District Seven was a welcoming enigmatic challenge. What piqued my interest most about them was their decision to arrive on Colony Negative so late. Many thought due to their distance with the other Districts and lack of a stable economy, they had arrived late merely because they didn’t know about this breakthrough when everyone else did.

That was a lie.

Intelligence suggested District Seven only arrived, or made the intention to arrive, three days after reports of aliens or anathemas were mentioned.

Why? Because they saw these creatures everyone seemed so frightened about as an invitation: to make their mark as a powerful District.

Powerful, they were. I limped slightly to my secured office in the Forward Operating Base, what we called Base Green. Green, for the color of Jacqueline’s eyes. Nobody else needed to know the reason why it was coined as such. My entire body ached, muscles sore, bruises tender from the constant firefights with District Seven. We always kept a distance, but we knew that would come to an end soon.

Wueh’s intel provided a very important room settled between us and District Seven territory. It was marked as important given a lot of the various tunnels and halls all converged towards it. Wueh and his team had just been unable to open the door, not knowing the correct combination to the panels beside it. One person that I knew of did though: Jack. So, if there was something important in there, I wanted to get her there.

In order to get her there, I had to make sure there was a clear path of safety.

There was no way in hell I’d let her join us when District Seven still sent their powerful women warriors to attack whenever given a chance. Especially after everything that had occurred. The incident with District Three, me releasing the anathema and destroying most of their elite scientific team had reached international, intergalactic intelligence attention. In all honesty, when I was told that, I relished in the idea. District Five were finally being showcased as not to be messed with. It wasn’t until Grimes showed me the rest of the report that the trouble arrived.

Nowhere was I mentioned in the report as the cause of such terrible effects. Doctor Jacqueline Deveraux was blamed, written to be believed as some wretched, devious, and most of all dangerous scientist who had used District Three as some deadly experiment.

This put her on the spotlight of public enemy number one on Colony Negative, which infuriated me. There was nothing I could do quickly and effectively to refute such audacious, slanderous claims. Everything they claimed her to be was false, in fact it was District Three that had been dangerous and cruel, not her.

Jacqueline didn’t know any of this, though. I told my team to keep it classified. She already spent most of her nights on her work, making breakthroughs into the DNA structure of anathemas or working on cracking that code of mysterious letters projected across rooms.

I groaned as I finally laid in my bunk temporarily, despite still wearing my full armor. I’d eventually take it off and probably request some Stimuli patches with some hot and cold treatment to ease the soreness. All I wanted was a little bit of rest.

“Are you alright?” a familiar, not so unwanted voice broke through my private comms.

“Yeah,” I already felt better from hearing that scratchy voice, “just a few bumps and scrapes.”

“You were shot three times,” Jacqueline reminded me.

“The armor absorbed all of that energy,” I shrugged slightly. She sounded concerned for me. “I take it you were watching my helmet cam? Good to know we’ve improved the connection.”

“I was watching it passively,” she retorted, as if to immediately dismiss any showing of concern.

“Funny, because I got shot three times over a two hour period of a firefight,” I couldn’t help but smirk knowing it meant she must have been watching that entire time if she knew the exact number of times I had been shot.

Silence on her end. If we had been talking in person, she would have had a witty response ready. On comms, not so much.

“What are you working on?” I asked her, figuring I should take interest in her work.

She let out a soft, amused chuff, “The cellular apoptosis that happens when an anathema cell dominates a human one.”

“Sounds fancy, care to elaborate?” I closed my eyes, resting them for a moment. I almost believed I could fall asleep just to the sound of her voice, and that didn’t feel like a bad thing. Surely she would interpret as me not listening.

The truth was, I felt comfortable around her when she wasn’t demeaning me. She had gotten better when I asked scientific questions to not treat me like some child who should know better. I think I had also learned to keep my tone inquisitive, actually ask questions that I wanted answers to, not because it was just out of politeness. She had been able to see through that fake politeness most men had used in asking her, which was only used as a tool to get a conversation going the men could later dominate.

“It’s a normal bodily function as a failsafe for cellular activity. It deprograms, or rather, causes cells to ‘turn off’. There’s a multitude of reasons. It helps fight off infections, limits cell activity, and regulates homeostasis. Again, all normal things our beautiful bodies do. Very rarely do you see it occur improperly, which creates uncontrolled cell divisions. But this seems to be what this anathema enzyme likes to do. It either has these cells commit mass suicide on extreme levels, or, causes normal apoptosis to not occur properly on accelerated levels. I’m trying to figure out why it can do both,” she explained.

