Normal

The sun was bright and snow continued its gentle fall. The other golem, which also took the form of a snake but with the added appendages of scythes that of a mantis, didn't make it to that morning. It was thanks in part to Heath's better-late-than-never warning and Akio's presence. The reclamation crews and hospitals had their work cut out for them. Aside from the necessary workforce, places and schools were suspended and so the streets were mostly vacant spaces. The industrial city's grind was halted and its sound was faint like a wounded bear in the process of hibernation and recuperation.

In a street too far from devastation's reach, the blunt sound of a ball bounced and kicked echoed. The lively chatter of children injected an energy into the beaten city. It was a group of five: three human children and two Fellden siblings of opposite genders.

The ball sped into the corner of the sidewalk and bounced off a wall. It took flight but the brother was ready to receive the stray trajectory. He flicked the ball with the side of his helmet and the ball returned to ground exactly where his sister waited. The exchange of possession between the two was too sudden for the three human children's defense could collapse on her. She kicked the ball past the chalked line on the ground.

One of the human children, the shortest of them, wiped his sweat with a tug of his shirt and walked over to the child with a back-to-front red cap. "Luis, what have you done? Those two are way too good! Why are they even playing with us?"

"Keep it down, man." Luis hooked his arm around his friend's neck. "Their parents work with my mom and dad and so they set up a playdate. They came over a few times already. They're not so bad. Oh! And the brother's really good at playing guitar too! You always wanted to start a band, right?"

"Well, if you put it that way…" The short boy looked at the siblings in a brighter light and the excitement put a smile on his chubby face. "Your parents are pretty cool. I don't think mine would ever have them over. That sucks."

"My parents?" Luis shuddered. "I don't know about that. My dad never shuts up about something called a caboose."

"Hey guys!" The Fellden girl called them from afar. "Are we playing again?"

"We should swap players, Luis. I mean it. Losing all day would suck big time." The short boy pinched his chin.

Luis laughed and slapped his friend's shoulder. "I'm with you on that. What if we get another player—"

The Fellden girl kicked the soccer ball too strong and it rolled down the street to another Fellden boy's boots. The black leather couldn't hide its scorched surface and blood dripped from the heels. and simmered as soon as the light touched it. A hot mist emanated from the boy's body, even through his suit and helmet.

The human children covered their noses while the Fellden children covered their vents. The smell from the Fellden boy was more than foul; It smelled like death. The other human boy, who wore glasses, gagged then heaved his early breakfast all over the street. He spat then shouted, "Jesus! What the hell is that smell?!"

Luis squinted his eyes. When he got a better look, he was horrified. It wasn't boots on the boy's feet. It was thick charred skin.

Fletcher carefully stepped towards the ball. He had been walking that way in agony for close to three hours ever since he left the apartment. The slightest movement produced a crunch beneath his feet. He bent down and this time the crunch came from his body. Just like how his charred feet were mistaken for boots, his hands could've been mistaken for wearing black gloves as he grabbed the ball. He raised it to his chest and looked at the children, "C… Can I play?"

The children screamed and ran away. The short boy stumbled twice and was helped by the boy with glasses. The Fellden girl grabbed her brother's hand and vanished in an alley. Luis staggered behind, unable to peel his eyes from the burnt and bleeding Fellden boy. His friends rushingly retrieved him and before they too left the scene. Though he was terrified, he was also pissed because it was the second ball he had lost in a week.

Fletcher stood alone in that empty street. As the black and white print of the ball reflected across the hairline crack on his visor, he thought of the world— No. His world. It was the only thing that mattered to him now. He asked himself the same questions that numbed his pain through his hellish trek. What happened? Why did it turn out this way? What did he do wrong?

The ball slipped through his ash-crusted fingertips. He felt himself fading and how close both the light and darkness in him would drift away. He wanted to see Dana, his only friend left, but he wasn't sure where the streets led anymore. He couldn't tell her how much he loved the candy and maybe even have one last bite if he could.

He wasn't sure then but it was clearer to him now that that feeling came back. He felt it when he fell down to the Light Treatment Room floor. The feeling of letting go. Out in the open street, he was sure of what he saw now. It was a door. The door was surrounded by the dark and a soft light peeked from the space underneath. He heard voices from the other side which he couldn't make out who were talking.

Fletcher stretched out his hand. He wanted to open and see the people behind. He noticed his hands were still charred and that he was in the middle of a street. He felt all hope of finding out where that door led to was lost. The char on the sole of his foot cracked and he lost his balance. He tipped to his side and gravity followed through.

But then someone caught him and spoke in a familiar voice, "Didn't it taste good?"

Fletcher looked up and saw Dana. He was cradled in her arms. If strength hadn't left him, he would've hugged her with care for the pain. But it was odd. He knew it was even though she didn't wear a suit or a helmet. There she was under the sun without a care in the world. He was carried into the shade of the nearest dark alley.

"You like the candy I gave you? Honestly, I'm surprised it worked."

