Zayne awoke bleary-eyed somewhere very different. She sat up in alarm. Pain stung at her midsection. Her mind was spinning, or maybe it was just her vision.
Had it all been a dream? she thought, mind struggling to keep up. Her surroundings locked into place and her breathing slowed. She was in an off-white room. Beige curtains channeled warm sunlight into the room. A cool, dry breeze played at their edges. The air wasn't damp. She wasn't cold either, or wet. She reached for her hair but her shoulder protested adamantly. She used her other hand to finger through dry, clean hair. They met the woven fabric of bandages and gauze. She was on something soft. A bed. The sheets were crisp, but not the softest. More comfortable than her own bed at home regardless. Her pinky on her left hand was splinted and wrapped. More bandages covered the palm. Her right arm was in a sling, presumably from the shoulder. An IV drip was attached to her left arm and she cringed at the needle piercing her skin. She had always had a problem with needles. Her chest felt constricted, probably bound. The hospital room smelled of cleaning chemicals and antiseptic. The memory of a strong ammonia scent passed under her nose and she almost gagged.
It had all really happened. It had all really happened to her, of all people. The sudden storm. Getting in-between a Warden and an Uber. Falling down into the subterranean caverns beneath the sector. Meeting Dynastinae and pulling the Warden, Carol, through the ruins of an ancient city on a children's wagon. Hiding inside the Strife King's skeleton. Dynastinae bursting out of Whiplash's throat. It was like what happened in the movies, or in a particularly violent adventure serial. She sat there processing it all. Zaybe could not believe the things she had done. She certainly wouldn't have believed someone else had they told the same story. She stared at the bandage she knew covered a deep gash on her hand. She remembered her palm scraping against asphalt and the visceral feeling of pebbles and gravel getting caught under the flap of her wound. One detail among a thousand. A churning sea of sensations, most of them bad.
The pain was what made it real.
There was something else though, beyond the pain and bodily fluids of varying type. It was like a feather tickling the back of her head, or a coin toss in slow motion. It was right there but her mind just could not catch it. It slipped through her hands as though she were trying to hold water. She reached out for help. I can't remember either, her monster said. I just recall a strange music? Zayne sighed. What a bother. You are so quick to assert yourself when it's inappropriate but when I actually need you, you're either hiding or aren't paying attention, she thought back at it. The monster grumbled, You don't know what you need. It then dove down again into the depths of her consciousness, leaving a trail of indignation in its wake. Singing did stir up something though. A long pleasant ringing like Christmas bells. She was almost there now. There was darkness, something within the murk, and then...Carol electrifying her chest with her bare hands. The memory had escaped.
Zayne groaned and let herself fall back onto the bed, staring up at the tiled ceiling. Her gut told her it was something very important. Often when she felt like she was forgetting something, but couldn't quite put her finger on, she wouldn't realize until she needed that specific thing. That was not an encouraging thought.
Now what? There was still so much more to process. Images and sounds passed through thoughts like flipping through pages of a book with a thumb. The scream of a monster being impaled, the warmth of Dynastinae's giant hand, the taste of vomit in the back of her throat, mozzarella sticks. Did I really talk to the High Warden of Sector Eleven about mozzarella sticks? She turned on her side, fuming. There was a red nightstand there with a black rectangle on top. That red came delivering another image. The picture of grey brains on a piece of rebar speckled with flakes of blood and puddles of lumpy, deep crimson surrounding her. Zayne's heartbeat quickened and she squeezed her eyes shut, as if trying to squish the images out between her eyelids. Squish. Zayne suddenly felt very ill. She rolled halfway over the edge of the bed, checking under the bed for a bedpan to hurl into.
"Ah. Awake I see." a soft feminine voice said. Zayne craned her neck up, pinching her collar bone. A young nurse, short in stature, had entered the room holding a tray. "How...are you feeling?", the nurse said, looking quizzically at Zayne's awkward position.
"I-I'm feeling nauseous." Zayne said in that gravelly voice she loathed. "I need something...in case I throw-up." The woman hastened over and pulled the bedpan out from under the foot of the bed. Zayne righted herself, thanked the nurse with a nod, and promptly wretched into the pan. It was mostly liquid. "It's probably the concussion. l'll go get the doctor", the nurse said. "Hold on to that and I will get you a fresh one."
"I'm sorry." Zayne said. The nurse rolled her eyes. "Dear, people come here everyday to throw up." She left the room, but quickly came back to swap buckets and exited the room again. She snagged the black rectangle without consciously looking at the nightstand again. Zayne was grateful for an excuse not to think about corpses. She knew what this thing was; her brand new pad. Someone had saved her the effort of removing the packaging. She examined the slim device, turning it over in her hands. She frowned. The default government issue pads had improved a lot since she was a child but this one was still barebones compared to one you would spend money on. No camera, no storage space, minimal graphical ability. The thing was a glorified portable feed browser. She pressed her thumbprint against the screen and it synced to her biometrics. A loading screen appeared as it downloaded her entire feed presence, online personae, contacts and contact history, and financial accounts, such as they were.
Waiting for the doctor, all she could do is watch the yellow progress bar tick forward in increments. It's slow too, she thought to herself. It was going to take months to be able to buy a proper replacement. She growled. You should have paid up for the replacement plan like I told you to, the monster chimed in. Fuck you, Zayne replied. She didn't know how long she had been out. She had definitely missed at least one work shift. And with no one to tell her job where she was, Zayne would be a no-call-no-show, which is a fireable offense. It wouldn't surprise anyone, given how she was treated. A select few of them would probably be happy she was gone. On the flipside, if she wasn't sacked then when she returned her abuse might double in recompense for the increased workload in her absence.
When I return? she thought. What a surreal notion. A nightmarish adventure involving constant mortal peril one night, and then mundane kitchen work the next? She was hiding in the crystal skeleton of a God Beast hours ago and now she goes back to her everyday like nothing at all happened. And she found that that worried her. A raw survival situation was something direct, something you can easily grasp, something you had a degree of control over. See something scary? You run, you hide, you shout for help; but what do you do against the stares? Those stares that were full of contempt, and revulsion, and fear. What can you do against the isolation? No one wants to help you, no one cares about you. Now that the direct threat to her physical being was gone, what could she do against the towering wall of darkness pressing against her will? Why was the cognitive Zayne so much weaker than the physical one? From somewhere beneath her roiling emotions the monster scoffed. In a way Zayne wished she was back down there, underground, only having to worry about her next meal. A monster inside her cave.
