A Sordid Story of Blood & Fluff

15: Extraction

Powder didn't know how it was even possible that she had tears left to cry at this point, but they bubbled up unusually hot, almost like her body was telling her it was getting to the end of her supply and she needed to shut it down, quick.

Scotch helped out there. Whether he knew it or not, he magically corked her crying when he pulled her into an embrace so tight the tears probably couldn't squeeze through their ducts.

Around them the clamors of fighting rang out with blades tearing through fabric and connecting with wires, wood, and the furnishings around the room. Slowly the sounds diminished to those of dragging, scratching, and small rolling objects.

"It's almost over," Scotch said. Powder's left ear was against his neck and listening to Scotch's voice box—those things considered valuable enough that the M would have them salvaged from every proto—like how Bittersweet was doing right now with Cross' neck, snapping threads to pull it out.

Mint had driven a dozen small hodgepodges into a corner. He shouted to Scotch.

"We need to take Powder to Madame! Now!"

"Would the M know more about this than Bourbon or Pop?" Scotch asked.

"Of course!" Mint waved his single shear in the direction of a few unsubdued protos, ones whose useless arms looked like stuffed pantyhose.

"But she's terrified of Cross. If she refused to come and help us here, why would she be any different up there?"

"She was more fearful of him in the other body," said Bittersweet, stepping up behind Scotch's back. He looked down at Powder as though she were the proto whose head he held by the matted hair. "When dealing with extraction it's all the same to her. A spirit's a spirit."

"Alright, let's go." Scotch said this more to Powder than to the others. Powder could barely relinquish her hold. When they stood apart she stared at all of her blood that was smeared on him like a hasty paint job. Truthfully, she hadn't lost too much in the scuffle with Cross, but it was the stuff she threw up in the hall earlier that really haunted her. Had it been cups? Pints? Hopefully a lot of it had been stomach juices mixed in...

Scotch pulled her off the table. Powder stood on her feet well enough, but she bent in half, feeling like the more she straightened, the more she would widen the gash at her navel.

"We should hurry," Mint said, ushering them to the back door Bittersweet had used. "I don't know how fast a spirit can claim a body. We also don't know if other stronger protos have been attracted by the noise we made."

He looked to Bittersweet, who had finished flushing out the protos that had been too weak to fight and was now picking up the miniature doll Scotch had discovered and looking it over.

"Did you really see a doll's back split open like that?" Mint asked him.

"Yes." Bittersweet stuffed another voice box into his pocket and tucked the little doll under one arm.

All together they left that miserable, dark junk room and hurried up a staircase. Bittersweet led the way and Mint brought up the rear, turning from time to time to make sure any following protos were at a safe distance. Powder could walk better than she had hoped but Scotch kept one arm around her to guide her through the halls and up stairs, or maybe just to keep her from falling over. Her ankle that had been tied up was sore and wobbly. Urgency increased Powder's speed at every turn. There were no arms inside of her to hold back the writhing entity that was reaching for her heart, her throat, her brain...

Something appeared ahead of them in the hall. A street and a parking garage. It was the same place she had seen in the last production. Powder blinked at the two black cars and they disappeared. She was now only looking at the back of Bittersweet as he led them to a door far ahead that had a light beaming out from the bottom. But then the cars reappeared and Powder saw someone stepping out of one; a pretty and well-groomed woman. She came close to Powder's face and said something she couldn't hear. Powder halted – she almost ran into one of the black cars. The prickly vapor rushed up beneath her skull and into her eye sockets.