It was a tried and tested truth that the most necessary jobs were often the ones that were the most hated, most despised. Shiinevaar may have been a glowing gem of opulence and wealth upon the surface of the Earth, but even so, someone had to remove the bodies that winter’s wake had left behind. I pushed a cart through streets that reeked not just of rot and death, but desolation. This was not the Inner City, and death was as commonplace as the rising of the sun.

Heaving the cart as it struck another pothole, I sighed to the winter blackness in front of me. While the work did not make me popular, the pay was good, very good. A comfortable life and survival was a more presently demanding issue than friendship.

I would rise early in the morning, hoping to finish my rounds before the sun had fully risen, so I would run into as few people as possible. With little only a year of work, I had already gained a little bit of a reputation.

With the sole sound in the black morning the slight creak of a wagon wheel, the night was quiet. Funnily enough, I would have thought it eerie if there was noise at all. Perhaps a police officer would pass me on the street, and we would exchange a nod born out of not courtesy, but formality. We were both hated, after all.

For such a poor area, it was very peculiar, especially in a place as populated as Shiinevaar, that there was a general absence of trash and other rubbish. It made my job easier, anyhow. Often bodies could be easily seen even in the half-darkness that permeated my work hours- clothed in scraps of clothes, rags, whatever could be used in a futile attempt to shield from the cold. Clumps lying on the street- almost unmistakingly bodies- were easy to find, but harder to deal with. They were cold, heavy and smelled of the remains of their last meal, if any. They were a pain to drag and haul into the cart, but it was far better than me starving and becoming like them-a conclusion I reached long ago.

Which was exactly why she was so odd.

Wool was something that almost no longer existed- it’s existence akin to that of an almost extinct animal. There, but so scarce it’s existence may have been little more than a hallucination.

Yet there she was, a tiny thing that was wrapped in a blanket of white gold, pristine as the flawless snow that she lay upon. She looked so pure that it was if she was simply a clump of snow.

For the amount of suffering that beleaguered the Outer Districts, an equal effort was made in concealing it. By the time the sun rose, it would appear that nothing the previous night had occurred, like a bloodstained cloth that had been soaked and washed in bleach. While the pain was no longer apparent, the suffering was as real as the moon that mocked those that hung beneath its benevolent rays. Little by little, the cloth would be strained, connections slowly severed, and one day, it would break.

The first thing that was off was the smell. Or rather, I should say, the lack of smell. My nose had hardened from a year of work, and there was no longer anything that could shake me. I reached forward to put a hand on the wool that clothed the girl- I would be lying if I said I did not want it for myself.

Then I stopped, for I felt something I had not felt, seemingly, for the past year.

Warmth.

The sheer contrast from what lay in front of me to that of the bodies that I handled on a daily basis was as stark as the cold that whipped around me. She was small- perhaps a child of eight or nine- and wrapped thickly in a makeshift robe. A hand to her forehead confirmed my suspicions- she had collapsed from a heavy fever. Her breaths were shallow and infrequent, and she would die soon if she did not get help. Wrapped in so many blankets of wool, it was not so surprising that the night had not managed to kill her yet.

Who would help her?

I sighed.

The nearest police station was close to the gate to the Inner City. The further from the Inner, the more the buildings and people were poor and impoverished, as if the jewel of Shiinevaar attracted luxury like moths to a lamp. Those who could not make it to the light of the lamp cowered in the darkness, never to escape poverty. Those who made it to the light found themselves unable to get into the comfort they had seen from a distance, and died anyway.

It was still right outside the Inner City, anyhow. Here the roads were evenly paved, at least, and someone came to shovel snow off the road once a day, something that got more common the closer that one got to the city’s center. It seemed that they had not come yet, for the snow still reached up to my ankles. The buildings here were not as rundown, and had some generous allowances for their tenants, if one factored in how much more terrible the real Outer Districts were. Yet these affluent areas were the hardest- the hungry and the weak were drawn to these areas like poor moths, hoping to get assistance from those who were better off. From the bodies that piled up on the doorways and streets, their hopes were in vain, much like any other place, like any other person.

It was sunrise now, my round done and the cart scrubbed clean, my clothes changed and washed as I headed to the police station. Just like the country’s streets, even I had to keep up appearances.

