One-six

For as long as One-six can remember, from that first fragment of memory, they’ve always been told that the war will never end.

The war is their everything.

Never were they told why they fought, never did they question why they fought.

They didn’t bother to ask when the fighting would end, because that question simply didn’t seem important to them.

They were just told to fight, and fight, and fight.

So when they were presented with the prospect of the war ending, it took everyone very, very off-guard.

No one bothered to ask what they were going to do after the war ended. No one bothered to wonder what their purpose would be when the fighting finally stopped.

After all, they were taught to think about how to fight, and not about anything else. War is their everything. Not peace.

“Now arriving at Transfer Central,” the automated broadcast inside the maglev cabin spoke loudly through the meshed speakers.

The maglev decelerated, and the lights outside the windows flashed by slower and slower until they disappeared altogether to reveal the broad platform of Transfer Central.

With a beeping warning tone and a clunk, the glass doors of the maglev slid open, allowing One-six and his crew to step out into the bustling crowd of people.

They made their way out of the station and into the refreshing night air, stopping for a moment to look around at the buildings and get their bearings. It was no different from the first time they stood there, the feeling of awe still pushing at their chests.

One-six reached into his pocket and pulled out a little slip of paper. On it was printed in luminescent ink their task for the night. It was all pretty trivial things, like going to another squadron’s base to pick up spare parts, or to deliver some messages to another officer somewhere, none of them would require them to leave the military complex. But now here they were, outside the entrance of Transfer Central, in front of the great city.

“We’re here again,” Two-six whispered.

“We certainly are.”

*****

“So what now?” Two-six had asked them after Captain Steiner left the room.

“Listen,” One-five cut in sternly. “Let’s slow down for a moment and think...”

“So we do nothing?”

“No… we go find whoever Takeshi wants us to meet, and hope that we can get some more answers.”

Everyone was stunned at what One-five had said. Out of the four of them, One-five seemed the least likely to come up with an idea like that. One-six realized that that must be the first time he’s seen One-five show willingness to break rules.

“Especially with whatever assignment Captain Steiner just gave us, we now have permission to go out those doors and into the city.”

What One-five was saying made perfect sense. It certainly was the perfect chance for them to do something like that. With permission to leave, they essentially have an entire night to do whatever they want.

“But then we won’t have time to complete whatever assignment we have. If we complete the assignment, we end up not knowing anything more. But if we don’t complete it, we might be punished and they might even find out that we are traitors. They have trackers on us for these sorts of missions. Where ever we go they’ll know.”

“So it’s either a good chance that we’ll die or a very very good chance that we’ll die.”

“Yeah…”

“Well, that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“But of what value is that risk? Does it matter? Will it change anything?”

“Having the ability to do something, in my opinion, is of value, regardless of the outcome,” One-five stated.

There was silence for a good while.

“So it’s decided then? We’ll be going to meet whoever this person is?”

“Yes.”

“Even if it almost certainly means that we’ll be punished?”

“Yes.”

*****

Captain Steiner smiled to himself as he quietly backed away from the corner in the hallway and walked briskly away. He knew it, he had been right from the start.

From the moment he was notified of those four entering the recycling plant, he had a feeling in his stomach.

Takeshi was right about them as well.

They aren’t old friends for no reason.

Oh the irony, he thought as he walked towards his office.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

This certainly isn’t the first time someone’s creation would come to be their downfall.

*****

Before today, before The Weapon’s existence, things felt much more relaxed, much more forgiving. But now, with the knowledge that they had, at best, a week or so left, everything seemed to have a desperate finality to them.

Time was running out.

If they wanted to rebel, it was now or never.

“What are the chances that tonight turns out to be worthwhile?” One-five asked as they stood there, looking up at the spotless black sky looming over the towering skyscrapers of Europa, light pollution blotting out even the brightest stars in the cloudless sky.

“I don’t know.”

“And what if it turns out to be a dead end?” Two-six asked.

“Well, then we just fight and die like we were meant to,” One-five replied.

They walked out of the square and towards some parked cars, their silvery skin reflecting the bony white glow of the street lamps.

“Come on then…” One-six told his team. “Wherever we're headed, let’s just hope it doesn’t waste more of what little time we have left.”

So they boarded a car, getting startled a little when the voice asked for their destination. One-six read out the address scribbled onto the little slip of paper, and they sped off into the city in the current of moving cars.

“You have arrived at your destination,” the voice stated as the car slowed to a stop and the doors lifted.

Cautiously they stepped out of the vehicle, observing their surroundings with the vigilance expected of a soldier. Even though they’d been into the city once before, the place they had arrived at still seemed alien.

There were no twisting highways propped up between the buildings. Though the skyscrapers still loomed over them, they were old and dirty, blackened by soot from many years of weathering. Stubby concrete buildings and wide flats lined the road, the walls grey and unpainted. A few flickering streetlights shone down upon the asphalt, the road markings chipped and faded.

“This is… quite different from the rest of the city…” Two-six mumbled.

One-six couldn’t disagree, for the place that surrounded them seemed to have little of the glamor, beauty, and machine-like efficiency normally associated with Europa.

The streets were much quieter too. As far as One-six could see, there only seemed to be a few pedestrians walking on the pavement, and for some reason, all of them were acting like they had just stolen something.

