James Swallow: Jade Dragon

Ise made it to the doors of the church just as Father Woo was pushing them shut. The priest held a shotgun like he knew how to use it. The go-ganger thought the padre was going to leave him out there, out on the street where the shadowy crawling things and maddened people ran riot; but then the priest beckoned him sharply. Ise threw himself through the doorway as the gun barked, killing something behind him.

It was only a fragment of the Lord of Lusts, a mirror-piece of the Master of Ecstasy’s monumental horror; but still the Jade Dragon boiled with inchoate power, the bubbling potency of unbridled animal hungers spilling into the world. The city reeled and went mad. Those who saw the beast in dreams over the past weeks gave it their minds, never understanding that to believe in it only made Him more real. Those who had been fortunate enough to avoid the taint spread by Tze’s Cabal were fortunate no more. There was nowhere in Hong Kong where the touch of the blue did not reach. Each mind formed another link in the chain, released more caged passions and horrible secrets. Millions of people found themselves hating and loving, needing and yearning for bloodshed and lust.

With great care, Alice nailed her feet to the floor and arranged it so she could seat herself on the bed. She drew the last of the cabbalistic shapes on the milk-pale flesh of her forearm with the shard from the mirror, then took the gun and rested the muzzle on her lower lip. The weapon tasted of oil and steel, and she had to fight back a gag reflex. Teasing the end of the barrel with her tongue, she squeezed the trigger and waited for heaven.

The song pealed around her mind, never-ending, looping in an infernal circle. Juno tried to stop herself from speaking the words, but they forced themselves from her mouth, the unstoppable meme washing out across the audience.

“We adore you, Juno!” came the screams. “You complete us! We love you!”

They echoed her, line for line, beat for beat, a flock of worshippers growing by the second as more minds in the city fell into the power of the Jade Dragon. The throbbing subliminals in the backbeats and the flickering hypno-commands in the screens made slaves of them, and Juno was at the core of it. Floating camera drones and emplaced lenses followed her every movement across the stage, holding her and broadcasting the image citywide.

She was the catalyst, at the heart of the expanding reaction. For every person who joined in the chorus, for each mind that willingly surrendered itself to the touch of the Z3N, the creature’s manifestation became stronger. Against her will, Juno led the city into a hive mind designed and directed by the will of the beast. It was circular, a self-reinforcing metaconcert-and soon it would reach a critical mass of human thought and make the Jade Dragon fully real in the material plane.

Juno touched the very faintest corona of the demon-thing’s psyche, and it sickened her beyond all words. She understood only that to pierce the veil of dimension from the Outer Darkness where it originated, the beast needed believers. It could only become tangible when men and women gave themselves over to the desires that it embodied, the blood-soaked, conflicting needs to procreate and to destroy.

As the lyrics came around again, Juno saw the flesh-city and the glass monsters of her waking dreams forming, and rejected them with all her might. “I’m the quiet muh-mind in-inside,” she stammered. “Pretty… pretty…” Her chest tightened, the muscles rebelling. She tasted blood in her mouth and screamed, fighting the compulsion, forcing the words to shift and change.

“I’m the lying fiend inside!” she spat wildly, “hateful voice! I’m the bloody smile! Touch my thoughts and die, there’s nowhere you can hide!”

Juno clutched at her skull as spikes of pain wracked her. The singer’s piercing shriek was repeated by the first fifteen rows of the concert audience, each of them falling into psychic synchronicity with her.

“I won’t sing!” she snarled, tearing the microphone tab from her cheek. “I won’t help you any more!” The camera drones closed in, curious at her sudden change in behaviour.

Juno’s angry cries died in her throat as the brilliant sodium lights of the stage were snuffed out, plunging the platform into blackness. She saw a shimmering curtain fall, cutting her off from the audience, and suddenly the screens blared out new tunes, picking up and repeating the words to “Touch” over and over. The live feeds from the cameras were abruptly severed.

From the deep shadows of the wings emerged Mr Tze, his face bright with rage. “You dare defy me?” he roared, his voice beating at her over the blare of the music. “You vat-grown, clockwork bitch. You’re just a grandiose sexclone, a fuck-toy for my bidding.” He brutally backhanded her. “Sing, damn you. I order you to sing. Infans simulare! Infans simulare. ”

“No more.” she cried, her words strangled and sobbing. “I won’t do it.” Mad elation filled her, a sudden sense of lunatic freedom.

Tze spat and drew his sword. “Very well. The King is coming, it is too late to stop it now. If you will not obey him, you will bleed for him.”

“Listen to me!” she screamed at the cameras, begging her fans to hear her. “The Jade Dragon will destroy you all! Don’t let it in! If you ever loved me, don’t-”

Tze’s ceremonial blade flashed in the spilled light from the screens and opened her throat to the air. Juno staggered backwards and fell, hands at her neck, struggling to hold in a flood of rich, hot crimson.

There were bright flickers of pasts and lives that she had not experienced, the death and death and death of other Juno Qwans, an endless loop of them, lives of engineered soulnessness bereft of human warmth. Laughter. Applause. The punishing glare of fame. In the grey haze, her mind collapsed to a single point, to the touch of a man’s hand on her face and the look of utter truth in his eyes. Francis…

Voiceless, she collapsed and died there on the stage, a blossom of red expanding about her.

“The songbird is silenced,” snorted Tze. Above, the unblinking glass eyes watched and recorded.

Only the goggles over Professor Tang’s eyeballs had stopped him from gouging them out when the green fires fell from the air, but now he was pleased, giddy with the sight as he raped the corpse of the lab assistant he had shot in the stomach. All the secret things, all the keys to the monstrous desires in his head were free, and he had no more need of human values.

Fixx felt his breath coming in shallow, brutal gasps. There was blood all around him, making the stone tiles slippery. His vision was misty, as if everything around him was made of felt. He tasted copper. The sanctioned operative made his hands work with fierce concentration, fishing in his coat pocket for a weapon, a touchstone. His fingers found a ragged tear in the kevleather and nothing else. With effort, Fixx pushed himself off the floor, leaning up.

“Looking for something?” asked Rope. The Josephite had the ghost knife held up high. He tipped back his head and let drops of red fall from the shifting blades on to his tongue. The killer came closer, nodding at the bones scattered on the floor. “Lost your precious things? How sad.” With exaggerated care, Rope brought his shoe down on the fetishes and ground them into powder. “All gone. Now how will you know what to do, Joshua? You’ll have to make your own mind up for once.”

Fixx had a dagger in his boot, but it might have well been on Mars. Agony churned in his gut as he dragged himself backwards, pressing against a jade pillar. Dimly, he was aware of a sour breeze sluicing in through the broken windows, heavy with death-scents, sirens, singing and the noises of human despair. A rough chuckle escaped his lips. “This… not goin’ exactly how I planned.”