Obey the Blue

February stars glisten in the darkened, desolate sky. The air is still, nearly silent if not for the settling of her flat. The cat is cuddled tranquilly in a ball at the foot of her bed, light snores persisting like a metronome. It's predictable. It's repetitive. It's calming.

The television is all that kept the night's uneasy stillness at bay, warded off by the gentle buzz of the worn machine. Dare she call it tradition to fall asleep to it? All's right for her to fall asleep now. Yes? To be safe, she runs everything through her mind like a checklist like she did last night and the night before.

Open window? "Check."

Locked doors? She needs a moment. "Check."

Looking to her left, the final components of her internal list are checked off in immediate succession.

Remote, phone, water? "Yep." Each rapidly checked off.

But she can't leave it be, can she? Like every night she could remember she said she would be done with her phone by 11, but there she was, face brightened by the obnoxious aquamarine glow of her smartphone.

1:04 A.M, the clock reads.

"Fuck," she says, monotone. It's a reflex. She isn't surprised, she never is. Her dull reaction to the time has become just as habitual as looking at her phone "one last time". No new messages, no notifications. Nothing. It doesn't matter, the young woman supposes, she's supposed to be asleep anyway.

Setting it back down on the nightstand she flips to her side, staring sleepily at the alternative mattress propped against the wall.

Jeeze, Raya, get that out of here...

She's been meaning to for months now. Time and time again the same reminder is whispered to her, and each time she's certain she'll follow through the next day.

"Tomorrow", she's quick to assure herself. "I'll do it tomorrow." Would she?

It's always the same. An attempt to wake up early fails and she goes to work in the same hasty manner as ever. Raya couldn't be bothered to concern herself with that. Thoughts brewing in her head began to dull and simmer, less coherent and structured the heavier her eyes got.

Sweet unconscious began to wrap its fluffy arms around her, swaddling her in warm linen sheets sewn for her use only. The dull and dirty turquoise of the mattress was slowly consumed by fog as her eyes began to grow shut, soon to be met with nothing but blackness. Her bed was comfy and serene, all that was further needed to send her off to sleep. It's nothing but black for quite some time. The odd state of nothing but darkness with only her mind to keep her company.

Then, she wakes up.

Just as quickly as she fell asleep she's awake again, the harsh light of seeming morning assaulting her tired eyes. It takes her a moment, tiredly blinking once or twice, rubbing her eyes as she sits up in her bed. The bright glow of the morning sun is nowhere to be found, replaced by an oceanic blue beam of light consuming the entirety of her bedroom.

A heavenly white light radiates from the doorway exiting her boudoir, burning through the oak door. There's chunks of the walls missing from above the door frame, left scattered upon the floor. Dawning the walls and door there's a viscous turquoise slop smeared across them both, drawn into the shape of varying eyes.

THIS WAY,

the sludge spells, still dripping upon the rubble. Raya looks to her left, seeing the mattress, then to her right, seeing her nightstand. Everything is exactly where she put it. All that's different is the walls.

Scattered erroneously throughout the room there's insignias and graffiti foreign to her, varying shades of blue tar smeared like veins across the carpet and drywall, strung like Christmas lights and dangling like garland. Bound strands form downward facing arrows and seeming messages.

GANG,

her bedpost reads, multiple crude and accompanying drawings of teeth smeared with reckless abandon. Upon reading it she's thrusted out of bed, damn near jumping out. Who could've gotten this close to her while she slept? She's sure she locked the doors. She checks her phone.

She can call for help, right? She clicks the power button, waiting. It remains dormant.

She clicks it again, and again, and again before it responds, staying stuck on her homescreen for only a moment before melting into her hand, decaying into sea green and decayed blue bursts of squares, fizzling into the air.

Raya looks around again. She looks to the door, the message above seemingly glowing. Does she have a choice? She tiptoes to the cracked door, careful not to touch any of the cyan ooze on the floor. It could be acid for all she knows. Her hand gently presses against the wood, pushing it open with the utmost care. She peeks her head out.

The hallway is gone, her living room is gone. It's all gone. Her door leads to a balcony she's never seen before, staring out into the city she just moved into. The soft blue sky accented with fluffy clouds, towering apartment complexes blocking the sun. She'd call it peaceful if the balcony were natural.

