“Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned.”

William Congreve

17

Full, luscious lips smiled at me. The sun (was it the sun?) glinted off perfect white teeth. She was so beautiful and bright. She was almost blinding. “My friends call me Scarab.” She extended a perfectly manicured hand.

I sized it up. There was a magnetism about her.

She shrugged and retracted the hand, “Suit yourself. Not used to normal social graces, I expect.” With the skill of an Anglerfish luring its prey, I could not tear my eyes away from her fair complexion and the halo of blond curls. Everything about her was perfect and shiny. Even her voice had a musical lilt to it. I pushed into her mind but hit a rock-solid Firewall. All I could see was what she let me. “You are everything I hoped for too,” she grinned, aware of my appraisal. “Not at all ‘normal,’” she concluded as a new door shimmered into shape.“Your destiny awaits you, Arche...”

I stepped through the umpteenth door for the day and hoped this one held a happy ending, but somehow, I doubted it.

A heaving orange virus buzzed around us.

“Not just any virus,” She swelled with pride. Could she hear me? Her wide green eyes did not confirm or deny this. Seth was running around trying to find it, and here I was, in the thick of it.

“I'm sure you could do better." she purred. "But it’ll do for now!” She stood back and sang, “Happy birthday, to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear Aaaaaarche! Happy Birthday to you!" Eat your heart ut, Marilyn. She seemed genuinely delighted.

I faced a plush leather chair surrounded by dozens of holo screens, each showing the start screens of my favourite games. Had I died behind one of those doors and gone to heaven?

"But wait, there's more!" She clapped her hands with glee. A feed of Eleanor arriving back in the city flickered onto a screen. The camera watching her was in the rear-view mirror. Another feed showed Fikile pacing the deck, no doubt looking for me. Again. The camera was in the trees. So, not heaven, then.

“Where are my friends?” I asked.

"I don’t know about your friends, but I’d love to introduce you to mine.” The chair slid behind me, tapped me behind the knees and dropped me into it, like a sack of potatoes. "Robotics,” she grinned. “Gotta love 'em." The back of the chair rose to meet my spine. I leaned into the welcoming leather as it moulded to my shape. It felt good. And I was exhausted.

"Regan, I’m no supervillain. I’m the saviour of our kind," she said without a trace of arrogance.

“Our kind?” I asked.

“Woman-kind,” said an Indian auntie. A beautiful white sari trimmed with gold and orange picked up the henna in her greying hair. This lady seemed entirely out of place.

“Women-kind has been under the tyranny of the real villain for centuries, Regan." She said in a legit Indian accent. Who on earth was this old gal? I tried to pull up her profile.

"Sorry darling," said the Scarab. "We are in a Faraday Room." She paused. "Nothing comes in." She knocked on the invisible wall of the domain. "Nothing goes out." She winked.

A holo screen flashed before me as the Scarab introduced the newest villain. "Prathibha Devisingh Patil. Born 19th of December 1934, a politician and lawyer." The screen showed the lady at various stately functions. "The only member of W.A.R.S. not married to a president because she became one!"

A crowd somewhere went wild.

"Google her, Bitches! She is..." The lights dimmed. A roll of thunder began to build into Led Zepplin’s Immigrant Song (aaaaaaaah aaaaaaah aah!). She stretched out her tongue in an outrageous scream. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!" A blaze of fire leapt up around the old lady as her eyes widened, bloodshot with rage. Then she disappeared like a magician in a cloud of smoke.

"Kah-Liiiiiiiii!" The Scarab hissed.

A mountain of dead bodies rose with Kali atop it. Her neat bun grew wild and long as if she had tentacles for hair. The smoke cleared. The sari hung in tatters, revealing a much younger woman with a blue, muscular body exposed. Her exposed left breast heaved with her breath, animating a streak of blood across her chest. I thought about Blue. Also, the Hindu Goddess Kali was terrifyingly hot. Literally, but also in the way that Will had suddenly become and that Seth had always been. I had so many confusing feelings.

'I give you," The Scarab settled into her rhythm now, "Kali, the Goddess of ultimate power, time, destruction aaaaaand change!"

The crowd went wild again.

Kali held a head, forever frozen in a bloody scream in one of her two left hands. Blood coagulated around her cherry red toenails beneath the bowl to catch the blood in her other left hand. She held a crescent-shaped sword in one right hand and a trident in the other.

“You take multi-tasking to a whole new level,” I said.

The holo screens lit up with dozens of images of presidents and first ladies at various stately functions and photo-ops.

“We are the W.A.R.S,” said a third voice. Michelle Obama, the beloved first lady of the USA towered over me. Her features were exaggerated and elongated as if she lived in the second dimension. She stood, her arms muscular and firm in sleeveless coutre with a solid gold breastplate, the emblem of an emblazoned sun around her neck. As if on the cover of Vogue, her hands encircled an inhumanly narrow waist.

