Akash dropped his shotgun and lifted his right hand. Orange aether swirled around it in a sphere before he threw it at the jackals, hitting them like a spinning bullet train. I watched the fish spin and explode on contact as they hit the water like a skipping stone.
In one swipe of his hand, the entire wall of jackals was obliterated.
“Son of a bitch,” Akash said. “We’ll call this a dra—“ He turned to me and looked into my hands. “I said shotguns!”
“It’s faster with pistols!” I yelled.
“No, it’s not! It doesn’t matter if you—“
I shoved one into his hands and started aiming. My world slowed again, and I started coring them, one after the other, dropping eight. I was in the zone, world slowed, body sweating, and I felt… ill. My head started throbbing and—
Akash suddenly turned and hit me in the stomach at a speed I couldn’t register, fist trailing with purple aether. I flew backward, rolling on the deck, fearful that the gun in the back of my pants would discharge. I lost my wind, and my mind blurred as I gripped my stomach, fighting for air but being unable to inflate my diaphragm. Then my world sped up, and the pain I was starting to feel in my head increased fivefold, making me scream in pain.
“Didn’t you learn anything from yesterday?” Akash yelled, shooting two more fish. “Push that shit too hard, and you’re gonna scramble your damn brain!” He dropped the gun and threw up his hands, blasting a group of them away with that strange orange aether. “That’s why you need a fucking shotgun. Slow it down five percent, and blam! It’s a resource, not a fucking crutch. Now get the damn shotguns!”
My head throbbed as I complied. The Sickles were waiting with the shotguns, and I rushed back to Akash. He grabbed one and started pumping out shots. He hit eight, and I handed him the second, leaving me with one shotgun. I went to aim, but my brain split again.
“Yeah, can’t do it, can ya?” Akash asked, pumping out another round. The fish were getting less frequent. “rewrite’s a bitch. Now reload. I got this shit.”
My stomach deflated in disappointment, but the bang from the shotgun was the brain equivalent of someone stabbing my thigh with a blade. So I nodded and turned to leave, but he called out. “But Kei….”
My eyes widened. I never told him my name. “What?”
He flashed me this insane smile, and his eyes matched. “But it was damn cool, wasn’t it?”
My heart welled with this strange excitement, and I ended up nodding. “Yeah. That shit was badass.”
“Riiiiiiiiiiiiight?” He turned back to the water and killed a jackal before it even reached the deck. “I live for this shit.”
2
Akash won. That much should be obvious. He tried to cocktail out of it after he killed the last of the flying jackals with a harpoon (something that was possible since jackals mindlessly attacked targets until they or the target were dead), claiming that he cheated by using kinetics, and thus, it should be a draw. That was true, but considering that he killed three times as many as me, I took the L. He rewarded me anyway with a Gabapentin capsule (technically Neurontin, “Brand name is actually better,” as he put it). Then we took a trip up to the Beta, and I will never forget what he said to me when we were up close, drowning in the profound and inexplicable aura the creature was giving off:
“You wanna eat it, don’t you?”
I swallowed and nodded. “Yeah.”
“Can’t blame ya. That shit’ll put some diamonds on your chest.”
My veins turned to ice, and I turned to him. “What do you mean diamonds?”
“I’m~ignoring~you,” he sang—
—and did. He didn’t say a goddamn thing to me for the rest of the trip. At least not that I could remember. Soon after that conversation, my vision blurred from that throbbing ache in my brain, and I blacked out.
3
From an illegal confidential recording taken by Colonel Thompson of the US Marine Corps, Base Commander of Pier Zero, May 29th, 2024
Start Time: 1904
Caldwell: (coughs) This place is nice. Rather cushy for a base with such poor conditions.
Thompson: Luxury is for image, General. This room isn’t for me, it’s for meetings such as this.
Caldwell: How often are these “meetings?”
Thompson: Can we keep on track, General?
Caldwell: I thought you’d jump at a chance to postpone our conversation.
Thompson: I have no reason to.
Caldwell: Is that so? So… when I submitted requests for information on Sickle 1706, and you requested twenty-four hours to release it… knowing that Sickle 1706 was set for an execution trial… a trial with a near-perfect execution record… you think that’s acceptable?
