Carlon Knucktats couldn’t believe his luck. There was Adam Kadmon, the most wanted man in GutWorth, just sort of hanging out, looking particularly murderable. His back was literally to him. What was he expected to do, not stab him?

  The last few minutes had been crazy. Death and destruction, some dumb dirt driven aberration who almost mucked the whole thing up. But he had survived and kept cool (the aberration hadn’t and he was unclear of how exactly it had died, but that didn’t matter) and all his squad mates had run off. Losers!!

  As a winner by birth he was uniquely suited for this opportunity, and had been preparing for it for years. Something like this had been bound to happen, he saw the signs in the corroded metal and the flickering led screens.

  He clutched the severed tongue in his back pocket and skulked forward. His Remark, Senzit, was a walking stick, it’s Trick changed the hardness of anything it touched. He could turn bone to jelly, or water into ice. He toddered forward like an old man and pretended to be senile.

  Only twenty feet away and Adam still hadn’t seen him. He was talking to Devon, who saw him but seemed to buy the old man routine. Five feet now, he reached out a hand.

  Devon’s eyes met his and she yelled a shrill warning.

  Fuck. He tapped Senzit on Adam’s left leg, it went slack and Adam followed his busted leg down.

  Another hit to the arm. The guy didn’t even try to fight, and Devon was too busy freaking out to do anything.

  At this point, the only way Carlon could lose was if that shard of glass he carried came alive and went right for his throat. But arbitrary stuff like that only happened to losers!

  Unfortunately for Carlon Knucktats, he was not a winner.

  …

  ”Oh fuck.” She crowded Adam’s leg as Carlon bled out. The Remark was back in Adams hand as if nothing had happened.

  ”I’m fine.” He said, and then coughed violently.

  The effects of Carlon’s Remark had run rampant through his leg, the bones stuck out grotesquely, the skin slack and drooping into the cracks.

  “I’m so sorry about that. That guy is- was, such a dick. I thought everyone had run off, you know, I should have said something earlier but I thought he was some-“

  ”It’s okay.” He waved a hand, “this body was never mine, the owner long dead.” A faint smile, then his eyes went cold, all the emotion drained. “You don’t know who I am.”

  “No. I really do not.”

  ”But you… are her.”

  ”I have no idea what that means.” She helped him up, or tried to. She wasn’t strong enough to lift him and he gave her no support. A compromise was reached. She helped him crawl over to a divot in the wall, they were less exposed there, and he didn’t seem in any shape to get up on his own.

  ”There was a time where WyrmLords demanded fealty” he said, now comfortably scrunched in the divot, “and the children of Asher let them rule, for the world had been broken and the diving bells were now gravestones.”

  ”Okay.” Devon said, nodding aggressively.

  “Capacity Kill was a child like all of them, small and nondescript. But an angel, the First Angel of History, appeared during a battle between two Wyrmlords, and granted her a name. Do you know why?”

  ”No?” She didn’t know how she was supposed to.

  ”Because she was the only one who wasn’t fighting. Capacity Kill, like all names the words seem random, as if it was another language. For us it means “To Unite All, Forever”.”

  ”Um… did she?” It was a dumb question, but she had to ask.

  He got real distant for a second. She no longer felt him in her head (thank Grand), instead it seemed like he was now stuck in his. He looked nostalgic, but what was even nostalgic to him? Was he reminiscing about the good ol’ days? Back when DearthWyrms were your next door neighbors, dreamdust cost a cube, and people killed others with dignity.

  ”Well for a time yes. She did. When she created me-“ he paused. It was a strange thing to say offhandedly, but he did not elaborate. “She was part of a group trying to create sustainable peace. She would show me photos of the future, where things woud be wonderful. They were these beautiful Polaroids. When she did things that were- bad, she would show me these photos, and I was comforted by that gentle reminder. Our actions would benefit all. She could never die. That’s what she told me, anyway.” He rolled his eyes slowly, his tone switched to petulant, “I can’t confirm any of it, if the photos were real, or the angel, they were long gone by the time I was born. A lot of it changed as she changed as well. But you look… you look exactly like her, and that’s…”

  His hands rose and gripped her shoulders. His eyes bulged, his mouth drooled, and he leaned in like he was about to tear her throat out.

  ”What the fuck?”

  ”What do you know of Gehenna, is that name still used? Do they teach the scriptures, which interpretation? Are the children still honored? Do you still burn the effigies? Why are all the towns now named like DearthWyrms?”

  “I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know IDONTKNOW!!!” She pushed him away.

  He fell away, suddenly lucid again.

  ”I’m sorry. This is all overwhelming. I understand if you’re scared of me, you saw me kill two people.”

