A household, holding truth in captivity,
New Houston, where we lay our scene,
beneath the thumb of assumed divinity,
Where no Vanguard may intervene.
Far below the true foe’s home,
A pair of star-cross'd lovers convene,
Their misadventured struggles make known,
One's parents' work obscene.
Together the samurai, fight, find love,
In battle against time and fate,
Working towards the world above,
Where naught but death await;
The which if you with patient eyes attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.
***
Lying on the floor of my cabin in a pile of all my droll clothes, I hold a broken shard of bright, almost fluorescent green glass up to the dim light above me, marveling at the tiny fractures and miniscule imperfections that fill it. Originally, it had been a nice little vase I found in a random little antique store, but a month at sea had changed that.
In hindsight, I think I like it better shattered anyway.
I sigh, flipping the piece to see the other side and contemplating the beauty of what I'm holding. Whoever crafted this glass, some hundred and fifty years ago, before even the world wars had rocked Earth, probably had no clue of the cost of what they were making, no idea that uranium could kill them. Their art lasted, but who knows how long the artist had lived after making this? They shared a fate now, and something about that struck a chord with me.
My left hand spasms and the shard flies nearly perfectly vertically up into the air, slowly rotating as it falls. It lands softly onto my chest, and I reach to pick it back up with my good arm, but flinch as I cut my thumb on its sharp edge. Grimacing, I reach over and grab a black cotton sock from beside my head, using it to wrap up the glass. The threat successfully secured, I sigh, rolling my eyes as I toss the now deadly ball of fabric across the room into my duffel bag.
This was so fucking boring.
As I lay dazed, I ignore a few strange sounds I assume are someone talking out in the hallway, but nearly jump out of my skin as a blur of a face appears looking down onto me. I hastily spin and sit up, acknowledging the crew member who had so rudely entered my room, sighing as I turn my inner ear implants back on. The man’s voice is deep and masculine, and I can’t help but appreciate the bit of scratch that accompanies it.
“We’re docking very soon, so get yourself packed and ready.” Shaking his head, the man walks away, but pauses in the door frame just before he steps out of the room. “Don’t forget, your family is expecting you for dinner. And keep your damn augs online while on my ship.”
As the man slams the door, I take a shaky breath as reality begins to descend upon me. Family meals are constant sources of stress, but I usually have multiple days to prepare for them…
Fuuuck.
I hastily stuff my clothes and other miscellaneous items into my duffle bag before I rush out of my cabin. The claustrophobic hallways of the ship are something I’m sort of used to at this point, after the several trips I’ve taken, but it doesn’t mean they aren’t uncomfortable as all hell. As I step into the midday sun and feel the crisp ocean wind, a bittersweet smile stretches across my lips.
Home.
Looming far above the cargo ship I’ve spent the last month upon, New Houston’s central tower stretches nearly four hundred feet into the air, its long shadow reaching across the ocean towards the eastern sky. The gulf is a clear, transparent blue as always, a sight that I’m definitely appreciating more after the several beaches I visited in New New York.
While it was originally a piece of floating scrap metal they once used to suck the life out of the earth, during the early days of the incursions a first gen Samurai converted the rotting oil-rig into a small fortress. The idea caught on, mostly among rich idiots who wanted a bastion of their own separate from the crumpling country of the original United States, and soon there was a whole flotilla of converted rigs. In the end, the creator eventually handed control of the original over to one of his comrades.
One I know almost too well.
A few figures brush past me as I stand there staring at the place I reluctantly call home, and by the time I snap out of my little daze a whole minute has passed. I step out onto the deck, roaming a bit until I reach the port bow. Gradually, the incessant cacophony of the base of the tower begins to fill my ears, a faint ringing that seems to grow more shrill with each passing second. I slowly suck in a breath, that crew member’s words about my implant echoing in the back of my mind, but it soon is too much to bear. I inwardly grimace as I tap the back of my neck three times, flipping my implants off once again.
I anxiously watch as the ship decelerates, and as soon as the ship lurches to a stop, I vault over the side of the ship. Slamming down onto the concrete harbor, I sprint away from my waterbound prison, glancing back to see a particularly irate man screaming without words at me. I chuckle at them under my breath, but quickly swap my focus to ensure I avoid slipping on the inevitable random puddles people leave upon the wet docks.
