He didn’t know how much time had passed, but Adam Kadmon did not wake rested.

  The taste of cotton in his mouth, a dull ringing in his ears, and a scent so familiar it hurt. The memories of her had been getting stronger for weeks and had yet to reach a peak. He had written it off as an expression of his anxiety. But then he had seen her. A hundred impressions.

  She was alive. She was in this town. She would tear him open and use him for parts.

  No.

  She had changed, or if she had not he would will it to be true. Did she not feel different? The link felt artificial, forced. Maybe she was weaker now, her connection to the Visionary strained. Or maybe her corpse still lied at the Foot of the World, and this being a vestige or remnant of her that was trying to convey-

  Sadness. Desperation. A room with no color and no doors. Was she trapped? Held hostage? At some point something had occurred that had awoken him and the link was now gone, but trawling through the Visionary, especially when you weren’t the aggressor, quickly dissipated into a dream.

  He could feel her in his mind, an itch he could not scratch. Thoughts and concepts he had no control over were being beamed to her out of reflex, like his mind was a locker being ransacked. Something about Morgan Lemure killing a DearthWyrm? Impossible, they were all killed by Capacity and her followers. Adam had been present for every death, he had explored their insides and watched as Capacity had done awful things.

  He wondered what she saw, did she hear him screaming in the same way he did?

  The crunching of bone from a nearby blind corner. A man wearing a more subdued version of the garish mask those legacy members had on walked in.

  He put his hands on his hip and did a strange little thrust. “Adam Kadmon. Adam fucking Kadmon.” The man laughed, “I’ve been thinking about you. Man, nothing but you. Since I got the word, you see. It’s been a full day at this point.”

  Adam parted his hair and held his weapon out. He regretted giving his name so freely. Rule Six: Your name is a curse; be careful who you share it with.

  The man wagged a finger. “You’ve killed seven Numbers so far, that's impressive. That's like, bioweapon level. A Helot level threat. Maybe?”

  He turned to the blind alley. Another man ran out and jumped into the first’s arms. He lifted him and twirled him, their masks touching as they nuzzled.

  “Did we really find him before the others?”

  ”Yes we did. Yes we did. We have the mandate now, man. We’re the fucking kings.”

  He placed his friend down gingerly, and turned back to Adam. “You didn’t try to kill me. Why not?”

  ”…No,” Adam said, “I am primed for violence, but you have not attacked me.”

  ”Right.”

  ”What can I do for you?” He asked.

  The two looked at each other. Their masks were mirror images, a pattern of blue and red corresponding perfectly.

  They dropped to their knees.

  “Our leader is fat and decadent.” The first said.

  ”He lives in a pram.” The second said. “No one had seen him for weeks now, the Constants baby him and act as if they get orders from him. They don’t, he’s senile and fading fast.”

  It would have relieved him if he hadn’t seen this time and time again. Rule seventeen: A dying despot is no less dangerous than one in prime health. In many ways it is worse. Empires are like organs, and the cancer always bleeds through.

  ”You’re… revolutionaries looking to topple him.”

  The second one laughed. “If that makes you feel better. Sure!”

  ”It’s convenient to have a dying man in power, we have no issue with him thinking he rules. We want to be his mouth, sounds fun right? Have you ever been the puppet master of a god? I haven’t but it excites me so.”

  Suddenly the second one took out his Remark, a strange looking camera. The first one kept their hands clean, but he subtly straightened his stance. Together they took a step forward.

  “I haven’t said no yet.” Adam said.

  ”A silent agreement we both reached. You don’t have what it takes to be a shadow king.”

  ”You’re more useful as an example.” There was a flash of yellow light from the man’s Remark.

  Five alabaster bars sprouted around him, each wrapped with thorns. The camera clicked and flashed yellow again and again.

  The first had his Remark out as well. A wrecking ball and chain, he threw it away from Adam, down the blind corner.

  And moments later something large and heavy crashed into Adam’s spine from behind him.

  He fell into the bars and suffered thousands of cuts at once. In a mad dash he scurried up the bars. The second one’s camera followed, and the bars rose up with the camera’s light. Endlessly stretching above him. He felt the air of the others Remark at his back. He glanced down.

  Where the bars once were was now empty air, the Remarks projection could only go so far. He dropped down a good 50 feet.

