The Justiceers - Part Four: Chapter Seven
the next chapter of my forthcoming novel
The Justiceers
by Daphne Garrido
Part Three: The Will to Choose
Part Four: Prefinished Business
4.7
“Shut the fuck up! What did I just tell you, bitch!"
Alan was screaming again, the drunk — perhaps a catch long ago, he still thought himself quite the specimen — yet that’d fall apart when he’d try to be alluring and one if his eyes would go half-squinty like the ‘retarded fuck’ he was.
Miriam Lightfoot was surround by a company of imbeciles.
This cretin had been terrorizing the drudges again, itself a common pastime of Miriam these days, and not of the slightest concern. Those women were meant for such.
The problem was only that it’d been spreading to levels beyond her control, and nothing was acceptable on The Valkyrie except compliance. Alan had been warned, the problem was starting with his terrors so public and brash, spreading habit through the other Furies.
Alan had failed her, having looked her in the face and told her a lie; forgiveness was not a weakness abided upon The Valkyrie.
This was the last straw, she decided it then, she’d airlock ‘the cunt’.
She’d seen him crying behind that thickest pane of polyethene, boasting such anger above his hurt, so much ego in the lie. The Miriam of old would’ve felt bad for the idiot, seeing the spark of light so buried inside the hatred wrought into this man by the galaxy, but Lightfoot was licking it from her spoon.
His last words would not be heard — the airlock dimming them to silence — Miriam’s voice had become his own in the end, commanding her sentence through the projection squib she’d installed for this very purpose.
Miriam Lightfoot had told the man in plainest words.
“May your soul rest in hell.”
Council was required with The Master, ways a mystery of The Valkyrie.
His consciousness embedded within the auric presence of The Spinal Ark, ever surrounding its platform of most unnatural design — suspended above the ship’s Feasting Pit, in the uppermost bowels of this living fortress in the stars — speaking only to those chosen few alone who would not be cast into its depths.
No one spoke to The Master but Miriam — there was not a single soul who’d dare — if he’d not kill them himself, she would.
She’d fucked many people to death right here, a favorite pastime.
To bring someone to the heights they’d so sought with her, as did all on this fair craft, then witness their pleasures turn to horror as they took the plunge, would be the only time Miriam still knew herself connected to people — feeling the burn of their hurt so not her own.
The surging of pain was of most great clarity to Miriam, to feel their injured hearts in her chest, it allowed her to feel a sadness through her rage. To sense their love and then rip it to shreds, these women and men falling to their deaths, they’d hurt like little children.
In the aftermath, she’d hold onto that feeling, taking her to bed at night. These were the only moments of doubt Miriam would feel in her found ways of terror. When the softness embedded inside the horror she’d created in others made way into herself, finding reflection in her own hurt inner child striking out through their fury, wondering why it was she did the things she’d do; whatever had broken her so.
Miriam would love those little boys and girls, in their shattered purity — somehow more than anything else she’d feel in this darkest form — even once to recognize a strangest remembrance from one, within impressions remembered from her own childhood.
It had always been the most precious feeling she’d ever known.
Miriam needed a fuck, and she’d get one — that was not what she’d planned to hear from The Master.
He’d told her more of ‘that bitch’ and her Artimus.
What a joke it was to prolong this endless struggle, The Master always demanding they keep on, how helpless they were in the face of ‘that twat’s’ wit, something in her unknown ways always managing to transcend Miriam’s own.
The Artimus had defeated Miriam Lightfoot’s forces at every misstep of their journey forward through time, so often seeming to peer ahead, casting injury of spirit with each loss suffered by her cruelest hands fate. Every time, The Valkyrie would burn another world in recompense.
She’d turn the tables, what Admanium told her this night would change things.
The Master was of great knowledge in this universe, a devil, a god, a being from beyond the beyond. Their wisdom was foresight of the highest order, vision of all creation’s fabric, manipulating everything through their will.
He was the only to hold Miriam’s affections, her only submission, the one she’d call her liege. His insights always teaching such paths of cruelty, crafting most devious plots of harm, whispering lies to make her fierce in their execution.
What Miriam Lightfoot didn’t know, despite her own intuitions ignored on the matter, was that Admanium would only tell her exactly what it was she wanted to hear.
this is the song :)
also, sorry this is so fucked up... idk wtf is going on