As I jog, although it’s reluctant, I inwardly thank my Grandfather for his insistence on me ‘preparing for worst case scenarios’. Though they absolutely suck, the physical benefits from the incursion exercises he mandates for me are a nice boon. Also, the HEMA part of it was actually kind of fun, because besides the exhilarating matches I got to have with people near my skill level on trips, swinging swords around is just kind of enjoyable in general. Unfortunately, any enjoyment I had sort of evaporated when he decided to insist I was his exclusive practice partner. Not that I know why, he stomps me into the dirt every time.
It can’t be good practice.
Apparently having forgotten how long the wet docks actually are, I’m panting as I step foot onto the floating central platform. The wide array of Dredge Bells that populate its edges are as popular as ever, but I absolutely rue whoever thought of the transportation method. A small individual airlock hooked to a crane was technically a good idea for descending into the depths of the city, but in practice? I shiver as I hastily slip into a crowd, leaving the cursed hub of transportation behind me, almost knocking an older man over as I do.
As I weave through the mass of people, I catch sight of my destination, the glass elevator that leads to the upper floors. I pause to wait once I arrive, and when it fully descends, a strange maid giggling to herself is within. As we step past each other, for a frozen moment, I see a flash of breathtaking sapphire in the blur of her face. I swing around to look at her again, my heart suddenly doing double time, but she is nowhere to be seen. I shake my head, doing my best to banish the fleeting image; even if she was wearing our family’s uniform, it’s rather unlikely I ever see her again.
I lean against the cold glass wall as the door closes behind me, taking a few deep breaths to calm my heart, just as a couple worst case scenarios about tonight begin to bounce around in my head. I bite my lip, turning my head towards the horizon, sighing at the unfortunate beauty of the afternoon sun reflected upon the water. If it were anywhere else, I’d consider it beautiful, a scene worthy of poetry.
But this is New Houston, and the name alone mars the image in my mind.
I slightly flinch as the lift lurches to a stop, and with more than a bit of hesitation, I step out onto my family’s private floor. The first thing I always notice when I arrive here after a trip is the blatant crooked contrast between the pearly manor and everything around it. When grandfather bought this place two decades ago, he’d left a space all around our house to give himself an area to make a garden, but like most things in his life, it was left by the wayside in favor of killing aliens. In the end, the New Houston standard won out, reddish steel and gray concrete melding together into the rather dull, barren hue that tends to dominate the city as a whole.
I take a few steps forward, reach out for the door handle, then jump a bit when I hear my implants turning back on with a click, a buttery smooth yet obviously artificial deep voice with a stereotypical Old British accent immediately following in its wake.
“Welcome home, young master,” The Vanguard AI states in their typical monotone manner, “Let me get the door for you.”
“U-Uh, yeah,” I mutter, quietly pulling my hand back, “T-thanks Jysli.”
“It is no problem Anthony, I am glad that I can be of assistance.”
The entrance to the family manor automatically swings open, and I’m forced to swiftly banish the vein of self hatred that the AI just dug up as I awkwardly shuffle into the main entrance of our house.
Due to mother’s strange tastes regarding interior design, the main entrance to the manor resembles a classic high-end hotel lobby; a red velvet carpet lined with gold leads down the middle, a few couches with the same design sit with their back against one wall and an empty reception desk occupying the other. Each of the three hallways centered here connect to different sections of the building, and I hastily rush towards the one to the right, hoping that I can get to my room before anyone catches notice of my presence.
Unfortunately, I get barely halfway through the room before an all too familiar, nasal sing-song voice from behind me makes my blood freeze. I stiffly straighten my back, hoping my inadequacies aren’t as obvious as I know they are. My bones creak as I turn to see a figure that has been perfectly engraved into my long term memory.
“So, you’re home, Anthony.” The woman walks up to me, bringing her right hand to her blurry face. “How was New New York?”
I take a shaky breath, then turn to continue towards my destination, trying with no avail to push down the suffocating fog that has begun to rise in my chest.