  “Neither of them were people,” She held herself tightly and looked out into the distance. “One of them was a monster, the other cut off his mothers tongue and bragged about it.”

  He didn’t respond to that. Just made a face and winced.

  “The GrandCouncil, what do you know of them?

  Her dad got killed for questioning their edicts. “I don’t know anything about them, but they made Remarks I guess?” For as often as they were mentioned in the morning propaganda, there were never any specifics. They were something outside of the Drum, outside of everything she knew. Her father doubted their very existence.

  “I am trying to find them.” He shuddered and lashed out, suddenly rising, his Remark held up at no one.

  “You’re asking a lot of questions, okay?” She scurried backwards, getting up from her crouch. “I get to ask at least one; why were you in my head?”

  ”Because you’re you, I sensed you!” He got really bashful and smiled, and it was like decades melted off of him. Suddenly, he looked around her age. “Again, this is a lot. The fact that you remember none of it, despite being her, is problematic. But I think I understand how, or why. Now, Capacity-“

  ”Devon.” She said coldly.

  ”Right, Devon. Right.” He looked down, then glanced to his right, he was bleeding in three places but he didn’t seem to mind. “You weren’t born like this were you?”

  ”Shifting waters.” She said, grimacing. “Really don’t want to talk about it.”

  ”That’s okay, that explains everything.” He chuckled, and then halted, a shuddering breath, he furrowed his brow. “I hate talking with a mouth like this-“ his jaw unhinged. He closed his eyes and offered a smile.

  ”This is so much easier. It’s just natural, it’s the language I learned.”

  “Woah, hey, wait.” He was in her head again, a weight only notable by it’s absence was suddenly back and making her heavy. She did not like it. She was starting to doubt everything.

  He swayed forward, looking more like an aberration with every passing moment.

  “There’s not much time, this body is dying. I am requesting transport, I made you a promise long ago, I’m fading fast. I will have to abandon it.” His arms, now slack, reached out to her, his neck making his head turn at an impossible angle. A waking nightmare.

  ”You have to say yes.”

  She kicked him as hard as she could, and absolutely bodied him.

  His weak as paper body buckled and fell, the head landing at her feet and the body splayed out, ass up.

  What the fuck.

  Breathing fast, she checked for a pulse, there was none.

  She yelped, the noise echoed off the walls. She placed a foot on his back and tried to rouse him, she picked up a nearby stick and poked him.

  Nothing. She placed a hand to her nose. The body had already started to rot. The enormity of what she had just done sunk in.

  She killed him. Devon fucking Near had killed the most wanted man in GutWorth. What the fuck, what the FUCK!

  She felt something shift near her back. She turned to look, but there was nothing but corpses.

  “Hah!” She spit on the corpse, all the sympathy and reverence she had for him gone. “Hope you enjoyed the free rent in my brain, asshole!” She kicked his head. There was a sickening crack and the head came off.

  Oh.

  Killing a person… didn’t feel good!

  “I thought I heard her. Well, look at that.” 51 appeared, rounding the corner of a jackknife wall. Six others were in tow, Tremble wasn’t among them.

  She smiled and tried to seem at ease. “So, can I have that new apartment now?”

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  They froze ten feet from Devon, close enough to get a good look at the corpse of Adam Kadmon, already gathering flies. 51, surprisingly, looked downright heartbroken.

  “Fits the description, but I’m not convinced. How do we know he’s not some drunk you knifed for nothing?”

  ”He told me he was him.” Amongst other things, none of which she wanted to share. “And the fucked up feeling in my brain is gone.”

  There was a slight quiver in her skull when she said that. It didn’t mean anything. It surely didn’t mean that he was still there, hiding.

  Nah, he was dead. The quiver vanished. Awesome.

  “That's great. Hey, I’m proud of you.” They snapped their fingers and three of their guys came over to pick up Adam’s corpse, 51 kept looking back at the body’s empty hands. The corpse sagged in strange places and water spilled from the throat, but after a moment they were able to carry it.

  They offered a hand, the other held their Remark.

  “I don’t believe a single word you’ve said.” 51 said.

  They squeezed the FourLovers, and Devon’s vision screamed black.

  …

  She awoke tied to a chair awash under cheap festival lights. Tied tight, she couldn’t turn back or see anything but what was in front of her. She was in a tent, the flap open to let the cold air in. Beyond the tent was blackness, she didn’t know where she was.

  An old record was playing. She recognized the song.

  All I know is fading

  Anxiously awaiting

  Furtively frustrating

  Endlessly parading down

  All I feel is falling

  Clutching sky but stalling

  When the past comes calling

  Will it seem appalling now?

