A Rough Prologue For 'Mel's Delivery Service'

Dark, violent tones filled Jagr's ears, a cacophony of layered vibrations helping to drown out his other senses. He liked to close his eyes while he listened; it helped him feel like he was far away, floating on an ocean of sound, instead of being in the middle of another boring-ass watch rotation. He imagined himself roiling in the waves, the transcendent beats tearing him apart and putting him back together, like he was made of doll parts.

Apart.
Together.
Apart.
Together.
Apart.
Toge-

"JAGR!"

He clutched the back of his head, suddenly realizing he'd been hit upside it. He flicked the music off, looking over to Raid, his fellow Watcherman, and easily the more responsible of the two.

"What?! Jesus..." Jagr complained, rubbing the back of his head as he got to his feet.

"We got a Runner," he said, nodding out into the darkness. Jagr sighed, blinking into NV and staring out into the night beyond the wall.

"Where?" he said, only seeing the same broken cityscape as most nights. He was slightly disappointed, actually; runners were one of the more exciting things the Watchers got to see.

"There," Raid said, pointing to the southeast. "Just went under that overpass."

Jagr zoomed in on the overpass, and finally spotted it as the lights of the runner pierced through the darkness. It became a lot easier to see once it cleared the overpass, not least of all because the vehicle was partially on fire.

"Oh, shit," Jagr muttered as the runner swerved along the road, small arms flashing in the darkness.

"They're comin' in hot," said Raid, already moving for the Nest. Feeling a small surge of excitement, Jagr followed, practically hopping down the ladder and looking to a tarp-covered protrusion. He pulled off the covering, revealing the repeating slugger beneath.

"Load up," Raid ordered, and Jagr complied, his heart pounding as the reality of the situation dawned on him. A Runner was headed for their gate. A Runner that was on fire. A Runner being chased by Syns.

He kicked open the ammo box at the base of the slugger, grabbing one end of the bullet chain and slapping it into the feeder. He spared a glance out towards the Runner, expecting to see a horde of machines in pursuit, but there was no metal army, no swarm of synthetic platforms. There was just one machine. One giant, six-legged machine, bigger than the Runner itself, and apparently just as fast.

"Fuckin' hell," Jagr muttered breathlessly, unable to take his eyes off the monstrosity. "Are you seeing this?"

"Shut up and cock your fucking gun!" Raid chastised. Jagr grabbed the heavy bolt on the side of the slugger, pulling it back with some difficulty and letting it slam forward, chambering the first round. He and Raid took aim, waiting for the Runner to get in range.

"Go for the legs," Raid said. It made sense to Jagr; it'd be easier to destroy if it wasn't scurrying along like some giant-ass metal ant from Hell.

The Runner cleared the first perimeter, and the Watchers opened up, adding their fire to the Runner's mounted slugger. If the Syn ant cared, it didn't show it, still scurrying after the Runner, clambering right over the first perimeter, only slowed a moment by the giant chain barrier.

The Runner made a beeline for the gate, which was already opening. As the Syn moved closer to the city, other Nests along the wall joined in, focusing fire at the machine's legs. It advanced menacingly for another moment, at which point it's right foreleg crumpled, the joint destroyed by the slugger fire. It stumbled a bit, trying to get closer before another of its legs broke off.

Jagr couldn't remember the last time a Syn got this close to the Wall. He certainly had never seen one this big, either, that realization reinforced by the proximity. He couldn't imagine what it had been like when these things were everywhere. They liked to tell you growing up that the Endwar could have been avoided. With shit like this walking around, Jagr couldn't imagine how.

The third leg finally put the beast down, its sluggers firing uselessly into the road. He was surprised to see the thing still had ammo. The Runner must have gone off the mapped roads to cut time, a common tactic with a common outcome. He'd never seen anything this big woken up, though. Where the fuck had that Runner been?

The Thing I Wanted to Happen Happened and It's Blowing My Damned Mind

Sometimes you go through things that make you feel stuff you don't want to feel. It happens to everyone. Usually, it's not your fault. It wasn't mine, anyway.

After years and years, I locked the feelings away, in this beastly cage I made in my own psyche. This allowed me to function.

But not to live.