  He didn’t get up.

  …

  44 flinched. Not an attractive look on him, he knew. 45 gave him a quick peck (his lip dirty with stubble) and stooped over to the downed body.

  ”You’ve caused a lot of trouble, buddy.” He swung his Remark high and proud, scraping the edge of the wall with every rotation.

  45 turned the man over. A touch of the breast. Listening for a heartbeat. He popped back up. “Fuckers dead.”

  “R-Really?”

  ”You can come check for yourself if you want.” He held up the dead man’s body, lanky and sloping;his glass Remark dropped to the ground. Then, like checking a gift, he shook it, the dead man's head lolled wildly and a healthy glob of blood and spit leaked from its mouth.

  ”Ugh!” He turned away, happy his mask hid his blush.

  ”Oh, come on! We killed him, we deserve to have some fun.” What started as clumsy shaking soon morphed into a dance, the limp corpse a surprisingly good partner as 45 spun him around over and over. 44 started humming a tune and clapping to the tempo.

  “Look at this, my tender, turns out our man does know the steps.”

  He laughed. It was a funny sight, his lover dancing with his victim, the weapon still gripped in the dead man’s cold hands.

  Wait. When did he-

  Revived with swiftness, the corpse lunged. Within a second, 45’s remark was on the floor and then it was nothing, brought down by a quick stab at his lover’s left leg. Within another, Adam’s Remark had cut his throat. The dead man lived again.

  44 stared, finding it hard to accept that his lover was dead. Life wasn’t supposed to be cruel, not to people like him.

  He readied his Remark, switching it to a setting that would torture and maim Adam and make the bastard feel real pain.

  But when he looked up, Adam was gone. All that was left was 45’s body, gone rigid, grabbing uselessly at his own bleeding throat.

  Holding back tears, he picked him up, and tried to rouse him for one last dance.

  …

  “From life the Grand Council dug its roots deep in Death.”

  ”And she consented, and instilled in them the virtues of comradeship, the responsibility of violence.”

  ”They delegated it to us, we will spend our life giving back.”

  ”May you know the steps”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  ”May you know the steps”

  When the strange miasma and smell of burning rubber diminished, Devon was surprised to find the spoken prayer did not rejuvenate her in the way it usually did. Of course she hated it, everything to do with Lemure and all his pomp and circumstances was trash, mondo trash! But there was a comfort to it she couldn’t deny. And somehow, that comfort was gone. There was something new in her head now, unable to be swayed by Lemure’s ancient rites.

  She looked around, nervous that someone, somehow, had noticed her slight dissent. While the room was packed, they were all too focused on the raised platform, where 51 stood.

  They looked ravishing, as usual. Their pale face was covered entirely on their right side by a tattoo of a DearthWyrm. Below was a choker made out of teeth, not Wyrm teeth, (they were extinct. Where would one find their remains?) but impressive replicas. The teeth diminished until they became spiked buttons that went down to their waist, where their top morphed into a blood blue combat shawl covering most of their skinny jeans. And sure, 51 had killed people, she had seen them do it often;, she hoped they died painfully, but she had to admit they had a very kind face, and a very good skincare routine.

  “With the death of ranks 35, 16, 26, and 29, the death count now stands at eight since this morning” 51 said, “while we have updated the ranks of those killed before now, henceforth there will be a rankings freeze until this man, this Adam, is killed.”

  The crowd was pissed! Devon had never seen so many Numbers in one place. They were squished together shoulder to shoulder in this strange spiral chamber, above them were frescoes showing Death welcoming the progenitors from the diving bell, her face depicted as a featureless mound outside of her left eye, far more realistic than the crude brushstrokes of the rest of the piece. Parts of the mural had been broken and desecrated, she recognized the stories that her father cherished were among the ranks of the destroyed.

  ”Don’t panic, don’t panic!” 51 said, moving their hands like a conductor, the raucous crowd their orchestra. “There are many casualties, and there will surely be more, which means opportunities for advancement. Why, when this is all done, there may be enough slots for all the reserves gathered here. Imagine that!”

  The crowd cheered, chomping at the bit to kill him.

  A hand missing two fingers was raised in the dead center of the crowd. “Yeah hey, um, so he was last spotted in the memframe you said?”