A few months ago, I would have tuned such conversations out. Now, I found myself slightly captivated by them. Only when it came from her lips, though.

“Okay…” I hummed, “so it kills cells, but still needs them to overtake the body, right?”

“Well, yes. If it just killed every single cell then the anathema wouldn’t really be considered alive,” she answered, but not in a retorting or belittling way.

“Could it be doing both because it has to?” I inquired, “I mean, if the body is supposed to routinely do this, it does it for a reason. If it can identify cells that have gone naughty-”

“Naughty?” she laughed.

“Like...they’ve gone rogue. They don’t do what they’re supposed to anymore. Like with a virus or cancer or whatever can already kill a cell and multiply. That’s what they do, they take control and then multiply,” I rolled my eyes, “It might need to do both because it must kill the function that detects an infiltration, while also infiltrating simultaneously.”

There was a very long pause.

“I’m probably confusing you, sorry,” I apologized, knowing I was probably just rambling.

“Don’t apologize,” she insisted immediately, “I…y-you keep reading my work.”

The way she said that last sentence almost had a bit of a stutter to it. I must admit, I had never once heard her lose concentration when talking. She always spoke with authority and confidence. This was the first time I’d heard her stumble.

And I fucking loved the sound of it.

“Well, I haven’t been reading it lately. I’ve found it much easier to listen to your recorded presentations. Even better if there’s fancy pictures to go with it,” I admitted. I would not admit, however, that it was mostly used as a tool to fall asleep. Of course I still listened, not for the sake of white noise but to actually learn.

The more I learned about her work, the more I learned about her.

There was silence once more, for a brief period.

“I think you’re onto something, Damien,” she almost whispered.

If I wanted to be on anything, it was her.

“What? Like about the gone rogue theory?”

“Maybe. But apoptosis is also a double edged sword with cancer. If done right, it can prevent cancer from spreading. When done wrong, when it fails to identify or it breaks down cells wrong, that can cause cancer too,” she explained.

“So anathemas are caused by enzymes. Is cancer the same?”

“No. Cancer targets enzymes, though,” she answered.

Well, there goes that theory.

I remained silent this time, taking long deep breaths to meditate the pain away.

“Where are you going with this?” she finally asked.

“With what?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I am dumb,” I rolled my eyes. At least, I felt that way around her. I used to think of it as a bad thing, almost emasculating. It wasn’t. It was on me to educate myself, not for her to speak differently around me.

“Damien Rok, I’m going to end this call if you don’t tell me what you’re thinking,” she demanded.

I sighed, knowing I could just be feeding her ego, “I think you can find a cure to this thing.”

“Y-you think I…?” she stammered again, before laughing, “We don’t even know how this process still works, what any of this means. The idea of a cure might be decades if not centuries away.”

Another call was beginning to come in through my channels, and not from a registered line either. It was blocked, which meant it was a secure line. It could really only mean one thing: Milithreat.

“I’ll let you go,” she insisted, probably able to hear I was getting another contact.

“Jack, wait-” I insisted but I could tell she immediately went offline. Fuck.

I didn’t wait any longer, sitting up from my bunk away from my relaxed state.

“This is Rok,” I answered, a bit frustrated given this call interrupted my chat with Jack.

“You have a new target. We’ll be sending you a file in the morning. This one will be tricky, Saboteur,” the monotone, most likely artificial intelligent voice broke through, “but well rewarding.”

“Who’s the target?”

“District Seven Magistrate: Marhwanda, commonly known as Wanda.”

A Magistrate? Were they fucking joking?

This was as equivalent as killing the President of District 5, the highest form of authority in any District. They controlled plenty of colonies, made legislative decisions, and usually had a shitload of money and power. Some Districts elected, and others took power into their own hands, especially Six.

I knew nothing about Seven, though.

“What would a Magistrate be doing here?” I asked.

“She is frontlining her District’s operations here. Confirmed sighting recently was made by a District One reconnaissance team. With multiple confirmed sightings, it is confirmed she doesn’t intend to lead from a place of security,” the voice explained.

“Why is she here though?” I asked my real question, this time with clarity. Who the hell would risk their necks in a place like this? Especially, since they already knew the horrors that existed in the place? Killing a Magistrate or leader of an entire District could be destabilizing.

