The Winter Purge

By M.L. Lloyd

What happened one night in 2739 when seven million LaPortans met a fiery death? Lena Sage is tasked with restoring the illustrious name of LaPorte Industries after this global calamity called the Winter Purge. She must lead while ignoring her nagging suspicions that she is being punished by the same company she has served loyally for over 700 years. Lena is a tangler of the twisted tongue, an enhanced immortal human designed to be formidable in the art of sales and persuasions. The company is floundering with their primary product for sustaining immortality, the SDS System, continually offline for safety testing since the Winter Purge. The SDS system cures many ailments of immortality, most notably the symptoms of Expiration Fever. Customers are demanding Lena switch the cure for mortality back online; however, only its enigmatic founder, LaPorte, can make that happen. Unfortunately, LaPorte has been unsubscribed for decades and is currently unreachable for comment. Undeterred, the loyal Lena Sage continues to sing out her company’s cheery propaganda of false immortality promises to the masses. At the same time, she stews in private about how long she must serve in this impossible task. When a precocious reporter comes sniffing for Lena’s answers on the company’s current demise, a journey is sparked through time and space. Lena will be forced to face the truth about her storied past while bringing prosperity to the faltering society that depends on LaPorte Industries to remain immortal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.L. Lloyd
• Release date: May 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9780228853268

M.L. Lloyd

M.L. Lloyd lives in British Columbia. He is currently writing three stories for publication over the next three years. The next book, Murder at the Airbnb on Verano, will be released in 2022.

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The Winter Purge

M. L. Lloyd

The Winter Purge

Copyright © 2021 by M. L. Lloyd

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

97-8-0228-85324-4 (Hardcover)

978-0-2288-5325-1 (Paperback)

978-0-2288-5326-8 (eBook)

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

Prologue

To an immortal goddess, the cold hand of death is swiftly replaced with a hard slap to the face by an unforgiving God. Wake up, child, a grumpy soul whines at me. My fluttery eyes open to look upon the most beautiful person I have ever seen. The radiant glow from this deity shines like a neutron star.

I’m sorry, I say with an affectionate giggle moving my hand up to block the intense light. I must be making a fool of myself.

God points at my shoulder with two stiff fingers. Do you know who you are? the Bright Soul asks of me.

Not the foggiest, I answer, looking down my body, seeing myself quite different than before. I used to be male, I utter despondently.

That’s because you were, but that truth is no longer, the Bright Soul says, staring down with a disparaging scowl. He took reckless actions against the whole house!

You’re speaking nonsense, I say with a sassy sneer. Plus, I don’t know what you are talking about. I shrug my shoulders, noticing a gangly dapper-dan figure entering the room. Dapper Dan hands over a display to the Bright Soul, which is snatched rudely from his hands.

Why are you bringing this treasonous soul back to the Afterlife? Dapper-Dan asks with a cringe on his face when he scans me from head to toe.

She’s got rare perks, that’s why, the Bright Soul says with a cheeky smile. Dapper Dan glances at the panel next to the chair I’m situated in. Not much left in her head after that last purge, he remarks with wide eyes.

What are you two talking about? I ask them both politely, only to be soundly ignored.

She isn’t ready for this. You removed too much, Dapper Dan scolds, his head still staring down at the screen. She’s just a mush head!

I removed that which had grown poisonous and foul, the Bright Soul says, followed by a booming laugh. She’s only minus six hundred years of Afterlife.

And you made him a woman? Dapper Dan gasps, looking over at the Bright Soul for more profound insight.

Not just a woman, the Bright Soul says with a wink, an expensive deity, no less. The Bright Soul cups my chin to gaze into my eyes. I feel intimidated by these two odd fellows but perhaps thankful if they have spared my life. I’m so confused and conflicted inside to render a healthy verdict on my situation. The Bright Soul drops his hand in apparent disgust, turning to walk away. My God appears disappointed with me.

Did my last carnation die? I ask them, covering my mouth in shock. I caress the supple skin of my cheeks that is soft to the touch.

Yes, your previous soul expired, and we had to roll you back to fix the damage, the Bright Soul explains in a boorish tone.

Oh my, I say, feeling queasy from the heavy-handed news.

"Look, you’ll be fine, Miss— the Bright Soul says to then pause on a reflecting thought. What’s her name?" the Bright Soul asks, turning to face Dapper Dan.

I’ll check the registry, Dapper Dan says, exiting the room.

Anyways, how would you like to be the winner of the next Most Exquisite Husk Contest? the Bright Soul asks me with spirited and sparkling eyes.

