> ‘She awakens now too, spurred on by rising tensions. She will elevate those around her, as they will elevate her. Are we ready for the coming age?’
>
> The Sundered Earth to the Ancient Bone.
image [https://d.wattpad.com/story_parts/919887572/images/1621567401ea53af264939918809.png]
----------------------------------------
Kenya arrived late. It was par for the course, he was nearly always late. He had tried to travel quickly, but moving unnoticed through tolls, checkpoints, and security outposts required a lot more detail than he had remembered. It had been a while since he had gone anywhere without clearance.
They had approached, and then breached, Earth's atmosphere with little to no hindrance. Nothing more than a quick communication with the Observer fleet. The massive fleet, stationed behind 5689-C, a gas giant within the Sol system, was a small collection of specialised cruisers and spyships, set out to watch Earth and the surrounding planets on behalf of the higher ups. Kenya hadn’t known its name before.
He also hadn’t known that Fish, one of his handlers, was the commander of the fleet. Luckily their conversation had been brief. Fish mentioned that he had already been cleared, and had offered him coordinates. The same coordinates he was trying to get to.
Kenya didn’t know who had cleared him, and he really didn’t have any hunches.
He wasn’t one to look a gift oomoa in the mouth though, if it was convenient and worked, he wouldn’t complain.
Truthfully, he hadn’t even known about the Observer fleet until he read about it in the documents attached to the ping he had been sent. It hadn’t mentioned Fish, just that it was stationed there, its tasks, and other, frankly boring, naval jargon.
The report was actually very well put together, so well put together he wondered where Burtrand had had the time to brush up on his clerical skills. The man spent most of his time in the field.
Everyone had their hobbies, he guessed.
The attached reading was thorough, though, and detailed exactly where he was going, and why. Maplewood Residences, a quiet rural municipality somewhere within what was locally known as ‘The United States of America.’ Somewhere in its midwestern region. It was one of the 5th Army's hidden watchpoints, Site-9. The population of the town was only 17,000 meaning that maybe a third of that number was OverWatch personnel. By the by, it wasn’t a small outpost, though by most standards it wasn’t large either.
The mission report had held sparse details when compared to the rest of the document.
There was a refugee hideout somewhere within the town, housing an unknown number of dissenters and refugees. Site-9 had pulled in a large amount of personnel to deal with the issue, including the legendary Elite-9, who were sited to be needed for the ability to handle enemies with access to caustic materials. Counter Chemical Warfare.
Lovely, Kenya had thought.
They had landed maybe half an hour into the mission start, perimeters were still being set up around supposed locations of activity, Kenya had learned it was a network after he had arrived,, their dropship hidden inside of Site-9’s far off hanger. They had had to take a train just to get out here.
Kenya stood now within a command centre, the gentle pitter patter of rain bouncing off of the metal roof above him. Kenya was watching over monitors connected to different cameras throughout the town. People were going about their lives, shopping, eating, talking, some ran to get inside as the rain picked up. He had never been to Earth before, but even with the planet so disconnected from the rest of the empire, it felt familiar. They lived like everyone else did. It was a small comfort.
Kenya had no official role within the mission, he was just back up, both from a command aspect and as a combatant. He had sent Tobi out with one of the teams setting up the biggest perimeter, around what was thought to be the largest hotspot of activity. A large warehouse on the very outskirts of the town, away from the general population. He had joined three members of the Elite-9, wearing not his usual attire, but combat gear more similar to that of an Elite-9 member, including their signature air-filtration system across his mouth.
They maintained radio silence, all had seemed well thus far.
It had been like that for a further half hour, watching and waiting for signs of activity. The perimeter was set, for the most part, and Kenya hadn’t seen anyone come in or out, nor had he heard any of the other command centres say otherwise.
He wondered if it was a dead end, as he gazed at another monitor. The pattern led them here, he was sure of it. That older man had mentioned this planet by name. Maybe the coincidence ended there, and this was an unrelated incident. The thought set his teeth grinding. The one time he decides to put effort into something and it ends up a deadend–
A hand on his shoulder.