Carol Jessup entered the room in a wheelchair. Zayne's brain short-circuited. Her mouth fell open, then closed, then open again. Wearing a pressed white officer's uniform, Carol gave her a broad grin. A man in a white coat followed her. The doctor presumably. Zayne only spared him a cursory glance before locking back onto Carol. The physician stood awkwardly, not really sure who to address. Carol flicked her wrist at the man, "Well go ahead, Andrew" she said. The doctor gulped.
"Hello Ms. Gladstone, I'm Doctor Jensen" he proffered a smile, "how are you feeling today?" Zayne was caught flat-footed by this, now giving the doctor full attention. She wasn't comfortable with a stranger knowing her name.
"I-I threw up." was all Zayne could manage saying in front of her childhood hero. She felt her cheeks blush.
"That's fine, it's most likely due to disorientation from your concussion." The doctor shrugged. "It's perfectly normal." It wasn't due to the concussion but this was the wrong kind of doctor to talk to about that.
"How long was I asleep for?" she asked instead. Dr. Jensen turned nervously to Carol.
"Before we get started, you do know that with you not being a family member I can't really-"
"Hush," the Warden interrupted, "I've already seen all of this one's medical records."
Zayne started at that. "A-All of them, ma'am?" she stuttered, her mouth struggling to form words.
"Yep, all of them. I'm not going to learn anything new." she paused. "And don't call me ma'am." Zayne gulped. The doctor gave a beleaguered sigh. "You were out for around eighteen hours," he began. That was both longer and shorter than Zayne was expecting, and she wasn't sure how that worked. "I'm sure that you are already aware that you have a fractured right clavicle. That's your collar bone. It looked a lot worse when we brought you in, but oddly enough it looks like it's well on its way to healing. The ossification steroids we gave you may have worked a bit too well, so we won't be giving you anymore. We are worried they might be interacting negatively with your hormone medication." Zayne started impulsively twirling her hair. She had really hoped that last bit wouldn't be brought up. But what does it even matter if Carol can just pull up and read her medical history unilaterally? she thought. That raised some concerns in regards to WLD having the power to invade citizens' privacy. I hope she hasn't also seized my search history. The doctor walked over and pulled out his wide medical pad and did a quick scan on her shoulder. "Hm, based on this it might be completely healed in another four to five days. You have an extraordinary recovery system."
"Thank you?" Zayne replied.
He then turned the pad down to her midsection. "Two broken ribs. Not much we can do about that other than to advise you to avoid any calisthenics. Your pinky there isn't actually broken, just sprained." That was strange. Zayne vividly recalled it snapping like a twig in Carol's grip, turning it a deep black and blue.
"How-how can that be Doctor? I remember feeling it snap when Carol grabbed my hand." Let's see how she feels about being caught off guard. "I could swear I heard it crack." The man raised his eyebrows and turned to Carol, whom Zayne was pleased to see had brought her palm up to her face, hiding her eyes.
"I-I'm deeply sorry about that...I was having difficulty managing my strength in the moment." the Warden said with a tone of exasperation thicker than wet cement.
"Oh no, I think you should be quite proud of your restraint Ms. Jessup. With your strength you could have shattered every bone in her hand." He turned back to Zayne. " Rest assured your finger is not broken and will be fine in several days."
That still didn't sit right. Zayne remembered the break clearly. It had been her distraction from that awful buzz in her head. There had been a lot going on though, if any there was a time to be mistaken about something, it was then. She had also forgotten about that buzz until right this moment after all.
"You had a bad cut across your palm, but it wasn't that deep, we were able to glue that." the doctor continued. "Lacerations on the back of your head, with some mild bleeding. The aforementioned concussion, which the side effects of should resolve also in several days with good rest." He made an emphasized tap on his pad. Everything else is mild cuts and bruising." Doctor Andrew gave a wry smile. "Honestly considering the circumstances, being chased by an Uber, falling through the earth a thousand feet, all while very dehydrated, you made out quite well. Though" he tilted his head towards Carol, "you had a lot of help. Any questions for me?" Zayne probably felt like she should ask something more than wanting to.
"Uhm...any hearing loss?" Zayne asked. "Well you are hearing me now aren't you?" he said with a laugh. Zayne didn't smile, and seeing that the doctor sobered immediately. "Uh, we have no way right now to quantify any direct hearing loss as a result of your encounter. That's something you should notice gradually, so keep an eye, or ear out for it." he winked. Zayne still did not smile. "Yes well, I can discharge you tomorrow morning. I would recommend self care at home for another week, then you should be back to functioning normally." Functioning normally? I wonder what that's like, both of her thought in unison. Carol seemed to be growing impatient as she was boring holes into Andrew's back with her eyes, and his back seemed to bow a little under the pressure.
"If that's all, you can get a legally enforceable doctor's note for your place of employment when you check out tomorrow." He turned back to Carol as though looking for permission for something. She gave a slight nod of her head and he made to leave.
"Well, have a good day." he said and made to leave the room.
"Thank you, Doctor Andrew." Zayne said. Andrew paused and gave a warm smile and then left Zayne alone in the room with Dynastinae.
The breeze ruffling the curtains was the only sound. This woman whom she had seen writhing on the ground screaming only less than a day ago now seemed more intimidating than the Strife King himself. Probably the uniform. Carol made the first move as she wheeled over to Zayne's bedside. She tensed as Carol gently reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of Zayne's face, tucking it behind an ear. Then the Warden settled her hand down on the bareskin of Zayne's own. All of Zayne's hairs stood on end. Fighting for survival withstanding, Zayne had not felt the soft, warm touch of another person's skin in a long time. She had very mixed feelings about this as Carol's gaze penetrated her. Those tired eyes were nonetheless sharp. The light in them cut into her and exposed her very essence. They laid her bare, making her insides squirm. Even if that light shone with well-meaning concern, she wanted to hide from those stabbing eyes under her childhood blankie.
