CHAPTER 52 - SABRA

Leopard shot Monkey in the face, and the warehouse exploded into violence. Revenant jerked her arms back and popped two canisters out from her shoulders, hissing and smoking as they arced through the air. “Gas!” someone roared, “Masks on!” Outside, something boomed—Tiger opening fire from her vantage point on one of the mining towers. And Sabra...

Sabra hesitated.

I’m not going to kill, she thought. Not again—not ever.

Her opponents had no such compunctions. Six men and women moved to bracket her, encircle her, spraying her with automatic fire. Bullets spalled against her armor, the impacts ringing loud. Sabra stood her ground, spreading her arms wide in a show of obvious contempt. Maybe if they realized they couldn’t hurt her, they’d decide to surrender.

That hope lasted for as long as it took one of her opponents, a dark-skinned man with a horrific scar barely concealed by his gas mask, shouted, “Load armor-piercing! AP! AP!”

That broke Sabra out of her hesitation. She surged towards the man with the scar, grabbed at his arm, and yanked hard enough to dislocate the limb from its socket. A kick at his knee shattered that, and he went down.

Sabra whirled, fists up, to the rest of her opponents. “Who’s next?”

Up high, metal screeched as the old gantry gave way and Leopard came crashing through, landing in a heap, and Monkey dropped down after him, landing on his feet. The taller, broader man with his mane of copper-red hair was looking good for a dead man, even if his face was awash with blood. It was enough to pause the rest of the fight.

But it was only for a moment. Leopard surged to his feet, roaring, and then he and Monkey were raining blows down on each other, and everyone within the machine shed, in the shadow of gargantuan trucks, dove back into hell.

Whoever was winning between the pair, Sabra had no idea. For now, it was unimportant—she had her own fight to win.

The remaining five charged her as one, managing to bowl her over under their combined weight. One of the men settled on her chest, knife thrusting under her helmet. Sabra drew her head in so he couldn’t slip his blade into her and punched him in the side of the head. She’d just gotten to her knees when someone put their handgun against the side of her helmet and pulled the trigger.

The impact was deafening, but the cacophony just meant she was alive, that it hadn’t penetrated. She scrabbled to rise, lashed the shooter with her elbow, and found space. She’d just gotten to her feet when one of Monkey’s people, a woman with a bright blue mohawk, lashed her with a crowbar in a vicious two-handed blow, driving her back to the concrete slab.

In the movies, fighting non-lethally always seemed so easy. If you hit someone hard enough, they just stayed down, and their friends got the message. But Monkey’s people just weren’t stopping. What the fuck are you doing, some part of her said, words on an ash-borne wind. If not for your suit you would be dead thrice over! Get your fucking head in the game!

Sabra reacted on instinct—or something beyond instinct. She wrapped her armored body around crowbar-woman’s legs and yanked her down, punched her in the side of the head hard enough that she felt something split to make sure she stayed down. Kicking in her jets, she grabbed the fourth man and took him with her, throwing him against one of the enormous trucks. His body bounced off the hard angles and left a bright red smear on the yellow paint.

It was fine, wasn’t it? If she didn’t kill intentionally?

Her father would’ve hated this, Sabra knew. This was suffering. But perhaps, just perhaps, suffering was better than death. In her head, however, she heard him balk: you won’t kill, little lioness, but you’ll maim?

Bullets ripped into her back, and a sharp flare exploded in her right shoulder as one of them punched through her armor. Sabra bit down on her scream, ducked and weaved, as she charged the gunman. Revenant touched down and grabbed him, ripped the gas mask from his face, and backhanded him hard enough to launch him through the air, putting a golden bolt through him like it was a trick shot.

“Defiant,” she said, affect as cold as her silver mask, “Status.”

“I’m hit—it’s not too bad.”

“How bad is it?” Fisher said, in her ear, over the ringing. “Sabra, talk to me.”

She tried to raise her arm, found it sluggish. “I’m down one arm, and I’ve got a ton of dents to buff out. Oh, Christ and Allah, it stings.”

