Sometimes, we forget that our best defenders are just kids. There’s so much pressure on the Girls and their Operators to perform. They have so much media presence that it’s easy to mistake them for adults who act like adults when things go wrong. The following video clip should demonstrate the potential consequences of that mistake for any of you who’ve forgotten.

Kyle (Operator N245): …And there was no reason for Zero-Suit to be in Vancouver to begin with. She was under-leveled and poorly built for extended fighting, and there should be some accountability.

General Edward Spence: There will be - through appropriate methods and procedures. Enough blood was spilled during the battle, don’t you think?

(Kyle pulls out a handgun and slaps Spence across the face with it. Spence’s cheek is cut, and blood drips off his face.)

Kyle (Operator N245): Who authorized an all-Girls assault into the middle of a known Mack hotspot? Zero-Suit died out there! So did a dozen other Girls! The city needs accountability! I need accountability! Someone has to be to blame!

(Kyle starts to sob. The gun shakes and lowers away from Spence’s face. Spence gently takes the gun, safes it, and removes its magazine. He sets it on a table within Kyle’s reach and wraps Kyle in his arms. It’s a hug, not a restraint.)

Kyle (Operator N245): I want Christine back, Mr. Spence. I just want her back.

General Edward Spence: I do too, son. I do too. Christine was a hell of a daughter.

Just remember, beneath the powers Magical Girls possess and the tech mastery Operators use daily are young people without experience handling the stress of combat. Do not misuse them, treat them with respect, and make sure your orders are well thought-out, or you might not be as lucky as I was. I lost my daughter to one wrong order, my career to the fallout, and I almost lost my life to the boy she left behind. You could lose everything too.

* General Edward Spence, retired, presentation on working with Magical Girls and Operators post-Battle of Vancouver, Haven Army, Navy, and Air Force Officer Academy, 2046

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Chapter Nineteen

Chunks of cinder block, shards of steel, and a whirlwind of dust froze around us as Overclock stopped time for Sora and me. I peered at the vast pit, the stage’s twisted frame, and a sea of scattered, broken folding chairs. The Type Twenty-One’s arm had been caught mid-swing, the shockwave from its blow rippling through the school wall.

The edge of Sora’s makeshift stretcher dug into the almost-healed scabs on my hands as she slid down the steep stairs. She screamed in agony with each bump. I didn’t have time to care. I didn’t know if I was killing her, but the fire escape was coming down soon!

When we reached the bottom, I glanced back and forth at the wall. There had to be shelter somewhere! The window I’d shattered yesterday yawned open, and I dragged Sora toward it.

Time snapped back. Rubble fell around us like rain, the cinder blocks and steel falling around us. Overclock threw herself off the landing like a cat. She landed with her skirt fluttering, one leg out and the other kneeling. She spun the hammer back as she stood, snapping its shaft against her shoulder. Her gaze fell on the Type Twenty-One.

Overclock charged at the machine. She spun, and her hammer snapped out with a crack as the backpack’s strap tore. Mack-plate shattered as the hammer hit an arm’s side. “Get her inside! Jimmy says to hold for two minutes!”

“Two minutes for what?!”

She’d already run toward the retreating machine. Overclock danced between broken chairs, dodging blows from the Mack as it blocked her hammer strikes.

I kept dragging Sora. Fighting the Macks could wait; my friend needed my help!

Overclock snapped the hammer back, her eyes on one arm’s joint. A second arm punched into her side. Yellow mana flared as she flew across the soccer field and landed near the ruined stage.

She stood, yellow mana sputtering off, and spun her hammer again. She’d shielded herself from the hit!

Once again, Overclock rushed back to the machine as it started moving toward Sora and me. She lept between it and the school. Between it and us. Mana flared as she traded blows with it.

I gasped for air, and my arms ached. Sora’s stretcher balanced on the broken window frame - how could she be this heavy?

Overclock held her hammer up to block a crushing overhead strike. I heard her grunt in effort as she shoved back. The weight pressed down, and I could see ruts under her feet. The machine’s sheer size pushed Overclock back toward the school.

She spun out from under the arm as it crashed into the grass below her. I shoved the stretcher as I saw her turn toward the Mack’s exposed joint. Her hammer flashed out, crushing the plastic and pneumatics in a spray of black goop.

As Overclock pressed her attack, I hopped the window frame. Sora teetered on the edge. I pulled her inside and dragged her to the back of the room. Finally, I could catch my breath.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

But not for long. Overclock and the machine swung and bashed at each other just outside.

“I’ll be back soon, Sora,” I mumbled while I grabbed my crossbow and ran back to the window. I really hoped I wasn’t lying.

The backpack sat near the twisted fire escape, its strap broken. I had three shots for my Delphi as I hopped over the window frame. If I didn’t get the backpack, I wasn’t going to be helping Overclock much.

The Type Twenty-One had switched tactics. As Overclock and the machine battled, it retreated, moving toward the ruined, crushed stage. Overclock turned, panting, and shouted, “James says one minute!” She sucked in another breath and sprinted toward the colossal Mack.

