Castle
He stood in the shade of the colossal wall. A mere arms length away. For two-and-a-half years he could have only dreamt of being this close to MangaRaiders again. He didn’t even look up; just stared straight at the surface. Tentatively he reached out a hand and placed it on the strange, alloy surface. It was perfectly smooth, and, despite the best efforts of the blazing desert sun, pleasantly temperate to the touch. NO1SY felt a pang of the familiar. A fleeting warmth of a caring embrace. A distant echo of jovial laughter. It reminded him what had been lost.
Resolute to carve his way through the present instead of wallowing in the past, he surfed his way to the bottom of the skirt of sand that piled around the city. Then he turned back to appraise the, quite literally, gigantic hurdle in his path.
The wall rose a skyward, so tall that it matched the height of the one-hundred story MR Tower at MangaRaiders’ centre. Usually, from this angle, it was impossible to tell where the alloy ended and the sky began. But the bastion was not looking its finest; cracked open like a giant egg and pock-marked from the artillery barrage that ravaged it. It seemed like the Lost Chorus had no intentions of repairing the damage. They had also fully dismantled the holo-dome drone network, making for easy aerial access and removing anything that obscured their display of conquest.
He had found himself ejected from the underground at a point roughly half-way between two of MR City’s three grand gateways. To travel here by land vehicle from inside the city would take the best part of a day, so it was likely that security responses to this area were either coordinated from the facility or sent over the walls by air. Thankfully, no alarms had screamed as he had crept across the last stretch of sand earlier. No warning shots had been fired at his feet. The usual buzz of helicopters and drones was distinctly absent since the sandstorm rolled in. Perhaps the storm had affected 4Kids’ desert surveillance? An inexplicable shiver shot down NO1SY’s spine. Maybe the Lost Chorus simply had no interest in a lone, hideously sweaty, probably sunburnt, desert traveller.
Dusk finally descended with the sun dipping over the horizon and lathering the sky in a wash of reds and oranges. It had still been over an hour’s cautious march to reach the wall, even though it had seemed right in his face when he had emerged back into the desert from the trapezoid doorway. Frankly, NO1SY was amazed that the regular military operations had not resumed by now. It was suspicious, but he decided to make an opportunity of this fleeting gap in the Lost Chorus’ aegis.
And so he sat down and took a load off. Leaning back against the bank of sand, he pulled on his headphones.
"Distortion down, drop gain to four, increase reverb slightly… maybe some woodwind… aaaaand shuffle." With a tap, NO1SY closed his eyes and unwound. Plucky, ambient guitars led into soft, folky melodies, followed by some smooth, jazzy fusions. The effervescent music swirled through him like a gentle breeze through a tranquil forest, and soon he began to float with it.
With airy buoyancy, NO1SY rolled lightly to his feet, bobbing preemptively. Then he bounced upwards in a leisurely and fluid motion. The ground grew increasingly distant as a feeling of near weightlessness enveloped him and carried him higher and higher in the still desert air. More and more of the wall passed in front of him, the silvery material shining brilliantly bronze in the last of the day’s light. This area was left mostly unmarred by the battle. He was drawing nearer to the surface to the point where a blurred reflection began to mimic him in the metallic sheen as he floated on by.
After several minutes, and without warning, there was no more wall. NO1SY’s world exploded outwards into sheer vastness as the barrier fell away below. A sprawling metropolis spread out ahead of him, in the jagged jaws of the wall. Skyscrapers and buildings of all shapes and sizes emerged from the urban canopy but one tower in particular, right in the centre, defined the skyline. As the sun buried itself off in the distance, and the centre of the city responded by flickering into a veritable neon rainbow, NO1SY rolled into a lingering backwards flip, taking it all in. What a view…
Unfortunately, what goes up must come down, and NO1SY spied a clear landing. With a tap of the headphones the bubbly music fizzled and he felt gravity beckon once more. His bomber jacket puffed out and billowed behind him as he descended. His landing would not have scored tens in a gymnastics competition, but at least he didn’t fall off of the wall… Now that he had his feet back on solid ground the vertigo that chased him up the entire distance finally caught up and swept his legs from under him. NO1SY sat until the spinning stopped and the tightness left his chest.
