Toasts to their victory

Unknown Warehouse

With a tall glass of golden booze in hand, the bald-headed Big Package looms over the inventor and thief Lucas. Without his bulky 8’2 armor exoskeleton Big loses 2ft but his frame is still impressive, draped in a large leather trench coat, his presence has the air of authority. Lucas, frowning, hasn’t touched his drink, nervously pushes his rough hair away from his glasses. The vantage point of the elevated office gives view of the infirmary below, full of dozens of men suffering everything from broken bones to severe burns. Two men died at the scene of the fight, dying instantly from the cave in of the roof. Three more passed away in the night, their injuries so severe attempts to save them from the aftermath of the burning apartment complex proved useless. Still others had to be left behind as authorities began to surround the place. Dozens of advanced exoskeletons were destroyed beyond repair. Huai is a mess. Big and Lucas can hear his profuse screaming even from across the warehouse. Medics are attempting to lift pieces of charred metal that had melded to his skin. With the Captain of their unit down, responsibility for order falls to Big. Still, Big wants a drink to share in their victory over the heroine, and Lucas is weary of turning down the deadly mercenary.

“The moniker of Teen Girl is a betrayal of her strength and bravery. She was a worthy opponent”. Big gulps most of his cold pint in one go.

“I didn’t expect the fight to be so costly”, Lucas says. “We’re supposed to build an army to take the city, and one girl destroyed half that army”.

“You exaggerate – we didn’t even send half our army at her. In reality we lost only a few men. Those who were captured would die before they talk and have no identity that can be traced to us. We lost nothing that can’t be rebuilt”.

“Do you have any idea the resources it took to build those suits?!”

“Steady your tone, Lucas. Do not think me an imbecile.” Lucas shivered under Big’s dark gaze. “Still”, Big’s tone shifts. “The authorities will no doubt have confiscated a number of suits. Whether they are in working order or not it is still… precarious. The tech could be traced to the scientists who developed it, and the trail of their dead bodies would reveal too much. If the city’s police learn about that, we may lose the element of surprise in the future war”.

The large man stands, sees the twins just outside. The attractive Middle-Eastern woman leaning over the guard rail wearing her tight full-body black catsuit –the ‘underwear’ to her exoskeleton - accentuating her curves. She waits for her brother as he strolls along the walk way wearing sweat pants, towel in hand, fresh from a shower.

They turn to Big’s commanding voice. “ThunderBolt”, it was easier to refer to the twins in this way. The twins walk into the office. “You’re not done for the night. This requires the work of those who can move unseen. Go to the Haven Central Police Department, raid their evidence lockers, and take back anything they have confiscated. Destroy any records they have collected. No one is to be harmed.”

Bolt nods, his wet hair draped before his eyes. “We will not leave any traces”, his Arabic accent flattens out ‘leave’ like ‘leeev’.

Big’s face is full of consideration. “Bring me their morgue records for the night”.

…………………..

It’s 3AM as Bolt sprints through the streets of East Haven, her cherry hair flowing long behind her, the wind beating upon her face as her brother races beside her, a pair of sports shades over her eyes. The twins see an opportunity to sprint straight through open doors into the Police Department, sneaking through the darkness past bored security and using the blind-spots of security cameras. The police are none the wiser for their intrusion and they were unopposed as they went straight into the evidence room where they packed duffel bags full of the remains of exoskeletons. The nearby mortuary was even easier, with a single guard at the reception. “We’re in trouble”, Thunder stated bluntly as he read the paperwork. No girl listed in the files for the night. They checked the bodies in the mortuary room, pulling out the beds only to see the charred remains of men. No girl.

On the way back to base the twins masterfully avoid traffic and the few pedestrians there are in these early hours. They stick to the shadows. One drunkard half-collapses on his way out of a bar, and feels the gust of air, can see the shadows pass him by… but that’s all the twins are to him - shadows, and like anyone else who catches a glimpse they don’t give a second thought. They’re so fast that if you manage to spot them you might as well be looking at a trick of the light, a flickering of black and nothing more.

The world around Bolt fades into semi-consciousness. She thinks back to a time when she had a name – a real name. Mira. Such a long time ago now. Living in the Emirate of Ajman, in a home just outside the city limits, she would spend hours gazing out across the Persian Gulf and exploring the desert hills. She was exceptionally intelligent, devouring the books of her parent’s library. Her strict father did not approve, always trying to control and limit her behavior, she was sent to attend a Madrassa. Though her brother kept a secret stash of salvaged laptops and phones not far from their home where he built up his own digital library of books and films that she would use too. Together they would use VPNs to explore the Internet, a window into the huge world and spectrum of cultures beyond their home. Mira was particularly resistant to wearing the hijab. Her brother would listen in the next room as Mira was harshly punished, the twins crying angry sobs together.

One day, Mira was taken to a clinic. She was wheeled on a hospital bed through pristine hallways into an impersonal white room with no windows. A masked doctor emerged into her vision, wielding a scalpel. Though her father did not tell her why she was sent here, Mira knew as soon as she saw the blade – Mira had read all about it. She screamed, fought, leaping from her bed wrestling the scalpel from the doctor and slashed it right across his throat. She still remembers his cries – “Allaaaaah ackb-aghhgbuuhh”, his voice came through as though he was drowning, and fell silent as a pool of dark blood formed. This was the first time Mira killed.

She remembered the almost gleeful glint in the eye of her brother as the Teen Girl was tortured. Had the twins really seen and endured so much that they could take sadistic joy in the suffering of others?

……………………

Lucas rubs his hands together, tinkering with the rescued equipment in his workshop. In the office above, ThunderBolt explains the bad news to Big. His anger ferments into a single blow decimating the table before him. “Maybe the authorities may yet recover her remains”, Thunder offered. However, with the impossible staring him in the face, Big knows the truth, knows it in his bones. The girl lives.