cinder || dnf

chapter six

Dream slinked through the balmy night, the sound of his boots shuffling across the concrete, as if both legs were made of steel. The empty night was a chorus of muted sounds in his head: the sandy crunching on Patches' treads, the sputtering of street lamps above them, the constant hum of the magnetic superconductor beneath the street. With every step, the wrench inside Dream's calf clanked. It all dulled in comparison to the video replaying in his mind.

His interface did that sometimes- recording moments of strong emotion and replaying them over and over. Like déjà vu or when the last words of a conversation linger in the air long after silence has settled in. Usually, he could make the memory stop before it drove him crazy, but tonight he didn't have the energy.

The black splotch on Drista's skin. Her scream. The med-droid's syringe dragging Dream's blood from the flesh of his elbow. Drista, small and trembling on the gurney. Already dying.

He stopped, clutching his stomach as nausea roiled up. Patches paused a few paces ahead, shining her spotlight on Dream's scrunched face.

"Are you alright?"

The light darted down the length of Dream's body, and he was sure Patches was searching for bruise-like rings even though the med-droid had said he wasn't infected.

Instead of answering, Dream peeled off his gloves and shoved them into his back pocket. His faintness passing, he leaned his shoulder against a street lamp and drank in the humid air. They'd made it home, almost. The Phoenix Tower apartments stood on the next corner, only the top floor catching the faint light from the crescent moon, the rest of the building cast in shadow. The windows were black but for a handful of lights and some bluish white glares from flickering netscreens. Dream counted floors, finding the windows to the kitchen and Adri's bedroom.

Though dim, a light was still on somewhere in the apartment. Adri wasn't a night person, but perhaps she'd discovered that Drista was still out. Or perhaps Pearl was awake, working on a school project or comming friends late into the night.

It was probably better this way. He didn't want to have to wake them.

"What am I going to tell them?"

Patches' sensor was on the apartment building for a moment, then the ground, picking up the shuffled debris across the sidewalk.

Dream rubbed his sweaty palm on his pants and forced himself onward. Try as he might, suitable words would not come to him. Explanations, excuses. How do you tell a woman her daughter is dying?

He swiped his ID and entered through the main door this time. The gray lobby was decorated only with a netscreen that held announcements for the residents- a rise in maintenance fees, a petition for a new ID scanner at the front door, a lost cat. Then the elevator, loud with the clunking of old machinery. The hallway was empty, save the man from apartment 1807 snoozing on his doorstep. Dream had to tuck in his splayed arm so Patches would crush it. Heavy breathing and the sweet aroma of rice wine wafted up.

He hesitated in front of apartment 1820, heart pounding. He couldn't recall when the video of Drista had stopped repeating in his head, eclipsed by his harsh nerves.

What was he going to say?

Dream bit his lip and held up his wrist for the scanner. The small light switched to green. He opened the door as quietly as possible.

Brightness from the living room spilled into the dark hallway. Dream caught a glimpse of the netscreen, still showing footage of the market from earlier that day, the baker's booth going up in flames again and again. The screen was muted.

Dream entered the room, but halted mid-step. Patches bumped against his leg.

Facing him from the middle of the living room were three androids with red crosses painted on their spherical heads. Emergency med-droids.