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domovi · 9 months

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Fic: My duty

Short description: Colleague's words willy-nilly bring Mercy Dawn back to the past — a sad event in 2020, about which even Dawn prefers to remain silent.

Warnings: death, mentions of dead bodies, blood loss, shooting, injections, limbs and their absence.

Author's note: I'll try to be brief. I've been writing for a long time, but this fanfic can officially be called my first piece. I would like to pay tribute to the @ask-the-becile-boys blog and its moderator, which became the source of my inspiration. Dear Muse, you are my muse. Don't judge me. My friend forced me into writing this pun.

Translator's note: Guess who :)

Just wanted to wish you to enjoy the reading and also remind you that all claims for the translation are provided to @alreorem. It's my first time doing Russian to English translation so don't judge me too harsh, please. Just DM me and politely point out my mistake if you find one. Thanks for understanding! <3

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Dawn, laying on the dining table, diligently tried to sleep, but something, or rather someone, interfered with this important, urgent matter.

Soroh: Dawny~ Ten more sheets~

Dawn: Nope.

Soroh: Hey! Don't even think about shoving everything on me!

Dawn: What do you mean by ʼeverything'?! There's a little left!

Soroh also looked tired. So much that he couldn't argue with his colleague and only pressured her with a clouded look. Next to them was a thick stack of documents that could scare any inexperienced worker, but Dawn and Soroh are old-school people, and this amount of work was a little less frightening.

The game of peepers was interrupted by Flint, who placed two mugs of water right in front of the noses of the sufferers. For an hour, he watched his barely alive colleagues, who seemed to have lost their last convolutions on half of the paperwork. Recently, they ended the argument about the correctness of filling the documents, and if earlier Soroh still took up the alteration of papers, now he quickly gave up, agreeing with Dawn and her 'It'll do."

Dawn: OOOH! Boiling water!

She cheered up and began to warm her hands. Coffee, tea, sugar weren't brought so often, their last joy was hot or cold water, though all sorts of impurities felt terribly wrong. They even tried to mix it with a tasteless parody of food, but they quickly regretted it. And sometimes Dawn managed to get vitamins. And even for such merits, Soroh still couldn't calm down.

Soroh: Work first.

Dawn: Am I even not allowed to drink?

Soroh: Exactly. No, I mean, are you serious? After boiling water, you'll stop thinking at all!

Dawn: Actually! As an assistant, you should do all of this. Look at me. In my youth, I was left alone with all the work.

Soroh: ... In the youth. And what period of life are you experiencing now?

Dawn: Old age Soroh, old age. So be kind, show respect for old age and finish everything yourself.

The woman lay down on the table and stretched like a sleepy cat with her arms and legs extended as far as possible. Soroh, on the other hand, didn't share Dawn's enthusiasm, shoving her leg with force.

Flint: Old age? And how many years have you been working here?

Dawn: Well... It's been four years already.

Flint: But that's only one year longer than Soroh..

Soroh: It depends on how to look at this situation. Dawn is the only one of my good acquaintances who has worked at Industries for more than three years. Though... There are also quite a few silent people, and I had no business with the authorities.

Flint: For real?

Dawn: ... Don't even look at me.

Flint was genuinely puzzled. He knew that Industries wouldn't let go of its wards, but then where did ordinary workers who had worked for more than four years go? The only outgoing person of the trio was Soroh, and Flint shifted his gaze to him.

Soroh: I've heard rumors about... a large-scale incident. Someone talks about an explosion that caused the release of green matter; someone talks about mass liquidation ... A lot of rumors can be heard, but I don't know what to believe...

Flint looked at Dawn again, hoping to see at least the slightest clue in her facial expressions, but she was already sitting, finishing her work and no longer going to take part in the conversation.

Dawn: ...It's not something you should know.

THREE YEARS AGO

Pylartes: Look. I need you to rewrite it on new forms and put it in piles. Oh, and write down two people with the best performance for me.

