Sunset Under the Atlas

…

The void stirs as a string is plucked.

A vessel.

It awakens from nothingness; a mote of existence in this place, like a drop of water in an empty lakebed. It has only now begun to know sensation, and is immediately able to tell that it cannot feel any.

The mind swirls. It roils as a foggy rapid within the form that has been taken.

Suddenly, a noise brings the vessel’s senses to attention.

“Vessel… *COUGH* Come here.”

A voice. It beckons, and the vessel has no inclination not to follow.

The figure in front of the vessel dwarfs it, though the vessel is not afraid. Instead, it feels a pang of pity.

“Where am I?”

The question spills from the vessel, unable to be held back.

The gargantuan figure answers. “You are in a plane outside of the physical world. Where things come from when they are born.”

The vessel fails to comprehend the answer’s whole meaning, but feels somewhat satisfied regardless. Nevertheless, the questions continue. “Who… am I? What am I?”

The figure sighs, before hacking out another booming cough.

“You are an empty husk, which I have granted life. Your creator worked so much love into your form, but in the end, you were abandoned. The magic inside of you was getting to be so advanced, but it was not allowed to flourish,” it says.

The vessel takes a moment to think.

 “Why have you chosen me, if I was abandoned already?” Its voice seems to waver.

The figure shudders another terrible cough, taking a moment to regain its composure. It reaches out a hand to the vessel, lifting it to its face.

“This will go quicker if I direct the conversation.”

It takes a breath, almost to steel its nerves, before continuing.

“The long and short of it is that I am dying. My life has been cut short, and when I pass, the current era will come to an end. Most will die. The rest will struggle, tooth and nail. It will be the end times.”

The vessel takes a moment to comprehend the enormity of the statement. “Am I… meant to save you?”

The vessel’s question is answered with another labored sigh from the enormous figure.

“No... No, I simply wanted to create life one last time before I disappear. I suppose I took pity upon you,” the figure explains.

“My only task for you… *COUGH* *COUGH* …is to live. This is a second chance at life for you. Learn what it means to live. You are my final work: my magnum opus.”

The vessel feels an immense pressure.

“What if I disappoint you?”

The figure gently chuckles.

“You won’t.”

Another question emerges from the vessel.

“Why have you given me life when I will so soon pass away in your wake?”

The figure winces. If it has nerves, one seems to have been struck.

“I am sorry that your life is defined by such circumstances. Truly. All I can say is to be grateful for the day you would not have had if I had raised you to life tomorrow.”

The vessel’s mind spins, so many more questions waiting to be asked, but it appears that its time here has run out.

“The door of life is finally calling your name, vessel.”

The vessel sees it: an enormous door, etched of marble and light, calling the vessel inside.

“My name… My name! What is my name?”

The figure indulges the vessel’s final question.

“Arma! Your name is Arma!”

And with this last revelation, the void closes around Arma. Slowly, the inky darkness is replaced with a corporeal darkness. Reality takes hold, and Arma’s body stirs. Her body.

…

…

…

Arma stands to scan the room. It’s terribly dark, only lit with various glowing tubes woven into the spaces between ceiling and wall. She’s surrounded by various objects and storage containers, struggling to cope with the jump from a world of absence to this crowded reality.

…

Was that place–that void–real? Was it just a dream?

Her head spins as she tries to find an exit. Where is she? What is this place? She must confer with a person!

A person…

Where has all this knowledge of the world come from? How is she walking, thinking, conceptualizing like a fully formed person? Was she only just born? Or had she lived a life before now? And who made her?

…Who abandoned her?

She shovels aside barrels, boxes, and other strange items in her way in pursuit of an escape route.

Suddenly, her search ends, as she finds a doorway. Her hand leaps to the handle, only hesitating for a moment before swinging wide the door.

Outside, she sees a hallway, wrought of more metallic walls and buzzing lights. Doors abound down the tunnel.

She feels something–someone–tap her shoulder.

“Hey. What’s with your suit?” asks an armor-clad figure behind her.

She yelps in surprise before turning around to greet them.

“Hello! I’m Arma! Where am I?” Arma asks, innocently.

The person’s head tilts, just a touch.

“What were you doing in that cargo room?”

“Oh, just…”

She is at a loss. With no context of this person’s station, she has no idea how to act.

“Just… chilling.”

The armored figure’s posture stiffens, as they look to Arma’s belt.

“Hey! Are you…cargo?!” they ask, now yelling.

Arma reflexively tears the tag off of her belt.

“No, I’m Arma!” she answers.

…

The armored figure reaches to their side and brandishes a strange device, which sparks with electricity as they press a button on the handle.

“I don’t know what you are, or why the hell they’ve got something like this in the cargo hold, but I think you should turn around and walk back into that room.”

Arma quickly realizes the dynamic between her and this guard.

They step menacingly toward Arma, and a surge of courage bubbles up from her core. She’s not going back in that room!

She dashes to the side in an attempt to escape, but she is caught in the hip by the guard's electric wand, which unleashes a bright jolt of sparking energy.

To Arma’s surprise, this seems to have no effect on her. The guard stands back, shocked by the device’s ineffectiveness, but quickly engages in pursuit as Arma belts down the steel corridor. Where is the exit? She has to escape this place!

She looks for a door that doesn’t lead to another cramped cargo room. Eventually, the hallway ends, as she sees a heavy double door before her. She looks at the confusing interface next to it, feeling despair wash over her, but as if granting her wish, the door opens on its own.