Thompson: General Caldwell, Pier Zero complies with all regulations from the USRDC and governing organizations. We just have a protocol that specifically requires us to review all requests for information on our personnel before submitting them, regardless of who makes the request. The fact that the person you requested information on was already set for a trial, which did not necessitate an execution, is irrelevant.
Caldwell: It is very, very relevant, Colonel. If a superior officer requests information on a certain individual and someone postpones the request, any trials and proceedings that may endanger that individual must cease.
Thompson: While I’m inclined to agree with you, General, we were not aware that the person you were requesting information on was on trial. As I said before, any information, footage, or records that are requested of Pier Zero must go through a 24-hour review regardless of the rank of the individual making the request unless they exceed the rank of Brigadier General. Therefore—
Caldwell: Do you mean to say that I made a request, and you did not prioritize the information?
Thompson: With all due respect, we had just suffered three riftbreaks directly over Seattle Metro with a Beta colossus touching five miles from Pier Zero. We did not have the personnel on hand to review your request immediately.
Caldwell: (smiles and leans back) Colonel, let me make something clear to you. The Pier Zero study will not protect you. Sickle 1706’s submitted records have been doctored multiple times; his medical records have been lost, and he’s been repeatedly shifted around to prevent detection. And we’ve found out within an hour that Sickle 1706 has an internationally significant mutation around his heart… and we knew that without even looking at his medical records because every single Sickle at this base can see it. Can you explain to me why Pier Zero did not report an internationally significant mutation to the USRDC?
Thompson: (falls quiet, shifting uncomfortably) I was not aware—
Caldwell: How were you not aware?
Thompson: Information on what is classified as a “mutation” is highly suppressed and subject to debate.
Caldwell: He has Cardio Lepidosclerosis, and he’s not dead, Colonel. He has Cardio Lepidosclerosis—and it’s not in his report.
Thompson: We only update reports if there’s a significant change in their condition, General. And in the three years he’s been here, Sickle 1706 has not suffered an arrhythmic attack.
Caldwell: How interesting. You know that Sickle 1706 has suffered no arrhythmic attacks despite his medical records going missing and never being restored.
Thompson: (falls silent again)
Caldwell: This is what I think, Colonel. I think that Pier Zero refuses to promote a Sickle—so it hides, manipulates, and loses records that would result in such a promotion.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Thompson: Pier Zero is subject to the same AI analysis that all bases are. If there was evidence of manipulation patterns, it would’ve been discovered.
Caldwell: Except it doesn’t, does it?
Thompson: (falls silent)
Caldwell: Pier Zero’s a test study on Sickle control, so the USRDC only performs analysis checks on non-operational deaths involving officers and non-O3 executions, mutation reporting, promotion reports, and transfer requests, things that this base has lacked since you took over. It’s actually kinda strange that you haven’t had a single one, considering other bases have hundreds each year. It begs the question: what would happen if someone got promoted here? Died of a non-O3 execution? Got murdered? Considering how suspicious it is, I’d guess that an audit would be devastating enough to shut this base down, wouldn’t it?
Thompson: (thirty seconds of silence) General Caldwell, we have entered a point in this discussion where I must disclose certain information. Please be aware that this is off the record, and disclosing it would be a breach of the Uniform Code of Military Justice.
Caldwell: It’s rather bold for you to give a ranking officer that order.
Thompson: This comes from General Claymore.
Caldwell: I’m listening.
Thompson: Pier Zero isn’t just a “test study” on Sickle control—it’s the test study on Sickle control. Pier Zero is the only base that has not suffered a significant rebellion in the last year, and because of that, our sanctuaries have suffered the least casualties and rifter bites in the nation. The simple fact is the world cannot afford another October 3rd, and if they have to break the O3PA, Sickle Rights Act, and Sickle Sedition Act to make that happen, they will. So our reporting practices are none of your concern, and by raising objections to them, you will find yourself fighting an uphill battle for a single Sickle.
Caldwell: (silent for a moment) One Sickle… (coughs violently, half-muted, likely into his elbow)
Thompson: (pushes a glass across the table) You should get that cough checked out, General.
