A horrible, grating sound of metal scraping against metal writhed its way out of the gilded elevator doors. It grew, moving up and down its surface erratically until finally it stopped explosively, as the Brand of Caliburn poked out of the centre. Frantically darting up and down, like some wild beast restrained by the neck, the blade pushed itself until a third of it had breached out from the doors. Then, unceremoniously, the gold-plated gates crumbled and crashed open releasing Scratch and Pop.

  Scratch stumbled out, collapsing to the floor and panting heavily, “Holy Fuck that was a bad idea,”

  The girl, somehow still clad in her near perfectly pink faux sheepskin, propped herself up against a wall and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I am SO fucking sorry Pop, I really didn’t-“

  She threw her hand up weakly, “Its fine man... I’m alive so… We’re cool”.

  Scratch, after a considerable amount of time spent on the floor, stood up and looked around. It was still just as tacky as the floors below them, classical ornaments placed with no meaning nor care in wherever there was space to put them. There was a large glass window that stretched from one end of the corridor they were in to the other, and it overlooked practically the entire pillar.

  He looked out at the plastic buildings below, scanning each one and noticing when their store lights would flicker on to greet evening guests. The guests themselves barely looked real, they looked like how words sometimes used to appear to him when he was younger. like scrawling illegible scribbles on cluttered paper.

  Scratch didn’t like the feeling it gave him, looking down on them all, and quickly turned about.

  “So” He said, “I’m pretty sure this is the top floor, or at least pretty close by.”

  There were several ways to go from this corridor, but the ones that stuck out to him most was a corner to the right and a stretch of hall to the left, leading in completely opposite directions.

  He pointed with Caliburn at the two, “I’m thinking either the corner over there, or the spooky hallway over there.” He faced Pop once more, “Which one are you thinking?”

  Pop was still looking at the ceiling, catching her breath, “Either one is fine,” she pushed herself off the wall she stuck to and continued, “He’s bound to be on this floor, its not gonna be long either way before we catch the prick.”

  Scratch opened his mouth to suggest a path, not satisfied with Pop’s half-answer, but quickly got cut off.

  “But…” Pop mumbled, “Its probably best we split up to cover more ground.”

  He stared at her in disbelief, “A… Are you kidding? With all the soldiers in the building, being alone would fuck us up WAY more-“

  “Just,” she held his hand up and he stopped immediately, “listen! Do you hear any soldiers on this floor?”

  The two stopped talking and listened to their surroundings.

  Nothing.

  They continued for a bit longer, looking around them as if they could see the noise before hearing it.

  Still, nothing.

  “See?” she continued. “I doubt any soldier thinks we could’ve climbed this far, most of them are probably sweeping the lower floors…”

  Scratch smiled, “…They fucked up!”

  “Exactly!” Pop jabbed Scratch’s arm playfully, “So, since Isaac’s gonna be nearby we should probably fan out! We can totally find him faster that way!”

  He still wasn’t entirely convinced, in his mind sticking together was the obvious and easiest choice they could make to minimise any chances of mistakes. But, Pop was much smarter than he was and he knew that, the fact that he trusted her with his life unconditionally eventually became the deciding factor.

  “Okay,” he finally answered, deciding to trust Pop’s judgement. “In that case ill head-“

  “Down there,” Pop pointed towards the corner, then pivoted around to face the ‘spooky’ hallway, “I’ll go this way, if we’re ever in trouble we run to where the other person went to, right?”

  He nodded reluctantly. “Stay safe Pop,”

  “You too, Scratch”

  The two turned opposite of each other and set off down their chosen paths. Scratch sprinted around the corner at full speed and Pop ran as hard as she could down her hallway, that was until she saw his red cape disappear around the bend and she immediately slowed her pace to a brisk walk.

  She stuck her hands in the fluffed pockets of her jacket, kept her head down and wandered steadfast down the corridor.

  She found herself at the first left turn, looking down the path it led to and eyeing the various paintings and abstract furniture before shaking her head slightly and moving on. As she did, Pop kept a keen eye on the walls and the small knickknacks that were placed on them next to doors. Most made no impression on her, being forgotten the moment they left her sight, but every so often she came across a chest of drawers where she lingered for a second.

  Each chest was similar with only slight changes in colour or decoration setting them apart.

  Too brown,

  She moved on, hands fidgeting in her pockets from the discomforting silence that oddly lingered this high up the tower. Another left turn came upon her, and again she looked down its narrow hall for anything that caught her interest, spying another pair of drawers some way down the middle.

  Pop swivelled on her heel and picked up her step, gliding past novelty lamps and golden vases trying not to stir any more noise than she absolutely had to. Finally, the objects of her curiosity were in front of her. Her eyes fell onto the rightmost one first, and thus began her examination.

  Colour’s fine, no brand either that’s good. But what is that?

  That, was some alien thing twisted into the strange wiry shape of a tree. It could’ve also been some other plant, or maybe even a building if Pop was bothered enough to ponder on it more, however that wasn’t the point. What mattered is that wasn’t what she was looking for, turning her attention to the box on the opposite side.