Of course, I had to carry the girl- she was light, even when wrapped up in so many blankets. Perhaps the police could help her, because I for sure could not take her in, lest both of us starve. There were no hospitals here, and without direct entrance into the city, she would die within a day if she did not reach care. The police station was the best bet- maybe a sympathetic officer would take her in. Anything better than her dying on the street, and being in my cart tomorrow.

“Sir.” No response- the officer was talking to a richer lady- it was strange to see one in the outer Districts, even so close to the Inner. Even stranger for one to be here at this time of the day. “Sir. Could I have a minute?”

The officer glared at me, while the woman, clad in furs and reeking of perfume, stepped back and smiled at me. From my years of living in the Outer, I could tell that her smile was genuine- a true rarity.

“Boy. What do you want?” barked the officer in a gruff voice, eyes still trained towards the lady who had retreated to the other side of the room. “I haven’t got all day. Spit it out.”

“This girl, sir. I found her in the snow, but she’s still alive.” I gestured to the woolen bundle I was holding, and he looked over the counter as if he was inspecting trash. “I was wondering if you could help her- she’s running a high fever.”

When a bird wants a better look at something, it tilts its head as if it is cockily observing a chess piece transfer its position on a board. This is done not for any egotistical reason- it is because a bird’s eyes, being on both sides of the head, cannot create a comprehensive image- something that is dutifully exploited by any knowledgeable hunter. In order to create a sense of depth, a bird must tilt its head, create two images, and compare them in order to understand depth and orient themselves. I know this, because I am blind in my right eye.

The officer stared up and down, shifting his gaze from the woolen bundle then towards me, eyes tilted and grinning madly as if he was talking to an animal.

“Oh? Help? What makes her so different from everyone else who is dying?” He sneered at me, and I sighed, expecting this particular outcome. “All of us are struggling, and you expect me to help one person? What happens when everyone else wants help, and comes here? Use your mind, boy. Get lost!”

I walked back towards the exit, now in a bind. I couldn’t raise her, but I could not leave her to die, either. Slow death, or indirect murder. I chuckled, still lugging the woolen bundle in my arms. Life was quite the fair game.

“Oh sweetie, is that a little girl?” I was shaken from my stupor to see the previous lady walking towards me, and already peeling away layers of the woolen blanket. “Oh my, such beautiful white skin! She is a very small girl, no? Is she your sister?”

It took me a moment to respond, my mind still in a haze. Why in the hell would she approach me, a simple boy in the Outer, in the first place? The world was, in a way, still full of oddities.

“She had collapsed in the snow, and I carried her here to seek help. She has a high fever.”

A hand raised to feign shock, a quick turn back towards the man at the counter, and a deep stare at my face later, she motioned for me to release the woolen bundle. She carried the blanket and the girl, both pale as snow, in her arms as she took one last look at the counter and began walking towards the exit.

“Do not worry about this girl. I will make sure she lives.” She kneeled down so our eyes met. “You are a good boy, trying to help others in these times. I pray for you to have a good future. Here-” She fumbled in her coat pocket, retrieving what seemed like some sort of simple bracelet. “Take this as a little charm- it’s the insignia of my house, and it’ll give you good luck.” She departed quickly with a slight smile, and in only a moment the whip of the wind was the only thing that told of her even being here.

A click. Something that I will not be able to explain, to this day. Perhaps a supernatural moment my parents used to love talking about.

“I want to become a police officer.” I peered up at the face that leered at me from the counter. A raucous fit of laughter followed, but my gaze never left his face. He glanced at me from the corner of his eye and composed himself. Retrieving a pen, he sighed and laid flat a piece of paper.

“What’s your name, boy?” His eyes inquired as he awaited a response that would change someone’s life.

“Alec. Alec Khulan.”

---

It was everything Marilin had envisioned, and more.

Indeed, it was seemingly an extension of her own body- the movements within the machine felt fluid, streamlined and easy. It was no different from walking, except that she was suddenly so much bigger than everyone else, and her left arm felt a little odd, which was all. She had to admit that she had a textbook response to being seated in a Spirit Strider for the first time, being that she was undeniably shocked at the dexterity and flexibility of such a large machine, something that became so much more apparent in person than in writing. With all systems running smoothly and a comforting low hum emanating through the air, Marilin felt equivalent to a god- nothing could truly best her- except for another god, perhaps.

