Jay Posey - Three

Asher ran his fingers through her hair.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” he said. “I’ve always thought so. And the Weir, the Weir are fascinating, you know. Not at all the wild animals you think they are. They found her. Repaired her for me. Optimized her. And when directed, they are capable of… things beyond your imagining. No mind of their own, of course. But with my mind…” he stopped and smiled. Robotically, the Weir-Cass turned its head and kissed Asher’s head.

Three felt feverish, felt like he might lose consciousness at any moment. He fought to hold on. Seeing her again, seeing her like this, was more than his heart could bear.

No, not her, he told himself. Cass is dead. That is a thing. An abomination.

“So, I guess in way, it’s all worked out just like she wanted,” Asher continued, running his finger along her jaw. Along its jaw. “All back together again. And so what do we do about you, then?” He made a show of considering it. And then shrugged. “I suppose you get to die.”

Cass stood then, and stalked towards him.

They stood in the passage outside the door, Wren shaking violently, Ran holding him in his arms.

“You shouldn’t be here, little one,” Ran said with gentle firmness. “This is a terrible place.”

The door was closed now, but Wren couldn’t stop trembling. He was freezing cold. Ran had managed to stifle his scream, and had quickly moved him back out into the passageway, Wren was sure that at any moment the door would open and they would flood out.

“Come, little one. I’ll take you to him.”

“Ran, please,” Wren said, his voice breaking as he fought back the tears. “Please, I don’t want to go back to Asher.”

“I know,” Ran said. “I will take you to the man. The one who brought you. And then we will see.”

The fear, the shock, the relief, it was too much for Wren to absorb. He burst into tears and went limp, letting Ran bear him back up the stairs. Back to Three.

Three scrabbled backwards on his hands as Cass approached. Her hands had looked normal at first, but as she closed the distance, claws had extended from the tips of her fingers. Not true claws; some kind of blades embedded beneath the nails. Deadly, either way.

He was just gaining his feet when she moved to strike. And it was all he could to slap the attack away, to get himself clear. The assault came furiously, and no matter what he did to break contact, he couldn’t keep distance. Three’s mind flashed back to the last fight, the night she’d fallen, the way she’d fought when she was healthy, and juiced on her chems. It was like that now; raw fury and surprising power, like a lioness defending her cubs.

But no matter how much he fought to tell himself this creature was no longer Cass, that she was gone, Three could not bring himself to harm her. He struggled to defend himself from her relentless advance. But he couldn’t bring her down.

“Asher!” a loud voice called. And in an instant, Cass stopped her attack. Ran stood at the door, Wren in his arms, and a look of horror on his face. “Asher! What have you done?”

Asher waved dismissively. “It’s none of your concern, Ran. She’s mine to do with as I please.”

“You… you did this?”

“Are we having a problem, Ran?” Asher said, his tone rising.

“Mama?” came Wren’s weak voice. Ran instantly covered the boy’s eyes, pressed his head back down on his shoulder.

“Don’t look, little one.”

“Let him look,” Asher said. “He’ll be seeing a lot of her from now on.”

“ Mama ?” Wren cried. “ Three ?”

“You demon!” Ran shouted. Asher rolled his eyes. In the passage behind him, a blue light grew. And more of Asher’s Weir emerged. Six of them. Well-muscled. Deadly. They moved to either side of Asher, like wolves protecting their own.

Ran put Wren down, and slid the boy behind him.

“Three, what’s going on? What’s happening?” Wren called.

“Don’t worry, Wren,” Three said. “We’re gonna work it out.”

He started towards Wren and Ran, but in that instant Cass renewed her attack. Three managed to stop the first swipe, but the second caught his side, raking across his ribs. As he redirected her strikes, he caught a glimpse of her passionless face. Hollow. There was nothing of her in there.

She stopped again, but remained poised to strike.

“You’re boring me,” Asher said. “Are you just going to let her kill you?”

Three understood. Asher didn’t care how the fight turned out. It was the sport he wanted, the sheer torment of watching Three fight this woman he’d come to care so deeply for, and the pleasure that Asher derived from it.

“You have no power over me, Asher,” Three said, knowing it would enrage him. “I won’t fight her.”

“You will ,” Asher said. “Or the boy dies.”

The six other Weir advanced, towards Wren. Three made a move to intercept them, but Cass was there, cutting him off, knocking him away, keeping him cornered.

“Your choice,” Asher said.

The Weir collapsed as one, lunging for the boy.

But Ran was there. He flung Wren away, into the corner, and with all his fury unleashed his fury upon the six.

Wren tumbled to the ground, and scrambled over to the corner, where he balled himself against the wall. Hands over his ears, he screamed and screamed and screamed at the chaos around him. Ran fighting so many. He was bleeding so much. And Three fighting Mama. But it wasn’t Mama, not anymore. What had happened? What was happening?

Cass attacked and attacked, and Three had shifted gears. He struck her in the legs, in the arms, in the torso. Anything to slow her down without doing any real injury. But he was getting tired. His wrists were bleeding, his shoulders were still stiff, and his head was still pounding. Everything was taking its toll, and Cass started landing strike after strike. His pant leg was soaked with blood from numerous wounds, and he was starting to get lightheaded.

Across the room, Ran still fought, though two of the Weir were on the ground now. But every attempt Three made to help him was stifled by Cass.

Wren tried to shrink back further into the wall, to get away. To get away from all the screaming, and the sounds of fighting, and the utter chaos. All the blood. And Asher. Asher sitting on his tall chair, watching it all. Watching.

It was Asher. All of this was Asher’s fault. And without Asher, maybe it would all stop. And that’s all Wren wanted now. He just wanted it to stop. He wanted it all to stop.

“Stop,” he heard himself say. “Stop!” He was standing now. Louder. “STOP!”

Three’s legs were heavy. His steps were off, his kicks missing targets. And Cass was tireless. How fitting , he thought, that after all was said and done, she should be the one.

Amidst her attacks, Three was vaguely aware of Wren yelling something, and Asher got off his throne and strode across the room. But there was nothing Three could do to reach the boy. In between clashes with Cass, Three saw Asher backhand Wren across the face.

“Shut up, Spinner!” Asher yelled.

“My name is Wren!” Wren shouted back.

Asher struck him again, harder this time. Wren tasted blood in his mouth. And then Asher’s hand was around his throat. He had The Look on his face.

“Shut. Your. Mouth,” Asher said, his face an inch from Wren’s. Wren felt his feet go out from under him. Asher was picking him up. He couldn’t breathe. His hands fumbled at his belt.

Wren found it, the grip cool against his palm. Just like Three’d taught him. Wren plunged his knife into Asher’s forearm, and then into his upper arm, and then his shoulder, and then his neck. Asher dropped him, stumbled backwards in shock.