A young man, in his late twenties, fair skinned with an angular face framed by jet black hair. He looked weathered, like he had seen a hundred different fields of battle. His mahogany eyes were assessing, he looked Kenya over with a defined gaze. He knew how to dig into a person with a glance, figure out what they were about. He wore the standard issued combat gear, he was in the field then, not command staff.
When he spoke, he did so with a lilting accent, his tones shifting and swaying. Kenya couldn’t place from where he hailed.
‘You’re Lieutenant Commander Kenya, I take it?’ he said with his hand out, ‘Commander Jock Montagne, I lead the Elite-9.’
Kenya took his hand, ‘pleasure to make your acquaintance Commander,’ he looked at the monitor, ‘all’s silent so far.’
Jock chuckled, ‘You will jinx us with such words,’ he pointed to a monitor, ‘we are preparing for Injection as we speak. The main warehouse will be the first raided.’
Kenya nodded, ‘Three teams of three spread out through regular units,’ he noted, ‘Is the standard procedure not to go in teams of two, spread out.’
Jock gave him a small appreciative nod, ‘Typically such things are true, but we operate by a special set of rules within the Elite-9, some might call us superstitious,’ he said.
Kenya raised an eyebrow.
‘It is erm… an old Micrean custom,’ he said, ‘two is an unlucky number, so Micrean and Fae units usually operate in threes, for it is a holier number,’ he blushed, though only slightly, ‘we have medics with each group for the same reason.’
‘Medics?’ Kenya asked.
‘Indeed, Micreans operate on the basis that each life is sacred, none more so than those that volunteer to go to war to protect those at home. Along those lines, we also operate on a strict no man left behind policy, and no killing of unarmed persons unless absolutely necessary for the mission's continued success. I understand it may seem odd–’
Kenya raised a hand, cutting him off, ‘no,’ he said, ‘no, I get it. You take inspiration from the Dar Casp, no?’
Jock’s eyes light up momentarily, ‘You know of the Dar Casp? Not many subscribe to her writings, but I find them to be… delightfully inspired. There is merit behind her words, if you are willing to apply them the right way.’
Kenya knew of the Dar Casp, the Holy Conduct. It had been written by a more… radical, member of OverWatch as a suggestion book for commanders, teaching things like limiting casualties, helping lift morale, things a good leader should already know. Kenya knew that a great deal of those qualities were often found… lacking, within OverWatch, seen as it was a meritocracy. Kenya realised that he had never actually finished reading it.
‘It’s not the most widely accepted text,’ Kenya admitted.
‘Yes well, if we all did things that were widely accepted I surmise not a great deal of progress would be made,’ Jock said, ‘Elite units exist to challenge the norms. We do so, and we do so well.’
Kenya inhaled to speak again, but something on the monitors caught his eye. Tobi, and the soldiers he was with… He hadn’t noticed it before, but they had approached the building. None of the other teams had moved yet. It was just them. Jock got closer to the screen.
‘They are… they are firing, they have been engaged,’ he paused, ‘we have been engaged, and early, we must go, they are without backup, they were a secondary injection team.’ His eyes were calm, though his voice seemed worried. Jock turned grabbing a rifle that Kenya had not seen him set down, before he raced out of the command centre.
The cameras were without colour, and sound,, but he could see it clearly. A soft fog had rolled out amongst them almost. There was a man too, wearing a hazmat suit, who had taken cover, and was returning fire.
There was another figure.
Clad in metal armour, bullets bouncing off of him.
Kenya took off in a sprint, following Jock. The man’s voice sounded in his ear.
‘This is Commander Montagne, all units inject,’ he said, his voice calm, his cadence shifting into something far more methodical.
Tobi wasn’t far.
He just hoped he was fast enough.
https://i.imgur.com/mA3AY5I.png [https://i.imgur.com/mA3AY5I.png]
Kenya chased after Jock, his legs pounding the ground with such fury he feared his joints would dislocate. He could hear it now; exchanging gunfire. They had been running for two and a half minutes. It wasn’t long without context, but when applied to a gunfight…? They had to hurry. He couldn’t lose Tobi. They had been following his whims.