The day began quite ordinarily. It'd seem that only yesterday Dawn managed to deal with all the paperwork, as she was handed a mountain of new documents. And where do they get so much paper from, so that later they can rewrite it all! Mercy had a lot of resentment about her work, even with a lot of experience and a year of work, she had never received confidence in operations in Becile Industries.

Dawn: As you say...

The woman already knew that it was useless to argue with this position, at least with Pylartes. Not even an hour had passed before he hurriedly left the laboratory, not bothering to report whether he would return today or not. But Dawn wasn't upset by her loneliness, she only made herself comfortable, throwing her leg over a nearby chair.

This could have continued all day long, if not for a sudden interruption in the system.

After blinking a couple of times, the lamps went out, and the buzz of the working devices subsided. The last thing that stopped working in this room was Dawn, who was still finishing the sentence from memory. The main problem here is that in the dark the words climb on the lines, or even worse, on other words.

Only after the dot was put, the girl looked out into the corridor, which was also immersed in darkness, only a couple of anxious voices came from the direction of the Archive. The electricity was cut off in the entire building, which was actually strange and could only speak of an unforeseen situation. Pylartes would definitely warn about this, even though he was quite forgetful.

While Dawn speculated, the workers quickly fell silent as they returned to the workplace. Mercy, too, could have returned to her office and shy away from work, but she had two strong but poorly sealed refrigerators that couldn't withstand a long lack of power.

At her usual pace, Dawn cleaned up as much as possible, closed the laboratory and headed to the mechanics she knew. They didn't talk much; a couple of times she brought them a hematocrit centrifuge for repair, and a couple of times they came to her for medical help. Quiet guys, however, they weren't the only quiet ones. She hoped that they have at least some information or ideas on how to keep the cold in the cells.

Her vision took a long time to get used to the dark, only her hearing helped. As she was approaching the turns, the clatter of steps in front became duller, and on the sides, on the contrary, freer. Dawn never considered darkness to be something terrible, only her own sounds were alarming, which rapidly spread through an absolutely empty space.

Entering the workshop, with eyes already accustomed, Mercy looked around the room.

“Absolutely empty”, played in her head again, she was already nervous.

The place was quite large, and the guys could just relax somewhere far away or even in a warehouse. Dawn took in more air in her chest to call for one of the workers, but when she realized how loud she'd be in this place, she quickly changed her mind and preferred a quiet inspection.

She didn't have to be here often, but each time everything was different. Details that differed from each other in shapes and sizes; sheets of various kinds of metal, which sometimes didn't fit in the workplace; even the tools were constantly changing their position. It seemed that all this was completely out of order, or maybe all these things were just abandoned in a hurry.

Abandoned in a a hurry...

She felt uncomfortable. And why the heck would she think that? Although, it was really too quiet for anyone to be here.

The door from the warehouse was wide open and after listening for a couple of minutes, Dawn concluded that there was no one after all. It was at least not safe to enter a place full of heavy, unknown objects, and Mercy wasn't a fan of looking for adventures on her adult head. It remained to assume that the guys left to solve problems in the system and soon everything would work. She can go back.

The noise began to reverberate down the corridor. At first, Dawn was even happy that someone was coming in her direction, but the longer she waited, the more anxious she became. One step grew into five, and five into twenty, and twenty into a hundred. The whole space was filled with the sounds of the march, which only became louder.

Dawn stepped back at one of the tables and leaned against the wall. Even if the heart began to throw out portions of adrenaline, but her mind was clear and ready for rational action. Mercy knew what fear can lead to and was especially well aware that in stressful situations, the brain tries to intimidate you even more. There may be a less creepy explanation for all this than the imagination betrays.

Or so she thought, until she heard a powder pop. Her body stiffened, followed by the thoughts that had just shouted: “Run! Hide!”, as if they themselves didn't expect a shot that marked the beginning of a terrible show.

