The City of Labutla, with its bustling crowds, its neon lit streets, its glimmering aircraft lanes, was so called the Last Gem of Humanity, last bastion for the race which forsook itself.
To the likes of Ser H. Cawo and all those expect to one day bear the burden of the title, it was nothing but the electric coils of a living noose snatching whoever passed beneath.
Truth be told, he wouldn't be able to tell you when the reality of the death trap dawned on him. Maybe it was when he joined one of the most prestigious schools in the city and met the blank, dead stare of his colleagues. Maybe it was the flood of news on the myriad small scale epidemics that popped off every other week now. Maybe it was the riot turned civil war turned unilateral "curbing of radical thought" that had reaped thousands in the civil block directly beneath his affluent, safe one.
Maybe it was the first time his father had actually looked over one of his middle school essays on how to improve the ever worsening hunger problem on the outskirts of the city that had earned him a ten and a holographic golden star from the teacher, but only a scoff and a "dream on kiddo" from the single man whose opinion really mattered. Or maybe not that one in specific, but that hadn't helped either way.
At least that vague anxiety always came in waves, and if they don't drown you on contact then, well, as popular parlance put it what didn't kill only made you stronger. You learn to adapt until you can give a passing impression of nonchalance at the ever approaching cliff, you study until the endless competition with your so called peers feels like a meaningful part of your life, you exercise until you can wear your good pedigree and your slim expensive meals on your biceps, and when none of these occupy your time you work, you let your brain be taken by whatever can catch its attention, and then you bury your head in a pillow to sleep.
And when busybodying isn't enough to keep your mind occupied, when fears old and new creep down to your stomach and reach through your insides to caress cold, trembling fingers, you meticulously let the madness take part of you, let it take you to far gone conclusions of problems you could never have imagined possible.
Some took up substances, some took up violence, but him? He had nothing but a place, far up in the sky, somewhere he could sneak to in the dead of the night.
There, he could wait fearless.
On the second to last floor of his apartment building, lived one of Ser's friends. Son of some big but ultimately inconsequential bureaucrat, his home was nevertheless at least two or three magnitudes more lavish than his own and obviously benefited from much tighter security.
The glorified hallway monitors of the upper floors however had become used to his frequent visits and no longer minded his presence. A few of the goons even greeted him by name! He always answered in kind, of course, for ease of access to his true goal.
A treasure among the clouds, his very own princess forever locked at the top of the tower. At the very last floor, a penthouse apartment, devoid of furnishing and human bustle.
Three bedrooms plus a suite, a separate bathroom and powder room for the children and the guests, a kitchen divided from a living room so spacious it could host a session of the city council with elbow room to spare. Here, where common sense dictated luxury should be plentiful enough to be breathed, one would find themselves choking only on the layers upon layers of dust gathering over empty shelves and floor.
In other terms, keeping a place like this vacant was an active economic detriment to any landlord worth their salt, so the mystery of why it wasn't so much as given the illusion of maintenance and care was honestly disturbing.
Well, none of his business. Finders keepers, no matter why the wallet fell on the street.
That day had been particularly stressful, with the grind of college just over the horizon reigniting the bitterest rivalries of his life, while his father had been insistent he take more time assisting with work, calling him sloppy and lazy for not going through the same herculean efforts the man supposedly had at his age.
"Besides, gets you out of that stuffy air," his father had said, ignorant of how little better the ultra minimalist, blindingly white and sterile hallways of the office were from that stuffy air, but them the breaks.
He would have to get his dues his own way.
The way up was silent, unnaturally so. The Autumn chill had seeped deep into the polished staircase, the temperature only falling the higher you got. He climbed two steps at a time, barely restrained excitement boosting him through the exhausting but inconspicuous climb to his precious.
Four penthouses sat there, one to each cardinal direction. Two had owners, two didn't, but one still received frequent visits from the cleaning staff, while the other had a malfunctioning electronic lock that allowed anyone with the will to pull the handle as if it didn't exist in. After years of caution, he didn't even bother checking if he was alone anymore, although he was always gentle in closing the door behind.
Behold, he would think to himself, the humble abode of Ser Cawo, the future of humanity squandered in financial reports and never learned historical lessons, may your stay be pleasant.
