Page 30 of Skyn (After the End #3)

It’s All Made Up

By the end of the night, the council has already distributed the bonuses, for our sector, and we’ve been ushered into a smaller venue for what they’re calling an “open session.”

“In the spirit of transparency, Sector Two has a tradition of keeping council meetings open. Though they’ve never had quite this much attendance.

” Council member in resplendent red eyes circle the room.

The place is packed, restless. “So uh… Thank you all for your civic engagement,” he says with polished irony.

The atmosphere shifts the moment Ben’s brother stands. Micheal’s movements are smooth but coiled tight with malice.

“Iku, make your case.” Red councilmember said.

“As you know,” Michael begins, “the current line of succession goes from my loving father to my brave brother and then to me.” He pauses—just long enough to make sure the weight of his words lands.

“But, lately, my brother, Ben, has behaved in ways that endanger our society. I’d like to introduce a motion for a vote of non compos mentis for Ben Iku. ”

The room doesn’t erupt in gasps like some overwrought radiocast drama. No, this has the slow, sour scent of something expected. There’s a shifting of bodies, a murmur beneath the surface. This isn’t news. This is harvest. They’ve been planting these seeds for months.

My heart sinks. Ben may not even stand a chance.

“But not to worry,” Michael continues, wearing the smuggest smirk I’ve ever wanted to punch off a face, “the company has other capable leaders who understand that the future of Sector Two depends on steady hands. With Lily—whose family oversees lifesaving medical centers and weapons of defense—by my side, we’re unstoppable. ”

Council members exchange glances. A few subtle nods. All except Ben’s grandfather, whose out-of-date mods creak and clank as he pushes himself to the front of the table. He looks like something dragged up from the ashes, not the head of a dynasty.

“My son, rest his soul, chose my successor,” he says. “And he has chosen correctly. Or should we examine all our behavior from thirty years ago?”

The room stills.

“Grandfather—” Michael tries, but the old man cuts him off.

“Be that as it may, Ben isn’t a young man anymore. In fact, he was the youngest to undergo the dampener protocol in our history. He doesn’t have that excuse.

“Still,” the old man says, voice wheezing but sharp, “a vote of non compos mentis requires two close character witnesses. And it can’t be you,” he says, staring directly at Michael, “or anyone else on the council.”

A flicker of hope flares in me.

Michael doesn’t miss a beat. “We anticipated that,” he says smoothly. “I’d like to invite Joshua M. to speak on his encounters with Ben Iku.”

Josh?

My heart drops through the floor. I thought he came for us. I thought he came for me. Why do I never anticipate the twist of his knife until it’s already buried?

He slithers up to the front like he’s just been handed a winning lottery ticket. He looks out of place—so wrong here—and yet so convinced he belongs. He coughs into the mic, eyes cast downward like he’s doing us all the favor of his humility.

“Thank you for letting me speak my truth,” he says, his voice thick with that soft, sour tone of mock sincerity. “I’m sorry to shock you all, but Fawl has always been…well, a bit sexually deviant.”

His eyes skim the room, checking for reactions. He’s playing a role—again. Trying to steal the only dream I’ve ever had—again.

“During our…yearly intercourse,” he says, the room tensing at the phrase, “she’d ask for bizarre things. Hair pulling, nipple play, even…biting. So, when I realized she’d offered herself up as a skin bride to Ben, I was nervous.”

Beside me, Ben shifts—tenses. His body trembles with rage. I press my hand to his hip, silently begging him not to rise, not yet. Let them show themselves. Let them dig their own graves.

Josh’s voice keeps going, dripping with implication, casting me as something grotesque and depraved.

And then he doubles down.

“I first saw Fawl aboveground at a restaurant in the half city. She was being rushed to the hospital with bite marks on her shoulder. I commed her constantly to see if she was okay. But Ben picked up. He invited himself over for dinner. And once we were sitting, he started some kind of sick ritual. Began with her finger. I told him I didn’t want that in my house.

And then—Ben admitted to cannibalistic behavior, which, as you know, was outlawed in the new constitution over seventy years ago. ”

Josh shuffles his notes for effect. His hands shake just enough to look vulnerable, honest.

Ben shoots to his feet. Josh flinches like he’s been struck. I grip Ben’s arm, digging in, begging with my eyes. Not yet. He sits down slowly.

Across the room, Lily beams. Her arm is looped through Michael’s like the show’s already over, and she’s taking her curtain call. Her eyes flick toward Ben, gleaming with smug satisfaction.

