TUNEThe rain was good. The first few drops had already restored a little bit of my strength. I fumbled with my suit, untangling the silver Spindle from my belt.
It began to pour. A thousand icy needles falling from the gray sky made everything look white. Through my helmet visor, almost nothing was visible, and had I been an actual human, the rain would’ve been a huge disadvantage.
Of course, I wasn't human. None of us were. Through the pouring rain, I could hear the resounding cheers from my brothers and sisters. The rain meant fewer risks of losing people on the job. It was never easy hunting down Foundlings, but when it rained, we get stronger, faster, and we always win.
It was our instruments of course, that made us this way. The irony of it all was that Foundlings strive on sunlight or heat, where as we have always thrived in the dark and cold. We were supposed to be doing this for the good of humanity, but we were always misinterpreted, misjudged. Every now and then, the humans catch a glimpse of us, a dark shadowy figure—they were afraid of us, but humans were notorious for fearing the unknown.
The Foundling before me was a man. He was tall, with dark hair and white skin. I suddenly wondered if he was handsome to humans. To me though, his long body was distorted, breaking into pieces and reforming, like watching a broken video. His face was unrecognisable and his movements were jittery but he was fast. With one quick swoop, he had closed a great deal of distance between us. He swung his arms over his head—he was intending to knock me down.
I pivoted to the side, quickly making moves to jab the spindle, which was a long fork-like device, into its body. It jittered just then, breaking into pieces and reforming in an instant. I gritted my teeth and when I saw it stretch its elongated arm, I braced myself. Its arm came quickly, hitting me in the stomach and knocking out the air from me. I stumbled and rolled back to my side, managing to dodge its next attack. It jittered again, and I counted the seconds, like I had been trained. I waited until he jittered back and reformed and snapped into action. I slipped the Spindle between its ribs and the second I did, it crumbled and its mouth gaped, letting out a silent scream before turning to ash.
I watched it chip away as the rain water tore through it, leaving nothing but the mud and dirt. I looked around. The whiteness of the rain had faded. We stood in the middle of a grassy plain, which was part of the city’s park. It was clear now and the rain had slowed. I could see my brothers and sisters, who were all clad in suits and helmets and belts as I was. All of them had their Spindles in hand.
Tonight, we were victorious. We marched towards each other, wordlessly checking if any of us were injured.
We held each other’s shoulder, a gesture we had picked up from the humans many years ago, and went our separate ways. I walked away slowly, lifting my gaze to the dark sky. The rain and turned into a drizzle. I gathered what little rain water was left into my palm and thanked it. I marched onward, letting my instruments shift back into its disguise. I was girl, twelve with dark hair and black eyes.
Our instruments made us look like people, but in truth we looked nothing like them. In this day and age, my brothers and sisters have adopted ways to blend in with the world in order to hunt Foundlings. Foundlings themselves have the habit of adapting their appearance to those that bore hatred and corruption. It was no shock that they mostly took the form of humans.
Foundlings spread anger and resentment. They cause chaos and unbalance and in turn, create a vile noise that resounds in all those who feel anger and hatred. My brothers and sisters and I were here to control that, to eliminate as much noise as we can.
Foundlings cause unrest, and disharmony and we aim to tune the world and its inhabitants, to create peace and balance. In order to do that, we bear arms to those of hatred and corruption. We will cleanse the surface of the world and rid it of its stains of hatred and corruption. Only then can humanity find true harmony.
I took a step forward into the street, letting the pitter patter of drizzling rainwater sooth me and cleanse me free from inhuman scars and bruises.
In the old language, we were called the Children of Storms, but even for us, it sounded old and conceited. For official purposes, we were called Conductors.
That's all I wrote! Anyway, I shall be updating this blog with some art and Comic related news very soon!