  ”I did not say that Dorvis,” 51 said. The harshness gave the game away.

  “Yeah you said that in the sparring room. But he hasn’t used the hatch cause he’d already be in town, so he’s wandering lost around the memframe, probably deep in it.”

  ”Impressive extrapolation, Dorvis, I would prefer if you kept those sorts of reaches to the physical please, Grand knows your dueling style could use it.” 51 said.

  A chair squeaked. A dude with a cigarette burn that had set on his face like a hickey stood up and stretched his back. “I’m out, y’all have fun dying.” The girl next to him high fived him, and he left with a whistle.

  No one spoke as the man took out his keycard to open the locked door.

  ”This guy must have been born yesterday.” Trav whispered. She was doubtful. He was still pale in limbs, like all those who came naked from the wastes, but there was color in his face and he carried himself well. He had probably been born around two or three months ago.

  The sensor burned orange. The man furrowed his brown and tried his card again. No luck, same shit.

  ”Are you having trouble, Ressy?” 51 cut through the crowd of Numbers and other Reserves, chairs were toppled and people scurried back to provide the, an open path.

  “Yeah actually, my keycards… busted or something.” He turned to face 51, and he went pale when he saw their Remark.

  It was a loathsome disgusting thing, visually incompatible with 51 and their sleek beauty. A bulbous black shell that contained a mess of organs, vaguely in the shape and form of a scythe, or maybe a very strange cudgel. Their manicured hands gripped a flowering of flesh while a two chamber heart beat steadily right underneath it.

  ”They’re not supposed to work. Not until the meeting has ended.”

  ”… Understood,” the man sheepishly walked back to his seat. He reached out for his friend's hand but she refused to look him in the eye.

  51 went right back into their patter, turning around to face them, “I understand what you’ve heard about the memframe makes it seem… fatal. To some degree it is, but it is trimmed and maintained well, nothing scarier there than the stray aberration.”

  It was a bold face lie. Years ago the memframe had been a place to go to get away from Lemure without having to leave the drum. The many folds and countless corners of the memframe held speakeasies, mutual aid, and all sorts of events that made life tolerable. It was such a maze that as a space it was never really enforced. Which was double edged, sometimes people got lost, and never came back.

  But back in the day it used to be some. Nowadays it was all.

  ”I am there.”

  The voice was back.

  ”I am there now. I am resting. Nothing here feels right.”

  She wanted to stamp her feet and scream. Not that causing a scene would do her any good. Fuck.

  It wasn’t just the voice that bothered her, but the feelings that came with it. A life always changing, the power to kill at will and not suffer any repercussions. A red life. A vibrant life. It felt carefully crafted to taunt her specifically, to be given emotions she could not act on. How could she ever have the strength to kill tyrants when getting out of a bed was a struggle.

  Her heart rate went up and her fist clenched. She had the biting desire to summon her Remark, not that it would do any good. But that was that fucking feeling talking, she guessed!

  “Now, let's introduce your betters, from 50 to 45.” The high rankers were all terrifying and strange in their own way, whether they had risen to the top with these qualities or gained them with time wasn’t clear, though the latter scared Devon in a way she couldn’t put into words.

  49 came out first, and immediately there was chatter.

  “Where the fuck is 50?” Tremble whispered to Lemsk, who made a bored noise and shrugged.

  Sneering at the confusion, 49 raised a hand and bowed.

  He was a large man shaped roughly like a diamond when he stood at attention, he proudly wore a white and red uniform of his own creation, what he imagined The Bright Place must have used. Poor fucking fool, they’re never gonna take you now pal, she thought to herself.

  48 came out next. Hailen. Metal jawed, eyes like a corpse, green skin, underdressed like she had just been woken up five minutes ago. Unlike 49 she did not seem comfortable out here in the spotlight, and kept shaking her head, like she was trying to wake up from a bad dream. Devon cheered a bit, Hailen was one of them, she got in after killing a fucking Constant (by sheer chance, she just got in a lucky hit) through it was weird that they didn’t just kill her like all the others.

  “It was a common tactic used during the Initial Comprehension. The WyrmLords adored it as a way to neutralize labor strikes.”

  Shut up. Shut up. Focus on what’s real, she thought.