"I promise I won't break it this time, hun." Carol said "I am so sorry about that." Please don't break her ribs or collar bone either, the monster said sardonically.
"What gave you the right to look at my medical files?" Zayne said, but she didn't remove her hand from Carol's grasp. The woman was quiet for a moment, and then, "I needed them to be able get you to be treated in this hospital." She sighed, "and I kept the records on my pad so I could see in real time how badly you were injured as it was updated. I was worried about you." She sighed a second time and looked down. "And I will be honest, I looked at the rest of your history because I have bad impulse control. So I have to ask your forgiveness." Zayne should probably feel violated. Zayne had spilled her guts to her about her very personal problems to the woman and even admitted to pissing herself, so there wasn't much too hide one couldn't assume. At the same time taking her medical files without permission was a bit too presumptuous. She wouldn't easily hand Carol verbal forgiveness for the transgression. People treated that word far too cheaply. She was a little happy for the break from the pensive stare.
"Why did I need to go to this hospital?" Zayne asked. Carol looked back up, seemingly relieved by the change in topic. "So you could see Andrew." she said. "Don't let his demeanor fool you, he's the best doctor in the sector."
"Best doctor in the sector?" Zayne said in disbelief.
"He's my personal physician." Carol replied. Zayne gaped at that.
"Oh please don't give me that startled goat look, hun. WLD keeps him on retainer for me. Might as well make use of him for a friend. I won't tell anyone if you don't." Zayne almost forgot to breathe. Did she just call me her friend? she thought to herself. Friends in like a Public Relations or courtesy type way, or actual friend-friends? What a strange situation.
"Will," she gulped, "will he uhm, be able to help y-you?" Zayne immediately regretted the words and looked away. Was I staring at the wheelchair? She desperately hoped she hadn't offended…
"He can help." Carol said leaving the statement hanging uncomfortably in the air.
"I'm sorry." Zayne breathed out, a lump forming in her throat.
"What for, hun?"
"It's all my fault you won't be able to walk again", she croaked, "if I hadn't-
"Won't be able to walk again?" Carol frowned, and then, "Oh, honey I will still be able to walk, I just can't walk right now." That was a relief but still confusing. Carol continued, "my body is extremely sore and it will be a bit before I can support my own weight without tearing something." Zayne felt like an imbecile. Here she was fretting about someone looking at her medical files when that same someone had risked permanent disability and death for Zayne's sake. I'm so infantile.
"I'm still sorry", Zayne said, beginning to cry "For the pain, and for what will happen to you. I don't deserve-"
"Shut up, Zayne." Carol said pleasantly but firm, that bluntness and sass returning from the night before. She very, very lightly squeezed Zayne's hand. "It was inevitable the way I was burning the candle from both ends." the Warden exhaled deeply. "This is my fault. The tipping point was coming soon, and if it wasn't saving you it would have been someone else. I'm happy it was you." Zayne was speechless. She didn't know if anyone had ever said something so nice to her in her entire life, not even Zayne's sister.
Yes she did, the monster said.
"Besides," Carol went on, "you saved my life too. Twice even. So let's call it even." Zayne was openly weeping now, nose running, gasping for breath. She felt so embarrassed, so weak, but she couldn't stop herself. It came out like a sudden and violent storm. She cried for Dynastinae's early retirement. She cried for her sister who couldn't be here at her bedside. She cried for Dwayne's family. She cried for herself. Sometimes a person needed a good cry, and this particular cry had been building for a long, long time. Now the dam broke, not from cumulative pain, nor an insult, or ignorance, but from an act of kindness. It made her 'breaking' on the street curb look like a mild sprain. Carol, for her part, gave Zayne a light embrace and allowed Zayne to cry into her shoulder. She didn't say anything. She just allowed this virtual stranger to soak her uniform with her tears until she had wept it all out and was left with shuddering breaths. She didn't know how long she had been crying for. It could have been ten minutes, it could have been an hour.
"I don't want to be wasting your time", Zayne said shakily.
"Shu-" Carol began to say but she stopped herself, taking a deep breath.
"You are not wasting my time, Zayne." Carol broke the hug and reached into her breast pocket, pulling something out. "I came to give you a couple of things," she said. Zayne wiped her red eyes and looked up. Gifts? From a Warden? The first thing Carol revealed was a familiar crystal shard, now fastened into a metal piece looped onto a long silver chain. A necklace. "This is your souvenir from underground. I had an assistant do this up for me." she said, hooping the jewelry around Zayne's neck. "I hope when you look at it it reminds you where we found it, and you see how tough you can be having survived it." Zayne held the crystal up to her eyes. Sunlight from the open window bounced off the crystal, reflecting specs of every color on the surrounding walls. It was actually beautiful, albeit in a very blunt way. Like Dynastinae herself.
The second thing Carol handed Zayne was a small disc made out of a strange metal. She felt a tingling in her fingers as she turned it over in her hand. It was blank on the back, an instrument in the center to attach to fabric. It was a pin. Zayne traced her fingers over an engraved insignia on the front. A pearl colored heart with a black star in the center.
"I don't mean to be disrespectful," Zayne said, "but I don't understand." Carol smirked
"It's the first medal I was ever awarded by the Tribunal. For valor and bravery in the line of duty. I was about your age." Zayne dropped the pin onto her lap like it was a venomous snake.
Holy Shit.
"D-Dynastinae, I can't", she sputtered, "I can't take this." Regardless of the intense personal value it must have to Carol, this was given by the hands of the Tribunal itself. That meant this medal came from the Nibiru station. That meant this was made of the strange extraterrestrial metal the Star Wardens brought with them. Rare stuff. This piece alone was probably worth an entire year's worth of rent. She leaned back from it like the pin was suddenly going to vaporize her. Carol chuckled.
"You can take it and you will." she said. The Warden picked up the medal and curled Zayne's fingers around it. The metal tickled her palm.
"It won't bite." Zayne wasn't exactly entirely convinced. "Why would you give me this?" Zayne asked, cradling it in her hand.