“We are not the real enemies.” she spat as she shook her head. The course hair that shaped her bob suddenly leapt into a mane. Her features grew, lengthening and rounding into the head of a magnificent lion, culminating in a low growl. “For centuries, they have broken us down, Regan,” said Sekmet, the Egyptian Goddess of war. “It’s time to take control.”

A logo flashed across the holo screens with a catchy eighties-style jingle. Subjected to a torturous montage, I learned that twelve Goddesses’ posed as first ladies across the globe. They had taken the dire state of the world into their own hands. The jingle closed the montage as Kali thundered, “We will destroy it all!”

“But mostly take control,” clarified Sekmeht.

"And destroy!" Kali raged.

"Strategically,” Sekmeht clarified.

“But there will be destroying?” Kali stared pointedly at the Scarab.

“Oh my God, Yes, Kali, we will destroy shit! Shit will be destroyed. Okay?”

Kali hissed and seethed.

“Okaaay?” Said the Scarab.

“Okay.” Kali relented.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

“Women Who Run Shit are sick and tired of the status quo,” the Scarab declared. The edges of the screens adjusted themselves to meet my gaze. They curved in slightly, making the space intimate.

“Intelligent,” winked Kali.

“I love a clever war," Sekmet purred.

“Over centuries,” began the Scarab. I had to admit the intro had been impressive. Now she was going in for the kill. The screens depicted fire, famine and rage. Death and destruction were everywhere. It was madness. Each screen held women and children at the centre of the violence. Not just news and wars but social media too. I flinched involuntarily as my vision grazed over rape and abuse. Young girls in highly sexualised poses, half-naked. Little children and animals even. People shared this stuff and bought this stuff. Women in high-power positions were trolled by ignorant men and bitchy women. Antagonistic Twitter threads and hateful comments. Jelouse voyeurism, mindless scrolling, sucking people into stupidity, banality and malevolence. My stomach turned.

Moses was caught on camera crying for the world to see. Mrs Haynes might lose her job. Cyberbullying - it had a name. There is power in a name. Things are living when they have names.

"Atum, the first man, was an Arche." Whispered Sehkmet from somewhere far away. My skin crawled faintly with code.

“Humanity is not coping well." Said Kali.

"We just want to help.” Said the Scarab in a much softer tone. “Help us make it better. It is your calling, after all." She sighed. "Game Changer."

“Regan,” began Kali. “History demonstrates that one empire must fall before another can rise. Destruction must occur before reconstruction.”

“Nature teaches us this also,” agreed Sekmeht.

They were not wrong. Apps would come and go. I could change the game, but people would stay the same.

“We’re just speeding up the inevitable.” Kali shook the grizzly head in her hand for emphasis.

I recalled the news coverage of the mass grave I was in five days ago. Kali was there.

“Same rules, but a new game. Fire with fire, as it were,” Sekhmet said from behind me. One of the screens showed a map of Africa. Sehkmet set fire to the middle east: her scorched earth policy burned across the globe, towards Africa and through Libya, Egypt, Tunisia and beyond. The fire burned through Asia and towards China. The world was ablaze.

Something inside me, not even that far down, wanted everything to burn. “But people will die,” I whispered, not very convincingly.

“People are already casualties of the wrong war,” said Sekment gently but firmly. "Help us fix it."

“My lover, Ada,” said the Scarab, not taking her eyes from the carnage, "helped me see the possibilities of the computer and the freedom it offered.”

Kali and Sekmeht rolled their eyes and sighed.

“Ada Lovelace?” I asked. “The mother of computing? Ada described her approach as 'poetical science' and herself as an 'Analyst & Metaphysician'” I said, doing my thang.

“People hate it when you ‘know it all’ don’t they?” Asked the Scarab. I nodded.

“Guhrl, “ purred Sekmeht, “Tell me about it! I am a millennia-old victim of mansplaining." It was hard not to bond with supervillains when you had things in common, you know?

"Anyway, I was hanging around the court of King William IV,” she carried on blazé AF, “when Ada and I met.” She drifted off into the memory.

“Really? This again?” said Kali tossing her paraphernalia into thin air. She put two hands on her hips and folded the other two across her chest - a double whammy in body language.

“She was something special.” The Scarab said dreamily, letting her defences drop a little, which gave me access to the first bit of encryption. I was not buying this Frarady business, and if I was going to switch sides, I needed more intel.

“Her potential was mind-blowing.” The Scarab positively glowed at this memory. “I was her inspiration. Our collaboration was poetry in motion.” She went quiet, remembering. Sekmeht cast a long, affectionate sideways glance at the Scarab. She was ready to help the Scarab heal her broken heart at the drop of a bomb. Sekmeht winced as the Scarab said, “I loved her.”

