Sitting in the black vehicle of innovation, Mercury had installed a screen into the car with an extension wire.
Plugging in a USB, he was able to generate something.
the live camera he had placed yesterday.
A camera at the gate of the withered garden . . .
. . .
Suddenly, the video played on a wide hologram-like floating screen.
It held a title on the top right on a bar.
"WIRE_CAM_0001"
Thin lines of static made it look more like a VHS tape than anything modern.
It begins . . .
A tape that cracked, distorted, warped—slight voices bleeding through the hollow screen.
"WIRE I. // FIRST_(ACTIVE)"
06/03/00 - 7:12AM
Wired halls of red walls, gilded by torture within each room. A tall man with a fedora entered the view, his face half-covered, as he walked towards the door. He stopped, and knocked twice.
So they did get a watcher . . .
Mercury leaned in closer, noticing a black rose in the breast pocket of his suit.
The man stood firm. The camera flashed slightly, and he looked up. However, he hadn't suspected anything.
Immediately, the door opened. Amira answered. She looked heavily confused.
"Amira Bakir. I have been sent on watch for you . . ."
The voice echoed among the car. Mercury watched intensely. The man adjusted the black rose in his pocket as he entered without notice.
Amira looked concerned. Then the audio muffled. They had entered the apartment, and from there it was ambience. Only a certain word was discernible.
"Bearer."
There's no mistaking it. What do bearers have to do with anything there?
Minutes of muffled speech lingered throughout, all drowned by the opening of two doors.
Sara and Lisan entered, Lisan in the passenger seat, and Sara in the back.
Mercury signaled them to quiet down as he paid close attention, not batting an eye to anything else.
A black rose . . .
Abruptly, a cackle broke his train of thought. A sound of lacerating filled the hallway. Laughter of a woman so bloodcurdling it would make even the most jaded flinch.
Because it was real. A cry of true agony—but it felt as if she saw paradise as the end obstacle.
Oh no.
Hurriedly, Mercury dialed with the screen, and sped up the recording.
No movement, until—
. . .
A flower was picked. Taken to a better garden.
The man had no struggle dragging the withered flower.
Mercury paused the video. "No more . . ." he whispered.
Lisan sat, praying. Sara stared blankly.
Mercury noticed the intruder. He pulled out a silenced volvern from his pocket.
Pointing it at her, the woman raised her hands, and closed her eyes.
His expression of paleness, sorrow, and despair collected. His white hair drooped as his wire-braid hung.
Then his blood soothed as he noticed—
"The reception lady?" Mercury inquired, lowering the gun slowly.
"She's with me. She can help," Lisan asserted.
Mercury shook. "Why should I trust you? Don't think I haven't noticed." He palmed his head, still holding the silencer, grinning.
I know she attempted that on Lisan, but it seems as if she was forced.
"You're just as inhumane as I am. What's the big deal?" She argued, then pondered.
I wanted to make a good first impression. He feels . . . different.
Silent, Mercury turned back to the paused recording.
Lisan kept his eyes sealed, "Her name is Sara. My apologies for this inconvenience."
Stillness came about.
Frames of a shattered rose. The black rose, now red as it dragged across the concrete floor.
Mercury sat still. He exhaled heavily as he looked up.
"Sara . . ." Mercury paused at a certain point where the tall man's face became noticeable.
She focused on his distraught voice, waiting patiently.
"Sara. Maybe I can trust you in telling me—who is the man in this video?"
Sara flustered, brows upturned.
I can't disappoint him. If only I could speak up.
The screen flickered, buzzing with a hum of ignorance. There—with a smear of shadow—the black rose. The attire of the man was unmistakable.
Mercury's blood iced. Sara's eyes widened.
She recognized the rose . . . a rose of the heartless.
"Th-that's the rose. The black rose. A symbol for the Bearers," Sara muttered.
In that moment, Mercury got stuck in a sea of thought.
The last remnant. But now I know, whatever I had—it's lost. Torn apart and spat in my face.
"A bearer," the replicant whispered. "Hah. Ha. Hahahahaha!" It cackled.
Whilst he laughed, it kept playing. He grabbed the remote and sped it up, passing every second.
Every second that he dreamt was another she suffered.
Could I have stopped this? If only I . . .
A bombardment of men in suits rushed—their faces the same, their expressions the same, only their uniforms differed.
As the clip played in double speed, the man came again. Mercury's teeth grinded.
The tall man with the black rose returned—with another.
Another that was aware. Another that stared at the camera. Another with no shame. The smile of another felt like a knife pointed right at you.
His laid-back nature. His pale skin of lies, just like the hair that fell from a miracle.
Interrupting, Sara blurted. "That is the only known public head-bearer, Yulou Xiao . . ."
Yulou smiled for the camera, as if posing for a family photo to hang on the wall, right beside them.
Mercury twitched, starting the ignition. Taking one last glance, letting go of yet another blossom. Instantly, he made a U-turn and blitzed to Amira's apartment complex.
He drove, ignoring all rules, for they broke them first.
. . .
Arriving there, he held the gun, wasting no time.
"Wait until I get back. Do not leave," he insisted.
Exiting the car, he rushed through the empty stairwells. He climbed them once again. The stairs were cleaner than before.
Finally, seeing the fifth floor's blue exit sign, he passed through.
Speeding across red-wired walls that looked like entrails hung on display. Mercury ignored it, only eyeing the garden.
he charged like a bull. Counting room numbers flashing through enhanced vision.
With a step back, he saw the dreadful corridor.
144.
It shook, holding the gun in hand, smiling. Shaking, shaking, he attempted to snap out of it
Finally, he stood. Mercury exhaled, and faced the door.
He didn't knock. He drove his boot through the doorframe.
Wood and metal cracked. Dust clouds rose as he kicked again.
The door burst open, slamming into the wall with indentation.
What a sight. A still garden. Too still. No wind, no smell of roses. Yet two blooming flowers hugged each other.
Mercury held shears at them, as a little rose held her mother.
Amira?
Mercury's shears glowed blue, pointed right at them, without remorse. His hand trembled in the grasp of steel. Everything was wrong—the air, the smell—but the girl only whispered:
"I love you, mommy."