Caldwell: (drinks) I’m fine… You should worry about yourself.
Thompson: Are you threatening me, General?
Caldwell: No. I’m just pointing out that Sickle 1706 killed enough stalks to break the promotion threshold during the riftbreak—on video. On recording. And with witnesses. I also told you he has an internationally significant mutation, and he was witnessed performing an act of valor in public. (lightly slaps the table twice, pushes his chair out, and stands up) So reporting is very mandatory. And the USRDC will be taking Sickle 1706—for the Beta Extermination Unit.
Thompson: (shifts in her chair) That would require Sickle 1706 to be promoted to sergeant.
Caldwell: (coughs and pauses) Yeah.
Thompson: This is a mistake, General.
Caldwell: We’ll see about that. Now take good care of him, Colonel. If he suffers any mishaps, someone else will lead this… “case study” of yours. God knows we know enough about how it runs.
Thompson: I’m escalating this.
Caldwell: Your call. Just know that you’re going to hamstring yourself if you lose. (pauses for an answer, then leaves the room when he doesn’t get one)
Thompson: (falls silent for two minutes) Fuck!
End Time: 1929
4
I spent 37 hours in a medically-induced coma following my mission to the Beta colossus, suffering from severe “rewrite,” a condition where Sickles cranked their perception too high with Sena to “slow time,” only to get smashed with ten to fifty times more information than they should’ve gotten. In many cases, the new information pushes the old into the subconscious, effectively rewriting memories and leaving people with amnesiac holes. That’s why it was called “rewrite.”
The mental consequences were severe, but the general consequences were worse. I hadn’t yet been trained in “gathering” (the name for “breathing” aether), so the military thought the only way I could get Sena was through Sena meat. Since stockpiling and using meat was an executable crime under the Sickle Sedition Act (as it could be used for rebellion), I’d get executed if I pushed things too far again—
—and that was one hell of an incentive to learn to control it.
I missed the scavenging window after I awoke, so I was sent to cook food for five thousand-something Sickles living in the Marriot, surrounding hotels, and apartments in Belltown.
Sickles ate at the Bell Harbor International Conference Center, which was only a block or two away from the Marriot. The center had massive event rooms originally meant for business meetings but now had mess hall-style seating with folding picnic tables pressed together until they sat 75 per row—150 per table.
I worked in one of the kitchens for eight hours, stirring corn soup in 200-gallon drums with a large spoon like a witch creating a potion in a cauldron. No one needed experience for the job: we just poured corn into the water, threw in salt and pepper, and added any scrap vegetables that were left over from the enlisted soldiers’ meals before serving it with bread.
Delicious.
The officer running the kitchen walked up to me before we finished. “You’re relieved.”
“Now?” I asked.
“That’s what I said. Now leave.” Her tone was strange and tense, much like how Lieutenant Rudd’s was when he told me that he loved me and that officers wouldn’t want me on their team anymore.
“Okay,” I said before walking out under the other Sickles’ envious gazes. I hung up my uniform and joined the line, waiting for thirty minutes to get a small bowl of corn soup (which was burnt somehow) and a slice of fresh bread before getting told to “fuck off.” I fucked off and looked for a table, finding none except the suspiciously open section near the door. I sighed, accepting my fate, and walked over. Before I even got there, I heard Segun Olowookere, a Nigerian Christian zealot, preaching from a crate near the door.
"Do not misconstrue the word of God!” he boomed. “It dey written for the Book of Matthew clear as day. ‘Then shall two be in the field; the one shall be taken, and the other left. Two women shall be grinding at the mill; the one shall be taken, and the other left.’ What does that mean? Does it say that the Lord go take those who are good? Or will He take those first who don transgressed upon and upon God’s will?”
“Ah, shut it,” said a Sickle at a nearby table. “If the Breathers ain’t wicked, then Hell doesn’t exist.”
