#apexexec

Tamiko opens her eyes. The blazing light around her makes her squeeze them shut again. A dry wind tousles her hair. She pries her eyes open again slowly.

Dry, packed earth stretches out around her, odd billows of dust rising and drifting across its surface. Wooden buildings, half-rotted, stand in rowss at either side: a schoolhouse, a sheriff’s office, the unmistakable double doors of an old-timey saloon. Farther along, in the center of the thoroughfare, is a rickety well that had probably gone dry long ago.

More important is the unusual angle of her belt, where she discovers an occupied holster. Before she can investigate further, a loud whir draws her attention.

She turns to see Monochap approaching, his usual outfit swapped for a school marm getup. His slim leather belt sinks with the weight of its own holster. He and Tamiko are a good several paces apart. Their holstered revolvers mirror each other perfectly.

“Think I got it,” she mutters. Her hands fall to her sides.

Monochap comes to a stop just a little closer, his own hands loose at his sides. The two of them stand stock still, the breeze continuing to ruffle their clothes and kick up dirt. Tamiko winces as a dust cloud crosses her face, but she doesn't dare shut her eyes.

The longer she waits, the more likely something else will come finish her off. Her odds are poor enough already, so no use pushing her luck.

She rolls her wrist. Monochap doesn’t flinch.

She seizes her gun and swings it up to aim, pulling the trigger the moment Monochap is in her sights.

Nothing happens.

The faint click of the empty revolver only just fades before a blast from across the gap overtakes it. Tamiko's grip fails, and her gun falls to the ground. She follows shortly after.

Monochap replaces his gun in its holster and steps away.

Aidan stumbles into a cockpit, the windows dark and lights flashing all around. The co-pilot seat is empty. He tries the door behind him, but it won’t open. Vague murmuring still filters in from the cabin.

A roar of thunder shakes the plane. He’s nearly knocked off his feet, flailing as another strike lights up the room. He eventually manages to stumble into the pilot seat, where he fumbles to strap himself in. Casting his glasses aside, he only gives the countless dials and displays a glance before straightening up and gripping the controls.

The plane shudders again, anything outside the windshield obscured by heavy sheets of rain. Aidan’s hands tense, and he leans in, clearly trying to pull up on the steering wheel thing. If his expression is anything to go by, it’s not moving as easily as it should.

After consulting a screen, he peers out ahead. It looks like he might be in some kind of mountain range. If he is, he’s falling fast.

It takes some deal of struggle before the plane tilts horizontal, if only for a moment. Panting, he he keeps one hand on the controls and casts his headset off to try the one hooked up to the plane. He barks something into the microphone, but it’s lost in another blast of thunder. He fumbles with buttons on the headset, but the plane starts listing again.

“Fiddlesticks!”

He focuses back in on the dashboard. Sweat trickles down his neck as he wrestles with the controls. He grits his teeth at one of the dials as another major shudder rocks the plane. Hazy edges continue to fly past the windows.

He coughs. With a wince, he suppresses a second one and continues tugging at the controls. A blinding flash of lightning sears the screen, and more warning buzzers join the chorus.

Aidan breaks down into a coughing fit that eventually subsides into strained wheezing. He strengthens his grip on the controls with one hand and reaches into his jacket with the other. His hand jabs into an empty pocket. He tries every other pocket on his person, juggling the handle between his hands the whole way, but he still comes up empty. Nothing on the floor, either—his inhaler is gone. 

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and repositions both hands on the controls. More lights are flashing, but he can’t seem to focus on any of them. Wheezing badly, he loosens his tie, but it doesn’t make a difference. The controls cease to budge. The plane is going down. 

He fumbles with his restraints, tosses the headset aside, and hurls himself at the cabin door. After several tries, he manages to unlock it and stagger into the cabin.

The seats are empty. A small cassette player secured to the floor murmurs away, but no other living person is there. He falls to his knees with a laugh-like wheeze. Several more flashes of lightning come and go before he’s able to force himself back to his feet and into the cockpit. After a couple of disoriented collisions with the walls, he collapses to the floor.

His wheezing near-silent now, he pulls himself just far enough to peer out the window. He stares so long I’m not sure if he can even tell what’s out there. More rain. Maybe ocean. 

No one in the plane, no one else around to crash into.

Just him.

Unable to even keep coughing, he feels his way around and finds the controls. He forces the plane to its highest speed as it plummets. 

The airplane gives one last massive shudder before everything goes white in a deafening crash. When it all settles, the deluge roars through cracks in the walls invisible in the darkness. Moments later, a flash of lightning illuminates the water seeping into the room and the broken body crumpled by the door.

Kurokame stands on rough wood that sweeps out in every direction. Some distance away, it curves upward into an insurmountable wall. Weak shadows fall from all angles, the circular rim high above her in complete darkness. She stands staring upward until a low thrumming noise begins to shake the frame.

A jet of steam coils around the top of the container. She doesn’t so much as flinch at the hiss—she only continues to peer upward for anything that could possibly save her. Finally, something descends with a thud. She turns to look, but it’s only a massive clump of steaming rice. More of it swiftly follows, falling onto the walls and the floor and clinging tight. She doesn’t move until one hits beside her with a splash of sticky shrapnel.