“You’ve never questioned why before, Agent Rok.”

“I’m not asking why I’m killing her, I’m asking why she’s here in the first place,” I scoffed.

“Does it matter?”

To me? Yes.

To Milithreat? No.

“Just send me the fucking paperwork. Mission accepted,” I sighed, the call soon terminating as I ripped my helmet off.

I buried my hand in my hands, letting my fingers dig and scratch into the back of my skull beneath my thinly cut hair. I wanted my nails to scratch until it bled, dig into my brain and for once let me feel some sense of control. I think that’s why I liked Jacqueline, she gave me a sense of control. She questioned my judgments, but she questioned them because I think she cared.

She cared, right? Why else would she interrupt her day to get on a comm channel and ask how I was doing?

Pain is weakness leaving the body. That’s what was drilled into my head thousands of times, with all the bones I’ve broken growing up, all the cuts, bruises, bullet wounds in my own skin…every single one of them was meant to build an armor of strength around my body.

Not once had they talked about the pain in my mind, what it meant, how to defeat it. The pain that felt like weakness was entering my brain, not leaving it. It grew and grew, making this life feel more unbearable. With every passing day, this sense of my impending doom felt even more imminent. Yet, there had been glimpses of what could be, what felt natural, beautifully organic…and that was conversations with Jack.

Yet the more I pushed myself to grow closer to her, I was so afraid this doom of mine would implode, and bring her down with me.

I couldn’t let that happen.

-

The bloodbath continued, the same tug of war over territory between us and District Seven continued in a furious spat. While I preferred to keep the fighting long distance, rifles and pistols to do the work, District Seven this time wouldn’t let us.

If we wanted this specific corridor, I would take it by force. And that meant, hand to hand combat.

District Seven did not wear distinctive uniforms like the others. They wore whatever armor they wanted, in any vibrant color they chose. Most of their uniforms were modified, as if they were accustomed to taking armor off their dead enemies and then fashioning it to tailor to their more distinct feminine features.

But fucking hell, they were good fighters.

I was pinned on the hard black ground, the firm stem line of a metallic spear pinning me down on my throat with her weight on top of mine. I could feel her ferocious appetite, her adrenaline spiking as she could almost get a sense of her kill. That was the difference between these warriors and me. I had learned to control those urges, to slowly be in tune with the chaos, to not let any weakness be exploited from my greed.

These women were young. Trained well, of course, but their eagerness was their downfall.

“Any last words, soldier?” she spat at me.

I always hated that question when it was directed at me. I don’t think I ever pondered on what my last words could or should be. Last words were meant on people dying or being executed with meaning, like a martyr dying for a cause. Those last words were supposed to inspire. I was anything but inspiring, and nobody would mourn my passing.

I think I’d refuse any last words when given the choice.

The good news right now was that this wasn’t my end, as much as she thought.

I slowly moved my ankle to gently hook with her leg pinning one of my hips down, trying to be unnoticeable as my hands moved to the spear. With her weight on it, it merely felt like an average bench press to me. She didn’t know that…yet. The second I pushed forward with strength, pulling that ankle of mine against her calf, she lost balance and concentration.

Immediately, I gained the leverage, turning that spear against her, pinning it against her own throat beneath the armor. I didn’t leave any room for error, not using my entire body on hers, but just a solid knee instead to keep me composed and her lungs and diaphragm slowly crushing from the pressure.

Yet the sudden screams of anathemas immediately turned everyone’s attention elsewhere amidst the fighting. My soldiers around me had slowly halted their own individual duels and turned their attention to the real danger. It exposed us, given District Seven could utilize this arrival of demos as a means to defeat us.

But without us, they’d succumb to even worse deaths.

Sometimes, we were told who our enemies were. Sometimes, we were shown. In this moment, both District Five and Seven warriors knew who the real threat was.

Seven did not have the same technological means we did. The laser swords were far more superior in dispatching anathemas, both quickly and effectively. The spears and iron metallic swords of Seven only cut, but didn’t burn or cauterize. Their bullets didn’t do much of a dent either. It was that moment I knew that when it came to anathemas, they were outmatched.

“Hold that thought, darling,” I laughed at her, feeling her squirm. Yeah, there would be no last words for me, and maybe for her at this moment. Instead of instilling a final blow, I saved such bloodlust and instead slammed my armor covered knuckles right at the thinnest part of her own helmet. By the way her grip limped across her own spear, I knew I had at the very least dazed her.

