.png)
The last time he saw her was one of the strongest memories he had of her.
All the others from then were fuzzy and out-of-sync, far away, like the people on one of those thin rectangular boxes Gordon kept in his basement. He'd need a special box to watch the other boxes on, and there'd be very faint pictures on his grimy screen, just visible through all the static. And voices like far-off echoes.
When he was little, Ramsey thought they were ghosts trapped in the box, dead people squinting through all that snow, desperately trying to get a glimpse of anything in the real world, to see their families and friends. Ramsey was terribly scared of them, but after laughing uncontrollably for a while, Gordon told him that they couldn't get through the screen; that there was a special barrier that separated the two worlds, for better or worse.
They couldn't get through even if they tried. And if they did, well Ram, they would stand out like a sore thumb.
Ramsey let the last memory of her, his Mum, wash all over him like the prowling evening smog, let it engulf him whole.
He must have been, what, four? Five?
The days' acid levels were low, so they went out for the day.
It's good for the boy, he remembers overhearing her explaining to Dad before they left. A growing mind needs stimulation, something to look at other than rusting pipes, crumbling buildings and that damned wall.
Dad sounded unconvinced, saying there was nothing out there to see, but didn't argue. He was getting ready for a shift at the factory.
Honestly Walt, it would be just good to get away.
Away from the dense mass of degrading and decaying buildings that clung to the impenetrable walls of the Inner District like a vestigial tumour, like a caveman hugging a fire for warmth.
Away from the stench of humanity, the smell of unwashed sardines pickled in the sweat of a hard day, intermingling with the nebulous and asphyxiating pollution of the Outer District like motor oil coagulating in water.
Away from second-hand filtered air constantly recircling through microfilters choked with dust and ash, being stretched thinner and thinner with every pass.
So off they went in Gordon's ancient, falling-apart Last Gen electric car that was literally held together with duct-tape and a prayer.
Ramsey's suit was too big for him, they had to borrow one from a neighbour, so they had to fold it up and put extra tape all around the openings before they left. Mum would lean over and check every few minutes to make sure that his regulator was on snuggly, despite Ramsey uselessly trying to bat her hand away.
For his part, Ramsey could barely see through all the thick molasses-brown fog that smothered car, so he occupied himself by playing on his Terminal. There had been a bit of a row before they left the tiny apartment they called home because Mum didn't think that bringing the Terminal was a good idea, but Ramsey had just been issued it and he refused to give it up. After lots and lots of stern words, she eventually relented.
Now they jittered down the broken roads for a couple of hours, wrapped-up tight in their suits, until after a couple of hours Mum stopped the car and got out, just staring at something. Ramsey got out too, curious and what she was looking at.
All around them the putrid mist swirled, suffocating the vague remnants of brittle, crooked sticks that probably used to be plants, sticking up from the cracked road, determined to live on nonetheless. There was a broken fence on one side of the road, petrified and pock-marked by the acidic atmosphere.
But Mum wasn't looking at any of those.
She was standing in the middle of the road, gloved hand outstretched. Ramsey could just make out the crinkles around the corners of her eyes, like a pigeon had decided to land there, as she smiled through her mask.
Slowly, she turned towards Ramsey, and whispered with such a reverent tone that it took Ramsey by surprise, Look...!
Ramsey approached slowly, a bit perturbed by his Mum's really weird demeanour, craning his neck to see what she had in her hand.
And when he finally saw it, he stopped dead in his tracks.
Resting on her hand was weird bug he'd never seen before. It was the colour of soot and looked just as fragile, but it was resting there calmly, its wings beating ever so slowly.
What is it Mum?, Ramsey said quietly, scared that if spoke too loud it would break apart like ash.
This, my dear child, is a Butterfly. I didn't even know they even existed anymore, except maybe somewhere in the In. They used to be all over the place when I was your age.
Mum smiled again, looking off into the distance, remembering, Me and my sister used to call them Flutter-bys.
And suddenly, like a quick gust of wind, there were millions of them flurrying everywhere, like a harsh blizzard in the dead of winter blowing snowflakes haphazardly around in flurries and currents.
And just as soon as they had appeared, they were gone, disappearing into the dense smog like water in a basin, leaving little Ramsey clutching on to his Mum's legs in fright.
She delicately put an arm around her little Ram and hugged him tightly.
Ramsey could see that there was a glimmer of a tear in the corner of his Mum's eye.
With a start, Ramsey snapped out of his reverie.
He realised that he wasn't wearing his regulator. He quickly threw the mask back on and took a couple of deep rasping breathes, before breaking out into a painful bout of hacking and coughing.