"Because you earned it, hon." Carol gave her arm an encouraging squeeze. "You went to that job interview and overcame your own fears to do so, sweetheart. You faced it head on, back unbowed. And even though you didn't get the job, you survived it." She poked Zayne's chest. "And then after that you saved my crippled ass. I know servicemen who would have cracked under that kind of pressure." She moved another rogue strand of hair out of Zayne's face and touched her cheek. "You hun, you are forged from steel. Don't forget that. Every time you feel down on yourself, or insecure about how you look, or your body, or fearful, I want you to grip this medal and have that tickle reassure you that you are brave, Zayne Gladstone." A pained look crossed Carol's face for the first time since she arrived. "I don't deserve this anymore."
You're a Warden!" Zayne, exclaimed. "You protect people and fight giant monsters! How could you not be valorous and brave?" It was obvious to Zayne. A fact. Hammers fell down, not up. The sun rose in the east. Wardens were brave.
"You can't be brave if you no longer have any fear to overcome." Carol said, her eyes becoming glassy. The Warden looked down. Zayne got the impression that Carol was saying this more to herself than her, so she said nothing. Carol took a deep breath and looked back up. The despair was erased from her eyes as though it had never taken hold in the first place. But the exhaustion remained. Carol wiped a rogue tear from Zayne's cheek with her thumb and smiled again. Zayne felt a familiar warmth. She hadn't realized it before, but this was Dynastinae's true superpower, because it did the impossible. It didn't make her giant-sized, or transform her arms, or shoot laser beams. It made Zayne want to smile back.
Carol reached for Zayne's pad and it unlocked for her without any resistance. Carol was inputting information on the screen that Zayne couldn't see. She handed it back. "Unfortunately, duty calls." Carol made like she was going to get up from her chair, but then corrected herself. Her face betrayed a flash of embarrassment, but for less than a second. "I have at least one morbid press conference to attend, even more morbid pad work, and at least one session of getting chewed out by my superiors. Hopefully for the last time." she said with a wink. "I put my contact information into your pad. If you ever want or need to talk, please send me a message." Zayne was now actually sad that the Warden was leaving. Less than an hour before she had wanted to hide under the bed from the woman.
"My fourth grade paper deserved a B+" Zayne said. Carol turned her head and cocked an eyebrow. "Because it didn't do Dynastinae justice." Carol paused, then smiled again, and to Zayne that smile was as bright as the sun itself.
"Thank you...for saving me." Zayne whispered. Carol's grin widened even more and then the Warden wheeled out of the room. Zayne was left in a daze as though she were in another dream. But she could feel the many discomforts and stiffness of her body, the weight of the crystal shard against her chest, and the tingle of the alien metal in her hand. She opened up her pad and sure enough, under contacts was now the name Carol Jessup. A little beetle icon rested next to her name. The corners of her mouth perked up a bit, but then she noticed something else and they fell right back down. A notification from 'Work' highlighted the screen. She took a deep breath and opened the message and read the words scrolling across the black screen in yellow letters. "Are you actually going to show up for your fucking shift tonight, Zachary? Or do we need to find another line cook? You fucked us last night."
Zayne squeezed that small piece of metal with all of the strength that she had.
***
Carol chewed on her lip. The room was dark, blinds half closed, only allowing the slimmest beams of sunset into the room. The style of the office was an old-world look,, the walls and desk made to look made out of polished, deep colored wood. An analog clock hung on the wall making a steady 'tick-tock' sound. Carol was familiar with these but you almost never saw them. High Executor Rand stood in front of the blinds, hands clasped behind her back, attempting, but failing, to look like a paragon of order. She just stood there saying nothing. It was an intimidation tactic, a bad one. She had expected better from Arianna Rand, Chief Warden of Sector Eleven and former classmate. The superior officers used the same old bag of tricks on them when they had gotten reamed out together as youths. Maybe Carol's hypothesis was correct and the higher up the chain of command you went the more your brain rotted by padwork. That was fine. If Rand wanted to waste her own time that was her prerogative. She just stood there making a show of herself pretending to contemplate the weight of her responsibility. Carol had her own problems to contemplate. Actually important things. Like how much Stoli's she still had at home and if she would need to stop somewhere or not. Like the inevitable century and a half of rapid physical deterioration and pain eventually confining her to this chair permanently. Like the lies that she had told Zayne Gladstone.
This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
*Tick-Tock*
Carol began bouncing her heel on the footrest of her chair. It sapped too much of her strength. Lie number one was that her physical condition was worse than she had let on. There was a persistent weakness in her chest, an alien feeling to her having been a Warden most of her life. Like she had run from the ground floor to the top of the Ziggurat using the stairs. She had severe planar scarring in her legs that would result in months of physical therapy to function again with any semblance of normalcy. Right now it hurt to put weight on them and the fresh muscle fractures risked tearing more. Even after she was able to walk again Andrew warned she might even need a cane for the rest of her life. Or at least until the ravages of time brought her down back into this chair. She had chest pains from fresh scarring on her heart that could result in heart attacks down the line. Maybe one would end the show early. But Zayne didn't need to know those things. No one did. Even Carol would have been happier had Andrew just said "it was bad" and left it at that, sparing her the specifics.
*Tick-Tock*
The second lie she had told Zayne was that she could no longer feel fear. There was of course one thing she did fear, but that wasnt for anyone to know. That fear became such a part of her daily life she hadn't considered it one anymore. This new fear was a genuine surprise to her. Before the previous night she couldn't feel fear, it was true. She hadn't been scared of anything for…Oh God has it really been ten years now? A knot formed in her breast. No she had been long estranged from fear up until she saw that girl. That waif with an iron spine. Her frail body had crumpled to the ground with blood pouring out of her nose. In that moment Carol became terrified of losing her. She had only known the young woman for maybe an hour or so, but something about Zayne had unlocked a box that had been locked and gathering dust for a very long time.
Or a door. she thought to herself.
*Tick-Tock*
Carol began drumming her fingers on the armrest.