“Have you found the weapon?”

“Negative,” Revenant said. “There’s some interference in place. I’m unable to lock it down.”

“Ladies,” Tiger reported, “you’ve got incoming. Redeploying for tactical advantage.”

More of Monkey’s people were storming into the machine shop now, and the gas was little more than a haze. “Defiant,” Revenant said, cocking her right arm and putting a shot through the chest of the first man to poke his head out, “Assist Leopard.”

“Got it!”

He needed it. Monkey had him on the ropes, striking again and again, and Leopard weathered it on his forearms, giving ground, on the defensive—the stance of a fighter trying to feel the way out. Then, one blow crashed through his guard as Sabra closed, and Monkey’s next strike sent Leopard to the floor.

Monkey wiped at his lips, and bent down to pick something up. A black staff with a strange symbol at its head. Something about it made Sabra’s head hurt, or perhaps that was the tinnitus from the headshot. Monkey turned toward her, spinning the staff around and about, matching her footwork. He laughed—a strange hooting noise that made Sabra think more owl than monkey.

“I think I’ve got eyes on the weapon,” Sabra said.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Where?” Revenant asked.

“Right on top of me. Monkey's got some kind of staff.”

Why can’t she see it? Not that it mattered. In a second, she’d have Monkey on the ground. After all, what was he going to do with a staff like that, watch it shatter against her—

Sabra hit something, bounced off it and crashed down against the concrete slab. She pulled herself up, feeling her suit hitch and hiss, fingers of her right hand digging into the grooves of one of the great tires of the trucks. Her visor bled red error messages and static.

Monkey thrust the staff in her direction, and viridescent lighting leapt from the head, searing through the concrete and the truck as Sabra hurled herself to the side. She felt the suit struggle to match her mad leap, her legs twisting under her.

“Revenant!” Sabra shouted. “Help a girl out!”

Revenant came down like a furious angel, parrying Monkey’s staff with her forearms. Sparks flew gold and green. She brought her left arm in low, snapping off a shot, but Monkey stepped back and away as the bolt punched through the metal wall of the shed. Sabra watched it through the messages on her visor: CRITICAL ERROR. REBOOTING SYSTEMS. PLEASE WAIT.

Without power, her suit was a sarcophagus. Without power, the emergency bolts should’ve fired and freed her. It was like the world only existed through the slot of her visor. Blood seeped down her left arm, trapped under her softsuit. She had to do something—anything. The urge to act was screaming behind her eyes, but she couldn’t even shout or cheer. Couldn’t risk distracting her.

Revenant’s left arm—a sword now—caught Monkey’s staff, and pushed through to almost catch the man, leaving a smoking gash across his armored vest. He caught Revenant on the back of the leg, and she fell into a handstand flip. She landed on her feet, right arm transforming, bracing it with her left—and the panels popped and jerked, spasming as if in the grip of some mechanical seizure.

“So,” Monkey said, grinning. “That’s what you are.”

Revenant gripped her arm at the elbow, transfixed by the failure of her arm to become a weapon, like the limb wasn’t under her control. Sabra pulled against her armor, managed to take one step, then another. “Rev! I’m coming!” Past the two fighters, Leopard rolled onto his belly, stirring.

“Nice try,” Monkey said, raising his staff high. “But I’ve always heard you can’t harm someone who has been touched by The Engineer.” Emerald light danced around the head, like the air was boiling, and something boomed as Monkey slammed his weapon against the slab and a burst of green light—bright enough that Sabra felt her head snap back to try and escape it—blasted the world away from her.

After a time, it faded. Green stars and galaxies danced before her eyes. Sabra blinked furiously, catching sight of Monkey darting out the far side of the machine shop, blood splattered in his wake. Sabra turned her head—there was Tiger, propped against the doorway, rifle in the crook of her arm and bleeding through her stitches. Leopard was clutching his eyes, struggling to stand. And Revenant...