I could finally focus on the bigger, uglier problem. A problem, of course, I felt I was beginning to master. Most of my team were trained on rather intuitive motions when facing an anathema, trying to remove any rational thinking and rely on muscle memory alone. They were terrifying, and terrifying things often led to irrational thoughts. I could not let their brains make decisions for them, but the muscles, the passion in their hearts, and most of all pure instinct.

Aim for the limbs, shotgun blast preferably to weaken or stall their movements. Swords or laser bayonets attached to some soldiers' rifles could be used within five feet. Aim for the neck, or even slice a limb if needed (expecting it could grow back).

Black blood spilled like rain. Instead of stars speckling the dark space with light, the blood speckled us as if we were the new stars in such a void place. The screams of the anathemas had stopped as we slaughtered them. District Seven soldiers had even fought to their best ability, but their weaponry wasn’t enough. I had helped as best I could, distracting the anathemas or intervening with my sword.

In the end, only one survivor remained. And that had been the woman who minutes ago thought she could end me. Foolish of her to think I would end so swiftly.

“Everyone alright?” I asked, conducting a routine ‘bite’ check.

“I got scratched pretty gnarly but…I’m okay,” Grimes groaned, showing his wound, “It wasn’t an anathema.” Looked like District Seven had gotten a cut of their spears right in the space between fabric and armor on his thigh. That meant they knew flaws in our armor, or just got lucky.

“No…no no no!” a voice shrieked, a woman at that. I knew it wasn’t any of my team given I only had males assigned for now. The only woman on Acid Squad was Regina but she was working on getting perimeter video surveillance working, not out here in the fights.

When I turned, I could see blood seeping where I had stood moments prior. The District Seven soldier was bleeding from her calf, a nasty wound shown as she tried to get a better look at the wound. I could sense the defeat in her posture when she noticed it was a bite, and not a deflected gunshot or earlier injury. She also got a good glance around, knowing the rest of her squadron had been wiped out, mostly not by my own team.

“Easy…” I tried to calm her, holstering my rifle behind my shoulder, but I did have my pistol in hand behind my back, ready to fire if necessary, “let me take a look at that bite.”

“You kunst, get away from me,” she scowled.

I had no idea what she called me but it probably wasn’t nice.

“Look around you, sweetheart. I’m all you’ve got right now,” I insisted.

She reached for her helmet, pressing the button at the side to establish her communication. Yet, it was the same side I had slammed my fist into. I knew exactly where to hit to damage the wires amidst the protection of her armor. She didn’t have anyone to call to, nor anyone to assist with today. She was alone, and all on her own, a lone survivor amidst enemies.

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She said nothing, angling her leg again and I took a small look.

“You’ll be fine, at least in terms of turning. But if you don’t get that patched up soon, you’ll bleed out,” I observed.

“I got bit,” she pointed out, again.

“Yeah but the jaw didn’t latch. Anathema’s jaw latching are clear signs of a good bite,” I retorted. Jack and her team had figured that out. There was a locking mechanism within their deformed jaws that made it easier to get that ‘savoring’ Wueh had explained. It was pretty simple to catch too, as the angle of the bite went upward instead of downward with a good latch. A simple bite wasn’t enough to get that enzyme going.

Grimes chimed in on a private call, “You’re not helping her, are you?”

“Do you have a better idea? We can’t just leave her here.”

Grimes remained silent, but not in a bad way. He would not question my judgment, but he was questioning how my judgment had turned this way. Sure, we took prisoners all the time in previous missions, but I usually fought against them. Prisoners were dead weight, and often I wasn’t able to use the interrogation measures I enjoyed to get real information.

This woman, though, had her uses.

“Ruenova, come in,” I asked for her, seeing her hop in the communication.

“Go ahead, Rok,” she hummed.

“Permission to take a body back with us, to Base Green only? Live body at that of course: District Seven,” I noted, “Injuries are critical but could be easily patched with our equipment.”

“Give me one good reason.”

“Consider it a parlay. She is a witness to our strength, and she will also be a witness to our generosity. We send her back to her people in one piece, they’ll turn their attention elsewhere,” I answered.

“Good enough for me. Either knock her unconscious or blindfold, disable her suit,” she demanded.

“Yes ma’am.”

“I’ll handle her,” Grimes insisted, “I’ll be gentle with her, unlike your approach.”

“Hey, I was pretty nice,” I scoffed.