“G-Good,” I manage to sputter out, an exceedingly paltry answer to a question from a woman who very much does not like that sort of thing. Not skipping a beat after that, she mercilessly attacks, her words sending a javelin of ice into my heart:
“I’m expecting you to talk allll about the trip tonight, okay dear?~”
Right as I reach the entrance to the eastern hallway, I pause as I feel her press her hand onto the small of my back. I gasp as her nails slowly move upwards across the back of my shirt, the uncomfortably ticklish trace she leaves making me cringe, until she abruptly stops when her hand reaches my shoulder.
“Relax for a bit, won’t you? You’re finally home.” The woman chuckles as she curls her fingers, getting dangerously close to digging her nails into my skin. I don’t even breathe until she steps away, but as I do, she drops a bomb on me. “Oh, and just so you know Anthony, we’re having snook for dinner tonight! I even went down to the market and picked it out for myself!”
I wince at that little tidbit of knowledge as she walks away and vanishes into the northern hall. Once I’m sure she’s gone, I rush down the hallway until I reach my room, which I immediately enter and lock behind me. I take three deep breaths to calm my raging heart, then trudge across my room. I place the duffel down beside my desk, then pull out the few actually interesting things I had picked up on my trip before I dump everything else into a laundry hamper.
I saunter over to one of my drawers, pulling out some glass containers, which I then begin to put my prizes into. To be specific, the broken uranium vase, a half melted rolex watch, and interestingly enough, a totally fried samurai tech watch. Funny that the only things I managed to get could be considered trash to some people. I first take my new timepieces, easily slotting them into my clock collection, before I find myself deliberating where exactly to put the broken glass.
My collection has gotten a lot of different things through the years, mostly from my dives at the ruins of old fallen cities. After a quick once over, I end up slotting the container between my black gems and alexandrite, deciding them close enough to gemstones to fit. With my final job done, I dramatically do a little spin before I flop down onto my bed.
It’s funny, in my family’s huge house, in the city my family essentially owns, now I truly feel like I am home.
Regardless, tonight’s dinner is going to be the absolute worst. Why the fuck did she choose fish on my first day back?
“Ugggh.”
I cover my face with my hands, my chest filled with dread at the inevitable future.
I wish I could turn off my implants and just sleep, forget about the stupid thing to make a quiet report tomorrow. That’d for sure get me yelled at by someone or another though, for multiple reasons, but annoyingly enough, mostly for the implant thing. Grandfather is super strict about the implants; There’s a sense to it, of course, considering that we need to be able to hear the emergency sirens, whistles and the like. Yet, as everything else in my life, they just… made it into some kind of sick game.
I wish I knew why.
As exhaustion begins to weigh upon me, I reluctantly creak to my feet and slowly waddle over to my closet, hesitantly opening it. Inside, sitting beside the few clothes I hadn’t deemed as necessary for my trip, the single mirror I allow to be in my room sits in its solitary exile.
Well, it’s been a while since I last checked…
No time like the present, I guess.
I reach out, pressing the small button on its metallic side, illuminating the dusty surface of the mirror. Despite my slight hopes, the blurry image remains the same as it always was.
I’ve forgotten what I look like.
The mess that is my reflection is not unlike someone painted a portrait of me before tossing a bucket of dirty water at the canvas. I could still look down and see my body, of course, but that tends to cause a bit of a different problem. Even thinking about any of this makes my stomach churn with dread.
I ram the bottom of my fist into the mirror’s switch, grabbing a fresh white shirt before slamming the closet door shut. Taking deep breaths to calm myself down, I shift away from my closet and sink into my squishy leather chair. I slowly change without looking down nor rising from the seat, then sigh as I lean back to look at the slowly spinning ceiling fan. My mind begins to wander, and I lift my left hand up, finding that like it always has, it trembles and twitches.
Why do moments like this make me wonder, is there truly a way for someone like me, broken in mind, broken in body, to break free from the chains that bind me to this place?
The few trips I get to go on are exhausting and all, but they’re the only times I really feel free, feel like I’m getting close to finding, well, me. Here, there’s a weight pressing down on me, pushing me to become someone I’m not. Monteros must be larger than life, a symbol of freedom for the people of New Houston.