Oh, my Goddesses, who wouldn’t? I gush.

All you have to do is locate someone, the Bright Soul says with a slight shoulder shrug, implying it’s an easy job.

Like a sleuth? I ask, confidently nodding my head. For what purpose?

Intel, my dear, the Bright Soul says with an incurious laugh. A wise soul once said that you might have to throw a grenade under the apple carts if you wish to get noticed.

Grenades? I repeat with a gasp. "I’m no revolutionary—I’m a writer."

It’s a metaphor, my dear, calm down, the Bright Soul tells me, placing a cold hand on my shoulder. I need answers from a particular person.

Why me? I ask, raising my shoulders. What makes me so special?

Look at your husk, dear. You’re a rare commodity, the Bright Soul says, leading me with a hand to where I may scan upon my reflection. I walk in front of a full-sized mirror to stare adoringly at my ringlets of lemony locks. The Bright Soul didn’t lie as I am captivating to behold. Plus, you have infused perks giving you a keen talent for gleaning information.

The Bright Soul hands me a display showing my arrangement of perks, but I don’t give a damn. Is someone going to get me some clothes? I holler, tossing the display aside. Immediately, a thin body Twerk enters with an arrangement of garments, which I promptly dart towards. The many vibrantly coloured fabrics draw my attention.

Miss! the Bright Soul says sternly. We need to discuss your mission.

My mission? I question. I’ve just carnated. Doesn’t a girl get a break?

Dapper Dan re-enters the room. This is a bad idea, he says promptly. Her mind is like mush with what’s been removed. Dapper Dan points rudely at me with his thumb.

She’ll do the task, the Bright Soul says with puckered lips at Dapper Dan. Won’t cha? the Bright Soul asks, turning back to gaze at me like a faithful mutt. I pay Bright Soul no visual display of response because these clothes have me captivated.

Collect Intel and get elevated in ascension with the winning of the Most Exquisite Husk Contest, I understand fully, I tell them both at the same time, not looking in their direction after being repeatedly slandered.

She told you, she’s fine! the Bright Soul sings out flamboyantly to Dapper Dan.

So, what’s my target? I ask while trying on the silkiest marigold gown I’ve ever laid my fingertips on.

Josie Sage, Dapper Dan says scornfully. I simply shrug my shoulders again, unaware of this soul. Like a fine glove, I insert myself in the dress and press down gently along all my shapely curves. "Miss Mayhem—you don’t even recall the Blazon Beauty?" Dapper Dan inquires, staring back at the Bright Soul with shocking eyes. I pick up my display while those two bicker about boorishly nonsensical topics and start typing the target’s name. The screen flashes crimson immediately, and these two nitwits must be aware of this oversight.

Josie Sage is dead, I tell them, holding the display up high. She perished fifty-three years ago in some calamity called the Winter Purge.

The truth is that Josie Sage survived, Dapper Dan says with a raised eyebrow and a confirming head nod. "She was damaged and has been on ICE for decades with a soul fracture. Yesterday, she awoke from her artic slumber into a fresh flaxen hair husk with stylish pink tips. Apparently, the fickle Miss Sage wasn’t happy with her choice and stormed out of the Eckhardt facility in an enraged huff. She’s been missing ever since, and Miss Mayhem is hard to locate when she refuses to broadcast."

So, locate her first and then— I say, pausing to think of my next words. Well, what do you want from this Josie Sage?

Just locate her without getting hurt, the Bright Soul whispers, coming up close to my ear. This deity appears aggravated, pulling back to clench those perfect teeth. And then find out everything the bitch can remember! is growled out, giving me a shiver up my spine.

Now, you weaponize if need be, Dapper Dan instructs with a firm finger to my face. Try not to overdo it, though, he whines. Your soul is stitching, and you may need to relearn a few of your perks. So, let’s not break your fission fracture any wider and take one of those first aid suppage kits! Remember what you are made of. You can still bleed out your precious inner suppage if your husk is cut or maimed.

My face turns sour while shaking my head at him. Just give me the damn manual on my new carnation, I sigh, walking away from this gangly buffoon. I know how to read! I pick up a satchel, loading up my display and taking a first-aid suppage kit off the nearby counter. I sling the bag over my shoulder and head towards the front door to do my task.

Remember the Most Exquisite Contest is in seven days, the Bright Soul says as I check my watch, seeing just a bare wrist. That odd reflex makes me wonder if that notion is a passing memory from a previous life. My past feels so hazy, in fact, like jumbled shards of glass twinkling in the forever sun. Everything feels askew.

