Angelic Dreamer

Whirling flames spewed from the creature’s mouth as it wildly twirled, blinking, and roaring furiously.
Rearing its head, it spun around, its gleaming eyes observing its captivated audience. With a roar of
thunder, the creature collapsed into a mound of silence and stillness. Darkness enveloped the audience, and
the murmuring of the mob began.

A thumping of a heart, beaten in a slow, methodical rhythm emerged from the darkness. The creature
stirred from its slumber, and unfurled its mane, shaking loose tangles of argent cords, knotted in tales of
fate and courage. Slowly, slowly, the creature rose, lifting its feet, treading carefully towards its enraptured
audience, stalking among the hushed crowd, it bared its fangs and growled with a low rumble emanating
deep within its torso. Seemingly searching for something amongst the audience. With every step it grew
increasingly impatient, hurriedly pounding its feet against the ground, growling and whining, throwing an
infantile fit of rage and panic. With its quarry out of sight, the creature roared in a percussive, cacophonous
crescendo. The beast turned its head and treaded back to its nesting grounds, its tail limply following it
lethargically.

A crash of thunder, sent perhaps by an ancient god, interrupting the beast’s miasmic dejection. With a
crazed expression, the beast spun itself around and stood on its hind legs, displaying all its might in full
force. Accompanying every crash of thunder, the beast grew increasingly erratic, producing spasmodic
spurts of spontaneous movement, creating a fiery dance of passion.

Amidst the absorbed audience, a young Child dressed in a jumpsuit not unlike a prisoners stood beside a
tall, older Woman that held an air of authority and arrogance.

“So, tell me Prototype L1-N. What do you make of these creatures?” the Woman recited monotonously.

“I find it quite strange, doctor. They do not act on a regular set of behavioral patterns like most other
faunal organisms. Instead they move according to the rhythm of the percussive players that perform
alongside them. Doctor, may I inquire as to why they decide to represent the character of the “lion” as a
colorful beast that roams so erratically amongst the crowd?” answered the Child. Uncharacteristic of its
age, the Child held no emotions within its face, revealing none of its underlying emotions or thoughts.

“The performance has ended. Applaud to an appropriate degree, Prototype L1-N.”

Showing no indication of having heard the Child’s remarks, the Woman clapped a few times politely,
then began marching out of the building at a regular, robotic pace.

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 The crowd, having finished viewing the spectacle, began to trickle out of the building, climbing into their
vehicles or following the paved paths to the slum districts.

Following behind her, the Child stepped forward, mirroring the Woman’s brisk pace. However, contrary
to the Woman’s unwavering march, the Child hesitated at the door, taking one final glimpse of the dancers,
lifting the apparatus off of their weary bodies. The apparatus, now lifeless, lay illuminated by a crack in the
roof-window.

“L1-N. Quickly,” said the Woman curtly.

Snapping out of its reverie, the Child marched towards the hovercraft that awaited. The Child nestled
itself into its seat, quietly adjusting the harnesses to fit its body. The vessel quietly lifted itself with a slow,
quiet, methodical hum, rising above its prior resting spot, entering the skyway, already populated by
multitudes of traffic.

High rises emerged from the fog displaying glowing adverts of colors that seemed far too bright against
the dull grey of the city. The boy stared blankly as adverts for Argent’s new miracle drug, Panacea, capable
of regenerating lost cells, and boosting the already existing cells, enabling a superhuman healing rate.

Another billboard produced a cacophonous clamor for the new model of the released SexBot, soon to be
available in all Venus locations within New Cael.

Holographic projections clipped from a recording of a newly debuted Diva illuminated city central,
diffusing the air with the scent of music, creeping into the brains of the unaware citizens, trapping them in
an endless hell of an unknown tune, from somewhere, sometime, long ago.

Then came the Street of Statues, a famous landmark within New Cael. Before it became the New Heaven,
New York had held a giant statue of copper, hulking 305 feet tall, but now held a multitude, all depicting
forgotten figures, lining a street leading to the central city hall. However, with the pending demolition of
the statues, the skin of the looming figures had since been covered by marks of slum gangs and smalltime
artists that tried to leave a mark before they were inevitably caught.

“Get out, L1-N. We’re here.”

Silently, the Child stood from the vehicle, and stepped forward towards the hulking monument formed
seemingly from a single slab of marble. Gleaming white amongst the monotonous grey, the Argent building
stood proudly above the other buildings, displaying its wealth and power physically, exerting its strength
through the sheer space it dominated.