The young woman looks out into the distance, gaze passing through the seemingly never ending buildings. Just as she's about to stop questioning it all, there's a rumbling, a deep, insatiable tremor that rocks and rumbles the building. It flips.

With no warning the world is flipped on its side, tilting sideways to shoo her out like a flea. She holds onto the railing of the post for dear life but it's no use, she begins to plummet, falling a mile a minute somehow avoiding hitting something. It feels like an eternity, seemingly falling forever until she smashes into the cold hard ground.

There's no damage, she assumes, only a harsh sting in her back that goes away as she settles. Opening her eyes sluggishly from the impact, she expects to see the towers of the city loom over her, but there's nothing. No buildings, no clouds.

She's been thrusted into this new and unfamiliar world seemingly devoid of life. Everything about it is inconsistent. The ground is icy teal, diverging into varying shades of muted blues and wilted violets thrown around as if a painter thrashed their brush around.

There's cliffs all around, gargantuan islands of peculiar sky blue stone towering several hundred metres above her, cracks and dugouts running all throughout. It's almost like this odd world was struck by an earthquake, sunken and elevated portions of the floor divided by deep, thin fissures.

There's only one evident constant to the young woman, and that's the doors. In the ground and on the side of the cliffs there's thin slabs of metal that click and whirr and slide upward to expose blackness. Curiosity strikes. Eyeing the far away contraption intently, Raya stretches her legs out, stopping no more than a moment later.

What?

Her legs weren't bare anymore. She's not in her snug black pajama shorts or her thin nylon stockings anymore. Nothing close to it. She's wearing black dress pants fashioned with a black belt to match, finished with what looked to be ballroom shoes, evidently black.

Her chest is different, too. Her oversized nightshirt is nowhere to be found, the comfort it brought similarly absent. Raya's chest is crammed into a tight, milky white button up shirt, her neck constricted by the collar and a light blue tie. Thrown atop the getup is a snug fitting jacket she can only associate with formally dressed gangsters she always saw on the television.

Of course it's black.

No reason to expect anything less by now. The belt running through the coat's loops mirrors the colour of everything else she wore, just as uncomfortable, too.

Get it off.

It's hot. It's bothersome. She needs to get it off.

Get it off!

Her hands are concealed behind gloves without fingertips, but she doesn't pay attention to it. She fiddles and fumbles with the buckle of her coat the best she can, though to no avail. It's unresponsive. None of her attire responds to her movements. It's sewn on. Woven so deep into her skin it's replaced it.

It doesn't stop her from trying, though, meddling with her coat and gloves while she wanders toward the door. The sound of her heels clicking against the tile-like surface is empty, replaying again and again through more and more quiet echoes, thinner and thinner.

The door whirrs emptily, clicking and clattering before sliding open to expose a well. It's filled to the very top with more of that sickening, lifeless teal ground and blended to a slurry, beginning to boil as an image begins to rise from the depths.

Raya looks into the reflective tunnel of azure, greeted with an unfamiliar sight. It's... A person? Is it?

She isn't sure.

It's looking back at her from the puddle. Its clothes are all identical to Raya's, even its movements mimic her own with pinpoint accuracy. All that's off is its face. Staring back at her, a face of black and white and grey bars both thick and thin, flashing violently over one another in a desperate attempt for recognition, outlining any feature in a rotted cream marker.

The door shuts, accompanied by its signature clicks and hums it slides closed, leaving the woman wondering. She reaches for her face, feeling the fabric of her glove seemingly trace over something, whatever that something may be. There's an odd absence in its feeling. She repeatedly feels her face, poking and prodding her cheeks and nose with her finger, desperate to feel the pillowy and smooth skin of her face once more.

Nothing. It hurts. It's like needles sliding in and out of her over and over again, all over her face and in her eyes.

Looking down at her hands they tremor like never before, quaking and shaking from uncertainty.

Get it off. Get it... Off!!!

In a desperate fit she scratches and claws at the static, shreds of milky white, scraps of dull greys and blacks flying from her face as more and more was ripped off strewn across the floor like decayed leaves. The tops of her feet are covered in the monochrome scraps of what she can only think to be skin, yet her face feels no lighter. It's still burdened.