  Her father had said it was an ancient song. From before they came to Gehenna. He didn’t know where they had come from, the information had been lost, or he had never learned it. But the Records were made to help make sense of that loss. To make it clear there was a world that went beyond violence, a small slice of a greater hole that, by the way her Father described it, was good for nothing but driving one mad. He would play the songs off this record daily, would tell her that this was a message from people long dead, and that, through the act of listening, through the act of creating music, they had achieved an immortality that the Grand Council could only dream of.

  She thought the vocals were sort of cheesy.

  51 bent their spine under the flap and walked in whistling. Behind them came a tired looking man with a bad haircut. With a sigh the man summoned his Remark, a hand puppet with a constantly shifting face. Knives popped out of it intermittently.

  She braced herself and leaned back, the chair creaking.

  ”Dorvis here is gonna handle the interrogation, don’t be alarmed. We just wanna make sure your story checks out.” 51 said.

  Dorvis gave her a sad look. The twitching hand puppet Remark settled down. As it stilled the face made choices, gaining a consistent haircut and skin tone. It sort of looked like her.

  “So, uh, just tell me what happened before we came back.” He said.

  ”I was alone, about to die.” She said.

  ”You fuckers straight up left me to die against that thing! What the fuck??” Dorvis said, speaking in a falsetto and moving the hand puppet's mouth with his wide fingers.

  “Don’t worry, that’s Dorvis’s Trick, he knows exactly how you feel. His Remark tells it like it is.”

  She made a face at Dorvis. He shrugged, and asked another question, “Were you saved by someone?”

  ”A stranger, who was absolutely Adam.”

  ”I’m pretty sure it was Adam, like 99.999% sure. I was thankful but then he started rambling about how I was someone else, that he was a Remark, it was all really confusing and him profusely bleeding didn't do any favors.” The hand puppet said.

  She wanted to reach over and rip the stuffing out of it.

  51 nodded, mouthed the words “That's good”, but their eyes stayed cloaked, looking quite dead.

  ”How did you kill him?”

  ”I pushed him over.”

  ”I fucking pushed him over.” The hand puppet reported.

  ”Language!” 51 said, scratching their neck.

  She stamped her feet on the ground. “This is crawlshit, I did everything you asked. I found him for you, I killed him! And you’re torturing me? What, did you expect me to die and tie up the loose end of the annoying girl who dared to ask for a promotion? Are you mad that I didn’t give you the honors of killing him? That’s fair, that's fair. Guess what, I pushed him! He was being creepy and weird! He died! Go right the fuck ahead if you want credit, make up whatever story justifies all this effort. I need to go home and take a NAP!” She stomped her feet down at the last word.

  Dorvis’s hand puppet dutifully repeated what she had said verbatim, which Dorvis quickly muffled.

  “Again… language.” 51 reached into a pocket of their drooping cloak and produced a shard of glass. It was Adam’s weapon. His Remark? Clearly not, it would have disappeared when he died.

  ”We found this in your back pocket.”

  ”What?” She fidgeted in her seat, she had a lot of experience tying knots, untying them couldn’t be that hard. ”That’s- I didn’t put it there.”

  ”I absolutely put it there! I was going to pawn it off for orbits and then spend all the money on illegal gambling and organized stealing!” Dorvis’s voice was different this time, more strained, forced. And, you know, from the fact that none of what he had said was true, it was clear something was going on.

  ”Really? That's absolutely shocking Dorvis, are you sure?”

  ”Yeah, it’s true, you heard the puppet.” Dorvis said, avoiding his boss's eyes.

  Oh fuck.

  “You can keep it.” She said, hyper aware of how desperate she appeared. “I will- I’ll do time, I’ll absolutely take the fall and you can have the weapon, artifact, whatever.” There was a clear power that seeped from the weapon. It had the impression of Adam in it, though she couldn’t have explained that if she tried. “You know I can play the game, Haight. Please let me out.”

  They bristled at the use of their name. “Now where did you hear that name?”

  In what was becoming a pattern, Devon couldn’t resist the chance to get one over on them. “You keep secrets, so do I.”

  51 cut the legs of the chair out from under her. The force made her rise for a few seconds (as if she was levitating) but quickly neutralized as gravity took over and she hit the ground. She saw their sequined boots, slowly rising and then stepping on her head. It made her ears ring. 51 felt enormous, seeming as tall as the Drum.

  Their weapon was at her neck, with each breath it grazed her skin. Felt raw and infected, not the color these organs should be. Somehow she knew that.

  ”I had such high hopes for you Devon. But in the end, you couldn’t even get a number. There will be no funeral.”

  ”Your Remark is sick.” She didn’t feel fear, even if by all accounts she should.