The sun had set at his back, and the orientation of the gates and towers told him that he was still on the western side of the city perched over the Artists’ District, not far north from the border of the General District. He had a lot of ground yet to cover it seemed.
Thin, red targeting lasers swept across the building tops from tall, evenly spaced watchtowers. Those are new additions… he mused. It appeared that the majority of the snipers’ focus was turned inward as opposed to out. The only action that he could see on the fortification was far off in the distance to his left. While the central area of MR City was well illuminated this night, the outer areas of the four quarters remained uncharacteristically dark. The only exceptions were the three main roads that led from the city centre highways all the way to each of the gates. Tonight, the North Gate, fed by the road that ran up the boundary between the Artists’ District and the Writers’ District, was especially lit up.
NO1SY squinted hard to make out the commotion on the far-off road. It looked like a small army had been mobilized. Several armoured vehicles raced alongside five or six troop transports, and a tank even brought up the rear. Something out in the desert had clearly gotten the Lost Chorus riled up. Well, he wasn’t going to let such a generous distraction go to waste. With a tap of his headphones he hopped from the palisade and sunk slowly through a sea of urban air. Even without the holo-dome, which provided bespoke weather patterns previous to its destruction, the city still existed in its own “micro-”climate distinct from the desert. It was still and very slightly humid, as expected of a city, but it was gloriously cool.
NO1SY submerged into the concrete trenches. He bounced lightly a couple of times before tapping his headphones off and planting his feet on solid ground. ‘Welcome back NO1SY…’ he said to himself. He took a large drag in of the night-time city air. The smell of old tarmac greeted him, but his nose scrunched at the following scents. Brick dust and burnt charcoal? His eyes quickly adjusted to the umbra. Usually darkness amplified the claustrophobic nature of these fringe back streets, but for some reason NO1SY just didn’t feel it.
What he did feel was concern. Each and every building had been torn apart, gutted, burned, or some combination thereof. In the past this jumble of lanes would have been a trendy warren of eccentric exhibitions and artistic repositories. Quaint little markets would have sprung up in the streets. Now the area was well past derelict or desolate. It was verging on wasteland. He hadn’t been able to see from so far up above. Anger smouldered within him, calling him to action despite his body’s protests. He wanted a rest. He wanted a bed that wasn’t made of bloody sand. He wanted a damned stiff drink! NO1SY looked longingly to the south-east. The MR Pub was located in the inner strata of the General District. With a long sigh, NO1SY turned north-east and began his journey across the city’s northern hemisphere.
“Depressing” was a word that came to mind as NO1SY trudged through the piles of rubble and debris in the Artists’ District. He had decided to circle around through the outer city streets, which were narrow enough before the occupation and subsequent destruction, as he made his way towards the Writers’ District. While it had never been crowded out here, it felt eerie just how silent the place had become.
NO1SY slipped from tight alley to empty, crumbling warehouse, to boarded-up home. The wall dammed against the moonlight, casting a shadowy cloak upon him. Even so, it was very difficult to avoid the snipers’ lasers as they traced across the jungle of concrete. If there was one thing that the Lost Chorus were good at it was keeping to rigid scheduling, so the windows NO1SY had to work with were extremely narrow. I’m not cut out for this kind of tension… he grumbled to himself internally as he smoothly dropped prone, face in the dust, and counted to eight for the red line to pass across a fallen wooden beam a mere two inches above his head. Progress was agonisingly slow and by the time he reached the North Road he was sweating buckets from nerves as opposed to exertion. His route brought him dangerously close to the North Gate, which was currently the most well illuminated area outside of the inner city. Luckily for him there were several underpasses beneath the wide stretch of tarmac that would allow him relatively safe passage without being exposed.