Maybe it wasn't fear, but sympathy? she thought. You see something pathetic and you just feel compelled to nurture it. She remembered the first time she saw the tiny transgirl sitting alone in the street in a soiled dress looking like she had been pulled out of a riptide. So fragile, her wide eyes emphasizing her vulnerability. She was pretty pathetic as it turned out, objectively. The moment the thought formed in her mind Carol was revolted at herself for thinking it. After all the abuses she had suffered she still managed the strength to stand up and save Carol's life and her own.
"It didn't do Dynastinae justice."
*Tick-Tock*
Carol grimaced at her own stupidity, but that was not a new phenomenon. Such thoughts were beneath her. In truth it was those eyes that compelled her. She had seen that same vulnerability before. Carol knew where but she wasn't in the mood to face that at the moment. For the now she was content to acknowledge that this was selfishness. She felt guilty but she was going to continue on this path anyway. She would continue helping Zayne.
Don't I deserve it? she thought. Haven't I paid my dues to society? Haven't I suffered enough? Can't I be selfish and take this ONE thing for myself? People weren't things. This was dangerous ground to tread, but she needed something to cope with the fear now that it had returned. Once she felt it that singular time, all of her fear burst forth like someone pulled out a stopper.
It would pull her in and drown her.
Inconvenient for it to come back now as she was staring down two lifetimes worth of disability.
Two lifetimes of looking at the blue painted door.
She was feeling thirsty.
*Tick-Tock*
"Oh my God, Arianna are you going to say anything or can I go?" Carol growled. What was Rand going to do, fire her? She would happily take her pension and leave right now. It would be much easier than quitting.
"I'm considering what to do with you." Executor Rand, voice steely. Carol grinded her teeth. "Well, any day now." Carol sighed. Rand turned on her heels faster than a lightning strike. The woman had a sharp angular face and kept her head shaved.
"By what right do you believe you can speak to a superior officer like that? she said, voice full of unrestrained contempt. "Do you lack any self control on top of being an incompetent?" Carol shifted in her seat uncomfortably. That icy stare of Rand's was actually pretty good. She probably terrified the cadets. When she wasn't sleeping with them, Carol thought very much to herself. It was an open secret among the senior officers that Rand enjoyed collecting a few young specimens for some 'exhaustive physical study' from the fresh recruits every year. Still, she smarted at the fact that Rand had beaten her. That outburst was the reaction the Executor was fishing for. It strengthened her hand against Carol.
"My apologies...sir." Rand didn't make any move to acknowledge her correction. It wasn't about propriety and discipline, it was about proving that she was in control.
"Forty-Eight", Rand said, not breaking eye contact.
"I beg your pardon, sir?", Carol responded.
"Forty-Eight people are dead, another fifty-one are injured." Rand turned to sit down behind her desk. "Two buildings destroyed, eight more damaged, two helicopters lost, one subway station, and the entirety of Peachtree Parkway. We're looking at over four hundred million credits in damages." Rand paused to let the words sink in. "I thought I should remind you of the consequences of your failure seeing as you are determined not to take this seriously." Every word from Rand's mouth was dripping with venom. Carol bit hard into her lip. She hadn't allowed herself to think about the casualties. She just needed to force herself through it like every other time. Carol didn't feel responsible for their deaths. In every situation like this one she had been able to internalize that more people would have died without her being there. However, forty-eight was, well, that weighed pretty heavily on her. And that Uber, it wasn't there for wanton destruction. It had seemed like it had come to lure Carol out specifically. In a way Carol was responsible this time by nature of being the intended target. That made her feel very uneasy.
"So? Were you drunk again?" Carol's left eye began twitching. No, she had not been drunk this time. "I'm waiting, Captain." Rand said. "What excuse do you have for me?" Carol stockpiled her resolve.
"I believe I outlined every detail in the official report, sir." the Warden said.
"If I gave a damn about the official report, I wouldn't have summoned you." Rand continued. "I want to hear it from your own mouth, Captain." More like you want to see me squirm.
"With all due respect, sir, the intel we had gathered about the Uber was way off. A multiple Warden team should have been sent in." Rand leaned back in her chair looking bemused. She steepled her fingers.
"Yes, you said as much in the report" Rand replied. She was expecting this response, of course.
"Intel…" Rand tested the word, as though she were actually considering the response seriously. "Is intel always correct, Captain? Is that how we train you?" A rehearsed response.
"No sir, but-" Rand did not give her the opportunity to finish.
"Do we not train even our youngest cadets to adapt and change to unexpected combat situations? Did you seriously assume that intelligence on an Uber we confirmed and classified less than an hour before it invaded was reliable?" That was a good point, and that just made Carol angry having to recognize that.
"So here we have an Uber we cannot quantify, hiding in a freak storm." Rand continued, building momentum. "Would you have us risk an entire team of younger, inexperienced Wardens against a threat we know very little about?" Carol knew where this was heading, and nothing was stopping the train. Rand gave her predatory grin.
"Or do we send the experienced veteran Warden, the pride of Sector Eleven, and one of the most talented Wardens in Resilience City?" She wasn't sure if that last part was true.
"And what does that Warden do?" Carol tensed. The grin had been Exchanged for a mask of pure malice. Here comes the killing blow. "SHE FAILS TO CONFIRM A KILL WHEN THE OPPORTUNITY APPEARED, SHE FIRES OFF HER ENERGY BEAM IN A DENSELY POPULATED AREA, THEN ALLOWS HERSELF, A PRECIOUS RESOURCE TO THE CITY, TO BECOME A CRIPPLE THROUGH GROSS NEGLIGENCE." Rand shouted. Carol couldn't help but wince.
"I-", but her superior officer refused to let her finish.
"You are a Warden of Resilience City. Your job, no, your duty is to defend the people and property of this city. As far as this office is concerned you have failed, and in the process threw away decades of WLD's investment in you and a power gifted to only the smallest fraction of people." Rand hissed. "Just like you have thrown away every other blessing in your life." Well now you are getting personal. The anger inside her began to boil, but it was almost over. She didn't need to fight. She only needed to get through this last hazing and then she would never see this woman again.
"You are correct, sir. I would like to tender my resignation." Carol spoke up before Rand could start ranting again. This had an effect. Rand leaned back in her chair, raising her eyebrows. Carol was twisting her metal armrests from gripping them so hard.