He would never forgive himself for it.
He ran even harder, the rain slick ground made it hard but he pushed through,
‘How close are we Jock?’ Kenya said over comms, breathless, his chest heaving with effort.
‘Close,’ Jock replied, ‘they are around this corner.’
Kenya watched Jock slide along the ground as he took the corner at speed, his gun already raised. He was firing before Kenya could process the movement.
Kenya dug deep for that power that stirred in the pits of his stomach. His veins turned black, his blood corrosive. Goo pooled around his feet, following him as he ran as though it were dripping out of his legs and back into him, maintaining a constant puddle. The rain was making it hard to concentrate.
Kenya rounded the corner.
A long empty road, deserted barring two, maybe three cars. The occasional streetlight dotted the place, the pavement beneath his feet was cracked, the neglect evident. He could see the warehouse up and to the right. They were exchanging fire with people across the way.
Three men were up and firing, hidden behind the wrecked body of a large wheeled vehicle. It was almost jarring to see one, the technology was ancient. There was one on the ground at their feet.
Across the way from them, on the other side of the road with their backs to the warehouse, was a small team of ten, maybe fifteen people. All armed, all firing. They didn’t seem to have the trained aim of a soldier, nor the instincts, a fair few of them were not as hidden as they should be.
Though maybe it was the bright purple smog that covered the space that gave them the confidence.
Jock’s bullets rang out like death knells. Each precise, methodical, movement meant death. The dissenters were struggling to focus their attention between two targets, the returning fire becoming sparse. Jock took cover behind a wall, and Kenya could see that he made sure to punish every single one of their slip ups, popping up and down and exchanging fire.
He raced forward, an arm raised. Goo shot up to form a moving wall as he ran. They had noticed him but hadn’t started firing, a combination of their split attention and his lack of military uniform was enough to confuse them, to hold them back. He made it to the group by the car with a slide, dropping the wall of goo as he made it into cover.
‘Sir,’ one of the Elite-9 said, ‘your subordinate took a bullet to the arm pushing me out of the way, he’s alive but unconscious.’
‘Be more careful next time Scar,’ Jock said over the radio, ‘we can’t have that happening again.’
‘Aye sir,’ Scar said.
Kenya recognised the man, Jock’s second in command. Lieutenant Commander Scar. He’d never met him before, but he remembered his name from the documents he had been sent.
Tobi was the one on the ground. Kenya looked him over. The wound had been packed and bandaged, the bleeding had mostly stopped. He would live, they just needed to get him out of there.
Kenya nodded to the member with the red cross on his arm, ‘carry him the best you can, I’ll push the car and provide cover.’
The man didn’t hesitate moving to pick up Tobi, ‘aye sir.’
‘You two, cover us but do what you can to stay behind the car,’ Kenya said.
He peeked through the window. Jock was doing a good job keeping them down, but three or four of them were still firing. Kenya couldn’t tell the exact number. He could probably take a bullet, maybe two. It would be fine.
He hoped.
Kenya tore around to the front of the car, throwing his hand up again to summon that wall. He could feel bullets hit it like it were one of his limbs, the faintest echoes of pains shifting through his body. He could only just barely stomach it. He knew it would get worse if he took too long. It was going to get worse anyway,
The corrosion filled his blood once more, that incessant burning smothering his other senses. It was one of the smaller prices he had to pay for his abilities.
The writhing thing inside of him swelled, filling his muscles with new strength. He got low, pressing himself against the front of the car and heaved, heaved and heaved with everything he had.
It moved, though begrudgingly. If the thing weren’t a car he would have thought it was fighting him. He didn’t know how far he would have to push to get out of their line of sight, he hadn’t studied the space before getting up to push the car.
‘We’ll be able to make a run soon sir, just a little further,’ the medic said.
Kenya simply nodded.
Jock’s voice sounded over comms, ‘That metal thing is gone, he wasn’t here when we rounded the corner.’
One of his soldiers spoke up, evidently on the same comm’s channel, ‘it disappeared not long after they started firing sir. Same with the man in the hazmat suit.’