Kinda funny that after eighteen fucking years, all it took to crack the mask they raised me to wear was two days in Cascadia with a very angry girl. I hadn’t even known it was an issue until she flipped me on my ass and screamed in my face. Four rough years after that though, despite my best efforts, I still haven’t been able to escape their whims.
Yet light still shines through the fracture she made, a golden thread of hope leading to a new morning, an unknown day.
I can finally say I don’t want to be here. I want to live my own life.
Whatever that’s worth for someone like me.
I sigh, tilting my head back and closing my eyes.
“How the hell,” I mutter quietly to myself as I push the chair into a spin, “Am I going to convince her to let me not eat the fish?”
The question sort of bounces around in my head, at least until I find myself standing in front of the most imposing doors in our home. Twice as tall as me and probably several times as heavy, the thick, basically medieval doors my grandfather chose stood out like a sore thumb in this opulent palace of a building. With a gulp, I press my hand to the door, the gigantic crimson slabs sliding across the floor as if they were weightless as I do.
Samurai magic is weird.
Inside, our family dining room is reminiscent of a king’s hall, the absurdly long table illuminated in flickering light from the burning brasiers hanging from the ceiling. Every piece of fabric in the room is a deep maroon, not counting the handwoven tapestries depicting the history of New Houston that are proudly hung upon the walls. The gigantic table which could seat twenty is just set with five gigantic, ornate oak chairs, all placed upon one of the table’s length.
I’m somehow the first one to arrive, but despite my urge to just leave, I sit down in my designated seat anyway, the closest one to the front of the room. These damn chairs sucked to sit in- They weren’t even family heirlooms or anything either, but thinking about it, that might even be his master plan. One final fuck you as he leaves a world he made an objectively worse place.
I carefully arrange the shining, pure silver cutlery we always used, placing them in the exact way I like it. If I’m going to suffer in this room reeking of my Grandfather’s ego, I’m going to do it on my terms.
“Hey, you’re back!” I freeze as the chipper yet uncomfortable voice enters my ears, “God, it’s good to see you bro.”
A frown creeping onto my face for multiple reasons, I awkwardly raise a hand to wave at my brother, though I don’t look up from my utensils. He frowns as he takes his seat, three chairs down from me, showing off his always perfect manners as he places his napkin into his collar.
“Why the long face?” He scoots the chair forward like it weighs nothing, straightening his back as he looks at me. “I know you’re probably tired, but is something wrong?”
I shake my head, forcing a smile as I bite my inner lip. It really hurt to lie, but I couldn’t talk about the deeply complicated issues I had been having, especially to him. He had been… far more pleasant to deal with during the last year then I typically remember him being. I did get to appreciate it for a while, but right before I left for New New York, he dipped out on something he promised to me. Now that he’s standing in front of me again, I find myself deeply uncomfortable at the way his tone is treating things as if they are the same as they were before I left.
Despite my urge, saying anything else would break the act I know we’re both putting on.
As if my discomfort was blood in the water, both of the dining room doors slam open as my grandfather regally steps inside, stomping towards his seat at the center of the table. He was by far the easiest person I know to recognize, his gigantic silver suit of armor never coming off even when he slept. The man was nothing if not paranoid. He silently clunks down into his seat, the gold trimmed, circular carvings in the oak behind him almost resembling a halo.
I turn my head to the entrance again as three more figures walk in. The first is obviously my mother, her pearl white heels clicking on the ground as she moves to the end of the table. She’s in a modern corporate style pantsuit tonight, but it almost seems like she bought it for a size smaller than what she should be wearing. Hell if I know why she decided that was a good idea.
The other two figures are easy to guess, as they move to the seat beside me, the larger of the two sitting down. That makes him my father, who I honestly don’t really know much about. Well, other than his tendency to have a ‘helper’ with him at all times, typically the head maid Marianne. She was nice enough, but I did occasionally catch her staring at me. I'm just going to assume this is her and worry about literally anything else.
A familiar, awkward silence fills the room as the members of our family adjust themselves to an arbitrary standard. Each one moves the same way, their practiced motions supposedly showing off their social status in the best possible way. It just claws at my composure like the screech of a feedback loop.