  It was essentially identical, even down to the markings from where movers had grabbed its corners, with the sole exception of the ornament placed delicately in the centre. A ceramic dove of perfect shape, featureless besides the green scarf of paint that layered around its fat neck, pointing its beak at the mahogany gate on its left.

  It always pointed left.

  Pop crossed through the door with no hesitation, more or less knowing what lied beyond it and finding no need to take any caution. A cold, moisture-less stairwell that only led up on a slow and steady incline, small speakers built into the walls on either side humming music from an era that had passed even the old and haggard shelter dwellers on the west side. At its apex sat a single clean door, completely devoid of features and bone white with only a single divot on its surface for a handle.

  Finally taking her hands out of her pockets she carefully lifted her ruined helmet and held it by her side, clamping down with a bawled fist and tense arm. She shuddered, breathed in a lungful of chilling air, and marched forward reaching for the door. It slid open revealing a freshly carpeted office, its floorspace barren and void save for a single carved desk and a plush chair at the end.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  He sat in that throne, staring out of the clear glass wall that overlooked the whole pillar, reclining. Then, sensing the sliding door open, Isaac Melbourne spoke.

  “That was fast,” he began to turn, “You brats managed to find this place that fast? I should honestly congratulate-“

  Isaac’s eyes passed over Pop’s and he stopped.

  “…Poppy? That you kiddo?”

  She sighed, evading meeting his gaze, “Hi Isaac,”

  “Isaac?” he chuckled pushing his reclining armchair away on its wheels, stepping in front of his desk. “Is that it?”

  He was clad in an all-black suit trimmed with gold fringes that highlighted the darkness of his skin unnaturally well, just like Pop used to remember. Age was weathering his skin a little more than last time, but his face still bore the same hewn sharpness that framed him like a once starved wolf.

  “Y’know…” Isaac continued, “I used to remember a time when you called me Uncle Isaac,”

  “That’s because everyone did” Pop retorted, being mindful of her distance from him.

  “Well sure! But I had a soft spot for you, your parents used to bring you around when you were only up to my knee!” he brought his hand up to his chin with a smile, reminiscing. “Wow, I missed those guys, how are they doing kid?”

  “Dead”

  Isaac grimaced, “Ooh, sorry about that, I get kinda caught up in stuff you know how it is…”

  “Stuff?” She furrowed her brow, “You mean like making people eat each other?!”

  “Hm?” he stepped closer as he spoke, still eyeing Pop and the large round mask under her arm “Oh, by the way yellow does not suit the whole pink thing you’ve got going on-“

  “Don’t fuck with me!”

  “Alright, alright! I was kidding!” Isaac threw his hands up in the air, “Listen, the whole six disease thing is completely necessary-“

  She stepped closer, dropping her helmet and putting her hand on her rapier, “The fuck it is!? You cant just kill people and make them eat each other, i-its… its inhumane!”

  “Inhumane?” his voice lost some of its friendly charm, “Inhumane!? You haven’t seen inhumane kid, when you’ve lived HALF of what I’ve lived you can come back to me about being inhumane! I’m saving people!”

  “By killing them!”

  “NO!” he slammed his palm against his head in frustration. “I’m not- its not- okay... Survival of the fittest? Ever heard of that kiddo?”

  She took another step forward,

  “…You’re not seriously thinking of coming at me, right?” Isaac smiled,

  Pop clenched her teeth, “The Isaac my parents knew wouldn’t do this, he would at least try to do things the right way,”

  “You think I haven’t? There’s many ways to handle a situation but overpopulation doesn’t really have a lot of options.” He put his hands in ironed suit pockets cockily, “Besides, I don’t think there’s many people left alive now that ‘know’ me, you should probably think of why that is…”

  Pop hesitated,

  Was that a threat?

  She couldn’t tell for sure, deciding in her confusion to continue inching closer.

  Isaac sighed, “Okay so… you want to spar huh? I’ve seen that look before so I know I’m not gonna get through to you anytime soon.” he shot up and leisurely walked over to a wall with a small indent on its surface, “You might have to go easy on me though, I’m not as young as I used to be when we practised last time.”

  “Shut up!”

  He pressed his finger onto the divot in the wall and suddenly it revealed the linings of several panels, each one flipping over gradually revealing a wall of various engine blades. He moved his finger along a dozen or so, out of the hundreds mounted there, and chose a lightweight blade he felt was suitable.

  “Careful now Poppy,” he chuckled, “I designed this one based off a duelling sabre, your rapier should have the advantage so I don’t want to hear about me being ‘unfair’ this time, okay?”

  Pop grunted, slipping her rapier from its holster by the hip and steadying it forward. She tensed her free hand up against her chest, spaced out her legs enough to move back and forth quickly, and shifted towards Isaac slowly.