His cleaning skills somewhat lacking, he had to admit, he still gave the place a good sprucing, wiping away the thick of the dirt left to gather over the living room's creme tile floor, smuggling old sheets and some of his sister's pillows to create a makeshift bed in the center, heart to his operations, and his immediate first objective.
"Aaaaaaah!" he sprawled and stretched his limbs in all directions. "Fucking hell, finally the week is done! Holy shit!"
There was little in this world worth living for, and what wasn't in this room already would be soon. Surrounding his bed in carefully organized piles were books, magazines, journaling and tabletop games, miniatures and figures of all designs and states of finishing bought from dumpster divers in secret. A whole lot of it was vintage, paper wasn't used for much anything nowadays, and obtained at no small expense of his finances, fair prices despite the obvious poor quality and keeping some of these materials showed.
Some of these were, he had to admit, inappropriate for his age. Others were inappropriate for his upbringing and status, if he took the words of his relatives at face value. Others, and he would take it to his grave, were completely inappropriate for his propriety, more fitting for his dour eyed younger sister. And honestly? It was his biggest pride. Who could claim to hold a collection more varied, more taboo? The troubles he would get in if he was caught!
None of these were the reason he had chosen the penthouse as his headquarters, however.
"How about a smoke first?" he said, already getting up and heading to the sliding door opposite the entrance.
The balcony was the only place he was careful to enter. As any other worth its salt, it was built with a privacy field to allow voyeurism with no risk of exhibition, but those tended to remain shut off when an apartment was unoccupied. Why this one remained up was anyone's guess. To hide the neglect? To pretend it was in use?
A quick peek to see it remained as always, and he stepped out. The crisp, gentle wind brushing his face carried all his burdens away, and he sighed in relief.
Here stood the heavens, the highest point in the city he would ever experience, where the stank of blood and rot caking the streets beneath could never reach and the forest of steel spires never felt looming. He could look down and watch the skycraft on their lanes as the rich and the famous took joyrides above the masses, where you knew nobody could watch you from above.
Almost nobody. Alas, this was the mountain peak standing halfway between dreams and reality, because for all his apartment building was the tallest of its block, it was nowhere close to the glass titans of the bigger corporations or the towers of the Council, their web of interconnecting bridges and hovering ships so far up the most prestigious civil block in Labutla, the sapphire of its crown, was permanently tinged in azure.
He couldn't even imagine what the world looked from up there. Could the ever mysterious Council gaze over the city's walls, towards the rebuilt crop fields of the east, towards the lifeless wasteland of the west? Must be strange.
Ah, never the matter! He had better things to ponder. He reached for the secret pocket of his black jacket, premium synthetic leather, electric lighter and a tobacco roll emerging pinched between fingertips. He had a lot of time today: his friend from the floor below, the same who had introduced Ser to this piece of paradise, would be covering for him in exchange of some quality personal moments with some of his newly acquired "material."
Chuckling, he took the roll between his lips, rose the lighter—
And for the first time noticed the tree.
Hard not to stand there, frozen like some fool trying to make sense of he was seeing. An upside down tree, its snow white trunk an optic illusion of positively colossal proportions, seemed to pierce through the stratosphere and down to Labutla, a myriad dead twisting branches reaching down like the arms of some mollusk to embrace its buildings from downtown to the outskirts without bias.
Clarity catching up, he lit the cigarette and took a long drag. Not like holographic art was rare nowadays, every parade had some type of mystical monster of old or copyrighted mascot illuminated into life by a loose core of projector drones, but this, he had to admit, took the cake. The scale alone was unimaginable, but the details— the topology, the life like cracks and wounds, the golden sap pouring in the most natural rivulets he had ever seen!
Realistic didn't cover it, how much of the city's budget had gone into creating that behemoth, and to what purpose? Was this some surprise holiday he had never known, some sort of symbolism, were they changing the national flag?
Only because he was paying such close attention trying to puzzle out this tree did he see the small white shape drop from one of the branches. He thought, for a moment, that the hologram had began to drop seeds, but then the object soared; soon, it was darting from balcony to balcony, from window to window, completely disregarding privacy fields in its mad dash.
Was it part of the show? As it came closer, it wasn't hard to notice how it twirled in midair like a frenzied ballerina in the most amateurish of dances, but so high above likely very few people were watching. What a useless waste of money!