Simultaneously, five figures enter the room, each pushing a small cart before them. One stops beside each family member, and in unison place down a plate of perfectly cooked snook, a decadently buttered piece of bread, and a glass of some red wine before disappearing off the stage. Yet, even with the meals in front of us, nobody moves, all of us looking towards the center of the table.
Nobody eats before Grandfather.
After a somewhat annoyingly tense moment, the eldest lifts his fork and eats a small bite of the fish, signaling the beginning of the modest feast. Everyone else eats in perfect harmony, quietly chewing their meals while showing absolutely no emotion, no indication of if they think the food is good or not. I try not to focus too much on it as I slowly nibble at a piece of bread.
It kind of baffles me how stubborn these people are. I know from my many lessons about high society that it’s a faux pas to serve red with fish instead of white, but during our family dinners, we only drink red.
Anything else is blasphemy.
To my slight surprise, my father is the first one to break the script, a rather unusual occurrence to be sure. His words are slow, chosen with consideration I don’t usually expect from him, his deep baritone displaying a surprising amount of interest in the topic of his words.
“The cleanup and reconstruction job in Seattle has proven a rather lucrative venture.” He takes a bite of fish, chews it exactly six times, then swallows it. “It’s increased the stock value of our construction branch by at least seven percent. There was a… small disagreement with the twins leading the efforts, but I was able to get them resolved without further issue.”
With a sigh, my grandfather places his fork down, making all of us go rigid. After a moment, he speaks, his annoyance obvious in his rather brittle, aged tone.
“Richard, what have I said about dealing with samurai?” My grandfather picks his fork up again, chews the fish five times, then swallows.
“Father,” The man eventually mutters, nervously placing his own fork down, “I understand that you don’t like it, but-”
I jump as grandfather slams his fist into the middle of the table, a fissure splitting its surface in twain.
“THAT IS MY ROLE, RICHARD, I DON’T NEED YOUR GODDAMN HELP!” Taking a deep breath, my grandfather casually places another piece of fish into his mouth as if nothing had happened. “If you for some god forsaken reason need to find someone to interfere with, have it be your useless son who can’t even close an already done deal.”
Crack.
I pale as a chill runs down my spine, everyone in the room turning towards me. My heart begins to race, all the useless excuses I had come up with during my walk here jumping ship. I take a few shallow breaths, shifting nervously in my seat as my mind rushes to find anything I can say.
“I-I…” I frantically look between all five figures, yet I can’t even manage a single word. “I-It was…”
Before I can finish, my brother nonchalantly grabs hold of the conversation, placing his fork down as he declares:
“After we eat tonight Grandfather, I’m to be Eren’s partner on your trip to the Family’s main station.”
My mother audibly gasps, her glass shattering against the floor. My jaw hangs open mid sentence, but I close it and shut up as the giant man at the center of the table begins to chuckle, before it turns into a full out belly laugh. When he finishes, he takes a long, extended sip of his wine before saying anything.
“You and Haifisch, huh?” He chuckles a bit again, holding his glass out at my brother. “Color me surprised. I’m impressed you managed to do this under my nose, guess we'll be going up there together.”
I- What?
They’re going into space? Beyond that, he’s dating Haifisch? The shark-man?
I watch as my mother, trembling, takes another bite of fish, and six agonizing gnashes of her teeth later, she places her fork down.
“What about your work?” My mother takes a new glass from a server, clenching it in her hands as they disappear. “You have responsibilities down here, Tristan.”
My brother scoffs, munching down a chunk of fish. I quietly gasp when I hear him only chew five times.
“I can just hire someone actually skilled at the work you give me,” My brother says, continuing after he takes a sip of his wine..
“Tristan, I understand wishing to break away from us,” the man beside me grumbles out, “But you heard father earlier, Samurai are his-”
Grandfather raises a hand, and my father immediately stops talking.
“It’s fine in this case.” The armored goliath chuckles, rolling the wine around in his glass. “He’s showing initiative to continue my legacy. I think that’s commendable.”
“Honestly, it’s not like either of you can stop me,” My brother chimes in, “I’ve been an adult for half a decade and Eren is strong enough that you didn’t even know I was seeing him.”