“I can tell you that I was not walking around like that during my first time.” crackled Aemilia over the intercom, a set of hisses announcing her approach from behind her. “Never one for the simulations, I was. I can tell that it was different for you- not much doubt there.”

It was true. While Spirit Striders were too valuable to simply throw around for training purposes, the Academy provided computer programs hosted in a mock cockpit, training students through various combat scenarios, including even dull activities like marching. Marilin had loved these programs, but even so, they were far from the real thing. The sound, a comforting low hum, and the bounce with every step as the Strider’s foot planted itself on the ground- these were all things that were simply unable to be experienced in a fake pod. In a real cockpit, seven meters above the ground, she felt that she was on a whole other playing field.

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“I came here just to see if you could walk, run maybe, without falling over.” chuckled Aemilia, patting her Spirit Strider’s shoulder pauldron with her own. “Seems like I underestimated you- of the two new pilots I’ve seen in my years, one of them couldn’t stand up for an entire day. The maintenance crews will be happy about your performance.” Marilin couldn’t help but laugh along. “I was told that you were combat ready from your education in weapons and sims, but…” Aemilia went quiet as her tone became almost morose. “Are you really?”

“That is an impossible question to answer.” Marilin had expected this sort of inquiry as soon as she stepped into her craft. Her craft. “Would you ask a baby bird if they could fly before they tried for themselves? They may believe that they have the knowledge, the expertise, the practice. However, it is impossible to give a definite answer until they face the trial they boast about for themselves.”

“How old are you?”

“You know the answer to that question.”

Aemilia walked ahead of her, then looked back at her, her Strider’s head swivelling around. “If I told everyone that you were my daughter, do you think they would believe us?”

Marilin suppressed a laugh, a sensation she hadn’t felt many times before. “You cannot make sure until you try for yourself. I am no fortune teller.”

“In all honesty, I would love to spend more time with you. For a child so young, you are an interesting one. Your parents and childhood must have been a strange one, no doubt.” Marilin flinched. “You have my PAD contact. Well, we have a rebellion that will not quell itself. I believe your supervisor will want to speak with you, no?”

“I believe he will.”

“This must be where I part. While you may live here, I do not. We will see each other on the morrow, hm? Give me a call if anyone is giving you a hard time. Tell them you’re going to call your mother!” As they both laughed , the call ended with a sharp click.

Despite the goodbye, Marilin felt quite content. From her own life she had known that time moved quickly, and change did not know of mercy. Life would slow to a trickle, then suddenly blow with the might of an easterly storm. She knew that change had often been in her favour, blowing fortunate tides towards her. It was impossible to know of when calamities could occur, so she tried to enjoy wherever change took her. The turn of the events the past few days had no doubt been following the trend of fortune that had befell her for her life so far.

Marilin had no contacts on her PAD, except for her supervisor, Sir. Adding not one, but two from the past few days, however trivial it seemed, excited her enormously. It would be harsh to tell herself she had no friends, but even she had to admit that she did not like to get close to anyone in an educational environment so competitive that friends could very well soon become traitors. Now that she had all but graduated, she felt that a pair of shackles that had trapped her previously had fallen off to be discarded forever.

As the sun tipped slowly below the roof of the hangar, it’s rays cast a beautiful amber glow on the world beneath. Even if the lights of the City were all but a false beacon of hope, the sun was a consistent jewel with a light that never died in such a freezing nightmare of a land.

---

How long had it been? That was right. Only a day and seven hours.

“The situation- it’s gotten worse. It’s like-”

“A rotten cheese.”

“A...a good way to put it. The rebels are more frequent, and are creating safehouses and bases of operations in the Outer Districts. We know this because we raided one this morning- the mole that tipped us off was right. There’s more than one now. We don’t or scarcely monitor the Outer; that makes them perfect for the rebellion, and worse for us.”

“How big of a scale is the rebellion now?”

“Big? Oh, it’s big. Just two hours ago...you know the East Gate?” Marilin nodded. She had never been there, but she felt that she had at some point in her life, anyhow. “The rebels raided the checkpoint. Killed a guard and lost two of their own before they scampered away. Cowards. The worst thing is, the two we killed? We don’t even know who they are.”