That's why you didn't leave the regulator off for too long whne you were in the open. You would slowly lose consciousness and suffocate without even realising.
The fuzzy edges of his perception were solidifying again, and slowly he could feel sensation coming back to his extremities with every breath of filtered air. He was still sitting against the Barrier, and he began to feel the aching in his legs from sitting for so long.
Without his Terminal, Ramsey had no idea what time it was, but he knew it was late. The Mole was late.
Shaking out the last dredges of butterflies that were occupying his mind, he slowly got to his feet. The change in orientation made head swim a little and the pins and needles currently laying siege on his nerves were extremely painful, but moving was good for getting the circulation going and sending needed oxygen to his limbs.
Ramsey was mid-process of getting his limbs cooperating again when heard a tapping coming from behind him, sharp and insistent. He turned towards the sound.
There, behind the thick plastic of the window, Ramsey saw a small flying thing. It was small and sleek, probably the size of a bird, but it had sharp movements of something that was and quick light and mechanical.
It was one of the Brass's surveillance drones.
Immediately, Ramsey's heart skipped straight into high-gear, thumping violently. Did the Brass know? Were they here to arrest him?
As if on cue, the drone turned sharply, exposing its elongated side where its ID Number was displayed with little pinpricks of blue LEDs. The numbers and letters blinked off and was replaced a moment later,
MOLE.
Ramsey stared dumbly, still gripped with terror. The display blinked off, and the same message blinked on again.
Then,
HELLO!
SORY LATE.
Still, Ramsey didn't move. It was like his legs had turned to smog, formless and untameable.
The display blinked again,
FOLLOW.
And then, on the other side of the wall, the drone zipped off to the left in a sudden blur of movement. Moments later, it reappeared at the next window and stopped abruptly, twitching a bit with what seemed like frustration.
Ramsey just watched it blankly.
The drone turned and came back to the first window, blinking to Ramsey in quick succession,
U DUM?
FOLLOW.
Then the display blinked twice,
HURRY.
There was a brief pause, before,
HUNGRY.
And then the drone darted off again.
Ramsey swallowed and then hesitantly began to follow, picking up speed as he tried to catch up to the nimble machine.
He wasn't sure exactly what he was supposed to do, or how this machine was supposed to get him through the Barrier, but he knew he'd better trust it. He'd come this far.
As his feet pounded the raw concrete, he thought again about Mum and the butterfly.
Soon after that memory, she had disappeared. Dad said she had won the Lotto, but Ramsey didn't know what to believe. She'd never even said goodbye.
He knew his mother was still alive. But, where she was was a different story altogether. And he was determined to find out.
Even if he had to break down the walls, he'd bring her back.
Part 1 - The Window
Part 2 - Sylvia
Part 3 - Gone Phishing
Art by me, MajorMajorMajorThom.
You can download the full-res image on my DeviantArt.
Scribo, Specto, Lego, Cogito, ergo sum
oh very nice pos.. u r great
Thanks! I'd love to hear what you liked about it, or maybe some criticisms?
Your Post Has Been Featured on @Resteemable!
Feature any Steemit post using resteemit.com!
How It Works:
1. Take Any Steemit URL
2. Erase
https://3. Type
reGet Featured Instantly – Featured Posts are voted every 2.4hrs
Join the Curation Team Here
Nice, I read the previous 3 parts as well. I like your writing style, I look forward to seeing how they will tie together.
Thanks so much, your words are much appreciated. Hopefully I can tie them all together satisfactorily... Eventually... ;P
I find it hilarious how the last frustrated command from Sergio is, "hungry!" as if the Out would care; he's probably always hungry and struggling to breathe.
Again, masterful execution. I love the part about the mother and the dream of the "flutter-bys." This has a touching depth to it I'm surprised by.
What are your plans for this story?
And again, thanks!
The more I write about Sergio, the more I grow to detest his character. Such a lecherous pig, bleh! I like that, even in the In he struggles to breathe, oh lovely unintentional irony.
I was definitely trying to go for a more emotional underpinning to this one, it's probably not very subtle. In a way I like to reverse normative cultural roles a little bit. Ramsey is the one that does all the feeling, while Sylvie is a matter-of-fact and utilitarian. Sergio is a digusting human, while Penny is the innocent one. I didn't really do that intentionally, but I guess it just sneaks as I write it :).
As for where the story is going, both you and I will just have to see...
Part 5 - Sylvia Redux (Monotone-y)
Part 6 - System Breach