“I saw you punch the shit out of her,” Grimes laughed softly, moving towards the woman.

I turned my attention elsewhere, finding that door I wanted Jack to have so desperately. The mapped out floor plan in my suit confirmed it, and so did the various combinations. Funny enough, this door had a large, long panel, unlike the short combinations we were used to. Whatever was in her felt important.

I pulled out my datapad briefly to take pictures, as clear as I could get for Doctor Deveraux and her team. Video probably wasn’t strong or distinct enough to get all the ridges.

“Got something for you, Doc. Sending it your way,” I whispered to our private channel, figuring she wasn’t there. She hadn’t said a word to me in about a week, since that brief moment we had.

“I can see that. That one is going to take some time to crack, few hours maybe. Once I get an answer, I’ll make my way over,” she surprised me.

“Watching me again, aren’t you?” I teased.

“Judging you, actually,” she teased in return, “I like to know who you are when my back is turned.”

In truth, she wasn’t wrong to do that. If I did have any facade around her, it would reveal itself one way or another when she wasn’t.

“Does the great judgemental judge find me guilty?” I asked.

“Depends on the crime…”

“How about being the best soldier you’ve ever known, and the most handsome?”

“Not guilty,” she retorted immediately. Yet I could hear a stifled laugh from her end.

“Hey, even if you get results, the forward team should still be leaving around noon tomorrow. Should have the perimeter fully secured by then,” I pointed out, “Safer to go with them.”

“I might get results in a few hours-”

“Jack, it’s not safe,” I pointed out.

“You just made it safe enough,” she scowled slightly.

How could I tell her getting here on her own, whether her bike or Sioc wasn’t a smart choice? Anyone could be waiting for her to leave Station Evolution and expose herself. I couldn’t tell her that without having to share the entire issue.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring her back, you know,” she chimed in, not letting me figure out a response to her scowling.

“You never like my ideas,” I insisted.

“True, but she’s a liability.”

“I’m trying to be a better person,” I clenched my jaw slightly. Was I? That’s how I could spin it. I could be generous to her, earn her trust, and get information out of her that way. That wasn’t as manipulative as District Three’s method of holding Jack hostage, was it?

I could hear her sigh, as if understanding, “Alright, if it helps your moral dilemmas, so be it. Just be careful.”

“You too,” I reminded her, ending the chat.

I hated lying to her. In the beginning it was so fucking easy, now it was just making me go insane. There were hesitant thoughts that maybe I should tell her my full mission here, my mission as Saboteur. She might understand, right?

No. Nobody would understand. That’s why this mission fell to me and me alone.

-

When I finally got patched and cleaned up myself, changing out of a full gear of armor and trading it for a light uniform instead, I could sense Jacqueline’s frustration from several miles away. I think she was eager to rush back into the field, even without the mobile lab completely established yet. I knew that, because the main part of her science team already here, mostly David, liked to stare me down like I was their enemy.

I knew that while my team was warming up to Jacqueline, her team was definitely not warming up to me. I couldn’t exactly blame them, as my Sabbath history seemed to put a bad taste in everyone’s mouths.

When I walked over to the medical tent, Grimes walked out, giving a rather interesting expression.

“What’s that look for?” I asked.

“Heh,” he laughed, unsure how to word it, “I’m telling you now, Damien. Think with that brain of yours, and not your dick.”

“When have I ever thought with my dick?” I stood still, aghast by his comment.

“Remember that mission on Colony 430, the bartender? The one that almost killed you in the morning?” he crossed his arms with a wide smirk.

“Okay, but I lived. And, in the end, the mission was successful,” I shrugged, knowing he wasn’t wrong about that moment. That felt so long ago anyways, a time where I had escaped Sabbath and wanted to indulge in a little fun. Any sort of intimacy as a Sabbatical had been…let’s just say, not passionate. It was just a mere release of some overwhelming testosterone. Sabbath leadership actually preferred non-consensual contact…something I did not and never once thought of partaking. It was one of the reasons that slowly turned me away the older I grew.

“Just be careful,” Grimes patted my shoulder before leaving.

When I walked into the tent, I knew exactly what he was talking about. The District Seven warrior was now in her own light garments. Her skin was dark, radiating under the fluorescent lights. Her hair, now out of its tie, were long untamed curls that highlighted her thin face.