  Isaac smiled as he readied himself in similar way, bringing the sabre out in front of him and resting the other hand on his back. As she stepped within his imaginary boundary, a person’s width between him and her, his breath grew shallow and calm.

  Their swords met in the middle, gently tapping against each other and bouncing off as the two of them shuffled in place. Pop thrust forward, snaking her blade into dead air before retreating back to the middle. Isaac flinched on instinct but, realising it was a feint, quickly brought himself back to the centre.

  “Too obvious Poppy, its only been-“

  She dropped her blade down to his hilt, the tip peaking over his guard and slicing past a small patch of skin.

  Isaac shot his arm up, twisting the sword to point down and deflecting Pop’s rapier away before it could tear open any more of his hand. As the tip of her blade began to flex under the pressure of being pushed away, Isaac pushed forward and whipped his sabre across her arm.

  Pop clenched her teeth holding back a groan of pain, resisting the urge to look at the wound on her arm. There was a brief reprise, as if a whistle was blown somewhere in both of their heads, and they walked around each other shaking off any leftover tension. Isaac thumbed at the paper cut on his hand, wiping away the trickles of blood to inspect the wound closer before stopping in his tracks and facing Pop once more.

  She didn’t bother checking hers, the warm sensation travelling down her arm was more than enough.

  Isaac rolled his shoulders and resumed his position, sabre still coated with thin veils of Pop’s blood as it met her rapier in the centre.

  They did the same dance; feinting, striking, riposte, back and forth with their swords snapping at each other every time they briefly collided. She was focused, her breathing became a humming rhythm with each movement. Pop could see the determination in his too, as they stepped back from one another to regain breath after a flurry of exchanges the look in his eyes was sharpened by adrenaline. He fought coldly, after the first trading of blows it was clear Isaac no longer cared what happened to Pop. He was a soldier again, a hero.

  Their movements picked up speed as the small knicks here and there no longer sufficed. They shifted back and forth, Isaac swinging his sabre at the base of her sword in an attempt to make up for his lack of range and Pop looking for an opportunity to lock blades.

  Eventually, amongst the quick jabs of steel, Pop twisted her sword down and slipped it into Isaac’s leg, piercing it cleanly. He brought his blade up again, attempting to deflect her rapier skywards but Pop knew better. She swivelled her sword around his sabre’s hilt, elegantly directing it in a way that prevented Isaac from flicking her away like before, and thrusted towards his neck. He ducked away before it cut anything vital, however her cold steel still managed to rip a chunk of flesh from his cheek.

  Pop stepped back and brought her rapier down by her side, in a stance that would’ve been more suited to a weapon structured around unsheathing, flicking a switch that lied just under her thumb.

  The chunky hilt of her rapier slid down her blade until it stopped suddenly at the end, becoming a spike-less mace. She swung it around her hip, immediately gaining momentum from the added weight at the tip colliding it with his jaw.

  Isaac slammed back into his desk, blood pouring from his mouth onto the scattered papers below along with a single cracked tooth. For a moment, just a moment, he forgot the weapons he made had extra functions like that. He struggled a smile out of his already bruising face and turned back to face the small girl.

  His expression was different this time, his eyes still kept the bloodlust of a hungry beast but his face shone, as if a world of new possibilities was just opened up to him, one he just now remembered was there. Their swords met in the middle again, Pop reconfiguring her rapier back to its usual state. Isaac’s blade shook, clinking against hers in trembling inconsistent clashes.

  Pop furrowed her brow genuinely caught off guard by how much he was shaking, attributing it to him holding back a concussion. It was, however, the shaking of a man overcome with excitement, something Pop failed to realise.

  In a sudden jolt he slid the sabre up to the tip of her blade, angling his sword towards her eyes and grinning furiously. She stepped forward, twisting her blade away from his lacklustre defence and prepared to strike once more until a sudden burning sensation clouded her vision. Isaac held a button down with his index finger, the blade was choking out a stream of thick dark smoke.

  Her eyes watered, her lungs craved fresh air and brought in a torrent of smoke. She sputtered in place losing all balance and dropping her rapier just enough for Isaac to slice at her hand. Pop’s sword clattered to the floor immediately getting scooped up by Isaac’s free hand.

  Then, he chambered his leg towards his chest before releasing its full force at Pop’s unguarded skull. She flew back, bouncing off the floor and rolling towards the wall at the other end of the room leaving behind a trail of blood that leaked from her nose. As she propped herself up with one hand she looked up to see Isaac with his hand stretched far back behind his body.

  It snapped back in front of him in a hazy blur launching a beam of grey light towards Pop. Her body collided with the wall once more, pushed there by a force that struck her stomach. Pop screamed as a shooting, burning, pain flooded through her body, she looked down to see her own rapier pierced through her, pinning her to the wall from her abdomen.

  Isaac’s grin faded, “Oh shit,” he muttered, before raising his voice to meet her ears at the other end of the room, “Hey sorry about that kid! I was aiming for your shoulder!”

  There wasn’t any response. Just laboured, erratic breathing.