  47, Renni she was pretty sure? The girl was dressed all in white, her makeup harsh reds and yellows and slightly drippy in an intentional way. Standing rigid still at her rather short height, she wore massive wraparound glasses which had a loop on them of Morgan killing a DearthWyrm over and over and over again. It made her dizzy just to look at it.

  ”He never killed a DearthWyrm, Capacity would have told me.”

  At her immediate right was a kid only a few years older than Devon. 46. She didn’t know much about him, and his anonymous looks and placid smile didn’t provide any hints. Renni leaned over and whispered something in his ear. He didn’t react at all.

  There was a long pause, 51 stared patiently at the bead curtain before turning with a sigh.

  ”And now, let us assign teams-“

  Someone in the front raised their hand. “Yeah uh, we’re missing two.”

  “I am aware of that Dorvis,” 51 said, “this was called at short notice, we can’t work miracles.

  “A man has just appeared, he is not alone.”

  She bit her lip. It would be so much easier if it was just drug induced mania.

  ”They are offering power. That's not what I’m after.”

  51 picked first, their hands resting on the head of one of the largest numbers, 33.”

  “Hey, Devon, which Number do you wanna be with? I heard Montanna has a lot of side hustles, maybe if we help him he’ll let us in on the take. Sounds good?”

  ”Which ones Montanna?”

  ”They’re attacking me now, I’m bleeding from the bars.”

  “Don’t talk to her like an equal, you deviant! Devon is making a concentrated effort to be beneath our notice, and we should honor that.” Tremble said.

  She frantically looked at the floor, needing something to center herself (and Tremble’s reedy voice certainly wouldn’t provide).

  On the floor were insects, the weird distorted ones, like what she had seen at the diner. There were three of them, two cornering a third next to a tiny stone wall. As she watched their shape changed, until they looked less like insects and more like miniature people engaging in a violent dance.

  “I will leave this body for a time.”

  One of the three jumped in the air and landed rag-doll like. She knew where this was. She recognized the faded honeycomb structure sticking out of one of the walls, the gnarled tree with dozens of skulls stuffed in its trunk. It was like she was seeing the scene from a vantage point far above.

  “I miss flying, now I rarely get to do it.”

  The floor opened up in a great blue light and there was a man lying prone on a slab, gasping for air like a dying fish. A piece of curved glass pierced through his chest, his eyes wide and bright but with no life let. The shard pulsed along to Devon’s erratic heartbeat. The man opened his mouth in a mechanical way and said,

  “Are you there, Capacity?”

  FUCK.

  She threw her folding chair. It passed through the illusion and hit a girl she was sort of friends with. All one hundred and twenty seven eyes were locked straight on her.

  ”I’m so sorry.” She said immediately.

  “Another distraction? Devon, I didn’t expect this sort of outburst from you. Of all people.” 51 said. Which was strange because she wasn’t aware 51 knew her name.

  She was too tuned to fight or flight to say anything else. She kept breathing heavily, her own eyes fixed on the floor, daring it to change again. The voice seemed to be gone, for the moment. Her head was clearer.

  Which wasn’t a great state, considering how hard she just fucked up. Insanity was looking real tempting right about now.

  ”I…” she looked down again. Consider your options, she thought, you have a telepathic link with a man that everyone here wants.

  And you know exactly where he is.

  51 barked another order at her but she wasn’t worried anymore. Anxious and constantly questioning that this was happening? Yes, but not worried (okay yeah she was worried but not that much). She motioned to a small walled off area, a sort of pill shaped confessional. Before they could answer she ran into it. After a moment the window on the partition wall slid open and 51 shoved their slender nose through.

  This is strange and unwelcome, Devon. You better have an explanation for-“

  “45 just died. Maybe 44 as well, I’m not sure.”

  ”What?”

  ”Check your veins.” She said, “It- he’s been trying to contact me for some reason and I saw what he saw. I know where he is.”

  After a moment, 51 turned their eyes downward. Their face contorted, and they made a weird sound, like they were trying to expel a lung.

  ”Grand be damned. Grand be damned. I didn’t even know they were in the memframe.”

  They turned to look at her, their intense demeanor like a slumpbeast about to charge. “What do you want?”

  She gripped her knees hard and tried to contain her excitement. Was “literally everything” too much to ask?