"Why do you want to resign your commission?" the Executor asked cautiously, as though this were a trap. Does she want me to spell it out?
"Well sir," Carol began, "as you have succinctly put it I am a failure in my position as guardian of Sector Eleven. I have let my city down by allowing civilians to die due to my ignorance on the battlefield. I have endangered myself through reckless behavior in and out of combat scenarios, making myself unreliable as a team member. I am frequently insubordinate to my superior officer. Through my actions, I have brought great shame upon the glorious institution that is WLD." She listed each offense with the candid air of someone reading a grocery shopping list. "I am unworthy of the uniform I wear. Also I am in a fucking wheelchair if you haven't noticed." she finished. Rand was quiet for a long time, processing Carol's resignation.
"Well of that's all, I will have Marissa forward you the official paperwork and I will be on my-"
"No." Rand interrupted.
"Excuse me, sir?"
"I said No, Captain."
"No in that you don't want Marissa to forward you the paperwork?" Carol asked, confused.
"No in that your resignation is denied."
"That's not up to you." Carol said, abandoning decorum.
"Oh I think it is." Rand said a grin returning to her lips. "You think you can run away again. Abdicate responsibility again. Weasel your way out of consequences like you always do. Totally ignorant of the destruction you leave in your wake. Well, I am not letting you get away with it this time". She may as well have punched Carol in the jaw. She would have been just as stunned by the audacity.
"You can't stop me from quitting Arianna, I can just walk out of here." Subconsciously Carol's body was getting ready for a fist fight, but in her weakened state it felt like emotions themselves drained her physical energy. Executor Rand laughed. It was a cold and mirthless sound. A raging fire began to burn inside Carol. What didn't she understand? She was leaving.
"Let me give you a timeline of your 'resignation' should you insist upon it," the Executor began. "First, Carol Jesup will attend a memorial service for the victims and accept responsibility for her failure. Then after that she will publicly resign at a press conference citing her ailment as the reason. Next the City of Resilience Justice Department will quietly prosecute a certain Patricia Hayes for no less than three counts of murder." Carol's chest seized up at that. Rand continued, "Then Patricia Hayes will go to prison and live out the rest of her very long life in maximum security isolation, her pain being her only company." she concluded with an air of satisfaction.
"You bitch." Carol made to get up out of her chair. It was about to become four counts of murder. Her legs gave out and she collapsed onto the hardwood floor. Executor Rand let out another high laugh. "Trying to assault a superior officer, are we?" She said as the officer rounded her desk and planted her foot on the square of Carol's back. "You disgust me." Rand snarled, pressing down with her foot. Carol gasped in pain at the narrow, sharp heel being twisted into her spine. "You bitch", Carol seethed. "You bitch, you bitch, you bitch, you bitch, you FUCKING BITCH." she shouted desperately trying to free herself. She was pinned. Like a taxidermy beetle on a board. Then the tears came.
"Do you really hate me that much, Arianna?" Carol croaked. "We used to be friends. Are you really this petty?" The twisting stopped. "Yes." said Executor Rand.
The pressure on Carol's back lessened, and she felt Rand's body heat as the Executor leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Here, let me help you. A courtesy for a friend." Rand grabbed the back of her uniform and pulled her off the ground with one hand, tossing her backward into her chair. The chair wheeled toward the wall behind her. Carol smacked the back of her head against the thick wooden door. Carol didn't feel it. All she could see was red. She breathed through her clenched teeth as Arianna Rand leaned back against her desk casually with both hands on the wood. Carol was going to kill her. If it was the last thing she ever did Carol Jessup would murder this woman.
An image of a blue door manifested in her mind's eye.
In a heartbeat that fury changed into raw, animalistic terror.
"No, we can't just discard such a valuable resource of experience. Regardless of my personal feelings towards you, that wouldn't be a wise decision as a commanding officer. I have to be impartial." Rand said with a sneer. Carol glowered back at her.
"Impartial like when you fuck your students?" she spat. Rand was not phased at all.
"Really? Is that all you have for me?" the Executor said, examining the back of her fingers. "The Mighty Dynastinae reduced to playground insults and wild accusations?"
Carol had never felt so...powerless. "You are one to judge. Do you think I do not know about your little crossdresser pet that you picked up last night?" Carol's rage returned like a tidal wave. Her skin was shifting into a bronze hue. It would be certain death for her to force a transformation in her state, but Carol knew she still had one last fight in her. One last opportunity to snap Arianna's skinny neck. "You even took him to one of the WLD medical facilities to see the physician paid to be your doctor the last time I checked. Tsk. Tsk." Rand shook her head in amusement. "I don't know what plans you have for him but they must be absolutely scandalous to take that kind of risk. He must have made quite the impression while you two were trapped underground together." Carol stood up from her chair. It took every ounce of energy in her body to do so. The polarity within her had shifted and those emotions that were weakening her before transformed into rocket fuel. Rage and loathing were very potent physical motivators as it turned out. Her legs screamed at her as they bore her weight but the pain was muted by the roaring inferno that was Carol's state of mind.
"If...you...say...one...more...word...about...her," Carol said between increasingly strenuous breaths, "I...will...kill...us...both...right...now." Carol could see the fear flash across Arianna's eyes. They both knew that if Carol was capable of standing, she was capable enough to tear Arianna's throat out. And in this tight space, one on one, she would do it. Carol had always been the more capable hand-to-hand combatant. Arianna Rand made the wise decision. She nodded her head in a clear, but subtle, sign of submission and sat back down behind her desk. Respectfully deigning to speak to Carol at her eye level. Carol slumped back into her chair huffing. Beads of sweat formed at her brow. The anger had not dissipated, but it was now mixed with the relief of being able to sit again. That made her sick. Carol was the pathetic one. She now had a whole new reference for the word. She did however allow herself a moment of satisfaction when Rand shied away from making eye contact and began pretending to be doing pad work. As though nothing had transpired at all.