“No identification?” That could only mean one thing. They were far, far in the Outer Districts- a place where the government rarely, if ever monitored.

“No, none at all. If the rest of the Outer get a wind of this, it’ll spread faster than a famine. What’s worse? It just gets worse, worse and worse…” Sir groaned as he buried his face in his hand. “Morale is at a record low among the units garrisoned at the city. Defection may be slow now, but it is spreading like the wind. None of the soldiers have turned out to be traitors, but many are considering leaving their posts. Nobody expected the Outer to rebel on a scale like this, hence why the Inner city is so poorly equipped for defense.We’re falling down a rabbit hole, and we can’t see the end of it.”

Sir’s office was not particularly grand- a neat stack of shelves shoved haphazardly with documents, a single, but enormous window, a few chairs, and the richest accessory- the mammoth of a mahogany table positioned near the center of the room. While in theory it seemed quite a commanding office, he was similar to Marilin in that they both seemingly despised being tidy, perfect and immaculate. Papers strewn about the tops of shelves, boxes piled on the floor and a folder or two that lay open on the ground that was quite indicative of the type of person- a particularly relatable person- that Sir was.

“We haven’t gotten to the worst. Oh, not yet.” Sir clapped his hands as if he was rehearsing a drama play. “We have four Spirit Striders in the city garrison, including your own craft to protect the Inner. Notice anything?”

“The Inner,” repeated Marilin. “Only the Inner.”

“What happens when the Inner is attacked? Do we devolve into being nothing but a castle under siege? The name is obvious- the Outer surrounds the Inner. We’re like a fortress under attack, but the villages in our walls have joined the raiders.”

“And we know nothing, can do nothing and are capable of nothing, because the Outer is mostly out of our jurisdiction.”

Sir sighed in agreement. “Long have I advocated the creation of a spy ring in the Outer districts, but even at the very first stage- recruitment- we run into a fundamental problem.”

“Nobody wants to live in the Outer, where having a fat paycheck is moot when there is nothing to buy.” Sir had talked to her about this on a previous meeting, right before she became a pilot.

“Of course you know, because I have told you. We are in the dark about everything in the Outer- and this rebellion will only fester like disease in a body, while we cannot do anything except wait for people to tip us off.” Sir stood up, walking to the window and looking outward. “For those people, can we ascertain their claims to be true?”

The answer was obvious- the root of espionage. They both spoke in predictable unison. “No.”

“We have a single lifeline, and we don’t know if we can trust it.” Sir laughed darkly. “I want this over as soon as possible, before more people on either side perish in a meaningless conflict. If a lifeline comes through this storm, no matter how flimsy it is, we’re going to grasp it.” Sir stared straight at Marilin’s eyes with a lingering gaze. “Well, enough of my talk. What do you think?”

“About what in particular?”

“About your craft, this situation. How are you doing?”

Marilin often was addressed with these questions from Sir. While she could tell he truly boded well, these were the questions that she despised the most.

“You know that our opinions are rarely misaligned.”

“Marilin,” Sir began with a pensive look. “Your previous demeanor- being unassuming, identical and akin to much like a cog in a machine- these are traits you have used to brutal efficiency to rise up the rankings of the Academy.” So he knew. “However, you may reside here, but you are no longer a student- you are a pilot. You, single handedly, command a craft that with its pilot has more value than two divisions of soldiers. People will know your name, and you will no longer be able to sit out of sight. No longer will you be able to flit between having attention and obscurity like a lone wasp that returns to its nest as it pleases. You, as a pilot, are now stuck in the spotlight.” An uncomfortable silence ensued, in which the words had adequate time to sink in. “I will not pretend I know everything about you. You did not have a pleasant childhood- your methods, actions, behavior- they are evidence enough of that.”

Marilin knew that Sir knew about her, but did not know how much he knew.