The march played with a distraught orchestra, where every instrument was for itself, and the death was the conductor. The hail of lead was accompanied by flashes and the more often they sparkled, the more lives were taken.

Quickly realizing that disaster was rushing in her direction, Dawn fell on her knees and moved to the very depths of the table. One hand helped her body to stay in tension, and the other closed her mouth, so that the trembling didn't take possession of her body.

What a pity there was nothing to close her ears. In addition to the shooting, aggressive exclamations fear-filled screams and the last wheezes of people were heard. Only one word sounded louder and clearest, in which confidence and despair lived. That word was “Move!”.

It was over as quickly as it had begun, but Dawn was hesitant to move.

It turned out to be not in vain. Slow, haughty footsteps scoffed, echoed, first down the corridor and then in the workshop. Her jaws chattered as Mercy diligently watched her breathing. Her lungs were filled to the brim with oxygen, and then very slowly deflated, almost suffocating. The only thing that differentiated her from the floor was the rumbling of her heart. The blood pulsated through the vessels, causing her body to be thrown whether into the heat or into the cold.

Her thoughts began to get confused from an overabundance of noise in her body, thinking only about how to silence everything. In the meantime, the steps were getting closer, clearer.

They stopped only when they were near the table, right above her head she was afraid to raise. What if they've already seen her and are just just playing with her now? Waiting for Dawn to raise her cowardly eyes?

Time dragged on, and thoughts only swarmed in an already noisy head. An unknown person went to the pantry and only then left the room. For a while, their footsteps reverberated through the corridor, and even when they were completely silent, Dawn continued to draw them in her mind.

It was no longer possible to sit under the table. While everything was quiet, it was worth returning as quickly as possible. With the utmost care, Mercy looked around the room and gradually got to her feet. A slight feeling of relief spread throughout her body, involuntarily increasing the trembling. No longer feeling her own weight, Dawn hurried to the exit, where only a small part of the incident was seen.

The emptiness was filled with dead noise. If someone else were in the place of the girl, then their fantasy would clearly play out and begin to reproduce scenes from creepy movies with zombies or other creatures. But the woman was too old for that.

Dawn is a doctor, but the last thing she wanted at the moment was to do her duty. The chance of saving only her own skin, among possibly living bodies, was so attractive, just not to become part of the fresh cemetery.

And then, muffled wheezing. Only it was able to stop Dawn. Her legs simply refused to go any further.

Someone behind her back was alive, but she didn't dare to turn around. Someone who so desperately needed her help was very close, but Mercy also wanted to survive. She, not only as a doctor, but also as a person, couldn't drop her oath and hurried to the workshop for a first-aid kit. What a stupid decision.

Her mind cleared up immediately, and it was followed by insanely clear actions, like a machine performing the same program. Unfortunately, Dawn knew all too well how ruthless the hands of watches can be.

It was easy to find the alive, but wounded victim among the corpses. She tried to be quiet, discreet; but in addition to wheezing, panic betrayed her. According to the old habit, Mercy quickly began to act, completely forgetting about someone else's fear.

No sooner had she approached the girl than she jerked back sharply, making a sound that would have sounded like a scream if it had not been for her broken voice.

After inspecting her from top to bottom, Dawn could already clearly see the spots of damage. Of course, most of the bullet wounds were on her prostheses, which replaced almost all of her limbs. The only part that was made of flesh and blood was the left hand. And it was what bothered Mercy the most.

Dawn: Calm down, I'm a doctor.

Her hands rose up on their own accord in a conciliatory gesture. Even though a fragile thread of trust was stretched between the girls, the fear didn't go away. Mercy helped the girl sit down, simultaneously asking all the important and necessary questions for the doctor, to which she only nod or shook her head. She didn't even try to speak.

The only visible injuries were two bullet wounds: one through in the humerus (biceps brachii muscle) and one blind wound, all signs that the bullet went straight into her shoulder joint.