“It is not for you to decide, my brother,” Segun said. “Ask the book, for it tells you in the very next passage. ‘Watch therefore: for ye know not what hour your Lord doth come. But know this, that if the goodman of the house had known in what watch the thief would come, he would have watched, and would not have suffered his house to be broken up. Therefore be ye also ready: for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of man cometh.” He paused with conviction in his eyes. “There it is, written in clear text. The Second Coming of Christ will be swift and decisive, and God no go announce his presence. For if he did, people no go sin and transgress and reveal their true and wicked nature, knowing God dey watching and would bestow upon them wrath and punishment. So God wait, always watching, never announcing, and who he go punish? Those who were righteous? Or the thief wey breaks into the goodman’s house?”
“If this isn’t punishment,” I said softly as I sat down. “I don’t know what is.”
Segun heard me and turned to me. “This is not punishment, my brother.”
“Then what is it?”
“This is but the Great Tribulation. Na here God dey test us to see if we worthy. So you must live on, my brother, and fight so that on the day of the Rapture, you will rise with him.”
“Well, I’m still alive,” I whispered. “So I hope he comes soon.”
“Kei!”
I turned and saw Alex—the buzzed-haired woman I was playing poker with when Kensey “tested me”—rushing up, eyes glistening. My heart sank when I saw her tears—saw that someone truly cared if I lived or died.
Don’t get attached, I reminded myself. It just makes things harder. Yet Alex didn’t have such reservations. She immediately hugged me from behind, surprising me.
“Hey,” I said.
“Kei…” she whispered. “What happened?”
I sighed. “It’ll take a while.”
Alex didn’t mind. She returned to her table, got her food, and returned.
“Where to begin,” I said after she sat down. I started with how I killed an “immobilized” stalk (completely skipping the date) and how I got an Article 86 and suffered a court martial. I explained that the only reason I probably got off was because killing the stalk earned the USRDC’s curiosity, which led them to send Kensey to test me, which led up to the incident Alex witnessed and led to Kensey fighting to get me off the hook. Lastly, I explained how I fought and won against a Gamma. These were all details that witnesses saw in the crab house, Pioneer Square, and the ship, so I confessed to them, controlling the narrative to ensure it wasn’t blown out of proportion.
Alex listened with her arms sprawled on the table, cheek on her arms, almost lifeless-looking. I expected her to yell once I was done and say, Why didn’t you mention that you were on trial the other night! or pretty much anything, but instead, she started crying and said, “I’m so glad you’re safe….”
It damn near broke my heart, and to be honest… I didn’t know when she got so attached. We played poker from time to time, but we didn’t do it too often, as doing things too frequently caused people to get close.
I swallowed and touched her shoulder. “Yeah… me, too… Come on, let’s go.”
“Okay,” she said.
“The Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel,” Segun preached as we were leaving, “and with the trumpet of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first. Then we are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.”
5
The night was drizzling rain, depressing and cold, clinging to our clothing as we walked through the streets—saying nothing. I was great at talking about work or talking about poker, or following other people’s conversations—
—but I was bad at talking about myself because I didn’t make friends. Friends died. Relationships died. People I slept with—died. So we walked in silence until I said, “I gotta do something; you got a moment?”
“Sure,” she said. “Of course.”
I didn’t like that phrasing, but I kept walking, moving east up a street and then taking 1st Ave south toward Pioneer Square.
“I thought that you couldn’t play cards,” Alex said worriedly.
“I can’t,” I said. “I just wanna take a walk, and I need to smell the roses.”
Alex’s eyes widened. “Oh. That sounds nice.”
We chatted lightly after that, and as we were passing a certain building, I pointed lightly into the bushes. Alex nodded without hesitation. “One second, I need to tie my shoe.”
“Okay.”
“No, go ahead. I hate it when people watch me.”
“You’re too self-conscious,” I chuckled in amusement. “Ah-ight. If you insist.” I walked away as Alex moved into the bushes, looking into it without making noise. My heart nearly stopped when she paused. Then she came running up.
I took a sharp breath as I turned. She was smirking, holding a blue bank bag.
“You done, Princess?” I asked sarcastically.
Alex pouted and handed me the bag. “I was just tying my shoe.”
I laughed, and we continued on. It seemed casual, but my heart was tearing at my chest, screaming for me to open it, hoping that it wouldn’t be empty like a found wallet.
Please… I didn’t want to owe Akash—or the Beta Extermination Unit anything. So I swallowed and slowly unzipped it, praying my money was still there.