Maybe a few months ago, my mind certainly would have delved into those sexual devious thoughts of mine. She was beautiful. But, she was also an enemy, and…

Any thoughts of sex, intimacy, or even the stupid idea of hand holding were all attributed to one woman now. A woman who didn’t want me, who’d probably throw up if she knew where my mind went at night.

“Well, don’t you clean up nicely, kunst,” she smirked slightly, her own eyes dilating at the sight of me. I almost hated the fact she had interrupted my thoughts.

“Are you going to explain what that means?” I asked, grabbing a chair to sit, of course sitting the wrong way with the backrest at my chest.

“Not familiar with Afrikaans, are you?”

“Nope,” I shook my head, “I’m Supervisory Agent Rok, but you can call me Damien.”

“I’m Alala,” she smiled, her eyes still having a glow about her, “I didn’t think the infamous Damien Rok would be so handsome.”

“Infamous?” I questioned.

“Oh of course, you are well known in District Seven,” she explained, “We’ve ranked all the important figures of the Districts. I think most have come to the conclusion you’re the most dangerous. Hell, some of the girls even pooled money to give to the one warrior who can take you down.”

“What a waste of credits,” I tsked, “it should be spent on better equipment to accomplish your missions.”

“Well, not all of us have the privilege of flourishing economies,” Alala smiled.

“So why come to an expensive place like this?”

“Why not?” she shrugged, “Why not make our mark on this world, look for new resources, claim power and fame?”

“Power and fame cost money, money your District doesn’t really have,” I pointed out, “Tell me, because I’m curious, what’s it like in a heavily matriarchal society?”

“Ugh,” she rolled her eyes, “it’s controlled by insane hormones, women crying at every inconvenience, groaning and moaning at breaking fingernails or not being able to wear fancy dresses with white pearls.”

I could tell immediately she was being sarcastic.

“I didn’t mean that question to come off as rude.”

“I know you didn’t, but the question is always going to be rude from a man. A man like you couldn’t even begin to fathom the benefits of our society, the dismantling of a system long gone. But, I forgive you. You men don’t know any better, do you?” she smirked.

“I suppose we don’t. We are dumb creatures,” I admitted.

“You men call yourself dumb to avoid accountability for the system you created, created rather deviously and strategically. But I know you, Agent Rok, you aren’t dumb. So don’t play pretend with me. You’re a very smart man. Hm, if you were raised District Seven, I could see you having great use rather than just being a kunst.”

“Again, what does that mean?”

She only remained silent, keeping her smile. But her eyes this time eyed me up and down, and not the normal observing type strangers would do. I could tell her eyes lingered in certain places: the center of my chest, my biceps, hell, even caught her gaze wandering at my slightly spread legs and what lay hidden between them.

The tent flap opened, and in came Grimes without the same humor he had a few minutes prior.

“The Doctor is on her way,” he sighed.

“What?!” I stood from the chair, “How? Why?”

“She said by bike, she’ll be here within the hour,” he answered.

“No! It’s too fucking dangerous for that.”

“That’s what I told her,” Grimes grunted, “But she then told me to explain what that meant and I knew I couldn’t tell her. Seems she cracked that door code with relative ease.”

“Of course she did,” I huffed, taking a deep breath, “Just meet her at the hole, please. Make sure she’s escorted here to the best of her ability.”

Stubborn little…ugh, I couldn’t finish the sentence. One of the greatest things I liked about her was that damn stubbornness. I couldn’t exactly complain about something I was attracted to, could I?

“Yes sir, I’ll keep you in the loop,” he nodded before leaving.

Alala’s demeanor had changed slightly, to that more inquisitive.

“I thought Garcia was your doctor?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah, he’s a field medic. Did he patch you up okay?” I glanced over at her bite, which was nothing more than a fading scar.

“He did. So, what’s so special about her?” Alala asked.

Funny, I think this was the first time a District seemed to have more intelligence on me than they did on Jacqueline. It was almost refreshing, but it also could be a ploy at getting information they didn’t know yet.

“She’s a biological anthropologist,” I answered, almost a bit proudly as if I was showing her off. She wasn’t mine to show off in the first place. There would never be a moment where she’d have her arm wrapped around mine, both of us bragging about each other’s professions.

There was nothing proud about my work, not when she was right that I ruined everything people like her were destined to create or restore. I was nothing, nobody a woman like her could be proud of.

“What the hell is that?” Alala asked.

“Well, biology is the study of life. So she focuses a lot on the human body and cellular activity. And an anthropologist, I think, studies societies and structures of culture and how they affect humans,” I explained.