Are you all right, dear, the Bright Soul says, coming up to place those delicate fingers on my shoulder again.

I blink in and out of deep thought. I’m fine, I say convincingly. You’ll see. I’ll locate this Josie Sage. I place my hand on the doorknob, twisting it to open.

Hold on. Before you go, the Bright Soul hollers. I pause with my body halfway out the door. Emily Stellar, I’m told emphatically. That is your name. You may wish to know that.

Right, I say with a wincing smile, tapping my head with my stylus. I then proudly take a deep breath and leave the Eckhardt facility to search in earnest for a soul named Josie Sage.

Excerpt from The Blazon Beauty

Emily Stellar (cc. 2795)

Chapter 1

Successfully wielding any perk takes only time to master. Thankfully, that’s the one thing we LaPortans have in abundance. This latest perk I’ve been shackled with is by far the most potent ever housed within my arsenal. I had read from unpublished accounts that some subjects were unwillingly taken by the blunt end of my perk after my last carnation. Apparently, I first twirled my unique ability like some careless newb minus any glance at the manual. I didn’t need to be given this whorish advancement to turn this trick of mending this once-proud corporate institution back to glory.

Laporte Industries was once the pinnacle choice for expired human souls wishing to take that ultimate leap from their biological constraints by carnating their essence into the body of a luxury husk. The waiting list was exorbitantly long, with customers not balking one bit at the extravagant price we LaPortans place on immortality in the Afterlife. None of the numerous competitors can match our elegance level in crafting an indistinguishable body from the mucky human shell you proudly yearn to disregard. We were the preferred choice for over seven hundred years—a global empire offering immortality with a userbase of over eight million LaPortans. Of course, those days of prosperity are far in the past after a tragic event fifty-six years ago claimed most of our userbase lives.

My mind drifts with its attention, easily swayed by my reflection, appearing out the south gate windows of LaPorte Industries Tower One. I see my adoring creation calmly looking back at me, giving me the wherewithal to continue in this fight. My raven hair is as dark with the tips dripping in the colour of crimson. Although, my locks only turn that shade when I’m mad as hell, just like right now. I’m gorgeous the way I crafted myself, I growl. I didn’t require any damn perk to scream that notion into anyone’s head! My bark is loud and in the direction of my faithful lapdog of a servant, Henny Henwig.

Too bad you don’t know how to operate it properly, Henny reminds me, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. Damn it, Lena, it’s been three years now! he whines with sound facts that I can’t deny.

I’ve tried reading the manual front to back, I explain to him. However, it’s written all haphazardly in a dialect that I’m still trying to decipher.

Isn’t it written in Cascadian? Henny inquires rather stupidly.

Of course, you fool, I say honestly. But the words have different meanings like their syntax is from a different time. I scrunch my face, trying to describe what I can’t comprehend verbally or mentally to the little twerp.

I think you are just too overladen with perks, Henny surmises with a truthful and cheeky grin. How many perks do you have now?

A girl never tells, and I’ll eventually figure this wayward perk out, I hiss back. I can cast it well enough. I pause, scratching my chin in a state of deep reflection. It’s the blacking out afterwards that I can’t prevent. I believe it’s too powerful to be swung by any LaPortan—it’s just too damn potent!

Perhaps, you’re a test bunny? Henny whispers, followed by a sinister snicker. I tower over the little toad, being a mighty five foot two inches tall.

I ain’t no tart, Henny, I say with a hard smack to the top of his head. I sell LaPortan product. I don’t test them out.

Ouch, what did you do that for? Henny asks, cowering to cover his noggin with his hands. I speak about a possible truth. You are the only one known in our society who possesses this great power to encapsulate all into a delirium of adoration.

I ain’t no tart! I bark again, raising my hand threateningly in the air.

All right, I submit, Henny cries out. I won’t bring it up again. My alarm sets off, informing me to prepare for the day. I sit down at my desk, and Henny sits across from me in the opulent office I occupy within LaPortan Industries Tower One. Henny knows to be quiet in the morning so that I can prepare my mind for the day with some habitual mental exercises of meditation and—

Lena Sage! I cackle, I giggle, and I snort, Henny injects disparagingly in my direction without any flattery. He has rudely broken my regimented moment of spiritual examination.

What are you prattling on about? I snort with visible annoyance. Henny is always trying to wind me up for some reason. It is a job he has successfully held for many centuries.