‘Confirmed male?’ Jock replied.
‘Aye sir, heard his voice,’ the same soldier replied.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Kenya continued pushing, the effort drawing his mind away from the conversation. This thing was fucking heavy. Bullets continued to hit the goo… and then stopped. The space quietened so suddenly that Kenya stopped pushing the car.
A familiar voice rang out.
‘Is that…. KENYA, WE HAVE A SCORE TO SETTLE BOY,’ It said.
Kenya dropped the wall, the goo returning to a puddle at his feet. The metal beast, it was standing down by the warehouse, a hammer raised out in his direction. There were two others with him, the man in the hazmat suit, and that same miner from 8812-C. Kenya tensed, his eyes narrowing. It had seemed surprised to see him here.
Jock approached his right side, gun raised.
‘A score to settle?’ he called back, ‘what score could we have to settle?
He waved his hand behind him as he started to approach. He wanted them to evacuate Tobi. Jock kept to his right, a few paces behind.
‘You can go with them Jock, I’m just buying time,’ Kenya said.
‘Negative sir, I’m with you,’ Jock said, ‘no man left behind.’
The miner raised a baton, and Kenya watched as energy raced across it, ‘It was you, on the Extraction world, wasn’t it.’
The man in the hazmat suit took a canister from his side, backing away, ‘War, Famine, hold them back.’
Kenya cracked a small smile, squaring his shoulders. Tendrils rose from the goo at his feet. He widened his stance, falling back into familiar OWISCB training techniques.
‘That was me,’ Kenya said, ‘’fraid I’ve no idea who you are though.’
The miner rolled his right arm, the one with the baton, ‘don’t s’pose it would matter if you did.’
‘Y–’
The being in the metal suit growled, the noise low, and wound his arm around to throw the hammer. Kenya was barely fast enough to duck, but it wasn’t for him.
It raced past his head, slamming into Jock’s sternum. He was sent flying, crashing into the ground with a defined thud. Kenya waited a beat.
Jock didn’t rise, nor make a noise.
‘Ah shit,’ Kenya said.
They rushed him, the metal being racing past him. It was going for the hammer. Kenya brought his right hand up, a tendril following. He would snare its leg.
The miner rounded on him faster than he realised, that baton arcing down in a brutal swing. Kenya was forced to bring both of his arms up to block it. Energy, pain, lanced through his body. It brought him down to one knee.
He rallied against the sensation, throwing his weight up. He knocked the miner off balance, and swung. His fist collided with the man's jaw, a tendril slamming into his stomach simultaneously. He was knocked to the ground, gasping for air.
Kenya turned behind him, expecting the metal thing to only just be getting to his hammer.
He was wrong, for he was already upon him.
Kenya brought his hand up, a tendril flying to the handle of the hammer, pulling it back enough to lessen the blow he took to his side. He was thrown from his feet, tumbling across the ground, coming to rest on the curb between the road and the pavement. He groaned against the pain. He hated this metal mother fucker.
Kenya threw himself back to his feet to see the minor only just climbing back to his. The metal thing was approaching him.
‘Alright,’ Kenya said, ‘time to get busy.’
Kenya leaped forward, propelled underfoot by a pillar of the goo. He soared over the metal things head, landing atop the rising miner, crushing him back to the ground. He brought a foot up to stomp down, but the miner struggled under his other foot, causing him to slam into the floor.
There was a whooshing sound to Kenya’s right. He flung an arm up behind him, bringing up another wall. He felt the impact on the other side. Another narrowly avoided blow.
The miner took hold of his ankle, tearing it out from beneath him. Kenya caught his arm with his left hand as the miner swung, the baton ending up inches from his face. He took his right elbow and slammed it into his nose once, twice, three times, enough times that it broke. Kenya threw the man over him, blood from his broken nose dripping onto his face. His elbow hurt a little.
Kenya spun, getting to his knees. He waved a hand as the metal thing ran up on him, the goo came up from behind it, attaching to the back of its head. It tensed, causing its head to be torn backwards from the momentum of its own movements. More tendrils shot up, wrapping their way around the suit of armour. If he couldn’t beat the two of them at once, he would take one of them out of the fight permanently. Kenya got up to his feet, and then dove towards the miner towards the miner.