Then, it spun off the corner of the apartment right in front, slowing to a glide in his direction, and he had to admit at least the craft was impeccable. Humanoid, white and transparent like frosted glass, body with childlike proportions but featureless from its pointed, toeless feet up to the faceless save for the smooth swell of a nose head. Elegant and slim, perfect design for a flying dancer if he would say himself.
Except, some details did mar the whole. The hair, a mane of silver wires reaching down to its neck, looked clumpy and so shiny as to appear greasy. The wings, where an angelic, white feathered look should have been obvious, most closely resembled some unholy chimera between those of a bat and human hands, thin membranes connecting nightmarishly spindled human fingers ending in yellow, crusty nails.
It landed on the parapet nearby, though the extended tip of its toes never touched solid ground, instead floating a centimeter or so above. Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, he blew smoke right over its leg, which impressively didn't interfere with the projection in the least. What kind of tech was that?
"Damn good work." he said out loud. "Kudos to the artist, and the poor fuckers who had to code it real."
The Hologram's head snapped in his direction, two previously absent eyelids opening to reveal bulging eyes the size of fists, crimson irises piercing straight through his forehead.
Both stood frozen, unblinking, waiting.
The hologram was the first to break the stalemate, gently descending to the floor of the balcony, although its focus never left him. It approached with the caution of a skittish animal, swaying left and right, left and right.
He took a step back.
Faster than he could react, it lunged. Somehow he felt its touch, five little clammy fingers now splaying over his beige shirt, not that distinguishable from a particularly fierce gust if he hadn't seen it happen.
"Huuuuuuh." The voice startled him almost as badly as the charge, rhythmic and melodious like it had jumped from some theater musical yet a very unfitting mezzo-soprano for such a small kid. "Now this is super weird."
"Yeah, no shit," he said.
"Now that!" It flapped back, pointing a finger right to his nose. "Is even super weirder!"
It took a beat for him to register the insult. "Me? Excuse me, buddy, did you see what you're wearing today?"
"And it speaks in nonsense too!" It gripped its head in both hands, eyes somehow bulging harder. "Have I gone mad? Have I died and gone to— Oh, I guess not that, no. In which case, what are you?"
He sighed, taking another drag of his— empty fingers, turns out. The cigarette had fallen off his grip at some point, ashes quickly dispersing over the railing the last evidence of its existence. Frowning, he said: "What do you think, champ?"
"Human? But humans can't see us or hear us, so nope, not buying that."
Us. So there more of these things? No, nevermind that, one was enough of a handful already. "Well, nice to meet you then, because I apparently can!"
0"Wait, give me a tad!"
It rushed in again, resting both its—Her? Their?— hands against his chest. Eyes closing back into nothing and no brows to furrow, he still had the impression they were concentrating on something. Ten or so seconds later, they reeled back with a jump.
"Alright, nope, no way you're human!" They settled on a gentle bobbing hover, both hands cocked at their waist as he considered lighting another cigarette. "Spit it out, bucko! What are you and when did you get to this planet?!"
"Aaaah, got it. Don't you generally have to get a consent form before pranking strangers like this? My family could totally sue you if—" He paled with realization. "W-wait wait wait, you aren't a Tuber, are you?! B-because I will have you know, this is private property and I do not consent to it being filmed, 'bucko!' "
The hovering paused in mid air. "The hells are you talking about?"
"No, the hells are you talking about?! You're the one who came here and started asking weird questions, what am I supposed to think?!"
"I mean, can you blame me?"
"Yes?"
"Uuuh." They said. "Sorry, it's just, like, I've never seen a human who could see me! Honest to myself, the others and the Papas, no pranks and no videos!"
Good to know his handsome surprised face wasn't getting milked for views with no credit, assuming they were speaking the truth. "Well, now do you mind telling me what exact kind of tech are— Hey, where are you going?!"
With no invitation, the pallid brat threw the doors of the balcony open and invaded his den! It did not take ten seconds flat for dainty yet grubby hands to be all over his things, overturning his sheets, unmaking his carefully organized piles!
