Crimson Rain (2 page)

The average one of these mud wasps was ten to thirteen feet in length. The average weight was four hundred kilograms. The stinger was about a meter in length. If the puncture didn
’
t kill
a person
, the venom was sure to. They feasted upon the bodies of those they killed, but worse yet, they weren
’
t wild creatures that could simply be exterminated.

The Faraza was at the heart of the swarm, or that
was
to say, the organization known as the Faraza. Their exact location was still unknown. All one had ever heard were vague reports of the wasp swarms returning to an underground entryway, down into the deep labyrinth that concealed them in darkness even during the day. The cult of
the
Faraza had an unaccounted number of followers and their secrecy was kept so close nobody knew how to join.

Many survivors who had seen some of their families captured, however, reported at times seeing a lost relative as one of the raiding party months after their kidnapping. The raiding parties were vicious; the wasps would swarm in with two to four riders each
,
depend
ing
on the size of the riders. They would descend, silent wings with great fury, murdering, pillaging
,
and kidnapping.

These terrible menaces appeared with little warning. There were watchtowers with sky watchers, but they were only minimal help. The intense speeds at which these parties approached made any retreat seem futile. By the time their shadows blotted out the sun, it was too late. One was certain to feel the breeze pass by as one was slain, or worse yet…taken.

“
Really? What
’
s a punk kid like you know about pain? All of you Psyker Scream rave kids are all so mystical and totally emo. Give me a break.
”

Zarfa didn
’
t say a word, only lifted his shirt to reveal a scar on his left side. A horrendous scar, one that yelled out,
“
I survived.
”
It had glanced him, but it was enough to cause an evisceration. His intestines had flopped toward the dirty ground as he saw his sister taken into the clouds by a wasp rider. He had been coughing out blood and shoving his viscera back inside before he even realized he had just brushed with one of their massive stingers.

Tears
had
welled in his eyes and he lifted his hands toward the skies. His voice made noises, but the words were inaudible. He
had been
crying because of the physical pain, but even more so for the emotional blow that had
str
uck
him.
Sarah! Sarah! MY SISTER!
was what he thought as he saw her taken so quickly.

She was beautiful, tall, elegant, graceful, a professional tribal dancer who once reminded their people of the old ways of the land. She was only sixteen when she had been taken, and Zarfa, a mere young man, the age of twenty-four, quickly turned to a bitter soul that was ageless as his life threatened to leave him a
s
his last remaining family member was so brutally excised from his life.

They had been in the market. She had been dancing, as she was hired to do by a wealthy merchant. Zarfa was standing by as her bodyguard, as he had always done. Zarfa took pride in being his sister
’
s bodyguard. It got them by in life, enough to eat and have a home, but they were truly content with each other.
His
tender sibling love was gone
in an instant
.

“
There is a story that goes with this. You are unworthy, doctor,
”
he stated as he felt tears welling up and rolling down his cheeks.

He wanted to forget what happened next. Many times, he would lay awake at night after that awful day
,
wishing he had
died
then and there
. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he cried, or pummeled himself, or drugged himself with alcohol combined with whatever depressants he could get his hands on, he couldn
’
t make the dark visage go away. What happened next, he couldn
’
t forget, and he wasn
’
t even trying to hold on.

He stood, one hand holding in his organs, and he began to run toward the wasp that was gaining altitude. A rider to his right was coasting in alongside of him to make its final strike. The rider made his command and the wasp obeyed. In one quick movement, like a beautiful flash of lightning in the night sky, Zarfa faced the rider head on. He avoided another sting and clutched one of the paper
-
like wings of the wasp. Holding on as tight as he could, he began to ascend into the sky.

He struggled his way up the giant insect and to the rider. The rider turned to face Zarfa. He was wounded and certainly no match for a raider, or so the raider might have thought. Before he knew it, Zarfa had closed the gap between them and was struggling to throw him off his mount. The raider took his baton and clubbed Zarfa in the face twice.
Bones cracked and blood flowed from his nose. Zarfa, nearly dead, grabbed hold of the raider
’
s bludgeon and pulled it easily from his grasp. Zarfa had never seen himself as a mere man, but always a beast, and a fierce guardian of the ones he loved. A ferocious guardian fight
s
to his last breath and a wounded creature
is
more dangerous than a live and healthy one. He was wounded, angry, and more of a creature than a man at this point. Nothing less than death or a loss of consciousness would stop him now.

Before the raider even realized he was disarmed, Zarfa had struck a blow to his humerus so hard the bone shattered. As his hand lost hold of the reins, he grabbed for them with the other hand out of reflex. He should have put up a defense, but it would have done little good. Zarfa struck with another crushing blow
;
the wasp rider
’
s other arm crippled under the force of his brutal strike. Zarfa then gave a push and the rider plummeted to the ground.

They were about seven meters from the earth when Zarfa grabbed the reins of the giant wasp. He looked around and realized his sister was gone. He also realized he didn
’
t know the first thing about controlling one of these beasts. Without its rider, it was flying erratic. One of its wings had been ripped in Zarfa
’
s maddened, adrenaline-filled struggle with its enormous body.