“I don’t like this place…” Two-five whispered.

“Neither do I…” One-six answered, still sweeping the area with his eyes. “…Come on, let’s go to whatever place we need to go to.”

It took them a while to find the correct door number sign bolted onto the wall of a building, mainly because the sign was half broken, so One-five had to reach up and manually fit the pieces back together for it to be intelligible.

But there was another problem. The sign pointed to a narrow alleyway, and it was unclear which door in particular they needed to open since all the markings had been ripped off the walls or painted over with black paint.

“Maybe the people here just really value anonymity,” One-six said to himself.

“What do we do now?” Two-six asked.

“Just try every door then I guess…”

So they did.

It turned out that most of the rooms were abandoned, with thick layers of dust covering all the broken furniture and abandoned belongings. A few were still inhabited, but most of the people opened their door a crack before slamming it shut as soon as they saw who was at their door.

“Hey, One-six, there’s people coming towards us,” Two-six whispered a while later as they approached the end of the alleyway.

One-six looked up, and sure enough, three dark silhouettes were at the end of the alley, visible under a dim yellow lamp.

Cautiously, One-six and his team approached them. As they got closer, One-six realized that all of them were wearing a black hoodie, the hood up over their heads. They were also wearing masks, covering all of their facial features except their eyes, which seemed to glow in the darkness.

“We don’t want trouble,” One-six called out, holding up one of his hands towards the men.

“Turn and leave!” One of the men shouted back.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do that,” One-six said, not halting his steps. “There is someone here that we need to meet.”

“Leave now! This ain’t your neighborhood.”

“We were told to meet a person here,” said Two-six, unfolding a slip of paper and handing it to the three men.

They took a second to read it before handing the paper back.

“Who sent you here?”

“A trader from the outside.”

“Leave.”

The three men adjusted their stance and raised their hands, ready to take on the four in a fistfight.

“Hey! Hey, we don’t want to fight. Just let us through, and we’ll go on our merry ways. Okay?”

The three men didn’t respond.

One-six eyed up the three men. All three are shorter than they are and don’t seem to be as fit either. Even if one has a crowbar, it’s still four on three, and they have the added benefit of having proper hand-to-hand combat training. If they had to, they could take these three on. One-six turned to look at One-five, who nodded in confirmation. It would be helpful if they had their service pistols, but they weren’t allowed to bring them out of their base.

He turned his body sideways too, raising his hands and relaxing his shoulders. His team did the same, fanning out beside One-six to fill up the entire width of the narrow alleyway. Even though they are pilots, all the soldiers of Europa are trained in plenty of hand-to-hand combat training.

“We don’t need to do this,” One-six said one last time.

“Leave,” the man replied simply.

One-six sighed. “Well then...” he mumbled and charged towards the first man.

The hooded man raised his crowbar to strike, which One-six dodged by twisting his body to the side. At the same time, his teammates charged forward too, Two-six and Two-five taking on the man to the left, One-five taking on the man to the right.

As the crowbar wooshed past harmlessly, One-six twisted his body back the correct way and threw a wide left hook, catching the man right on the solar plexus. He clenched his teeth as the painful impact numbed his fingers; he had meant to aim lower, but the dim lighting made it hard to judge distance and timing.

As soon as the punch landed, he kicked off the floor with his right leg, twisting his left foot on the ground to throw a powerful roundhouse kick to the man’s side. The man, still recovering from the first punch, took the kick almost full force, knocking the crowbar out of his hands.

At the same time, One-five had practically bulldozed his much smaller opponent to the ground and was in the process of delivering a thorough beating.

Two-six and Two-five were tangled up with the other man too, but seemed to be on a fairly level playing ground. It seemed the other man knew martial arts too, as he was checking and dodging most of the blows that came at him.

One-six advanced on his opponent, doubled over on the ground, and was about to deliver a knockout kick when the man leaped up with a switchblade in his hand.

Caught by surprise, One-six was just barely able to redirect the blade enough with his hand so it didn’t skewer him. He caught the man’s arm as it went past by wrapping his jacket around it, and yanked sharply to hyperextend the elbow joint. The man screamed in agony, but One-six knew that the arm wasn’t broken, merely some pulled ligaments.

The knife fell to the ground with a clink. One-six tried to reach for it, but the man launched a sidekick into his stomach, causing him to stumble backward.

For a brief moment, the two were separated, each collecting their wits. Then they wiped their noses, loosened their shoulders, and were about to engage in fighting again when a piercing voice spoke up.

“What’s all the ruckus about?” The nagging voice of an older woman pierced through the commotion.

Immediately the three men disengaged from their fighting and stepped away, one of them struggling to squirm his way out from beneath One-five. They turned to the old lady peeking out from behind a door and bowed. She looked to be maybe fifty or sixty, her hair just beginning to turn white.

“Sorry ma’am, these four were trespassing,” one of them said respectfully. “They said someone from the outside told them to come here. But they’re from the military, so we couldn’t let them through.”

“I see...” the old lady said, rubbing her chin in thought. “Well, I am expecting visitors today, and it seems like you've just given them a warm welcome," then she looked up at One-six, his clothes dirty and messy from the scuffle. "Who sent you here?"

"A merchant by the name of Takeshi," One-six answered.

The woman smiled. "Well, you've found who you're looking for. Please come in."