I nearly fall out of my seat when my mothers slaps the table, jumping to her feet and swiping her hand through the air.
“UGH! What if you die up there?!” She screeches, “No one would be able to take your place!”
“I’ll be fine,” He responds, then continues “But in the farfetched case something inconceivable happens…”
My brother sighs, then turns to me. My heart plummets when what’s happening hits me. “You could just have Anthony take my place.”
Crack.
My mother stumbles, then with her hand on her forehead plops onto her seat. A small aura in my eye is a harbinger of an oncoming migraine.
“No… Nonono, this can’t be happening, that isn’t how this works…” Taking a shaky breath she takes a sip of her wine before shattering the glass between her hands. “I-I can't have another child, and he’s not my…”
Everybody in the room, including grandfather, freezes at her words, and my mother visibly hesitates before turning to look at me.
Crack.
The aura having enveloped the entire right side of my vision, I shakily stand up, glancing over to find Grandfather simply staring down into his drink. Now completely stuck without direction, nobody else moves. I take a step back, then stumble as I start walking towards the door.
“T-This, no. N-no, I’m done.”I cross my arms over my stomach, nausea washing over me.
My mother reaches up but doesn’t stand, holding a bloody hand up in some vain attempt to get me to stop, “Wait, Anthony, I didn’t-”
Without waiting for her to finish, I leave, not bothering to close the doors behind me. I turn my implants off with three taps behind my ear, and in the total silence I find myself feeling very, very alone. As I re-enter the lobby, I feel a hand grab my arm, but I don’t even turn to see who it is.
I wrench myself free with little effort, and there isn’t a second attempt to stop me.
It’s not long before I click the door to my room shut behind me, locking it before I flop right onto my bed. My head throbs, and hugging my legs to my chest, I pull myself into a little ball. So that was the truth, the reason they treated me like they did. I had my suspicions, but being illegitimate wasn’t exactly at the top of the list.
How quaint. I’m just a minor plot point in their fucking soap opera.
As despair begins to storm through me, my consciousness slips, fading in and out for what feels like an eternity. My thoughts are blurry, an utter incoherent mess that nothing can escape from without being corrupted into a blob of negativity.
When I finally regain some lucidity, I find silver moonlight filtering in through my window onto my face. Groaning quietly, I sit up, then wobble onto my feet before I grab an empty glass from atop my desk and enter my room’s connected bathroom. Putting it beneath the tap, I groggily wait for it to be filled, closing my eyes and downing a small pill while I do. When I feel the water overflow, I raise it to my lips and take a sip.
Only to drop the cup on my foot, shattering it across the floor beneath me as I feel something solid enter my throat, slipping deep into me before I realize what is happening.
I cough and gag in disgust, then look down in horror at creatures I’ve never seen outside of pictures. A small swarm of tiny Antithesis Model-Sevens wriggle around in the glass as a small puddle of blood begins to form from a nasty cut on the top of my foot.
The world seems to freeze for a moment, as my mask shatters.
I’m completely silent as I slam my foot down, and though there is pain, I can’t seem to care about the biting sting as I repeat the action again, and again and again and again. And with each impact, a shard of my facade falls away, revealing the truth of what’s beneath.
One protecting a woman who hates me.
One protecting a man who's never cared about me.
One protecting a brother that betrayed me.
One protecting a grandfather that doesn’t need to be saved.
Finally… One protecting who I used to be.
I chuckle as I fall back, landing on my ass as the pain begins to spread. I reach up to clutch at my chest, finding a slowly moving bump heading towards my head. A contradictory haze of terror and relief fills me as I realize I’m about to die.
At least, in the end, I’m free.
In the fog, I barely notice a sharp pain in the back of my head. That is, until I’m brought back to reality by a sugar-sweet artificial voice with a slight southern swing beamed directly into my head.
System Initialized!
Good evening, honey!
When faced with certain doom, you endured excruciating pain to save those who once oppressed you.
Through this selfless action, you have proven yourself worthy of strength beyond your wildest imagination.
My name is Nyvi, and I am the one who will be your guide on this journey.
Rise, you who have no future, and claim for yourself the fate you deserve!
Rise, Vanguard, and become a protector of the weak!