Monsters were not put into me. This darkness that I hated so much wasn't foreign, it was just the part of me that was hurt. And I locked it away, never intending to let it out. I didn't like what it did.

But I need it. It's me. It's my life that I locked in there, that spark that burns amidst the nothing, that creates in a vacuum. It's my potential.

Some time ago, I convinced myself to reintegrate it, to let it out. I didn't know what that would look like. I didn't know how it would feel.

I do now.

I'm frightened. I'm devastated. I'm angry. I'm whole. I'm free.

Or I'm getting there, at least. This was it. This was the thing I needed, what I've been searching for, left behind where I'd already been.

Kind of Like That Scene From 'The Notebook'

He adjusts his glasses, the missing nosepad causing the metal to sting the bridge of his nose. This is a familiar position for him, that of counselor; he'd been doing it since they three were in high school, ever since that day, sitting in the portable class room and writing the word 'Seven' into their flesh.

It had been easy enough to align themselves with the basic ideas of ego, superego, and id. He was the Superego, the thinker, the analyzer, the reasoner, and she was the Ego, the frightened but idealistic child upon whom everything rested. He and the Id could be driving forces, but it was ultimately for the Ego to decide, to choose, to do or not.

She hadn't come alone this time, having followed through on her decision to reintegrate the Id, who had been banished for many years after its outbursts. While he had his reservations about the move, she'd said she needed it in order to live, and that the Superego knew to be true, even if he wasn't sure they were ready for this.

The anger was still there, though; the marks of rage and anguish were visible upon her skin, cold and intractable with the Id to fuel them. With the Superego running out of ideas, he'd decided that it couldn't hurt to try and burn off the built-up anger. Well, it could hurt, but they were running out of options.

He took a deep breath, watching her for a moment, able to see the small, burning flame of Id inside of her.

"What do you want?" he asked.

She averted her gaze, folding her arms and giving a slight shrug.

"What do you want?" he asked again.

"To be happy," she said, again with a shrug.

"What do you want?" he asked again. That wasn't going to cut it.

"You know what I want. We all know what I want; let's not play this stupid game," she said, running a hand through her hair.

"What do you want?" he asked again, a little more forcefully.

"To not be here. To be anywhere else, anyone else, so I don't have to put up with this bullshit."

"What do you want?"

"Fuck you," she said, the Id flaring defensively.

"What do you want?"

She just stared at him.

"What do you want?"

"I want what I can't have."

"What do you want?"

"I want to set the world on fire."

"What do you want?"

"I want to rule the ashes."

"What do you want?"

"I want to make everyone else feel my pain."

"What do you want?"

"To not hate myself anymore."

"What do you want?

"Stop it!" she cried, getting to her feet. "This is idiotic; you know damned well what I want."

"So, say it," he offered.

"I. Want. Justice," she growled, stepping over the table and closing the distance, staring into his cool, observant gaze. "I want to hurt them. I want to make them understand what they did to me, what they allowed to happen. I want them to know what happened to me; not just be aware of it but to know, to feel it in their soul, to not be able to do anything without being afraid of someone judging them or yelling at them."

She turned away, stalking about the small room, her chest heaving with each enraged breath.

"They owe me!" she yelled. "They owe me the years they stole from me!"

"You won't get it," he calmly remarked. "It's not something that can be given; the time is simply gone. You won't get it back."

She put her hands on her hips, tilting her head back and sighing in frustration.

"That's not fair," she said.

"It's not," he agreed. They sat in silence for a bit before she finally moved to sit back down.

"You know what I really want?" she asked.

"What's that?" he asked, unable to keep the small smile of his face.

"... I want help," she said, leaning her head back against the couch. "I don't know what I'm doing, and I don't have the energy to figure it out while I'm having to fight myself every step of the way."

"So, maybe we find a way to stop you from fighting yourself?" he offered. She raised her head, looking at him skeptically, but knowing what he was going to say.

"That's a lot to just eat," she said.

"It is," he agreed. "And it won't be easy, and it'll probably take more than one try, but it's what you need to do, in the end."

She folded her arms once more, closing her eyes, thinking of the task at hand.

"I deserved better," she said.

"You still do," he countered. "But you're the only one who can give you better."