See right there! Henny shouts out with a firm finger point. You just did it. He nods his head like a nitwit. See, something is off about you.

Henny, you are making no sense, I cackle back at him. My mind and essence are operating fine and dandy. Now let me meditate in peace.

Indigo Sage never acted this incredulous, Henny mutters, scratching his chin. Definitely not in Josie Sage’s makeup. He glares at me. Are you certain that you are navigating off your perks well enough, Lena?

I’m managing with what I have been saddled with from HQ, I groan. Hurrah, I’m the Brand Ambassador! Thrown back to work after such a horrible workplace accident.

Nobody is stopping you from walking away, Henny says while slowly drowning into my leather Astoria chair. He sticks out his thumb to point dejectedly at my office door.

I’m loyal, I say firmly, plus the pay is good.

Lena, he whispers, leaning in close to my desk. You have so much money. How much is enough?

Are you testing me? I ask with a raised eyebrow. Henny, you are supposed to be on my side.

No, Lena. I’m not testing you, Henny whines, sitting back into the chair. I’ve known of you for many centuries—plenty of lifetimes to be sure. I’m devoted to Miss Sage for helping in my ascension within the Afterlife. With that, I reward you with my dutiful service.

Good, I need to trust you, I say in a hushed tone. There is a big game afoot, and I sense that I’m in the middle of it.

Oh no, Lena, Henny sighs. Not again with this wild conspiracy theory.

There have been so many untruths spun at me for the past three years, I scowl. Me of all people—the only survivor of the Winter Purge! I remind him of an undeniable and well-documented truth. An event that caused the removal of Josie Sage’s soul right up to the exact moment she receives a new job assignment laden with tactical perks. How convenient!

It’s criminal to talk treasonously about LaPorte Industries, Henny moans sheepishly with his sour lips.

Look, I don’t a give damn! I blast back at him. I’m the Brand Ambassador tasked with turning this company back to profitability. Everything written about the Winter Purge is all propaganda by our lazy marketing department. Just like how we have slopped around to the public the reasoning for the Stasis Deep Sleep System remaining offline. That technology is required for our people to remain immortal, and yet it sits shelved for nonsensical reasons.

I believe the mantra of continued safety testing is a valid reason to keep the system offline! Henny states soundly with a quivering body shake. He always gets the shivers when he speaks of the calamity. The Winter Purge caused the eradication of seven million of our user base in one harmonious fiery explosion.

And still, nothing else mentioned or sung out from our company but safety testing for last fifty-six years, I say, with an impatient and stony stare. The SDS System is our only cure for toil madness. Keeping the simulation offline is the primary reason our sales are at record lows. Who will become a LaPortan if we can only offer two hundred years of sanity? Especially with a cure right in front of them with access denied by the same fecking company that sold them into this Afterlife. LaPorte Industries is crumbling into obsolescence, Henny. We were once pure and revered as the true and only way to transcend from biological humanity.

I agree, Lena, Henny says in a more calming tone. But everything changed once the SDS System went down.

Well, let’s turn the confounded thing back on, I say, shaking my head. It’s been long enough to be denied any reply from the powers above on that notion. I look towards the heavens. The skylight affixed in my office is coated along the edges with crisp Okanagan snow. Through the window, a mighty black band cuts through the haze of the wintry sky. It was painted there by our Great Wizard (among other audacious monikers) many centuries ago. This grand tether wire reaches far into space, which has LaPorte’s mind conflicted to listen to any concerns from us below. Our company’s founder is unsubscribed from being summoned. Not sure what LaPorte sees up in the stars that is so damn interesting.

I’m the Brand Ambassador, Henny, I growl through clenched teeth. LaPorte doesn’t even grant me an audience. I run the company that gave that soul magical ascension to rise out of humanity’s muck. Do we not matter to the gods above us who have granted us immortal creation only to turn their back when something else takes their attention? It’s not right, and our user base is continuing to diminish because of it.

Well…what’s your…plan? Henny asks with a nervous stutter. He’s been trying hard to get a word in edgewise.

We need the true answer on the hold-up with redeploying of the SDS System back online, I say with a firm head nod. Now, Henny, go glean for what I need.

Don’t lay that at my feet! Henny cries out.