Raya bangs on the steel door relentlessly, barbarically slamming her fists upon the metal. She needs to see if it's gone. She needs to know it's gone. Amidst the commotion of metallic clanging Raya is unaware of the rumbling burrowing beneath her, swiftly homing in closer and closer before settling just beneath her. Stillness. Silence. She waits, silently begging for something to disrupt the unwelcome stalemate.

"..." One. Two.

One second after another the gap grows larger, each internal tick of the clock maddening. Raya puts her ear to the floor, listening intently for more motion.

Knock, knock.

The sound bounces off every barrier in sight, ricocheting again and again and again as the dead silence greets her. One, two...

The clock doesn't get to three, there's no chance. In a flash the ground splits open, seemingly torn apart as inky black tendrils uproot the supposed earth to a precipice. Unveiled in a steam eruption, familiar shapes begin to bubble from the fissure, the repugnant and wretched greys and blacks flashing sporadically as something, someone begins to crawl up, blackened hands gripping the edges of the pit for dear life as it rises.

Raya looks to her hands, to her feet, to her left and to her right, taunted by the unchanging, ridiculed by her forward reality and its hostile anonymity. She hides.

With her hands covering tightly shut eyes, she curls into a ball, left only to the mercy of that THING. There's an unbearable silence, a horrid period of null where all she had was herself, thinking, questioning, praying that it was over. The clock begins to function again.

One...

She drags her hands off her eyes, shaking like a leaf with every inch of movement.

Two..?

Her vision is blurred by the tears, but she's... Okay? Okay. Everything's okay. Even through the fog of disastrous terror she could see the aquamarine grow brighter, glimmering like a ballroom floor in celebration of her triumph.

Three..!

Her eyes open fully now.

There's no hole in the ground, no creature rising from a static gulch. No. Now it was right in front of her. Looming over her, gazing intently as Raya's body relaxes. Standing tall, there's... A human. Surely. It has to be.

Even if it's a mirage surely it's of a human. The getup is near identical to her own, additionally equipped with a sash clinging tight to the figure's body. The suit it bears leaves no ample room, the seeming man's attire hugging its toned muscles. Its face is an enigma. It's blocked by a mask made of heavy iron, like something Raya had seen officers of the special forces wear.

There's a screen near its eyes, a half octagon shape near the left turning to a rectangle on the right, casting away curious eyes with a fierce cerulean glow flared to life like a furnace.

Could there be a real face behind it?

She wonders. Yet again the agony of writhing static sets in, needles once more rooted in her veins.

Focus.

What or who had a real face or not doesn't matter much to her. Does it see her? She isn't sure. Raya places her hand against the cold hard ground, pushing herself upward timidly, slowly. It follows her movements. Without eyes it still manages to burn holes with its glare. "What are you?" She manages to squeak. The light from its visor flickers as it finally moves, stepping slowly forward. Each step has weight, each click of its shoes against the floor louder than the last. Yet Raya remains still. Why?

Her mind's triggered every alarm it can, screaming at her to move, dodge, do anything. Yet she stays. Forced - No, choosing to remain helpless to this, this thing. The masked individual reaches out and touches her, setting its hands on her shoulders. One. Two. Three... Nothing. Somehow it's more frightening than having it attack. Raya's shaking, every hair on her body standing on end and set ablaze by anxiety, waiting for it to do something. And it does. The figure guides her in turning around, rotating her gently so she faces the other way. Her heart sinks.

There's a sea of figures, an onslaught of men standing and staring at her. Not a sound was made. When did they get there? How did they get there? Among them only what's on their faces sets them apart, every single outfit identical to one another, repeating again and again and again. Some of the men have thick layers of worn and weathered bandages wrapped tightly around their mouths and chin, eyes covered by black leather bands constricting around their heads.

Others wear odd, ashy masks, coal coloured metal muzzles shaped to bear a beak riddled with fangs. Those with neither bear an odd eyepiece, fashioned with a sky-blue lens with a beady white pupil, attached to yet another binding leather band.

The figure behind her gives her a harsh shove forward, Raya staggering toward the front row of blank faced soldiers as a few move in. Once again she's tethered down by something, not fear, but uncertainty. Refusing to move an inch she lets these creatures take hold of her, two forcing her to face backward, back to the masked individual who greeted her.