Fletcher was lost on words. He didn't even hear what she said. He was too confused with what he knew and what he was seeing. Her face, her everything, was just so different.

"Oh I know what caught your tongue. Can't get enough of my new look? Well, I have to look my best. You really should everyday." Dana teased as she set him down. Her chocolate brunette hair was in an elegant gibson updo. The dress she wore was just as eye-catching. It was a deep blue Victorian dress with an open neckline that emphasized her prominent collarbones. Dashes of gold accentuated the white lace ruffles at the end of her sleeves. She didn't mind all the blood and ash on the modest bell of her dress. She caressed his helmet then brought out another piece of black candy and held it up to his visor. "Are you ready, Fletcher? It's the last piece."

Fletcher wasn't sure. He felt like she was talking in riddles again and something bothered him.

Dana pulled the candy back. "Don't you want to be normal? All you have to do is take over, Fletcher. For me, for us. That's it. We can only give that to you if you say you want it."

Fletcher would've given anything for what she offered. He only wanted a normal life to live. He had nothing to lose anymore and so he nodded.

Dana opened his visor. It wasn't completely dark and even though the morning light was at its weakest, Fletcher's face singed. She placed the black candy in his mouth then shut the visor.

"Now…" Dana brought out the dagger. She also brought out a plastic ziplock with a note in it then placed it beside him. "One last dance, Fletcher."

"I… I don't understand, Dana."

"Stay with me now." Dana held up the dagger upright between them. "Look at the blade and concentrate on your reflection."

Fletcher saw his reflection. He could see past the tint of his visor and saw his burnt face. He didn't want to look anymore but something changed. His silver eyes widened. From Fletcher's view, the dagger blocked half of Dana's face and the other half reflected on the dagger was a man with golden hair.

"You see him, don't you?" Dana smiled. She didn't even wait for Fletcher's confirmation. She set the dagger's hilt on his stomach and took his hand. She made sure his charred hand gripped it nice and tight.

"D-Dana? What are you—"

"A blank slate," interrupted Dana. The skip in her voice faded but she was peaceful. "I've waited so long… I was numb until I met you. You see, we need someone untarnished but with a palpable courage paired with relentless resolve. We see that in you, Fletcher. We really do. And if you saw him, then you really are what we're looking for."

Fletcher didn't notice it before but when he looked for the sincerity in her eyes, there were none. Above her smile, in each socket were big red marbles. For some reason, like an itch he couldn't scratch, he thought of the special candy. But without warning, Dana plunged herself into the dagger and she embraced him.

"DANA!" cried Fletcher. It was a painful howl from his soul. He couldn't move no matter how much he tried. "No, no, no! Why, Dana, why?!"

"Shh, shh…" Dana coughed up blood and stroked the back of his head. She couldn't cry but she felt content. She spoke with the same affection Fletcher's mother had when he slept on her lap, "It's okay, Fletcher. I won't be that far. Think of it as a train and you're the lead car. We'll be on the same journey."

"B-But I don't want you to go too!" Fletcher embraced her with his free arm. His charred fingertips sullied the back of Dana's dress. His hand shook from the pain as he grasped the blue cloth.

"Don't beat yourself up over this, Fletcher. It's an exception. This isn't normal at all." Dana kissed his helmet and placed the note in his pocket. "Check your pocket when you wake up, Fletcher."

Then Fletcher held onto nothing. Dana erupted into black smoke and he watched as the smoke expanded then lingered. Then as if with a life of its own, it went into the dagger on his hand until not a trace was left, just like everything he held dear. "This is the worst day ever—"

Fletcher suddenly had a skull-splitting migraine. It was nothing like the pain he had experienced so far. His silver eyes turned red then screened to the white of his eyes. Vivid visions streamed into his mind. Some of Dana, some of people he never met. He let out a guttural scream and spasmed until he passed out in that dark alley. As the last echo of his cry faded, the city went back to its stillness.

-----

The nights in New Tokyo were full of life. Even in the year 2120, gaudy neon signs and well-lit billboards proved timeless and iconic in the entertainment district. Whether one went for karaoke with friends or when one needed something more risque, there was always a flavor for everyone.

A drunk office worker held his lady friend by the waist as he crossed the street. Happy hour ended at the establishment he was in but he knew the bar across would close thirty minutes later. "It would— Hic! It would be wise to know the perks of your— Hic! Oh shit. Where was I?"

"Perks of your?" The woman assisted dryly. She was so done with drunken clients but he had paid generously in advance. She couldn't wait for him to doze off.

"Right! Wise to know the perks of your surroundings if you have a shitty job!" The man cheered and raised his bottle of beer high. "My boss hates me but life is—"

The drunk barged into an old man and spilled beer all over the old man's suit and light brown trench coat too. He saw the woman beside him and he was ready to show a different side of him. He wasn't just the office pushover. He had balls. Big ones. He swung his necktie over his shoulder and, chest puffed out, he confronted the man with a deeper voice than he normally spoke, "Oy! You spilled my beer! You better have… the cash… to…"

He shivered as the tall old man's blue eyes simply stared at him with an intent to beat his head silly like a Newton's cradle. He worked in the physics department of a well-known college. He took another swig of what was left in the beer bottle. He couldn't back down. Not in front of his lady friend. But once he saw the police badge hooked on the old man's belt, he raised his hands and slowly backed away. But just as he vanished into the crowd, he went back and pulled his friend away with him into a bar.