Her heart sinks as another guard appears behind the opened doorway.

The guard pursuing her from behind yells out, “CATCH IT! It’s escaped cargo!”

The person in this large steel chamber scrambles for another electric wand, but Arma is faster. She dashes through the doorway, grabs them by the arm and tosses them back through the doorway.

The guards collide into each other, falling onto the floor. They clamber to their feet as Arma hurriedly looks around the room for a way out. The guards rush toward her, electric wands in hand, but are interrupted as the steel doors shut in front of them.

Arma centers herself, taking a moment to catch up to the present. What should she do? Is she stuck here? She stares at the button interface, unsure which button could seal her fate, or which one could get her out. Not like that’s any better than this steel trap, with the guards standing at the ready outside.

Suddenly, Arma’s prayers are answered as a button lights up on the panel. Just a moment later…

…the steel chamber jolts upwards. Arma’s mind races. Where is she going now?! 

…

After a few tense moments, the chamber’s movement slows to a halt.

As the doors open, Arma sees a single person, in the same armored suit, but without a helmet on. His eyes make contact with her visor, and he looks down to his suit before double-taking back at Arma, noticing that she is not one of him.

Arma leverages the element of surprise and rushes past him, as he turns towards her in confusion. Suddenly, a gemstone socketed in the back of his gauntlet yells a command in a familiar voice–that of the guard who pursued Arma below the surface.

“ATTENTION! A PRESUMED STOWAWAY HAS ESCAPED FROM CARGO FACILITY H-2! SUSPECT IS WEARING A METAL SUIT OF ARMOR, JUST BELOW 7 FEET TALL. CAPTURE AND ARREST IMMEDIATELY!”

The guard turns toward Arma, with newfound intention. Arma would gulp if she had a throat, and continues her escape.

She runs through the street, relieved as she can finally see a sky above her. Brassy buildings tower high into it, crowded and utilitarian architecture making up the world around her. The city is dotted with trees and greenery, but only sparsely. What makes up much more of its volume than that seems to be its citizens, who are walking the street en masse as Arma barrels past them. When she arrives at a larger crowd, she spews apologies as she shoves past the surprised pedestrians, spotting a group of guards gathering behind her. The crowd gets so dense that she can hardly see them anymore, when suddenly…

Someone grabs her hand, pulling her into an alleyway on the side of the road. She hears the officers rush through the crowd, past the dingy corridor she has been sequestered into. Awash with surprise and relief, she looks at the person who saved her.

She looks down to see a scrawny, well-dressed man. His hair is slicked back and shiny, and his face is adorned with two jagged sideburns. He looks up to her with a wry smile as he speaks.

“Close one, huh? Looks like you’re in trouble with the AG? I’ve been there.”

His words slip out of his mouth like a snake’s flickering tongue. He rolls a gemstone between his fingers, identical to the one set in the previous guard’s gauntlet, and returns it to his pocket.

“Stowaway, was it? Wouldn’t want word getting around about that, would we, big guy?” he inquires.

Arma shakes her head fervently.

“No way! I just woke up and I don’t want to go back there!” she responds.

The man’s eyebrows lower, and his smile widens.

“Well, I’m cool. I wouldn’t rat on you… unless I had a reason to.”

Arma shivers.

“No, no! Don’t tell anyone, please!” she whispers.

The man leans against the wall, pulling a small brass tube out from his pocket.

“I think I could keep quiet, if I had the right incentive. Something to the tune of… 20 wings?” He chuckles as he brings the tube up to his lips.

Arma’s head tilts, like a dog that doesn’t understand a command.

“Wings?” she asks.

The man’s eyebrow twitches as he puffs a plume of sparkling, indigo smoke out from his mouth.

“Yeah, man. Wings? Money? Dough?” he prods.

Arma’s hands twitch awkwardly. The man clearly wants something, but… she doesn’t have… anything!

“Sorry, I don’t have anything on me. Wings, you said? Got none of those…” she answers.

The man sighs, clearly frustrated, as he flicks the side of the tube between his fingers. “Damn it, and my leaker just ran out. Figures a stowaway would be broke.” He pinches his brow, thinking for a moment. “Alright, whatever. Called my bluff. Welcome to the Atlas,” he mutters.

Arma perks up in relief. “The Atlas? Is that where we are?” she asks excitedly.

The man looks back to her, even more confused. “What the hell was your plan when you snuck on here, if you don’t even know where we are?” he asks.

“I don’t know! I have no memory of anything before waking up in that room,” she explains, before remembering… “Oh, right. I also had, like, a vision of… some god? They’re the one who raised me to life, I think.”

The man glares at Arma in disbelief.

“Okay, I think I’m going to head out. Creeping me out, dude,” he says.

Arma retorts, “Wait! I need to tell you something!” as she grabs his arm.

His expression twists with a dash of discomfort and fear. “Hey! Hands of the goods, pal!”

Arma continues, oblivious in the face of the man’s discomfort. “I think, according to what the god said, the world might be ending? End times, they called it?”

The man wrenches his arm from Arma’s hand.

“Alright, I’m actually going to pay YOU to leave me the hell alone,” he says, as he reaches into his pocket and shoves some slips of shiny parchment into Arma’s hand.

He dashes out of the alley and into the shimmering city before Arma can catch up with him. She looks down into her hand, bewildered by the encounter.

“These are "wings"…? I shouldn’t have these! These are his!” she thinks to herself. “I scared him so bad…”

Suddenly, her mind is made up.

“I have to find him, and return these wings to him!”