First of all, she tried to stop the bleeding. If a tourniquet could be applied to the first wound, then the second had to be covered with a pressure bandage. The woman forcefully squeezed the fist of her prosthesis, the grinding of metal and heart-rending groans were heard.

Dawn: Hush, it's okay, you're doing fine.

The doctor spoke without hesitation in order to somehow calm the wounded girl. Everything was supposed to stop as soon as possible, as soon as the light returned, the incident would immediately be made public. Everything will end soon, she will live.

Her hands reached for the first aid kit. Doubtfully, but among the adrenaline, insulin and other drugs in the form of a bottle, it was painkillers and another pack of bandages that were pulled out.

Dawn: Bear it just a little more. Soon the pain will end.

By injecting the drug and starting to fix the shoulder, Mercy was finally able to afford unnecessary thoughts. The manner of thinking developed by time and continuous work did not allow to be distracted or think about something else during operations or medical manipulations.

The burning determination to help someone else quickly faded as Dawn looked around. The bodies simply disappeared into the darkness of the corridor, which seemed endless. In addition to the wheezing of the wounded girl, the space was filled with an all-consuming silence. It seemed that in the abyss Mercy could hear the beating of someone else's heart, but it wasn't true.

How long will she have to go to check on everyone? Will there be any point in doing it? Examining the surroundings, she noticed that severe and fatal wounds were striking. Even with non-working prosthetic legs and a wounded arm, the girl was really lucky.

“Are you... One of ours?”

Apparently, the drug began to act. The girl no longer gritted her teeth and seemed relatively calm.

Only the question squeezed out of the girl's chest stuck in Dawn's head. ʼOf oursʼ? The only thing Dawn was sure of was that she was an employee of the Becile Industries. If there are so-called ʼoursʼ and ʼnot oursʼ among the workers, then Mercy successfully passed by the sorting hat throughout the year.

The victim saw the doctor's confusion and simply brushed off her silent question.

“Go away... You mustn't get into it.”

The girl forcefully closed her dried eyes, took more oxygen into her chest and threw her head back. Pain and anxiety gave way to fatigue. Whatever her fate is, it was inevitable. Is that why the girl let go of Dawn so calmly? The only living person willing to help?

Still, Mercy didn't know what she was getting into, and the weight of the adhering dirt was already weighing on her body. Dawn had a lot of questions, a lot of variations in the development of events: maybe people with guns would come back and kill them, or maybe others would come and fight back? But everything revolved around one word ʼmaybeʼ.

The likelihood that no one will know about her presence is so big that the most sensible decision was to leave. To just run away, and as soon as possible.

Dawn rose to her feet in an instant and disappeared just as quickly into the darkness. Without hesitation, she slipped into the darkness and disappeared like a vision. And the wounded girl had nothing but to peer into the void, looking for the outlines of a long white robe. She still had hope. No one in their right mind would want to die, especially here, especially now, especially alone; but the poor fellow had already let go of his bird.

There was nothing to wait for and her eyes began to close. Her eyelids were heavy, either from fatigue or from drowsiness. She can take a little break, just a little.

“Hey! Now's not the best time to sleep!”

It was a woman's voice. Is Dawn back? She's really back! The tall silhouette appeared as soon as it disappeared, holding a box filled with tools.

Dawn: So listen here. Let's take off the dentures and I'll carry you. Whether I'm 'yours' or 'their' is my problem.

The girl looked at the doctor with a sad look, clearly regretting, sympathizing, but didn't contradict.

At the moment, Dawn was bothered by too many questions to which she clearly wouldn't be able to get a concise and clear answer. If everything was thoroughly simple, then their own wouldn't kill their own, as in a slaughterhouse.

The doctor began to detach the robotic legs and, sensibly assessing her physical abilities, removed the functioning arm. Prostheses can always be replaced, new ones can be attached. There's nothing wrong with losing one of them.

Without the metal, the victim was quite light, the only discomfort was in carrying her around. Dawn had to improvise and use her doctor's gown so she was able to fix the girl on her back.