He got on top of him, pinning him to the ground. He brought his right hand back and punched downwards, bouncing the miners head off of the ground. He punched again, and again, each collision a spike of pain through his arms. His hands ached, his knuckles bled. He could feel the bones in his hands threatening to break.
There was a small amount of glee, somewhere in the pit of his stomach.
It caused Kenya no end of disgust.
The miner brought his hands up, covering his face, so Kenya started on his body. He got so lost in it that he forgot about his second combatant.
The metal thing had torn free from his bindings, the only one remaining attached to his leg. It swung at him with the hammer, but Kenya tore his hand back as though he were pulling something, and the tendril tensed. There was a pull at the back of his mind, he knew the goo was only so strong, but it could do this.
It held him in place, and then threw him. Kenya reached out with a hand, and watched as more tendrils rose up from around him, pinning him to the ground.
Kenya turned and continued his assault. Every thud of his fist drew a small groan from the man. He had to die, Kenya knew. Not just for his safety, but the safety of his men, for the safety of this planet, for the safety of the ARMY.
He raised his hands above his head. A killing blow in motion.
A gunshot rang out, there was a knick of pain across Kenya’s left cheek, his ear. Blood dripped down his face. He looked up.
The man in the hazmat suit. There was a gun in his hands, the end of the barrel was smoking. The man held the gun in shaking hands. Kenya could just barely glimpse the fear in his eyes. The apprehension.
It made Kenya pause. The illusion faded, if only for a second. They were people, they were people too–
There was a tearing sound.
A hand on Kenya’s ankle, the metal thing had a hold of him. He kicked against it, gaining nothing more than the sound of ringing metal. The metal thing threw him up above its head, and then tore him back down into the ground. Kenya felt all the air in his lungs be torn from him, the motion singular in its brutality. Something in his chest cracked, broke.
It picked him up again, and then tore him downwards. Kenya slammed into the ground. He tasted iron in his mouth.
He was thrown, tumbling across the road. There was blood on his face. His left arm ached. It was pinned beneath him at an odd angle.
His vision had become blurry, he must have hit his head.
‘They called you a special case, once,’ the metal being said, ‘they said that you were one of the Fifth Army's best. That you, despite your laziness, were a good leader.’
He was flipped over, there was a metal foot on his chest.
‘I always despised you for it,’ it said, ‘the Fifth's perfect little lap dog.’
Kenya offered it a small smirk, one of his eyes having swollen shut, ‘y’think about me an awful lot, huh?’
The thing huffed what might have been a laugh, ‘after this, it’ll be considerably less.’ it said, raising its hammer.
Kenya closed his eyes. He didn’t know if it was acceptance that he felt, but he had fought. That would have to be enough. He was just happy that Tobi was safe. He smiled.
The world seemed to still, if only for a moment. Like the inhalation of a breath.
A voice.
The flapping of wings.
Kenya knew that voice. Every tone and velvety accentuation.
‘Sky Cardinal deny them the right to take life, and in their hubris smite them.’
There was a flash of light. Kenya opened his eye. The metal being moved.
Dozens of large golden pillars, each one throwing a gentle light. They were vaguely transparent, as though made from light given a physical form. They struck the ground with ferocity, the attack seemed almost indiscriminate.
There was one larger than the rest, some twelve feet tall and half as wide that landed maybe four feet from him, smashing a sizable amount of the road. He could see the faint images across it, designs like flowers and thorns tracing up its length.
A figure stood atop it. Atop her head was a glowing ring of light.
Clad in a shifting periwinkle gossamer that moved from lighter shades to darker ones, top to bottom. The material was laid over her in upside down vees, the edges of which were embroidered in silver. It was cinched in at the waist. The segments pulled back to blow in a wind that had not been there before. There was a slit at the bottom, and he could just see the tan skin of their legs peeking through. Their arms, outstretched, sported draping sleeves of the same material, following the same colours. They wore a veil over their head, made of the same materials as their dress, embroidered with the same silver. The bottom half of her face was just visible. That same scar flecked skin.