With a cry, she flings the burning rice off her scalp and stumbles away. But a layer of the rice rapidly accumulates, and soon there’s no safe place to stand. Humid heat swirls around her no matter where she attempts to retreat. The floor of rice grasps at her feet as though it were quicksand until it pulls her shoes off altogether.

“Kyaaagh!”

Her stockings are a poor shield from the heat, and sticky as the fresh clumps are, they’re no less slippery. She struggles to stay atop the rising rice level, half-swimming, half-climbing on her feet and hands and knees. More burning bits cling to her as she goes, but she can’t afford to stop and shake them away.

The onslaught ceases. Kurokame collapses a moment, keeping as much of herself out of the rice as possible. Her hands, feet, and anything else uncovered is scorched badly and turning redder by the moment. But she has little intention of giving up so long as she’s still breathing.

After her moment’s respite, a dribble of bright red liquid begins to pour in. With a soft splash, it stains the rice in a growing patch but doesn’t appear to pose any more threat than anything else. She still keeps away from the stream as she struggles to pull herself up again. 

The exertion and burns have clearly sapped her strength, and she can hardly do more than slip around. Despite the mass of rice beneath her now, the top of the wall remains far from her reach.

She tries anyway.

Straining for the only exit in sight, her damp hair clinging to her neck as the heat continues to eat away at her skin, she doesn’t seem to register the sudden quiet, nor the wide shadow falling over her.

Her hand still reaches for the sky as the great mochi hammer falls with a sickening crunch.

The screen shows Otoya upright but not standing, his back pressed up against some kind of large, wooden circle. Steel binds his wrists and ankles, and, despite his best efforts to twist and turn, he can’t break free. Wood creaks behind him with the strain, but it refuses to crack.

A cold sweat is already visible on his brow as he turns his gaze forward. Aside from a watercolored blur of a murmuring crowd that wraps around him like a coliseum, the only other thing in sight is Monochap approaching him. Otoya struggles to get away, but it accomplishes nothing. Monochap just steps right up and, with his remaining arm, seizes Otoya’s jacket and rips it off at the seams. With an even greater surge of panic twisting his features, he thrashes wildly, but all he can do is dig dents into his wrists and slam his head back into the wood. 

Meanwhile, Monochap, unperturbed by the desperation, lets the torn jacket drift to the ground as he withdraws something from his apron. It’s a giant brush, its tip already stained and dripping red. Otoya’s pathetic squirming barely affects the lines as Monochap paints careful concentric circles that spread out from the center of his chest. Otoya shivers as the robot backs away.

Monochap puts a seemingly arbitrary distance between them before coming to a sudden stop. A lever springs out of the dusty ground, and Monochap slams it sideways with a loud ratcheting noise. A creak echoes through the arena, then the wooden circle starts to rotate. Otoya looks sicker than ever as he’s turned upside-down, and back up, and down again, and back around...

Struggling for breath, he watches Monochap reach into the apron again and withdraw a few shining fountain pens that seem a bit sharper than necessary. Without further ado, Monochap winds up and flings one at Otoya, but it embeds itself into the wood just above his right shoulder. Otoya lets out a breath, but the robot throws another pen—thunk—that lands above his left hand. More pens fly at Otoya, making him flinch every time, but none hit. 

Then boos begin to filter in from the blurred crowd. Monochap frowns before reaching into his apron again to put on a blindfold. The crowd cheers. Armed with a fresh trio of pens, Monochap twirls before hurling all three at once.

Otoya can do nothing as they beeline for his eye, neck, and chest. Before he can blink, blood is spurting from all three.

At least he doesn’t have much time to scream.

Mary Jane stands in a greenhouse. She frowns at the ceiling, but she shakes it off and begins to wander the aisles. Bushes, vines, and flowers—some planted and others in pots—stand in neat rows. She toys with a sweet potato vine for a minute before making her way towards the walls. There’s only one door. She steps over to it.

Humming and brushing her fingers along any leaves and petals in range, she doesn’t notice the trip wire until it strikes her foot. She tumbles rather spectacularly, but it doesn’t perturb her much. She just stares at the ceiling with both legs sticking up. Only when smoke begins to curl around her does she get moving again.

A trickle of sweat runs down her temple as she rolls onto all fours and springs to her feet. With a sudden dull roar, flames lick at the sweet potato vine she held moments ago. The fire spreads fast, much faster than it should be able to. She grasps at the chest of her sweater through her sleeves. After taking another minute to orient herself, she locates the door again. 

“I can make it!”

She starts for the door, and the flames swell higher. More sweat slicks the back of her neck. She tries to shove her sweater sleeves up her arms. They won’t stay up. The screen grows hazy with smoke, but she’s audibly gasping for breath. By the time she thinks to pull her turtleneck over her mouth, the fire has made it to the door.

She makes one last sprint for it. Coughing and sputtering, she reaches for the little metal handle. The heat is enough to make her flinch even through the fabric of her sleeve, but the handle turns. She manages a little cry of relief among the struggling for breath and launches herself through the doorway.

Her feet meet air, and she can only flail for a moment before she goes tumbling down. The sheer rocks of a mountainside fly past her, but she still tries to grasp them. They’re too far to reach.

She crashes headfirst into a stone ledge far below.