“I think Fawl may be a victim of his twisted desires,” Josh adds. “She’s confused. But I can get her the help she needs.”

The room goes ghostly.

The council—numbed by their own dampeners—can’t show shock. But silence is its own indictment.

Michael clears his throat. “My second witness is Ben’s former fiancée, Lily.”

“Isn’t she on the council?” I blurt out.

“Not yet,” Ben says quietly. “But marrying me—or Michael—would secure her a seat in the next few years.”

Lily glides to the front of the room with practiced reluctance, all soft footsteps and wounded grace.

“I was involved with Ben for three years,” she begins, her voice just above a whisper, fragile and elegant. “And it was…difficult.”

Michael rubs her back. “It’s okay,” he says softly.

She nods. And I hold down the bile rising in my throat.

These people make me sick.

“Ben started off lovely, but he became increasingly obsessed with skin. It made me feel…less than a woman. When his family tried to provide him with a skin bride, since they aid people in slaking their baser desires, I hoped it might help, but instead…”

“These are lies,” Ben seethes under his breath beside me. I feel the tension radiating from his body, a tight coil ready to snap.

“Instead, he married her. Making her a legal heir to the Iku fortune, along with whatever unmodded, barefoot children they have—your next Ikus. He’s medically unsound. It’s disturbing, really.”

The room freezes. Every sound—every breath—seems to vanish. Lily hit the exact right button, and she knows it.

“Ben, do you have any character witnesses on your behalf?” Someone from the board asks, almost disinterested.

Ben straightens. “My wife.”

The council member doesn’t even blink. “Your wife can’t testify. Anyone else?”

Of course, he has no one else. The silence that follows is devastating. Every gaze in the room dips away, human and cybernetic alike. They’re all cowards.

Then, to my surprise, Dru stands. “I can be a witness,” she says in her shaky voice.

She looks like a woman desperately trying to disappear even as she forces herself forward.

Josh pulls at her wrist, and she jerks away.

There are purplish bruises on her upper arms, and I see her for what she is now: beautiful, yes, but also a woman with limited choices—just like I was.

She’s making her own choice now.

“I was at the same dinner as Josh, and Ben was nothing but a gentleman. Josh insulted him, provoked him, and Ben showed remarkable restraint.” Dru, in her rusting décolletage and dowdy sequined dress--a shadow of her former self. She wraps the scarf around her chest and waits.

Michael’s laugh slices through the room. “So…one. Is that all?”

Dru falters, her bravery flickering out as quickly as it came.

She’s crushed, retreating from the podium like a gambler who backed the wrong racing bot.

Josh yanks her down, and I fear for what her evening will bring.

This could’ve been me, I think. There is nothing more dangerous than a disillusioned man and a bottle of palm wine.

“Thank you, Drusilla,” Ben says, standing slowly, as if giving the room time to realize what’s happening. He buttons his blazer, his eyes scanning the space. “So, you’re all in agreement then?”

“Society depends on the Iku to reap. If its architect fails…” The council member lets the sentence trail off.

“What if I can?” Ben says evenly.

A figure rises from the back of the room—grimy apron still stained, eyes burning. It’s the shopkeeper from the market. The one who sent me here.

“You think that matters?” he spits. “You metal bastards think promises mean something now?” His voice climbs, ragged and furious.

“You poisoned the meat! You wrecked the food lines, and now no one trusts the supply chain. You’re killing people who can’t fight back.

What good is a perfect society if none of us ever get to see it? ”

Gasps and claps ripple through the chamber.

The shopkeeper meets my eyes and nods once, solemn.

He needs to know where I stand in all of this.

I raise my hand to my forehead and twist an invisible helmet light—I see you.

A gesture older than all of us, born in the mines where words failed and light meant everything.

For those who know a riot of applause fans through the crowd.

“The food was too far. Too far!” The shopkeeper shouts, voice cracking as he points a trembling finger at Ben. “You’re corrupt, and you poisoned us.”

Before anyone can stop him, he plunges a hand into his pocket and yanks out something wet—reddish, glistening, and grotesque. A pulpy mass of rotting MEAT, sloughing apart in his fingers.

He hurls it.

The sludge smacks Ben squarely across the temple with a sickening splat. Chunks of decomposing flesh slide down the side of his face, catch in his collar, and ooze along the pristine line of his cuffs, leaving streaks of gore and rancid stink in their wake.

The chamber recoils as one, a gasp rising like bile.