Raya can't look away from the teal glow of the visor, trying with all her might to humanise this thing, somehow, someway. The figure lifts its mask. With a heavy clang the hunk of iron and glass smashes against the floor, exploding into a miniature burst of static, cinders absorbed into the reflective floor.

It's static. Just like her, EXACTLY like her, an entourage of harsh and blinding greys and whites and blacks flickering violently over and amongst one another, wrestling to be viewed first, all forming to create only another enigma under the alias of a human, of a man.

What did it make the figure, then? What did it make the rest?

Only her and the man have faces shrouded in static, everyone - no, everything else has an odd grey colour, like old boiled eggs. No forms of characteristics, behind the shades and stares of many a blank canvas somehow looking exhausted, deep grey half cylinders burrowed where their eyes would be, where they SHOULD be.

The blurry faced man approaches her, large gloved hands digging deep into her shoulders. "What do you want?" She asks. Not an answer to be heard. No words, no grunts, not the slightest feeling as his body leans into hers. The amalgamations of static the two called faces are an inch apart, still writhing and contorting as they seem to meld, getting even closer.

There's a break in the cycle of perpetual pain, a split, a satisfying peeling sensation as the static near her mouth is torn if not only for a moment. Met with pillowy soft lips pressing against her own, the long forgotten sensation of comfort and content swaddling her as she leans further into the strange man. Something thick and wet slips inside her mouth, prying her lips apart as it slithers its way in. A tongue. Raya is left stunned as the figure does as it pleases, sliding its tongue beneath her own, slathering it in licks, wrestling, wriggling with Raya's as her body takes over.

Overcoming the confusion and unease her body acts on instinct, taking control of her tongue as it bonded with the man's, dancing sensually with its own as the hardened grip on her wrists seems to fade, melting only into a puddle of relief and satisfaction as the kiss continues. Hot saliva exchanged between mouths time and time again, traded and thrashed back and forth as it went on. The figure stops for a moment, the dirty grey outlines of its eyes staring holes into her. With their tongues still tied with one another Raya opens her eyes slowly, meeting the alleged man's gaze. Its tongue withdraws, the thick feeling of static wrapping around her face once more.

"Mirrel."

It said one thing, and one thing only before returning to its work, spoken softly and tenderly, yet somehow with no sense of emotion or feeling.

Is that a name? What does that mean? She's only allowed to assume as the supposed 'Mirrel' makes various gestures to the other figures, seeming nonsense to Raya but coherent and composed to the others. Moving in cold silence one of them backs off, stepping away and watching as the other wraps its muscular arms beneath her chest, ensnaring her in a bear hug.

It's cold, even with the layers upon layers of fabric blocking her skin from its own, its body feels freezing. Without a moment's notice, the blurry faced Mirrel places its hands on Raya's chest, innocent cupping turning to squeezes and jostles. The woman isn't sure what to feel. She'd feel horrified, she wants to be scared, but there's something in his touch, an erotic tenderness, a sensual precision that she's never witnessed before.

With seemingly no effort Mirrel touches her in all the right places, places Raya never knew existed. Without so much as a thought he'd completely subdued Raya's fright, melding her wits to a helpless lust, turning her mind to jelly as it raced and raced with feelings.

It's as if nothing is between Mirrel's hands and Raya's breasts, the warmness of one another's skin radiating through the layers of clothing. With no issue the man's fingers seek Raya's nipples, thumb and index clamping on her right, twisting like fidgeting with it like a dial. A moan escapes her, echoing throughout the landscape, bouncing back off pillars and floors right back into her ears.

The crowd of onlookers remain unphased, clusters staring at her while their seeming leader makes her their bitch, effortlessly breaking her down little by little. The proof is in her pants, a small puddle beginning to form in seeming high class trousers, excitement mizzling down her leg and onto her shoe. She can't be bothered to care. Like the paradigm dripping of a faucet a new drip happens again and again.

One. Two.

She can't get to three, Mirrel's other hand locking onto her left nipple, giving it a harsh squeeze that sends a surge of ecstasy through her, as if being jabbed with a cattle prod. Time and time again there's a break in the man's teases, a brute twist or tug that makes every hair on her body stand on end, that makes her drip more and more. The figure behind her lets go, tearing her away from the skilled hands of Mirrel.