NO1SY peeked from his hiding spot, in a small, gutted building made of plaster and wood. A broken wooden sign read: “Drawing Workshop: Naruto”. The newly installed gate checkpoint was heavily manned. Several footmen, milled around uneasily on the road, while two snipers scanned the sands with their scopes from a tower built into the right hand side of the arch. One person in an open tent was frantically playing with what looked like radio equipment, constantly hitting it or shouting into it. Whatever was going on in the desert to the north was stirring up quite the commotion.
High up above, on top of the only spotlit patch of the wall, a lone figure stood motionless, observing what lay without. They were but a silhouette to NO1SY from this far away, but they struck an imposing and martial image all the same.
Several distant rattles of gunfire and violent BOOMS erupted from outside the gateway. While all attention was drawn outwards, NO1SY tapped his headphones. A galloping double kick-drum fired through his nerves, and he bolted for the ramp to the underpass, practically diving down it. He tucked into a roll before striking the bottom, then landed hard on his hands and knees.
"Who da ‘eck are yooouuuu Mr. Ninja?" a cracking voice slurred. A tired and bewildered and probably drunk face swayed in his general direction blankly. Scruffy blond hair, wide face, dirty blue hoodie… NO1SY had no clue who this was. But it was good to know that there was still some life left in this city. And booze! "I… need to pee…" Without warning, the young man turned to the wall, unzipped and sprayed dizzily away.
At least it’s not Lego… NO1SY sighed as he worked through the spasms of his seizing muscles. He had pushed himself a bit too far today. When they eased, he stood and made his way for the far end of the tunnel.
NO1SY was five or so paces from the exit ramp. There was shouting above. He tensed and prepared for a fight. But it never came. Instead, an almighty rumbling shook the underpass. Mid-whizz, the guy was toppled onto his butt as the roar of a heavy engine moved overhead, presumably a tank. It was accompanied by a very unhealthy grinding. As that receded into the city, NO1SY heard something rather unexpected. In the midst of a riot of stomping boots, someone up above was sobbing uncontrollably. Someone else was giggling maniacally in fits and bursts. Someone dragged a leg limpy with a scrape tap, scrape tap.
A couple of minutes later, when all had quieted once more, calm footfalls clicked down the road. NO1SY held his breath.
"-ssion to retake the facility was unsuccessful, Sir," the raspy, yet voluminous voice cut through the still night, "The Spider’s Web remains lost to us. Casualties calculated at eighty-nine percent of deployed personnel and all deployed transport vehicles including the four armours. Sending the tank for repairs… Of course, Sir, the wounded will be transferred to the lab immediately. I do believe some very interesting data can be extracted. On another note, I suggest we consolidate…" The voice trailed away down the road. NO1SY allowed himself to breathe. He glanced back down the tunnel. The young man had fallen asleep where he had fallen. His junk was still out...
The sun was rising by the time NO1SY reached his destination at an unremarkable location in the north-east of the Writers’ District outskirts. He felt like (and probably looked like) a shambling zombie, barely able to drag one foot in front of the other anymore. Seeing the shed was the motivation he needed to make it that last hundred feet though. It was run down and neglected, blending perfectly in with the surrounding devastation, which is probably why it had survived the 4Kids’ occupation so far… Brick dust streamed down from the lip of the door as he opened it, revealing the very small and dusty interior. “Stories from Songs” was this workshop. It never took off… There was a small desk with two armchairs, and old sheets of paper and stationary strewn across it. That was about it. The switch for the hanging lightbulb didn’t work. Lines of youthful sunlight strafed across the dim room from cracks and holes in the wood. Home sweet home...
NO1SY sank into one of the chairs as the door swung shut behind him. He was asleep before he could get his boots off.
Topic: MR War Arc: NO1SY (Read 7862 times)