All across her dress were strips of cloth, attached by wax seals. He couldn’t see what was written on them, just that there was writing on them.
There were wings sprouting from just above their hips. They were white, though they seemed to be stained red. They sported a single claw each.
The pillar beneath them dissipated, and she fell to the ground with a flap of her wings, landing right next to his head.
From here he could see up into the hood. The chrome silver hair falling in delicate curls, the scars that ran across their face, the sharp features of their face. The mask of feathers over their eyes.
They peered down at Kenya, and he could make out their eye. Gold into a burning orange, blazing with fury.
Though not at him, at them.
He knew them. Knew her. She was the last person he had expected to see here.
‘You can’t go five seconds without getting hurt, can you Mister. Kenya,’ she said.
Kenya choked out a laugh, ‘sorry feathers, I didn’t have much of a choice, they shot Tobi,’ he said.
‘Look how they cower,’ she said, ‘hiding from me like common-stock brutes.’ She knelt beside him, tearing a strip of cloth from her dress and laying it upon his chest, pressing it down with a hand. She muttered under her breath slowly, methodically.
The circle of light around her head dimmed, and her hand began to glow, brighter and brighter before the light faded completely. There was a new warmth in his chest, the pain coursing through his body dissipated slightly.
There was a discontent murmur beneath his skin. He watched as her visible eye narrowed. It vanished.
‘You,’ a voice hissed. The metal being had returned. The other two Kenya couldn’t see from where he was lying.
The woman pulled her veil back, and then removed it completely, revealing that the gossamer only came up beneath her clavicle, leaving her shoulders bare. He could see now that her hair fell all the way to her waist. There was cloth braided into it.
Then her ears, long and pointed, rising through her hair.
She laid the veil across him, and then did the same with her sleeves.
She stretched out her arms, her skin slick against the rain. She flexed her hands, and he watched the muscles in her forearms and arms shift.
The wrath on her face became palpable. ‘You don’t get to speak to me after beating my friend into the ground.’
The metal thing chuckled, sinking low, ‘I find it odd,’ they said, ‘that you don’t recognise me.’ It scoffed. ‘No matter, I will do as I wish.’
It started to approach.
Her mouth became a thin line.
She wrapped a small metal device in cloth, and whispered to it gently. Kenya caught parts of it, lilting like a pleasant song.
Light exploded from her hand in a great wave, before condensing into a shaft. Tipped. A spear made of light.
‘You know,’ she said, rubbing her finger along the tip of the spear, ‘I heard some odd things on my way here,’ she pointed at the metal thing, ‘You’re War, I take it?’
It stopped.
She smiled, the movement saccharine, ‘right, I thought so. Which makes the miner Famine?’ Kenya couldn’t see the miner anymore, ‘and if he’s Famine then that must be…’ she pointed to the man in the hazmat suit, ‘going by the motif… Pestilence?’
There was a roar, a whooshing sound in the air. She flung her left hand out and caught the head of War’s hammer. It had thrown it at her.
She dropped it, ‘I take it I was smack dab on the credits then?’
War roared, his footsteps echoing across the ground like miniature earthquakes.
Her face became furious once more as she picked up the hammer, tossing it at War, the sound clanging across his teeth.
‘Fuck ‘em up,’ Kenya whispered as she took off into a sprint.
All of that fear, all of that anxiety that was in his gut was vanishing. If she was here, they would be fine.
He had never known First Class Agent Naofa Niro to lose a fight.
He let that dragging sensation sweep him away, slipping off into unconsciousness.
https://i.imgur.com/mA3AY5I.png [https://i.imgur.com/mA3AY5I.png]
The pitter patter of rain still tapped away at Kenya’s mind when he woke, despite the fact he didn’t feel it on his face. He wasn’t even sure he was really hearing it. His entire body hurt, though much less than he thought it should have. Bones that he knew should be broken, felt… fine. Not amazing but, fine.