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 The Woman led the Child through sterile hallways, devoid of all noise except the occasional murmur
emanating from lab rooms tightly locked, windows frosted, preventing any sort of secret from escaping.
Unlike the façade of the building, the interior’s corridors were a pasty, sickly white, that were so clean, it
was entirely possible that visitors had found themselves mistaking the walls for ceilings and floor for walls.

Navigating the corridors, the Child and the Woman quickly entered floor 12, room L1-N, and quickly set
themselves to work. The Woman opened a square glass cubicle, five meters in all dimensions, with a small
white cot tucked into the corner. Devoid of any other decorations, the only exception was tubing tied neatly
into a bundle that was held by a wooden hook resting by the cot. The Child entered the cubicle quickly, and
laid itself down onto the bed, deftly handling the tubing before attaching it to a socket on its neck. The
Child closed its eyes slowly, entering a trance induced by Panacea.

The Woman then settled behind a desk and furiously began noting down observations. Her profile
presented the perfect image of a professional researcher, iron-willed and principled, while holding their
appearance in high regard.

Several days passed, with the Child remaining comatose in its cot. The Woman came and went, each time
noting down slight changes in brain activity of the Child.

After some time, a Man stepped into the room. The Man, seemingly younger than the Woman by a
several years, still holding onto some youthful idealism. Eyes gleaming, the Man walked with a slight
spring in every step, bringing the scent of trees and wind wherever he treaded.

“Doctor Dolores. Do you have some time? We have a bit of a situation with the new prototypes,” said the
Man.

“Speak, Zhang. What is the issue? Have they developed mutated behavioral patterns again?” answered
the Woman.

“Doctor Dolores… the previous generation hold no signs of responsiveness. And the current generation
hold no signs of life, even after attempts at resuscitation,” said the Man.

The Woman stood, knocking back the chair, and the Child roused from its sleep.

“Intravenous panacea injection treatment, Zhang? What about transplantati-”

“We tried Doctor Dolores. We tried all the methods that are currently available to us right now,” the Man
said, cutting the Woman’s sentence short.

“Not to mention, Wren also leaked our experiments to the Daily Cael. Riots are beginning to escalate
outside the city hall, and our main buildings. They are demanding that we release the childr- Prototypes,”

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added the Man, discreetly flitting his eyes over the Child, now awake and watching intensely with eyes that
held no humanity.

The Woman stood still for a few seconds, pondering the situation, and assessing the current options
available to her. Then, she snapped to attention, pulling out a case from under the desk and began to stuff
anything within arms’ reach into it. She opened the glass door, and pulled the Child out by its arm.
Glancing at the Man, the Woman stared at him for a moment before continuing.

“What are you waiting for? Hurry and pack. We have to leave now before they catch us,” gasped the
Woman between disheveled breaths.

“Dolores.”

“What?!” snapped back the Woman, now on her hands and knees attempting to push her computing bar
into the case.

“Let’s stop here. Before we lose anything more.”

In response, the Woman whipped around and glared furiously at the Man. Unperturbed, the Man stood in
the doorway, dejectedly staring back at the Woman.

“It’s been years, Dolores. Let’s take Lynn and leave this dome. There isn’t a future for us here anymore.
City Hall is probably going to summon us tomorrow for a hearing regarding the experiments. They’ve
probably already sent the Disciplinary Force after us, in order to ensure we aren’t able to escape. Let’s take
the Craft in the hangar and leave now, before they can get here Dolores.”

The Man paced around the perimeter of the room, circling the Woman and the Child endlessly, anxiously
analyzing the developing circumstances.

Contrasting the Man’s behavior stood the Child and the Woman. The Child had moved towards the only
window in the room, displaying the chaos of the riots in the city center. What had previously displayed a
holographic projection of music was now destroyed, and filled to the brim with people holding signs and
throwing molten bottles of fire.

The Woman sat on the floor, downtrodden. Eyes closed, the Woman pondered all her current options.
And she decided. Her eyes opened fluidly as she rose from her sedentary position, and she began to
furiously write on a sheet lying dormant on the desk.

“Take L1-N and go. I will take responsibility for my actions. Go to Nova Fransesco, and head to the
location on the coordinates here. There will be someone there willing to support you. Just tell them that
Ivenera sent you,” the Woman said hurriedly.

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 The Man turned pale, even while he nodded and grasped the Child’s hand. Even while he led the Child to
the hangar, his lips were pursed, until the color bled from them. And even as he strapped the Child and
himself into the Craft, tears fell drop by drop from his eyes.

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