"Say, you haven't been dabbling in any new age occult practices lately, have you?" They practically yelled, tossing a book over their shoulder to slide down their wing. "I told them one of those would catch us some day! Or maybe it wasn't you, specifically... Do you have any friends dabbling in new age occultist practices lately?"
"Q-quiet! There are people living in this floor!"
"Whatever!" they pushed his movie tablet aside, not so much as reacting at the heart cringing crack it made on impact. "That's a lot of paper stuffs you gathered! Doesn't that go for a pretty pretty penny nowadays? And these books, so big and heavy, perfect place to hide occult materials, such aaaaaaas this— Ah, it's just a regular romance novel."
Enough was enough. He stomped to the flying child, grabbing hold of their wrist, and pulling— nothing, they kept tossing and shuffling his methodically gotten goods all over their place as if they couldn't even feel his efforts.
"Really? Not even any fun forbidden materials? No politically revolutionary theories, no dangerous ancient conspiracies unveiled, no secret spiritual abilities taught? All I'm seeing is pornography, art, and..." They picked a vintage piece, out of print decades before magazines as a whole ran out of style and maintained by a procession of hard-working curators since, and the visible tear that immediately formed at the cover's binding was like a stab to the chest. "Artistic pornography?"
"L-leave my pin-ups alone!" The imbecile slipped out of his grip like water and he lost no time retrieving his treasures. "Even if you can't see value in them doesn't mean they have none!"
"Uh, no, it's all the same to me, no judgment." It flew up, skipping the stairs and screaming from the hallway to the rooms above. "I just want to know how you learned about us, how to see us!"
But of course, there was nothing to be found there, not even spiders nesting at the corners. With the swarms of diseases quietly incubating in the lower civil blocks, Pest Control had been tight with extermination procedures, at least according to the news. Having not seen roaches or flies a single time in the last half decade, he was wiling to believe them.
"No ritual circles, no diabolical effigies of forgotten deities, no vessels magically sealed in purified blood, nothing. Actual nothing!" The angelic thing said, flying back to the ceiling then sinking down on their back like a dropped leaf.
"W-why would I have such things?!" And where should he go to obtain them?
" 'Cause the first human being to ever see one of us has to be special, right?!" They said, turning in a fussy tantrum to face him. "Not some boring boy with boring tastes in boring porn!"
His left fist clenched, his right still occupied by his precious belonging. "My tastes are broader and more refined than any of my peers!"
"Your peers would faint if they saw a boob."
"A-and regardless, who are you to question my tastes and worth? I sure never heard of you!"
"I'm Ruby, and I've been around the block once or twice watching interesting people, like—"
"Ruby. Just Ruby?" He didn't hold back the sneer. "What's that, a code-name? A pseudonym? Sound like a harlot's stage name!"
They turned their head from side to side like some confused mutt. "And what is your problem with— Ooooooh! Yes, I forgot, you humans need to introduce yourselves to each other, right!"
He frowned. "And you don't?"
"I was already born knowing everyone I was supposed to know, so no." Ruby said, giving him no room to question what they could possibly mean. "Self-introduction! I'm Ruby, and I'm an angel, or so we call ourselves usually. Let's see... My hobbies are people watching, dancing, and webshows whenever the opportunity comes by! I am a lot of years old, but I don't really count them 'cause I don't know my exact birthday and can't eat cake anyway. Now it's your turn."
"Wh-Whu—" Usually, he considered himself an eloquent speaker, but today was going beyond his wildest imagination, so he excused himself the misstep. "How does any of that matter? I wanted to know what you are, and what right do you have to violate my privacy? I don't care what insane new tech you are testing right there, I have my rights!"
"Naaaaaame?" They whined like a pampered cat. "Not saying anything until you tell me who you areeeeeee~"
"... I'm Ser. Ser Cawo, if you need."
"Ser Cawo. Cawo! That's kinda nice!" Ruby extended him a hand, but he was far too baffled to take it. "Pleasure to meet you! I don't know anything about any tech, not really part of my interests, I was just passing by when you I heard you talk to me! I was so happy, 'cause I can usually flick people in the eye and they don't even notice me."
"I did suspect the giant tree was a bit farfetched..."
"You mean my house?" Ruby said.
"Then what are you? A targeted hallucination?" he asked. "Can't say I ever thought I would be a lab rat to weapons testing, but I guess that's my luck alright."