"Students...the next generation of Wardens", Rand started without looking up from her pad, "so vital, fresh, earnest, and eager to please…" Her lips curled. "But also reckless. We have an empty slot in our Training Units. That will be your new position until further notice. Instructing and teaching students in strategy, combat simulation, and physical conditioning." Rand gave an uncharacteristically girlish giggle. " 'Those who can't do' indeed. More than that you will be a symbol. Your battered and broken body will serve as a constant visual reminder to our students of what happens when they become reckless and don't take their role seriously. You will spend your days having your pupils listen to you out of pity, not respect. Dismissed." She had said the words flatly and dispassionately, like she was assigning cadets homework. Carol didn't go to leave. Still incensed and panting, she wheeled herself up closer to the desk. "One more thing Executor Rand", she hissed, emphasizing the last two words. "Why did it take over an hour for reinforcements to arrive?" Rand paused her data entry but didn't look up. "After I went MIA, the back-up call should have been made immediately. It should've taken Flashbulb twenty-five minutes to reach my position. It took sixty-four minutes. Why?"
"You are dismissed, Captain." was all Rand said. That told Carol everything she needed to hear. She nodded her head slowly and turned her chair around to leave.
***
Arianna Rand couldn't get any work done the rest of the evening. She was too distracted. Still in her office, she sat behind her desk, no lights on, rubbing her temple. She had her pad playing and endless loop of white noise. It always helped her to relax. By all accounts she should have been thrilled. She had the person she loathed most in the world squirming underneath her boot, literally. The Mighty Dynastinae had finally had her back bowed, and Arianna was in a position where she could savor every moment of the woman's suffering. Carol was completely at Arianna's mercy. She should have been elated. She should have been getting off to it even. But all she felt right then was a frigid emptiness. In the Bureaucratic sense Arianna had total control over Carol's fate. The Warden was crippled and disgraced in the eyes of the public and state and municipal governments. Arianna had Carol's real identity. She had a ghastly crime scene to link that identity to. She had that little faggot the woman had taken an interest in. She knew Carol wasn't the suicidal type, otherwise she'd have offed herself ten years ago. She had all the cards but still overplayed her hand. They burned to cinders before that fiery, ferocious gaze.
"I will kill us both right now." the woman had said. And looking into those horrible eyes, Arianna believed her.
In a true test of power, in a true contest of wills, Dynastinae had won. As she always did at everything. Academics, combat ability, merchandise sales, Arianna's fiancée. To Carol it all meant nothing. Yes, Arianna did control the societal limitations of what Carol could do, but those were only consolation prizes. Inconsequential. Petty, exactly as Carol had said. Societal limitations were all just paper. They said what a person should do. You should go to your job. You should go to your court hearing. You should apologize for mistakes at a press conference. But Carol was a creature of woulds, not shoulds. Dynastinae would do exactly as she wished and she had the power to do it. She was the person whose fate was not anyone's but her own to control. Even as compromised as her body currently was, by standing up Carol had delivered a very potent threat.
"Push me too hard and at the very least things would become very messy for you."
Arianna smashed her fist into the tempered glass screen of her workpad. The glass shattered and jagged shards of it sunk into her skin. The white noise cut off. In the quiet dark she embraced the sudden hot pain, followed the unusual feel of shrapnel being ejected from her body, and then the expected relief as the wounds knitted themselves closed. Any feeling right now was better than that emptiness inside. She was going to need some company tonight. She may as well have let the bitch resign. At least then she would never have had to look at her face again. No, she had to assert whatever consequences she could. For now she knew that Carol would comply and it would be awful for her. What itched at her more than Carol's dramatic display was what she asked at the end. Why did it take over an hour for reinforcements to arrive? Carol hadn't been expecting a real answer of course. She had wanted Arianna to know that she knew what the Executor had done. Arianna had purposely delayed the reinforcement call in order to increase the odds of Carol being killed. A gamble that Arianna had lost. And now Carol would be a constant living, limping reminder of Arianna's failure. A reminder that if Carol had not seized control of her fate and murdered those people, the chair that the Executor sat in now would be Carol's, not Arianna's. As High Executor of Sector Eleven, Arianna Rand was herself, a consolation prize.
***
Carol Jessup's apartment was a loft. Situated at the very top of a residence center, she had a magnificent three-sixty view of Sector Eleven. Her home. Carol had never lived anywhere else. From up here she could still see the corner glass blowing workshop her father had owned. It had been a long time since it was open, but Carol still owned the lease. The workshop space was large enough for Carol to move some gym equipment into. She had never had the talent, or patience for glass blowing. Her father didn't mind. He would tell Carol that she could be whoever she wanted to be. She wanted to be the one to avenge her mother, who was killed during an Uber insurgency when Carol was six. Cruel that her mother would have to die after the age that she would be able to remember her, but before they could forge many memories together. The kaiju responsible had been killed by a Warden. Lumberjack was his callsign. Carol wanted to be him. She wanted to be better. Prevent other children from losing their mothers. That drive had taken her all the way to the top, literally and figuratively. Sitting in her wheelchair now, she had never felt so low. An apartment the size of a large house, but serving only one person. No one now at all to protect. Out there or in here. Carol was so little.
And then of course there was that wooden door on the first level, painted baby blue. Its oppressive presence made the air itself have weight. Even in her maximized form she would be dwarfed by the door, for how high it towered in her thoughts. Carol would feel a crawling sense of dread every time she had to pass it to get to the kitchen. As though it slam open and suck Carol in then trap her inside like some huge carnivorous plant. She could move. She had seriously considered it several times over the past ten years, but doing so would leave a part of herself behind. It would be a betrayal. Carol didn't want to tear her soul apart as well as her physical body. This place would be her tomb. She imagined herself in a sarcophagus adorned with cerulean scarabs. She was entitled to some vanity. She would suffer the quiet, she would suffer the emptiness, and she would suffer that blue door. She suffered it now emptying the fourth bottle of vodka down her throat as she stared down from her wall sized windows. Stared down at that street corner glass blowing workshop.