I ran toward the backpack. My hand gripped its ruined shoulder strap. My feet churned the gravel below them as I stopped and started running back toward the building; I was back in the fight!

And just in time, too.

Sprinting back toward the window, I could see a wave of Type Ones moving toward me from the pit. The first got to the gaping entrance while I was still halfway. It started climbing up to get inside, and I took aim. The bolt flew toward it and smashed through the plastic chassis. Blue sparks covered the machine.

A second started climbing. The red dot overlapped its body. I pulled the trigger. The shot caught its back leg, but the other five kept climbing! It vanished into the dark classroom.

I could hear the Type One thumping around the room, banging into desks as it moved toward my friend. I ripped open the backpack - ammo and medical supplies went everywhere. I grabbed a pair of magazines and kept running.

“Oh, fuck!”

I turned. Overclock had stumbled on a piece of scaffolding, and the Mack was taking advantage. She tried to get her hammer shaft between the incoming punch and her body. The shaft bent from the first arm’s blow, buckled from the second, and snapped as the third plowed through.

The Mack tossed her into the air, the head and half of the hammer in her hand.

She slid across the ground. Her mana flared, then went out.

I didn’t have time to help her, though.

I vaulted into the classroom. The Type One had made it most of the way through to Sora. I fired the crossbow again. The bolt whooshed through the classroom’s still air and stuck into the door.

I’d missed it. I threw the crossbow down and ran.

As I careened through the mess of desks and chairs, Overclock staggered back toward the window. I bounced off a desk and raced to beat the Type One to Sora, but I only had one option without my crossbow.

“Overclock, close your eyes!” I cupped my hands. Overclock ducked her head into her arm as the Type Twenty-One loomed behind her.

“Feu-Follet!” My arms burned as the Mana Surge started, and I cried out at the sudden pain.

“Fuck, Luciole!” The beam of light washed over the Type One and Overclock to slam straight into the Type Twenty-One’s arms.

The Type One skittered in a circle only a few meters from Sora and me. Its armor had shattered, and sparks ran across its surface. The Type Twenty-One had fared only a bit better; its arm plates had faded and fractured, and its legs scrabbled at the ground as it struggled to control its body.

And Overclock looked like she’d had a day at the beach with no sunscreen. “Dammit, kid, don’t fire that at people!”

“Sorry!” I wasn’t sorry. I was too busy to be sorry.

I grabbed my dagger and stabbed the Type One while she approached the massive machine outside. “We can’t kill it! Help is coming! 36 seconds!” She charged with her broken hammer and spun. The hammer’s head crashed into an arm, and shattered armor sprayed across the gravel.

As she rebalanced for another hit, the Twenty-One’s four undamaged arms flailed up. One caught Overclock under her chin; another ripped across her injured shoulder. Her bandage tore off, and her wound blossomed red.

She screamed and paled, dropping the hammer to hold her shoulder. The Mack’s arms raised as I pushed back through the desks, grabbed her, and pulled.

She fell into the classroom. A moment later, plaster and chips of cinderblock rained down around us as the machine tried to force its arms inside.

It couldn’t fit, and I dragged Overclock through the desks and chairs as it pulled back a couple steps. It raised its arms slowly, the two damaged ones jolting and shaking. It brought them down one after another, tearing into the cinder block wall. The arms went up again. Porcelain and bathroom stall chunks rained down into the math room.

I finished dragging Overclock as the arms came up again. I cupped my hands. “Feu-Follet!”

Error: Exhaustion Protocol

Consult your Operator to override Exhaustion Protocol. Operator not found.

“Fuck! Overclock, what do I do?”

She groaned, reached back, and popped James’s chip out of her port. The machine tore another section of the bathrooms out from above us and moved into the hole.

“Take Jimmy…Fifteen seconds…Override the protocol.”

I grabbed the chip. Blood covered my hand, and my hand burned as it touched hers, but I shoved it inside my port anyways.

“Overclock, eleven seconds! Do you hear me?”

“James, Override Exhaustion Protocol!” I screamed. The arms raised up again. “Fue-Follet!”

This time, it worked. The beam of light caught the Type-Twenty-One directly in the eye. Its eye flicked blue while it staggered back. Mack-plate and plastic chipped and fractured as the light faded, and I blinked afterimages away.

I hadn’t gotten away with it unscathed. My hands bled, my shoulder burned as the Type Four’s cut reopened, and my leg throbbed.

A Type Four slid past it, pushing into the classroom’s wreckage.

“Five seconds, Luciole!”

I drew my knife. A high-pitched whine filled the air.

“Three seconds!”

A purple blur screamed into the room. Something crashed into the Type Four, which went down in a tangle of tentacles as the whine cut off.

“One!”

A girl stood up from the back of the room. Her purple helmet covered her face, while her violet faux-leather biker jacket exposed her midriff. Her black skirt ended over a pair of purple tights, and thick biker boots covered her calves.

She unwound a cord from her waist - one with a heavy-looking metal ball at the end. She spun it in front of her in a quick figure-eight. Another, deeper, whine echoed off the walls.

ResCute had arrived.