The room he was in smelled like citrus, and lavender. The smell wound its way around his senses in lazy circles. He knew that smell.
He blinked his eyes open to grey walls, and the beep of medical equipment, each monotonous noise causing his eye to twitch with a vague annoyance. He was in a bed, plush covers laid over him. He was too warm. Kenya put his arms out, grabbing the sides of the bed to pull himself up, but a hand caught his chest, pushing him back down.
Naofa cleared her throat, disapproval written across her face, ‘I’m not allowed to let you up for at least another hour,’ she said.
She had ditched the veil and sleeves, though the gossamer dress remained. So did that mask of feathers across her eyes, but he knew she pretty much always wore that.
No wings either. He knew she could… dismiss them? That’s what she called it. He didn’t know how it worked.
He chuckled, the motion causing a spike of pain in his chest that had him wincing, ‘why are you even here?’ He asked.
Her mouth hung open with mock shock, ‘what… are you not happy to see me!’ she squawked, ‘after I came all this way just to save you!’ She smacked his shoulder playfully, her mouth curving into a soft smile. ‘I knew you were going to be here,’ she admitted, ‘your Burtrand was horrific at making subtle inquiries, I mean just awful, so awful, so I took over. I was going to meet up with you after everything had settled but I got a report that you had been engaged and overwhelmed by a remarkably strong group of dissenters! Coming from one…’ she checked her P.D.A, he hadn’t seen it in her lap, ‘Commander Jock of the Elite-9. You know it’s funny, he shouldn’t have even known I was here.’
There was a passing interest in her voice as she spoke about the man. Kenya hadn’t realised how much he missed speaking to someone on his level. He hated the pomp of rank, the politeness he had to constantly attempt to maintain.
Kenya smiled and inhaled to speak, but the door to his room slid open, a chipper voice filling the space with a remarkable lack of attention.
‘Kenya!’ Tobi said, ‘By Infinity, I thought they had–’
The man’s eyes settled on Naofa, his face shifting from relief to shock, to horror, back to shock.
He brought an arm up, the other he had on a crutch, offering her an X salute.
‘Ma’am! I didn’t know you were here, apologies,’ he said.
Naofa raised a hand, ‘It’s fine, Tobias, no need to be so formal,’ she said.
Tobi looked to Kenya, wary.
Kenya nodded, ‘She’s like me, doesn’t so much inforce rank off of the field.’
She smiled, standing and waving her hand. Offering Tobi her chair. She walked around him, hanging by the door.
‘When you’re done Tobi, come see me please, I have things I need to hand off to you for your commander to read.’ She peered down at her P.D.A, and frowned. ‘Though not before six separate meetings to explain not only why I was here, but how you got here,’ she sighed, ‘anyway, come find me after please. I’m afraid I’ll be borrowing Kenya for a while.’
She left the room, leaving both men sitting in silence.
‘That’s the first time I’ve ever seen her in person,’ Tobi said.
Kenya raised an eyebrow, ‘what’dya think?’
‘She’s kinder than they make her out to be,’ he said.
The Bureau's false angel. Naofa had her fair share of rumours floating around. Most of them were… unkind.
‘How long had she been sitting there?’ Kenya asked.
‘Since you were brought down here to the Site-9 Medical ward. So maybe four, five hours,’ he said, ‘you two seemed like you were… friends…?’
Kenya smiled, ‘you could call us friends. I’ve known her for a long time, I enlisted while she was off fighting but we were pulled together a few times to work on investigations for the OWISCB.’ He sketched an eyebrow at Tobi, ‘how come?’
‘Just can’t imagine she’d ever be friends with someone like you,’ Tobi said with a small smile. ‘A decorated war hero and major celebrity, friends with… Kenya.’
Kenya rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything back. In truth, it had been maybe six months since he and Naofa had even been in the same room, let alone worked on something together. He felt that excitement bubble up again. She had to borrow him? He was sure that would mean nothing but trouble.
Kenya closed his eyes again, letting that beckoning call of sleep lull him somewhere far away.
He couldn’t help and wonder what tomorrow would bring, as he drifted away.