And just as I thought I was making progress, I hit a firewall. I glanced around to see Kali, all her arms folded and her cherry red toes tapping impatiently. She bust me. She mouthed are you fucking kidding me at Sekmeht. This led to a heated silent sign language debate. One of them needed to interrupt the Scarab and remind her that they had a hostage to deal with.

“This is boring,” I said. “And if you're as old as you say you are, this isn’t the first time someone didn't love you back, Calliope?

Dum dum dum went my big reveal internal soundtrack. She narrowed her eyes, trying to push past my firewall. I'll admit it was a long shot, but the Scarab was none other than Calliope, the songstress and poet, of the nine Greek muses. Gran took my Greek mythology education very seriously.

“No smarty-pants.” Her demeanour cracked. ‘It wasn't.” There was a fire in her eyes. “But by then it didn't matter. I had everything I needed to inspire others,” she gestured towards Kali and Sekhmet, “with my vision for the future.” I glanced back over at Sekmeht as she regarded Calliope with total adoration.

“Don’t forget about the guy messing around with genetics and biology,” sang Kali.

“It was happening Iterations wide. Once one version of him cracked it, they all would!” purred Sekmeht.

“People,” Kali shrugged, “feisty little fuckers. Keen on survival and killing to do it. Such an oxymoron.”

“And that other guy, what was his name, the quantum biologist? Erik, was it?”

“I quite liked him, actually,” said Kali.

Erik? I realised too late that I had taken my awareness off the Scarab. She suddenly held her index finger in front of my face.

“This is my gift to Iteration 2012.” I blinked. I knew what I was looking at. Her smile widened unnaturally. “It’s absorbed within seconds. After that, it’s into the hypodermis and the bloodstream in a jiff. My little nanobots make their way into the nervous system,” she said with menacing glee. “Comfy?” She asked. Without waiting for a response, she pressed her finger onto the base of my skull. Within seconds I felt her grip on me.

I wanted an Onboard. And now I had one.

MOTHER

I slammed the book shut and shoved myself as far away from it as I could. Clutching desperately at my hot face, throat, hair, and heart, the groove, the samskara in Sanskrit, that I had already walked into this kitchen floor over the last four days' got deeper.

“What is the point of all this!” I yelled. My voice rang down the passage and out the kitchen door. Afraid that my voice would fracture my already tenuous grip on reality, I ran outside as a primordial scream rose from some hidden place inside me. “Aaaaaaaaaaaargh! I don’t understand!" I thundered over the grass. "I don’t understand what the fuck I’m supposed to do about any of this!”

I stumbled through the field as my tears and the sun blinded me.

The Ecclesia carried me, keeping my feet on the path until I found myself on the beach. My hands, knees, face, and shins were flat on the damp sand. “I told you, I had no idea what I was doing in my own fucking life. What am I supposed to do about this? Any of this?”

I heard myself sucking tears and snot out of the world and back into myself.

I wept until I had nothing left in me but whimpers and groans.

Whimpers and groans.

Whimpers.

And groans.

MAIDEN

My nervous system interfaced seamlessly, connecting my cornea and retina to the Onboard. An advertisement played on my internal retinal screen, inside my eye. The words went by like a Twitter feed: Don't miss a minute or skip a beat! Keep your finger on the pulse of life! Stay connected! The feed switched to commercials about communication and staying connected to family, the economy and business, staying on top of financial trends and the stock market, health and wellness - have your therapist Onboard with you! Why see a doctor? Your Onboard can check everything for you - stay connected to health professionals 24/7! The cacophonous madness thrummed into my brain.

“I am nothing short of a goddamn philanthropist, Regan," declared the Scarab! "A God Dam Philanthropist!” I looked up into her mesmerising eyes. I tried to galvanise my mental firewall because something clicked in my brain as my train of thought led me to it: the virus was a distraction. It was to keep Seth off what they were looking for: Me.

The algorithm I’d been working on the night the Dragon came for us showed up on my retinal screen and all the others. It was all I could see, no matter where I looked. It had a glaring error. And all I wanted to do was fix it.

“I’ll be honest with you, Regan, because I want us to be friends.”

“Friends?” I laughed. “I’m pretty sure friends don’t trick each other into biotech experimentation and try to steal things out of their minds."

“You disappoint me, Regan.” She sighed. “You and I are not so dissimilar." she took my face between her palms. “They never understood my ambition or my capabilities either. They underestimated me because I was arty."

I was having difficulty following my train of thought. There was a slight tickling sensation at the base of my skull and a tingling sensation down my spine. A pleasing warm softness came over me. The screens glowed with the code coming out of my head. My fingers twitched with muscle memory as my hands lay limply in my lap. I had been working on it almost constantly in the background, even after Blue had told me I needed all my awareness in one place. Maybe it was better this way? Maybe I could save millions of lives if I fixed it for her. I closed my eyes and drifted off into the comforting sea of my code.