Temples to the new gods rose above the old, making their place far above the brume. Opalescent towers watched her, their aloof guards skimming about their windows, flying without wings. She could feel them whirring in her skull, same as they poisoned everyone else’s.
Neither the gods nor their guards could claim her. They may thrum their songs in her head but she would not follow them, and they could not follow her. In the ugly world of neon and noisy pseudo-humanity discretion was her most valued asset.
The gods were synthetic dangers, their believers little more than drones, viewing much and seeing little. Anonymous and plain she slipped among their worshipers, enveloping herself in the odious crowds and their crafted eyes. The blade against her palm, the inert metal cold, was singular and simple under her control. A human and a tool. Separate and pure.
Unlike him. She would not call it a man, a amalgamation of technology and flesh throbbing against each other, but he looked like one. Today she would leave no emblem or sign. Those would come later and not from her. They’d not told her why this misshapen should die; only that is was necessary. It was not for her to ask. A sword did not question its wielder.
Two stumbling steps after her knife ruptured reinforced organs the abomination died, eyes fading to glass on the bridge’s pavement. The drones around her screamed and the guards above them dove. A quick vault and she was over the railing plummeting.
She caught the edge of the next bridge, the augmented tendons in her shoulder’s straining. A real human would have died, arms broken and pulped against wherever they’d landed. She pulled herself up over the second bridge. The people here shrank back and then parted before as she ran.