I Really Wanted a Bloody Ending
Desertic landscapes of my mind
“Imagine it’s a beach,” was the first lesson of survival training.
They warned me about physical threats, but not the mind games. Alarms on my phone tell me when my food and water intake is due.
Red sand swallows the clear sky, a homogenous mixture where nothing else can survive.
In any case, Diego couldn’t. He died yesterday. I must admit I helped. I hacked his phone and messed up with his notifications.
“I didn’t get any food or water for two days. Is it another exercise?”
“Totally. I had it last week.”
Weird how people trust me. I don’t.
You can spend your whole life striving towards the touchstone of excellence. Most people choose to wallow in their wreathing misfortune. Thinking about all the wasted time ruins my zen.
Others came here to prove themselves. I’m taking out the competition.
And they said life on Mars would be boring.
My mission is to make it indelible.
They can’t escape themselves — not even here. Blood is the price they pay to remember. It’s an unadorned stain, overprinting all the others — lingering forever — deeply entrenched in the time’s fabric.
They named me Koel Muns. I’m the new Servant.
I should clarify at this point, there are two different groups. One who left me behind in the wake of their rampant carnage and another who gave me a purpose.
We stumbled along similar paths, atoning for another’s sins.
They had information, and I had a voice. Amidst machines, I was reborn.
I’ve always lived on the fringes, part of the group, but always at the border. Barely fitting in, I was a divergent contrast.
When I reborn into the new Servant, I realized I had been looking at a circle when the topology was three-dimensional.
I’m the center of a sphere.
My watch beeps a security breach. Lifting dust storms severely minimize visibility, but the orders are unambiguous. I’m in a new territory that hasn’t been completely mapped yet. Impulsiveness and hubris don’t make a good match.
A reflective panel bounces sunlit rays into my eyes. The tag doesn’t look like ours.
My hypnothalamic brain switches on. There’s a subliminal message in the tag. It’s a message from Diego. He says he sacrificed himself to touch me with his words in the afterlife. They want to recruit me?
A deep harmony takes over my neurons. A secret programming awakes.
The Servant rises.
If this was a movie, rousing music would play in the background while I took ascending steps toward my target. Instead, I stand still, feet burrowing inside spasmodic grounds.
Did they make me in a vat of dichotomies?
I spent eons rebelling alone, but now I struggle with every decision.
Something doesn’t compile in the programming. If I’m Koel Muns, shouldn’t I be exterminating them all? I thought blood was the Servant’s master, but Diego’s message is about life.
Survival or killer instincts?
I don’t have time to explore the desertic landscapes of my mind. I open fire and smile.
Paired bullets rapidly ricochet off the panels, some of them making their way in through the exhaust slats. I don’t care to aim or about my depleting ammunition.
I want them to feel the same pain as me. Even if I fail at everything else, let me succeed at that.
A silhouette appears, seemingly out of nowhere. I don’t recognize him at first. The killing euphoria filled up my neurons.
“Diego?”
He smiles.
“But you died?”
I realize his body lets the light through. He looks like a cartoon character with bullet holes everywhere. The projected shadow is a labyrinth.
Never before have I had to face the repercussions of my violent delights. I was trained to set things ablaze — not clean up the aftermath. Trying to find meaning in this moment is dizzying.
Is this an admonition of my mistakes or an afterlife program? And can I kill him again?
It must be a test. The Servant’s mission is clear, and there’s no place for doubts in the fealty oath.
I synchronize myself. I’m Koel Muns. I do what I do best.
I open fire and smile.
And then, I chase them to the last one.
The purge is complete.
Author’s note
We co-wrote this story with
in alternate increments of 50 words on Substack.It’s a continuous pleasure to improv-write with her because she’s not only a gifted writer but also patient and supportive. (Thank you!)
Also, Debdutta let me steal one of her comments and use it for the title!
She’s very kind.
You know who else is kind?
I trust Debdutta will comment soon, but in the meantime, I'll tell you I'm a big fan of this picture!
In stories set in the future, I find myself taking the other side, and this one is no different.
Writing it was like playing a first-person survival game on Mars. And the co-writing structure made for twists that I had to respond to on my feet. Which made the experience intense, and life-like.
Virtual guns are everything.