  ”Another victim of Adam. His last, which is notable. Shame we can’t remember her name. That new Constant killed him, Haight Blemish, used to be the head of the Numbers. That's the one.” A whole future timeline was running through 51’s head, for the first time their eyes actually felt alive. They looked up suddenly, and seemed for a moment to have forgotten where they were. “Now, that girl who’s name no one remembers. Did she die quickly, or did she die slow?”

  ”Maybe her body was never found and I fuck off, you never see me again.”

  They smiled, the lights behind them an ungodly halo. “Slow it is then.”

  They sliced her straight down the stomach. A tear in the body, especially a large, precise one, is horrifying to see. Devon didn’t realize how many organs she had, the complexity, the myriad of colors that all faded into a uniform pink and blue as they met oxygen.

  Then the slit closed like a zipper, leaving only a part of the wound on the left side still open. The same wound was on 51’s Fourlovers. Black nails played along the edges, daring to tear it open again.

  ”Don’t try moving, the wound will reopen. You just stay there and hope for a miracle.”

  She couldn’t move even if she wanted to. There was a gravity about the situation that was very much physical. Her throat had tightened, she was sweating so hard what was left of her shirt clung to her back. Every few moments her back would flare and there would be dozens of micro seizures. This was bad. This was very bad.

  ”By the way, your secret.” 51 offered. “I knew your father. Jonas. I gave him many opportunities to leave. He never took it.” A chair squeaked, she couldn’t see but surely that was Dorvis making an exit.

  51 continued, biting their lip and playing with their hair. “You know I was there when he died.” She knew this. “So were you.”

  They must have noticed the way her breath caught, a unique reaction that had nothing to do with her slow painful death. Out came a smile so smug she would gladly die right here and now if it meant she could tear 51’s face off. “I was the only one to notice. I had an opportunity to kill you. Did I take it?”

  ”Why does that matter-“ Every word was torture, blood was in her vocal chords, but fuck them if they thought they’d get the last word. “- if you’re just gonna kill me now?”

  A look of surprise quickly covered by a laugh. “My dear, I’m not responsible for your actions.”

  She spit up at them, aiming for those crooked yellow teeth. A mixture of blood and phlegm fell back onto her face.

  ”Why? Just for the fucking shard of glass?”

  ”It’s far more than that, and you know it!” 51 snapped, running a finger through their thinning hair, “if you hadn’t tried to steal it I wouldn’t have-“

  They looked around, their forehead furrowed. “Where is it?”

  They walked out of sight. The sound of papers being moved, boxes being open. “Dorvis, did you take it? Dorvis?”

  The soft ruffle of the tent, then silence outside of the faint whirl of wind.

  She risked looking down, and the wound tore open again, like a garbage bag overflowing.

  She mouthed the word “fuck” and put pressure on it, arching her back and neck.

  The soft ruffle of the tent.

  She only moved her eyes to see who had entered.

  In front of her was Adam’s Remark, the dirty glass shard.

  It was floating in midair. Like a tiny ship surveying a new planet.

  ”You’re dying.”

  She said nothing. The shape of him in her head was becoming quite familiar.

  ”I assume you don’t want that. Neither do I. And… I think I was mistaken about who you are. Or perhaps I came on too strong.”

  The shard (it had to be a Remark, how else to explain the dead man talking through it?) floated down and came to her chin. It was a shard of glass, by its nature cold and harsh. But its movements were tentative, nervous, she was put at ease by how unsure this little floating piece of glass seemed to be.

  ”I can provide life, in exchange for transport. But understand that-“

  “Yes.” She said, gritting her teeth. “Do it.”

  He (it?) backed up. A directional double take. “I need to explain what transport means. It’s a burden, and you deserve to understand-“

  Her last image would have been of 51, not even near her top ten list of people she needed to kill, smiling down at her. Seeming to say “your life was pointless. I let you live, just to let you die years later. Your rich inner life, your hopes, your dreams, your desperations, it will stain the earth for a few weeks, before the rain washes it away. That is your legacy.”

  “If I die they win,” she felt free, lighter than ever. “What… What do you want? I’m… basically signing my life away to you as is.”

  A pause. “Yes. That is true. My goal is to change the world completely, so that no one ever has to die again. You would have to assist me.”

  Fucking fairy tale. It was impossible. But she’d humor him.

  ”Yeah…” she said, the words struggling to get out, “Alright man, let’s change the fucking world.”

  Transport was accepted.

  Let there be.

  A blast of light.

  Something fundamental to metaphysics was broken. Once again. The tent shook and then fell. All 139 festival lights shattered at once.

  Devon Near was born. The Visionary wept.