Henny, I’ve been handed a hornet’s nest, I say, blinkingly back up to the ceiling. I’ve missed half a century getting my soul stitched after my accident. During that time, our society crumbled to be a small morsel of its once great ideals. We were more than just a user base. We were a society of people. We had ideas cultured towards selling immortality to the human masses and others that still slither about today. Think of the sales opportunities we are missing by continuing to wallow in our golden past. What happened to us, Henny? Everything is broken and disconcerting with LaPorte Industries. Sales are practically zero. Our population is dwindling in numbers as many are choosing a mortal death that—

You’re babbling, Lena, Henny interjects, grinning at me like the yapping dog that is.

Oh, be quiet, I hammer back. Look at the mess that I have been handed. We need answers and are getting stonewalled by our own company. We need the SDS System back online, or our company will come to a dark end.

"Well, what are you going to do? Knock down the door of Heaven and ask LaPorte to hurry up in fixing that sodden simulation box?" Henny whispers slanderously, making me giggle.

I almost should, I say, followed by a hiccup. That’s what Josie would do.

Oh well, Henny says with a massive exhale as he stands up, looking to leave. It’s fun to moan about it.

Where are you going? I ask, seeing Henny now walking towards my office door.

We have the sales convention tonight at the Old Capital City Convention Centre, he says. The look on his face implies that I should have remembered tonight’s festivities.

I bang my fist against the top of my desk, Why are they having a party? I say with a whimpering growl.

"Tradition, Lena," Henny says with a slack jaw. Every year, the Sales Division has their convention. It’s their ritualistic right as members of the company’s—

Oh, hush with the politics, I interject to stop his constant prattle.

We have no sales figures to be proud of as a company to be throwing any celebration, I say, glaring at him.

It’s their ritualistic right, Henny hisses right back. And the Brand Ambassador always makes an appearance to give a rousing speech to the troops.

Oh, I’ll be going to this gathering, I say, standing up and grabbing my cardigan to join Henny at the door. Nessa Nevins has been ducking me all year, and I need to have dire words with our head of sales. Seriously, everyone is so darn lazy in this company!

Strictly, verbal? Henny inquires or, more likely, suggests with a gentle affirmative nod in my direction. No stabbing anyone, you hear?

That was like one time, I say while grinning playfully.

Twice! Henny shouts. You stabbed that viceroy in the shoulder with a butter knife at the Perennial Ball.

I told him to keep his paws off me, I say with a curl of my lip to disagree with Henny on that considered a stabbing. I give one warning. After that, it’s pure self-defence.

I’m counting that as a stabbing, Lena, Henny whines, with an unwavering disdain, holding his hand up to my face. You stabbed him. That’s twice, my dear.

Whatever, I say dismissively to saunter out through the office door, not feeling at all like I give a damn. I’ll stab as many people as I want if they get handsy.

It’s not in your job description, Henny says, scampering up next to me to keep up.

Maybe it is! I bellow loudly, my voice echoing down the hallway. After three years of running this company, I still have yet to see my blasted employment contract!

The sales conference will be full of its usual attire of flatulent chuckleheads from that stellar age of transcendence selling. Also making an appearance would be the below generation of old-boys and ne’er-do-wellers—those LaPortans are programmed to be flamboyant and confident with an alpha-dog construct. These fellows are a heavy bunch that figure themselves significantly entitled to be part of this company—a company that thinks of them as such lowly cretins, the whole lot of them.

Some First Investors will always appear to remind everyone that they are still the smartest people in the room. We Firsts have all the perks of being chosen to ascend, right along with Great Founder. And yet, we don’t mingle much with any of the other clans. Why would we if they are not deemed worthy? I have also felt that was a mistake by our group and one I don’t holy prescribe towards even in public settings. It’s no wonder the company made me this whore—they are punishing me. I can feel their thumb poking me in my back, making me stand up straight to show off my lovely figure. I always make an entrance, fluttering my eyes and drawing all attention to me. I’m irresistible—oh, the perks I’ve been shackled to over these many centuries. Truth be told, I abused them like a junkie in the ancient past. I was always looking for whatever edge I could muster to make those sales in the early days of flogging our propagandic nonsense. Those were the sleepy times of pushing the SDS Systems in its infancy.

Naturally, I preferred selling husks over that reckless contraption, which was created overnight as the miracle cure for our enslaved people. Yes, step inside my box-o-delight that with a twirl will send you soundly asleep to cool that mind of yours away from boredom! The pitches were natural enough to develop, and I had a dime a dozen of them. However, it was the fiery deaths in the news cycle that haunted sales the most. Every day, someone’s SDS System would burst asunder without any warning—other than from us. Yes, we would state that fact boldly with an advertised success rate based wholly on how many people awakened unbaked. How daring are we not