Revenant lay on the ground, unmoving and silent.

“Sam!” Sabra called, “Jack! Back of the suit, pop the cell!” Somewhere, in the direction Monkey had fled, there was the throaty roar of an engine coming to life.

Tiger grunted something colorful and settled behind her. “Pulling in three! One, two, three!”

Her armor popped open and Sabra wrenched herself out of it. She hopped in the direction of Monkey and then, swearing to herself, turned and bolted for Revenant. She slid to her knees, thanking both of her deities for the protection of her softsuit, and gathered Revenant’s head into her lap. Pulled the grim silver mask from her face.

The inlays of her eyes were cold and grey.

“Impel,” Tiger said, “Target is escaping, and we are unable to pursue. Say again, unable to pursue, over. Impel, do you read me? Only getting static over here.”

“No,” Sabra muttered. “No, no, no.”

It was like everything went away from Sabra. She rocked with the strength of her breaths, trying to get a grip on the anger and something else—grief?—that boiled behind her eyes and hummed between her teeth. The ache from her sluggish shoulder paled in comparison to the pain in her chest. She didn’t even have time to scream. She didn’t... And I never said—

Leopard shuffled over to her, holding his side, spitting blood. “Oh,” he said. “Shit. Is she...”

“I don’t know,” Sabra said. She brushed at her black bangs, trying to set them above her headpiece. Her hands were trembling, and it was more fury than grief. Because if not for him, she wouldn't be here, and none of them would be here. If not for that, Revenant wouldn’t be— All she could do was stroke at her hair, to try and make something okay, to keep her hands from crushing the life out of Leopard's throat, but it just wouldn’t sit—

The inlays of Revenant’s eyes flickered, then flashed to golden life, and Sabra’s hand darted away as if she’d burned it. Revenant’s head jerked about, left and right, up and back, then she had control of herself again.

“Define it,” she said.

“Define?” Sabra asked, looking to Jack. “Define what?”

“Define,” Revenant said, again and again, and her expression twitched with something like shock. “Definite, defiance, Defiant.” She picked herself up, motions haphazard. “Where is Monkey?” Static hissed underneath her words.

“He’s escaping. Rev, you’re—” Hurt? Damaged?

“You can’t let him eschew— escape! My survival is immaterial!” Revenant’s thrusters whined, building charge—but she didn’t so much take flight as much as lurch into an awkward hop, like a bird with its wings cut, the jets in her heels spluttering. Whatever Monkey had done had crippled her.

“He’s gone,” Leopard said. “We need to secure the area. Maybe some of these people know what’s going on.”

“Wouldn’t count on it, chief,” Tiger said.

“Rooster? Surely he’d—”

“Dead.”

"The others?"

"Also dead, or running for their lives. But mostly dead."

“Then we should secure the area, tear the place apart, turn over some rocks,” Leopard said. “Monkey has to have left something behind.”

Sabra shook her head. “No. We go after him, right now, before we lose him. I don’t know what that thing was, but I know we can’t let him use it again.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you just get shot?”

“Sorry, but I’ve gotta countermand all this,” Tiger said. “I’ll kill anyone in a fair fight, or an unfair one, but we are not ready for round two. Can’t even raise Dad. Let’s not throw everything because we took a bad fight.”

Revenant turned back to face the rest of them. “Agreed.”

“And if we agree on anything, you know it’s important.”

“We need to select— secure this location. Kasembe, Jack, Samantha—we know Gate is here something— somewhere. Find him. Do not get sloppy, I’m unable to verify how main—many people we neutralized.”

“On it,” Leopard said. “Tiger, you good?”

“It’s just a bit of blood, kid. Let’s go.”

The Animals headed out. Sabra waited. “Rev,” she said, unsure whether to step closer or away, “are you sure you’re okay?”

Revenant’s gaze flitted to her, then away.

“The mission is all that matters, Kasembe,” she said. “Don’t get disgusted— distracted by the shadow of a damsel in distress.”