"Goddamn drunks," grunted the old man in frustration. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the beer off. He muttered to himself, "I should have knocked one of that guy's teeth out. The fucking city needs a good old Prohibition if you ask me."

"Jesus. How old are you, Robert?" While the old man was evidently pissed off, the white Hopsch with a red scarf slapped his knee in laughter. He wiped the tear off below his eyes. He tapped his furry paw on the old man's back. "Thanks. Seriously, I don't speak owl but that was a hoot."

"Shut it, Ghilo. Bah! The wind will take care of this shit." Robert gave up and pocketed his handkerchief. His clothes were still damp but it was the least of his worries. "Why do I even bring you here? You're useless in a search and no, ears don't count in height."

"You think I like looking at people's crotches whenever I take a walk?!" Ghilo snapped. For a Hopsch, he was overly sensitive about his height. He stomped forward into the crowd then shouted back, "If I ever get a clue off someone's zipper, you're gonna look dumber than you already look!"

The pair continued their bickering and passed by a dark alley which had trash bins and other drunken people's piss. But hidden by a trash bin was a small window of a cellar where a faint light glowed.

In the cellar, aside from the lone light bulb, a man with a bloody disfigured face was bound to a chair. The floor was a gruesome mess. Blood pooled and splattered from where the man sat. Fingernails and teeth were scattered like a spilled bowl of popcorn. The heavyset man was alive but the fight in him, apparent by the deep lesions on his wrists, was long gone.

"You hanging in there, buddy?" The man's voice was as smooth as buttered silk.

Fletcher came into the light. He looked like he was in his late twenties. His skin was pale white and his short silver hair was neatly tied behind. His facial features were soft like Dana's but he retained the chiseled jawline of his father. He had an irresistible androgynous charm about him.

Dealings with blood were always messy which was why he wore a black apron and the only other piece of clothing apart from that was a clean pair of white trousers. The rest of his clothes were folded over the table in the corner of the cellar along with his mahogany monk strap shoes. Beside his attire, there laid the curved jagged dagger with a tattered leather hilt.

The man on the chair was gagged and gave no physical response. He just stared at one of the table's legs and kept all his attention there in an effort to diminish the excruciating pain he was in.

Fletcher's feet slapped the concrete floor as he moved to the table and sat on the edge. "Wanna take a guess on what Dana wrote on that note?"

The man blinked his eyes slowly. It was all he could manage. He was certain that the longer the story went, the longer he lived.

"Team player and great listener. Your wife lost out on that divorce. Truth." Fletcher knocked the table twice. He set the bloody pliers aside and continued his story, "So I woke up and I noticed my body's as fine as you see me now and feeling more than fine. Have you ever drank too much coffee? It's exactly like that but more refreshing than an outdoor baptism in winter. No burns, no nothing. The black coat of burn on my hands and feet broke off like dull broken pottery."

Fletcher crossed his legs. "I found the note in my pocket just where Dana said it would be. This is what she wrote: 'Good morning, Fletcher! From my memories, you get the job description. It won't be easy but we have faith in you, especially me. Now, this is important: Don't kill anyone with this dagger except M. I wish you luck in finding out what normal really is. I never found the answer to that.' "

The man thought of the person called M. He was certain he heard someone mention the name or read about it somewhere before. He blinked again; It was the only prompt he could make for Fletcher to resume.

Fletcher looked at the lightbulb and chuckled as he shook his head. "You know what's funny? Remember Theo? The truth was that he burned to a crisp because he forgot to latch his helmet. He tripped. That's it. And as for my father… That was a little more complicated. Dana knew what went down all along. The golems. The shit talking behind our backs. The beatings. She planned it all to get… me. She took the form of my dad and threatened Heath to uncover what he was cooking."

The man stayed silent just as his captor was. He reflected on Fletcher's story and thought that the pain he felt now didn't compare to what he went through. He couldn't have taken it. He thought about his ex-wife that still held a piece of his heart. He wondered if he could make things right.

"Like puppets on a string. Damn. She was good… Well! Back to work, huh?" Fletcher got off the table and picked up the bloody pliers. He stood before the man then sighed. "You know the thing about pain? It grew on me. That feeling of redemption once the pain fades away, knowing that you survived it, it's— Maybe that's my normal. I don't know. Maybe? I never really found the answer to that yet either."

Fletcher leaned his face close to the man's beaten face. His crimson eyes were large and steady like the pools of blood on the floor. He smiled, a twisted smile between horror and pleasure, then spoke, "One last dance, buddy... Where the hell is Kei?"