“I will give you advice that you can choose to follow or ignore. I do not control your life on a whim- I may be your supervisor, but your life is your own to lead if you wish it. I tell you to make the best of your situation- now that you must eschew from the unassuming attitude you used to lead your life- you should become someone that is no longer one that fights in the dark and rises up to the light when it suits them.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Sir smiled, breaking the thin atmosphere of ice that had formed quietly in the room. “Let yourself be known. Build a name that drives fear into the hearts of your enemies. Here... How about this? This, I bet, is something that you do not learn in a classroom.”

Marilin’s attention was instantly rapt.

“Do you know how new Spirit Strider’s earn their names?”

“Are they not named upon ordering or creation?”

“No, no. Among pilots, there is a little ritual- the pilot names the craft after their first time of seeing combat. They say that the first battle is when the Spirit Strider redeems itself to its pilot, and that is when it should be christened. I will be ordering a raid on a rebel compound that a mole has tipped us off about, and I want you to be there. You will be briefed before dinner, where you will come to know everything.”

Marilin nodded. She had expected, and prepared for this. As a pilot in such troubling times, she would not be wasted simply idling around. “I have a question.”

Sir cocked his head sideways to look at Marilin. She did often ask questions.

“My Strider is a Bucharest-class, yet it is still considered experimental.” Marilin had a rough idea as to why- something about the triangular structure at the back of her craft- but did not want to say. “Is there anything special about my model?”

The response came far quicker than she expected. “Yes, but make no mistake- your craft does not deviate from any Bucharest-class.” An uncanny smile cracked Sir’s lips. “The difference...you will find out, in due time, perhaps.”

What a mystery.

“You may go,” Sir looked away, back to the window. “It is late, even though you became acquainted with your Spirit Strider far more quickly than the maintenance crews anticipated. They are happy with you, with their shifts being cut short. The simulations you endlessly ran in your free time were very helpful, it seems.”

Marilin had no reason to be humble, and did not lie. “Yes, they were. Very much so. Good night, Sir.”

She had only taken a few steps, hand clasped firmly on the doorknob. “Marilin. Hold on a second.” Marilin was not called by her name often- though she reasoned that in the past few days, nothing that occurred had happened often. “I did not get an answer to the second part of my question.” He still faced the window, head enshrouded by the darkness that slowly arrived in the entering of dusk. “What do you think of the current situation?”

Marilin stopped with a curt nod. Without turning back, she spoke. “I think that the rebels need to be vanquished without mercy as soon as time allows.” She let go of the doorknob. “Their lives are few, but the ones they could take- they are many.”

She had a reason to lie, and she lied through her teeth.

---

She could feel the sleeping pills start to kick in.

She had taken a little more than the recommended dosage, as her medication she took to treat her illness was not kind on her sleep schedule, and tomorrow was a day that she did not wish to feel fatigued through.

She had resolved that she would clean her room tomorrow, but still knew she would never do it.

A book was in her lap, the faint glow from a single lamp in the room illuminating it’s glass screen. A single tap furled a page on the screen, allowing a new wall of words to enter the small pane of glass, enticing her to stay awake. Page flew in after page, and sleep was slowly, but surely, continuing it’s successful campaign on Marilin’s head.

Why did the rebels decide to begin operations only now? She knew, of course. Why did they want to rebel? She knew why, too. Why were they doing what they did? She knew the reason far more than probably anyone in the Inner did. She did not always live in the Inner- her attempts at forgetting her past were fruitless, and the experiences and memories she gained from the world outside of her current world were ones that would stay with her until she died. She knew the reason for the rebellion, quite well.

Fight fire with fire. Marilin chuckled to herself.

She was unsure how much the higher ups knew about her; Sir had certainly revealed that he knew quite the wealth of information during their evening chat, but they could only know so much. Before Marilin arrived at the Inner, she legally did not exist. Their leads could only stretch so far- before long, it would be awash in the sea of ambiguity that was the Outer districts.

Perhaps they guessed. There were few possibilities, after all. Not many left the Inner, and even fewer came in. The more and more she dwelled in thought, the more she began to convince herself that her academic skills were not the only reason she was chosen for such a daunting task that was fraught with risk for bother them and her. She had knowledge that no one else had, because if not for a series of coincidental events, she may not have been a Spirit Strider pilot, but one of the rebels.

“They’ve taken quite the gamble with me,” mused Marilin quietly, sleep overtaking her. “And they’ve won quite the prize.”