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They Shall Breathe Ashes

They Shall Breathe Ashes, the famous assassin, has always worked alone.

The powerful don’t kill their opponents: succession engenders chaos, and stability is their ally. They merely need you to know they could kill you, and when They is on retainer, everyone knows. In the long afternoon of her career, she commands the wealth of nations for a handshake and a long slow smile.

The wealth of nations is cool. And hot. But it is not warm.

Banked embers can still burn you, and a hand once burned is ever after shy. They Shall Breathe Ashes never lets her fire die.

Jake

On average, Jake lives to be 78.  Heart disease will get him if cancer doesn’t, and that’s assuming he doesn’t try carrying a pizza one-handed on a motorcycle again. On the other side most of his quanta coalesce, though outlier death-selves loiter translucently. The younger ones all have stupid hair.

Eventually the Jake plurality runs across a very faint apparition, from a solitary worldline. Only he lived to be a hundred and one.

“Did you keep up the lifework?” they ask him. “Did you finish? Was it worth it?”

“What work?” says Jake, pointing to his neck. “I pulled a Carradine.”

Miss Chamuel

The place where Regen is trapped is a manifestation of perfect order. There is no change, no entropy: his fellow prisoners labor forever, pointless tasks their prison. They want badly to keep him there too.

Miss Chamuel is an agent of chaos, her wolf a roaring fury, her sword a flaming brand. They throw everything in her path, stone and steel and creatures of nightmare, but though she bleeds they cannot stand before her.

Regen is terrified, shaking, but not surprised. He expected this from the moment they met. For a good teacher, saving your life is part of the job.

Alex

His eyes are shot; his arm is broken; the magic has left them all. But Alex takes a stance from eidetic memory and snarls:

“I know kung fu.”

Quan-Ti, immortal, hesitates.

Behind Alex, Amadeus Faust steps out from nothing and opens his femoral arteries with a circular blade. In the cage, the Chosen Ones scream.

A snap of the cloak; the sorcerers vanish. Alex, on his elbows, crawls toward the lever that opens the door. His face is white-green, his blood an empty bucket. He gets a grip with one hand. Then the other.

His body pulls it down.

Xue Si

A ghost that has forgotten its name has no hope of ever resting; most of them grow quieter than whispers as the centuries grind down.

But some grow louder.

Xue Si holds her candle tight as a foul and arctic wind turns its flame to streamer. “I can give you a new name!” she yells. “I can give you silence and peace!”

What a kind offer, says the wind, sharpening into teeth and tongues and cruel laughter. The next word you say will name me!

Xue Si opens her mouth. All that comes out is the tearing sound of rotten silk.

Stephanie

“Setting lasers to stun!!” Damon texts to Stephanie, which is his extremely sophisticated code to say they’re watching Next Generation high. She wipes away the message and switches context back to her spreadsheet. She realizes she’s typed EIGHT YEARS in the “phone number” field.

Is real life allowed to be this trite? Working late in a cube with a glass ceiling, avoiding coming home to someone who can’t shed his puppy skin. Stephanie’s got a two hundred dollar bag with an empty notebook in it. When was the last time she came up with a metaphor?

Backspace, backspace. Roll your eyes.

Kip

It’s warm in the bowels of the spaceship, too warm, and dripping coolant makes the floor vulnerary. The only light comes from their comms.

“Cyclometer’s ticking up,” says Kip. “We could run into another cyclom any sec–”

It bursts from the vent above, a screaming alien blur of talons and gravlax, and Taran limns the fuck out of it with her thundering logogriph. Alkaline blood paints the corridor.

“Nevus Christ!” cries Kip, shielding his face from the susurrus.

“Oh, sack up and suppurate the body before it can recalesce,” grumbles Taran. “We didn’t join the Hamartia Corps for the retirement plan.”

Buscemi

The first outbreaks of buscemitis hit Miami hard; frantic dermatologists try to establish a link to sun damage, to Botox, to anything. None of it sticks. The only characteristic all the victims share is two X chromosomes.

There’s no cure. Experimental hepburnigrafting is only a topical treatment, and really no better than sunglasses. It spreads, leaping oceans, with cases in France, Estonia and Egypt (Buscemiless, they call it “Mubarak’s Legacy”).

The HBO gangster show gets pulled. Deep in his cups and the Trees Lounge replica in his basement, Buscemi watches the news with eyes like the soul of the world.

Buster

Heat kicks Buster like a boot and he falls back, unable to reach the cherry-red engine door. The other engineer is dead or unconscious, and all Buster can see is tomorrow’s headline over pictures of wreck and ruin: Runaway Train.

Steel wheels scream as they take the turn along the canyon edge, and then Buster sees him. Impossible. An old wrangler, standing alone beside the tracks–

Chad leans back, lariat singing, and as his long and perfect cast settles over the smokestack he digs in his heels to stop the damn thing for good.

It does not work at all.

Stoop

“Write what you feel,” says the counselor, so Stoop sits down and writes a story about a pretty smart guy who had a hobby of toying with beautiful fractals and okay, maybe he switched to freelance to have more time to pursue it and then maybe he stopped doing freelance but it was temporary, but then he failed to budget for food and rent so the landlord had him dragged fighting from his filthy chair in front of the slowly turning recursive helix which is when his sister got him into this program with a counselor who says “write what you–“