“Sounds like a bullshit occupation,” Alala laughed, but I could tell she wasn’t joking, “Can she fight?”

“No, I mean…she’s killed a few anathemas with her laser sword,” and…one man with a pistol but I didn’t want to bring that up, “but she did fencing growing up, I think. So she knows about footwork and thrusting techniques, I suppose. I wouldn’t necessarily call her a soldier.”

“Hm, so she is weak.”

No. Fuck no. She was the strongest person I’d ever come to know.

I think she could tell I grew defensive at that comment.

“You don’t have a lot of scientists on Seven, do you?” I asked.

“No, no and if we did, all their work would be stolen and taken credit for. All our people would be used as test subjects for the grand designs of the Federation. We have always been subjects of evolutionary experiments, all on the fact of looking, talking, and being different from most of the rest of you. But you know what they can’t take from us? Sheer, physical power. Power, strength, dominance on the battlefield is something they couldn’t even think to steal from us, let alone defeat.”

“You are rather impressive fighters,” I complimented, “You especially.”

“You act as though you've never been bested by a woman before in combat,” she finally returned to that teasing nature.

“Oh, I have a few times,” I admitted. I had in Sabbath. Some women were just pure bred machines of muscles and rage. A woman who knew the right and proper techniques to take down a man twice her size was very dangerous indeed. Which is what made Alala so dangerous even if she wasn’t armed.

“Enough chatter about war, I think we’ve both had enough for the day. Tell me about home…your home,” she insisted.

So, I told her. All of it had been a lie of course. Stories of a beautiful family with caring parents and siblings. I had little success in school, took a great interest in boxing or fighting and found proficiency in it. Got recruited by Milithreat and the rest is history. She told me about District Seven, being taught to use a spear and sword the same age she could walk and talk. She talked about how most of all the planets there had an inverse sun, constantly dark rather than light, a night as black as her smooth skin.

I could see I put her at ease, could humor her without effort, compliment her and she’d accept each single one like a god given gift. I knew immediately what she was doing, given Grimes’ great advice.

The conversation slowly halted over time with a slight commotion outside in the Base. Whatever it was, it had silenced most of the soldiers particularly. It wasn’t until that commotion walked into the room, I could see why.

Jacqueline walked in, wearing her helmet (rather the one I got her that was all fixed up), leather riding jacket, and tight cargo shorts. She looked…well, I could see why the rest of my men had fallen silent at the sight. Deveraux was a beautiful woman, and most would argue especially with a black mask to hide the venom that laid underneath. I preferred her as bare as she could be, scarred lips and all. I liked that vulnerable side to her.

I hadn’t seen her physically in weeks. She looked as good as I could remember, and just the sight of her seemed to fill that weird, indescribable void in myself. That feeling of any loneliness or disbelief withered away from her very presence. I had missed her, which annoyed the shit out of me.

Jack immediately tensed slightly at seeing Alala, who certainly had a blushing, flirtatious nature about her. She removed her helmet, brushing a few stray black strands aside before looking me with those gorgeous emerald eyes of hers.

She was about to ask a question, but Alala beat her to it.

“What’s with the mask?” she asked, rather rudely at that.

“What is she still doing here?” Jack retorted with her own venom, still holding her stare at me.

“She’s staying for the evening and then will make connection with her team tomorrow. We’ll drop her off at a more secure location and she’ll be on her way,” I explained, answering her question. I didn’t have the patience to answer Alala’s question, however. It wasn’t any of her business.

Jacqueline’s eyes slowly turned to Alala, and I could see a bit of her confidence waver. Why? Her demeanor had faltered, her posture tilted, finger tapping her own helmet gently. Was this a woman thing I didn’t know about?

“Can we talk, Damien?” Jack asked me.

“Sure, Doctor, we’ll just need someone here to-”

“Oh, so you’re this biological archeologist,” Alala interrupted.

“Anthropologist…” Jack corrected her immediately, which made Alala tense up. Jack said nothing else but slowly looked back outside the tent, waving someone over to monitor Alala. Grimes happily volunteered, walking in to see everyone’s moods had shifted.

I followed Jacqueline outside and soon into her own tent, which was hardly full of anything given she hadn’t unpacked her gear. Not like she minded. I immediately started thinking of answers to the questions she most definitely ask. Surely it must be about this whole dangerous thing, how Grimes and myself both insisted for her to wait for a secure and proper escort here.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually falling for this, are you?” Jack asked.