Looking at the bodies more closely, Mercy noticed the metal, too. On their legs, arms, eyes, mouths, necks, you name it. Did they all really need these prostheses so much? Yes, they can be useful and comfortable, but to lose tactility, a healthy part of your body to just put them? Dawn didn't understand this. Jaw prostheses were at least impractical and deprived the mouth of the simplest functions. And somewhere the weight from the metal was completely distributed incorrectly, from which the spine suffered, and if only the arms were replaced, then the legs could also suffer. The doctor could reflect on this for a long time, reluctantly finding more minuses than pluses. Dawn didn't understand this. Jaw prostheses were impractical and deprived the mouth of the simplest functions. And somewhere the weight from the metal was completely distributed incorrectly, from which the spine suffered, and if the arms were replaced, then the legs would also suffer. The doctor could reflect on this for a long time, reluctantly finding more cons than pros.

Dawn: Why do you all have these prostheses?

The girl didn't react to the asked question, as if she didn't hear it at all. She didn't look around. At the very beginning, she buried her head in her shoulder and diligently covered her eyes, just not to become a witness to what had happened again.

In the meantime, the bodies were running out, a couple more steps and everything would be left somewhere behind. If she's lucky, then in the upcoming future, Dawn won't have to regret either her actions or decisions.

Dawn: Usually I ask for the name right away, so... Can I know it at least now?

Such a simple question turned out to be unexpected. The reluctantly wounded girl raised her head, but the corridor was already empty. If she doesn't look back, the terrible life episode will seem to be over.

“Alice... Just Al--...”

There was a sound. Dawn was ready to run, but then her brain stopped her. She quickly came to her senses. She stood and listened, waiting for the noise to repeat.

A sound, or rather a murmur, came somewhere behind, very close. Mercy didn't want to linger, didn't even want to look back, but it was worth checking to find out what the chances of saving a life were. And Alice apparently didn't mind.

It was a ginger man whose hair and face had long been filled with red. The bullet hit the head.

Dawn felt pain near her temple. He won't do it. Too much time has passed. As soon as she got closer, her legs slipped. Something wet and still warm squelched under her feet, sticking to her shoes with a stranglehold. The floor around it was completely flooded.

Without understanding why Dawn untied Alice from herself, placing her in the opposite of her, and set to work. He was still alive, mumbling something indistinct and wasting all his strength just to not lose consciousness. Doesn't he deserve at least a little attempt? And if she manages to stop the blood, then it'll be possible to drag and save two lives.

Staying clean was hard. Her hands smeared in blood every now and then and the funds in the first-aid kit weren't enough to the point of bitterness. She had to use everything that played under her hand. Her own robe was long enough to tear off part of the hem and use it to stop the bleeding.

“Today... ”

Now it was possible to catch jerky words from his slurred speech, but this wasn't a sign of improvement of his condition. The man still didn't respond to Dawn's voice and reacted poorly to external incentives. He was still pale and weak, and a gray-red liquid flowed from his nose.

“... must take them out...”

It was necessary to somehow drag the two victims away and the question wasn't about Dawn's physical abilities, but about the carrying capacity of the robe. She had to go even further back and pull off the clothes of the dead.

“We've been waiting so long...”

Alice was still on Dawn's back, and the man was firmly fixated in a sitting position in a pair of jackets and dragged along the floor. Fully blooded shoes had to be removed.

“Annabel.”

The last word that is firmly ingrained in the walls of this corridor. Everyone knew it except Dawn. Will it remain within these walls or will it disappear at the first breath of wind, as soon as the authorities find new workers? Alice didn't want to believe it, but it would take time before the documents arrived.

Alice: Cyborgs. Industries has done all of this to us...

#becile industries #fanfic #Mercy Dawn #Marian Soroh #Rosty Flint #spg #steam powered giraffe #fanwork: fanfic #Annabel #Adelmar

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