Carol may have been a bit of an alcoholic. She relied on it to dull her pains, physical and psychological. Now that she was fearing about her future again, she suspected she would need to rely on it even more. The important thing was that she was aware of her substance abuse, and that seemed like a good thing. It meant she could carefully schedule and manage her binge drinking so no one would know and she wouldn't hurt anyone. She could come home, lock up her pad so it wouldn't be usable for twelve hours, go over to the sitting room liquor cabinet and just drink. No one to judge her, no one to see her shame, no one she would fight. Just her, the quiet of the empty apartment, and the vile energy of that blue door. She supposed that last part was a fitting price for her self indulgence.
Right, the fourth bottle was empty. It took at least six to get Carol good and trashed. A never talked about 'Blessing' of ascension to demigod. She had depleted the sitting room store, but she had more in the kitchen. She made to get up, but half fell back into the chair as her legs buckled. This was her life now. "Better get used to it." she said outloud. The quiet of the cavernous home devoured her voice. With a sigh she made to wheel herself to the kitchen. Maybe I should get a dog, she thought to herself as she pushed the wheels forward. It might be a healthy point of focus for her. However, you had to walk dogs, and Carol lived on the three hundredth floor of a building. Also Carol wasn't very good at walking anymore. Maybe a cat instead? Carol shrank in her chair as she passed the the blue door.
"No less than three counts of murder," Arianna had said. Carol allowed herself a self-satisfied smile as she reached the kitchen. It had been far more than three. Thinking about what she had done to them was a sauve on her troubled psyche. She held on to those memories of terrified screams and burning flesh like it was a warm blanket. She smacked her forehead with her palm.
"Shit!" Her stockpile of booze was in the cabinet over top the kitchen counter. She had completely forgot. She tested her legs again. Still too weak. She thought about the problem. She wheeled over to the fridge and grabbed the broom that stood in the crook between the fridge and the wall. She smacked the dust off the brush against the floor. Carol grabbed the base of the broom and held the handle out towards the cabinet. All she needed to do was loop the handle around the edge of the broom handle, and then pull. She needed to reign in her strength though, thinking about how she had injured Zayne's hand. She didn't want to snap the broom in half. She took a deep breath and steadied herself. Her hand was shaking as she stretched it outward. Damn her weakness. Or that could have been in the level of inebriated she had achieved already. She was almost there, almost through the hoop. But no. She kept hitting the handle itself. She couldn't thread the needle because of her damn arm trembling. She bit into her tongue, using the pain as a focus to quell the shakiness. It worked to an extent. After several more times of getting close but just missing the handle she finally got the rod inbetween the handle and the wood. She held her breath in as she slowly pulled the handle sideways, opening up a gap between the door and cabinet. Carol made a swung the rod left, slipping it out at the same time. The door opened wide and banged against the cabinet door next to it. Before it swing back shut Carol had place the broom handle in front of where it would close. The door closed on it and Carol felt the triumph of a mountain climber reaching a summit. She felt sweat roll down her back as she now gently widened the gap by pulling the broom handle left again until the door was fully open. Well now what? Carol asked herself. The cabinet was open and she could see four, fresh, gleaming, unopened bottles of Stoli's. But they were up there and Carol was down on the floor. She knew it would be futile but she tested the strength of her legs anyway. Still useless. Anger began to flare up inside her. She was a Warden. She had alien superpowers. She had impaled giant monsters on radio towers. She caught skyscrapers with her bare hands. She would not be kept from her booze by a fucking kitchen counter. She reached up with her hands, ready to haul herself up with her upper body strength. She began to heave herself up with her arms out of the chair, but as Carol exerted pressure she felt a pain like a hand grabbing her heart in a fist. She gasped and fell onto her tailbone. She sat on the ground panting. Her blood was pounding in her ears. Even weakened as she was she hardly felt the impact. She reast her head against the wood of the kitchen counter's base. You are not an invalid, she told herself. She gave herself a moment to recover and redoubled her resolve. She raised her arms above her and pressed her hands flat against the counter. Carol exerted more strength than before, ignoring the tightness in her chest. It was working. She was raising herself off of the ground. Her head had crested the countertop when the entire counter cracked beneath her strength. She fell backwards. Her spine struck one of the armrests of her chair. That did hurt. She rolled off the chair face first onto the hard, cold floor. She bit back tears as waves of agony radiated up and down her back. She growled in frustration through gritted teeth. She was too weak to make a drink for herself in her own goddamn home and too weak to go up the stairs to her bedroom. What was next? Too weak to use the bathroom on her own. She reached for the wheel of her chair and wrapped her hand around it. She threw the entire thing overhand into an adjacent wall. There was an explosion of drywall and dust. A rogue wheel rolled back past her. Fuck it. Carol was going to crawl to her couch and go to sleep. The couch was more comfortable anyway, seeing as it lacked the immense size of her bed which always felt too empty when she slept in it. She pulled her self across the floor with her arms. Each tug forward lit up a thousand points of aches and pains across her ruined body. She collapsed on the floor, all of her limbs going limp. She supposed she could just sleep here. Carol had made it to the carpet at least. Then she felt it. That weight in the air. An oppressive energy crushing down on her shoulders she turn her head. The painted blue door was right there, like it had ambushed her.
"Please...no." Carol whimpered. It loomed over her like the Ziggurat itself. That wooden door was staring at Carol. She didn't know how, but she knew the door was staring at her. Panic seized her chest. The terror was in full force now. The door hadn't been opened in ten years and it wanted to be opened now. It beckoned her, hungering for it. Carol felt a sudden urge of adrenaline and recoiled in horror, trying to create as much distance between her and the hellish thing. She hadn't gotten very far. The door was approaching her, bulging out from the wall and closing in on her. Her heart pounded in her chest like a hammer. The doorknob began to twist. It was coming to consume her. She shut her eyes, trying to banish it away.
"Someone...help me….please." Carol pleaded. She felt a cold breeze on her face, as though it had blown in from the underworld itself.
"Please...anyone…" she begged.
"It didn't do Dynastinae justice," she heard a voice say.
Patricia Hayes screamed. She screamed at the top of her lungs. Then she screamed again. And again. She pulled at her hair wildly. Patricia kept screaming until her voice was hoarse. She didn't sleep that night. She just layed there on the floor, alone in the dark, desperately trying to keep the blue door shut.