“Huh?” Well, I had no idea what she was talking about now.

“You’re more oblivious than I thought,” Jack scoffed.

“Hold on, just…” I paused, crossing my arms, “What the hell is going on?”

“Fuck, I really have to spell it out for you, don’t I?” she crossed her arms too.

We both stood there in slight silence, a tension between us that I didn’t even know was a problem until now. It felt different than the original tension, of us considering each other as enemies or rivals. This felt like an odd fire, pressurized explosion ready to blow. Not out of anger or frustration, out of a passion to want to grip each other’s throats and suffocate each other.

“She’s clearly trying to get into your pants,” Jack finally clarified.

“Alala?”

“No! Grimes, obviously,” she rolled her eyes, “Of course it’s fucking her, Damien. She is using you to sleep with you.”

“Oh, really?” I smirked slightly.

I could immediately see her tense up at that, perhaps not realizing I was only just joking. Yet that demeanor of hers faltered, once again, just as similar as it had prior. Whatever was consuming her, it seemed to be feeding some insecurity I couldn’t see.

“I am so honestly surprised a woman hasn’t killed you yet,” Jack scowled.

I laughed at that, “A few have tried.”

She didn’t laugh. My teasing mood slowly eroded, noticing that there was something wrong. Clearly, I wasn’t insightful enough to pinpoint it.

“What’s wrong, Jacqueline?” I asked softly, approaching her slightly.

“Nothing,” she insisted immediately.

“I can tell her to leave, Jack,” I insisted.

“She’ll die out there without her District. You’re just trying to be nice…a gentleman for once and I’m…” she couldn’t finish her sentence.

Did she think herself to not be a nice person? Was it because she tended to see the worst in everyone, a pessimist on everyone's hearts?

“You’re just concerned about your semi-handsome protection detail,” I hummed, “I get it. Trust me, I don’t succumb easily to women.”

An abhorrent lie, because just the sight of this woman in a leather jacket and riding gear was making me weak in the knees.

“You don’t have to worry about her,” I insisted.

But maybe it wasn’t her that she was truly worried about.

“You really think this will keep District Seven at bay?”

Yes, because if everything worked out, District Seven would be shambles with their ruler usurped. I already knew from Alala’s description of her culture and homeworld that everything was determined by that Magistrate. If Wanda was the true reason for their District to arrive her, surely dismantling her would dismantle them entirely.

“Yeah, I think so. It’ll let you get to work with relative peace and quiet on whatever is in that special room,” I nodded. She seemed to feel a bit of relief at that. Honestly, she looked stressed, and not the normal amount due to all the smart ideas piling into her brain. She looked stressed because maybe she had taken my words as true. Maybe she could find a purpose to all of this, unlock this mystery and maybe even cure it.

“I don’t think peace and quiet can exist in the same room as you, Damien,” she sighed, “I’ll let you get back to your flirting.”

“Good, I think I need some practice,” I teased, which got a soft laugh from her, “before I go though, I have a question: what’s a kunst?”

I knew she had stated earlier she was familiar with Afrikaans but couldn’t really speak it well. The term almost seemed slang in nature, so there was a chance she wouldn’t know.

Yet, she had a slightly amused look on her face.

“It’s a term of endearment,” she answered, but I could tell that wasn’t all.

“The tone she uses when she uses it doesn’t exactly sound like it.”

“You should be honored, Damien. A kunst is the highest honor amongst the hierarchy of men within District Seven. You’ve been designated as a man meant for procreation solely on looks and physique.”

I blinked blankly at that, wondering if she was joking. But she wasn’t.

“Wait, are you saying…?”

“That she considers you a whore? Yes, yes I am,” she clarified, “A whore she intends to use to the fullest potential.”

“I don’t really like the sound of that,” I scratched my head slightly.

“Congratulations, you now know what it feels to be objectified. Now go, I don’t really trust Grimes with her alone either,” Jack shooed me away with her hand, even going as far as gently pushing me out from her tent.

The imprint of her hand against my chest burned like a brand, her brand making its mark on me.

At this point, I wish the only problem I had were anathemas. Adding women to this entire equation of life was perhaps one of creation’s worst ideas, and maybe the best.

One thing I knew for sure: Jacqueline Deveraux was jealous. Jealous of what? I suppose that was as great a mystery as the anathemas themselves.