"About that... excuse me again, okay?"
Given no time to object, Ruby dove in his personal space, to much less shock this time. The diminute creature—illusion, dream, didn't matter— was through this time, investigating his upper pecs and clavicles with embarrassing tenderness. Their eyes narrowed with every passing beat they didn't find what they looked for. Growing angrier with the impertinent angel's invasiveness, almost offered the little turd help.
Before he could, a voice cut through the uneasy quiet.
"Ruby, there you are." It spoke like a finger caressing his spine bottom to top. Husky and low, the kind of seduction only whispered back at the most uncouth years of the silver screen, as popular parlance put it, the kind that made you light in the head from tone alone. "If you keep avoiding Emerald for much longer, you—"
"Citrine!" Ruby hopped away. "Come here, I found something crazy!"
Ser turned around, and there was another of those angels bobbing in the air inside his abode. Disappointment giving way to curiosity, he compared the two together: this Citrine was nearly identical to Ruby, minus a few details, such as being slightly but visibly taller than the latter, or their hair which reached their middle back and this time was obviously matted and unwashed.
How had they entered the penthouse, though? He hadn't heard the door or any of the windows opening.
"What is it?" Citrine's voice left him paralyzed. "Are you playing with humans again? Didn't Emerald and Onyx tell you off enough?"
"No, look!" Ruby pointed at him. "It can see us! Like, actually see and hear us!"
With a lazy swivel of the head, Citrine met his eyes. Theirs were sunken and small when compared to Ruby's, but shone with the most lustrous gold he had ever seen. "Bullshit."
"No, it's true, he's looking right at you!"
They floated in slow curves around him, taking sudden turns yet always maintaining the same calm pace. Part of him felt odd keeping his eyes locked so firm onto theirs, but he couldn't look away. Citrine approached until they were half a meter away from each other, hovering to remain level with his head.
A hand reached for his chin, and he flinched. Cold, smooth, and damp, clearer and more forceful than Ruby's by a margin.
"Huh. Holy shit." Citrine said.
"I told you! Isn't it crazy?! And he's so lame on top of that!" Ruby said.
"H-hey, don't give me—"
"Shouldn't you have killed him already? Seems kind of bad to leave him about," Citrine said.
He was left speechless again, although for a completely different reason.
"Right?! But I tried, and I can't yank him dead like all the others! You try, see if you can do anything more," Ruby said.
A trembling babble left his lips, too late to stop Citrine to press their hand right below his throat, between his clavicles. For the quick eternity their fingers clasped his skin, he could not breath trying to feel what they were doing, had done to him already, but there was nothing, just a touch like chill glass.
"Nope. Nothing either." Citrine retreat was the cue his stomach was waiting to drop. A bead of sweat poured down his brown, and his legs started to feel light. "Odd. Did you find it here?"
"Yeah, watching me from the balcony," Ruby said.
"Was it involved in any new age cults or something?"
"Not that I could find! Funny guy, thought, says a lot of weird stuff."
"Uhuh. Did you call the others?"
Ruby shrunk a little. "No?"
"Of course. Go call the others, and I'll keep trying to kill him meanwhile," Citrine said.
He straightened his jacket, trying to look tall. "T-the fuck are you both talking about he—"
"Shush." Citrine's voice brokered no argument, even for self-preservation's sake. "You're making too much noise. I don't like noisy things."
"S-shouldn't you go?" Ruby said. "I don't even know where the others are, and—"
"Don't try to be smart. Go," Citrine Said.
Ruby meandered, but the silent stare down that followed could crush a boulder and burn holes through bunker gates. Helpless, the red eyed angel flew off with a sung whine, disappearing from view with surprising speed.
Citrine, however, had taken hold of his wrist while he watched. He tried to pull himself off, but it was to no avail. Not that they held on hard or anything, it was simply inescapable, as if he had been glued to their palms.
"And you, human," Citrine said.
"M-me." His voice came a pitch higher than intended. "I mean, let me go."
"You are trouble." They practically whispered. If it was mean to be a threat or what else, it didn't make a difference the way his body petrified. "And I don't like trouble."
Sweating and afraid, he came to two conclusions.
The week might not be as over as he had assumed, and somehow it still might not have been the most stressful one he had this month alone.