At this point, the blood loss and the crushing defeat had taken its toll. His last thought was
“
an eye for an eye
”
as the world went from color and light to darkness and the giant insect mount crashed head first into the ground. He lay there, looking
a
s if he were
another corpse from the fierce battle. He has lost sight of what had gone on around him because he fought to live and to save Sarah, but there were corpses, both human and freakish insect, innocent and raider alike, scattered across the Bazaar streets. He lost consciousness completely
as the feeling of
total defeat
engulfed him
.

Zarfa realized he was zoning out again
. H
e often did when he thought about the past. He could feel his eyes were dampening with tears at the thought of his sister. He breathed in deep then out so fiercely it was as if he was breathing out fire as he looked Max in the face.
“
Can we get on with this or what?
”

D
octor Hall
swallowed as he looked at the scar. Most would have been killed by something so large without immediate medical attention. He began to get a bit nervous and started to sweat. If his patient was walking around safe and sound after such a mortal injury, he certainly didn
’
t want to be on his bad side. Then he had the strangest thought.
Maybe I am helping these kids
.

He shrugged it away, cleared his throat, and said,
“
Well, I am sorry for the outburst. I really should work on my manners. If you are ready then, seeing as you have already signed the waivers, allow me to strap down your arm and we shall being the first round of injections.
”

Zarfa regained his composure. Though he hadn
’
t let out a sound, it embarrassed him deeply that the doctor had seen even a single tear roll from his eyes, let alone the many hundreds that now stained his shirt. He sat staring the doctor in the eyes for a brief moment but one that
must have
felt like an eternity to the poor man in the white lab coat. His face was still hidden under the mask, but Zarfa could tell he had terrified him, even if he was a sobbing baby.

Without fear, without trembling, without hesitation, Zarfa held out his long, lean, muscular arm. He eyed his own veins, wondering which the doctor would choose. What he was about to feel, he wouldn
’
t even consider pain.

“
Make it so
,
good doctor.
”

Doctor Hall took hold of his arm and set it on the padded leather arm rest. He then strapped him down to it. The straps weren
’
t meant to be cruel, but he really meant it when he said it mustn
’
t strike bone under any circumstances. The nanobots would begin mutating the bone rather than nerve and calcify the brain, killing Zarfa almost immediately.

“
I don
’
t know how this is helping any of you,
”
Hall scoffed.
“
Psyker Screams… It
’
s just a shitty techno heavy metal fusion band, isn
’
t it? There is a lot I understand in this world, but that will always be a mystery to me.
”

“
Let
’
s keep it that way.
”

The Doctor

“
Thank you, doctor,
”
Zarfa said politely as the doctor pulled the heavy gauged needle from his arm.

The pain was bad, but Zarfa was somehow more cheery now than he had been before the treatment. Dr. Hall could see it in his eyes; he was grateful. Zarfa then dug into his pockets and pulled out his bank chip. Dr. Hall held his bank chip out toward Zarfa.

“
Okay, ten thousand credits transferred to your account, doctor. I look forward to seeing you again four more times. After that, no more,
”
he said dryly.

“
Any time. Give it a week, please, and I didn
’
t introduce myself properly. Now that I am your doctor, call me Max, please. Max Hall, but just Max will do.
”

His demeanor had changed from the emotionally charged wreck that had been ranting at Zarfa earlier. It would be an understatement to say that Max was passionate about helping people. He
’
d really set out as a doctor to make a change in the world, originally. He was in his forties now, though, and felt as if he had changed very little. He needed a new scene. Somewhere he could make a difference.

“
Will do, Max.
”

As Zarfa left the office, Max got the chills. It was as if someone ha
d
blown cold air right down his spinal column. He didn
’
t understand it himself. He
’
d always thought these Psyker Scream fans were just privileged rave kids spending their trust funds on some new trendy band, but his latest patient, Zarfa, was different.

He was quiet, stoic, testy, sarcastic, stern, but what really stood out was weathered. His battle scars weren
’
t fake, not some sort of masochism or
self-mutilation
. Not some sort of cult ritual. No, it
had
definitely
been
a battle.

But from what?

Max didn
’
t have an answer, and he wouldn
’
t rest easy until he did. There were no other patients to see him so he sat down at his desk and pulled up the Synaptix Corp multiprocessor interface. Back in the day, people were okay with calling it the
“
Internet,
”
but these days
,
it was much more than a collective of web sites; it was practically a world that mirrored the physical world with its every day hustle and bustle.

Some punk hackers figured a way to link the net with a human brain via a simple
,
small electrode implanted right behind the optic nerve. To see to it that this chip wasn
’
t used to hack into someone
’
s brain at any moment
of
the day, a safety protocol was put in place so that the chip would only activate in front of a terminal. When the user sat at a terminal and pulled up the interface, they were still aware of their surroundings.