your way inside, I knew that you had to be saved."
"…Willow? What are you?"
"Someone who wants you to be safe and happy."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I'm prepared to give."
"Why?" Min seethes. "After everything I've done for you, why can't you give me a simple answer?"
"Because I'm a creature of the Arc, kiddo. And the Arc is not a simple place." Willow's voice softens. "You've been a trooper, Min. And you're right, you've been through a lot. But I'd like to make it better, if you'll let me. We could start right now."
"By doing what?"
"For starters, I could remove the key that we installed in your head. We don't need it now that your sanctuary's online. It wouldn't take me ten minutes to pull the graft."
Min shakes her head solemnly. "No."
"Really? I thought you hated it."
"I did. But there are only two people on the Arc who remember Orren as he used to be, and thanks to your key, I'm both of them." Min looks the hologram dead in the eye. "If you pull the graft, half of those memories will vanish. My friend deserves better than that."
"I respect that, kiddo. I really do." Willow's holographic avatar rests a hand on Min's shoulder. "It's your graft, and your call. Now, watch—I have something else to show you."
The NeuroSim interface whirs to life, its cooling fans spinning, its monitors pulsing with light. Min stares at it listlessly. "I don't know what good that'll do me. Everyone I went to the Academy with is probably dead."
"Probably. But there are others out there who aren't. Survivors, like you. I've built you a paradise, kiddo—one that touches hundreds of other sectors, spread all across the Arc. You'll be able to make wonderful new friends, and to live with them in peace."
"But only virtually. In reality, I'll be sealed away in this room. Maybe forever." Min slumps down to the floor, hugging her knees. "This wasn't what I wanted, Willow."
"It's what I promised."
"It isn't enough."
Willow's avatar puts its hands on its hips, frowning. "I'm sorry you feel that way, kiddo. But this is the best that I could do for you. The best anybody could have done."
Min takes a deep breath, then gestures down to the hatch at her feet. "Where does that lead?"
The hologram shakes its head solemnly. "Nowhere good."
Min glares at the flickering avatar, suddenly angry. "No. You don't get to say that. Not after all the half-truths and secrets, and not after everything you've put me through. I opened your goddamned gate—now you owe me an answer. And remember: only the truth."
The hologram closes its eyes. "The Trench," Willow sighs. "It leads to the TransSec Trench. It'll take you out of the Gleam if you follow it."
"Open it."
"You don't know what you're asking. There are worse things out there than the Botched, and the Trench is crawling with them." Her voice hardens. "Take a second to imagine that, Min. Really imagine it."
"It still has something this sanctuary doesn't."
"What's that?"
"Hope. As awful as the Trench may be, I can at least hope to find something better on the other side."
Willow glares at her through eyes made of flickering light. "Hope isn't a strategy, Min."
"It's gotten me this far."
Willow stares at Min, studying her face. Finally, the avatar's shoulders slump in resignation. "If your heart's set on this, I won't stop you. And I'll do my best to keep you alive out there, the same as I always have. But you've been through hell and back already, so please… eat something first. Rest." The hologram nods up at the waiting NeuroSim interface. "Spend a day or two in paradise while your body recovers."
"We both know that if I do that, I'll never want to leave."
Willow chuckles softly. "…That was the idea, yeah. But I guess you're too clever for me now." She pauses, then heaves a sigh. "You'd better not get yourself killed out there."
"Why not? Got another gate you need opened?"
"Because your death would hurt me, Min. Badly."
"Really?"
"Only the truth." Smiling sadly, Willow's hologram takes its place on the floor beside her. "You should know that the hatch only opens one way. Once you pass through it, there'll be no coming back. And it'll be dark in there, Min. Very, very dark."
Min closes her eyes and lets nothingness envelop her. She doesn't picture trees, or butterflies, or the Academy. Doesn't recite any comforting words. After everything she's been through, the emptiness is a welcome respite. It feels like coming home.
"That's okay, Willow," she breathes. "The darkness doesn't frighten me anymore."
***
AFTERWORD
Thank you for reading The Dead Empty, a GRAFT novella by Andrew McIntosh. Presented by Harebrained and edited by Elisa Mader. GRAFT is a Survival Horror RPG set in an original, post-cyberpunk IP by Harebrained © 2024.
The Arc is vast and full of horrors.
Min and Willow’s stories will continue in GRAFT…
