Chapter 3: End of a World

I kick off the body of the soldier I just killed. 

I use the backward momentum to grab onto the building adjacent to the one whose roof we just fell from. Gravity jerks me downward as my shoulder dislocates. I grunt as I let my other hand pull me up and over the broken glass and into the building. I hear the grenade going off a little further below me. 

That damned Northun. I click my tongue. He just tried to kill us both. 

I should’ve just killed him from the get-go. I had to go out of my way and break his arm just to get out of that death grip. It was more on the annoying side, as far as last-ditch efforts go. That’s what I get for pitying a man who wet himself. One would think as he’s an oh-so esteemed Northman of Yenia, he would have more regard for his life. Whatever. Whether or not that guy or his allies have any care for their lives is of no concern to me. Actually, it’d be better if they all had a death wish, so I could get this work done easier. I gripe and check again on the message from my (now cracked) communicator,

Come back.
-Bosslady

I get up with another grunt, and dismay at the umpteen number of stairs I’m going to have to climb down with a dislocated shoulder. One step at a time, JJ, one step at a time. Halfway down the stairs from hell, my watch rings; I pull it to my ear and give a groggy “Hello?”.

“Did you finish the job?”

“Yes, I’m fine. No, I’m not injured too seriously, thanks for asking.”

“…”

“Yes, I finished the job. Your gear’s crappy. I’m on the way back now, it may take me a while because I’m pretty sure my shoulder’s in the wrong place.”

“I’ll meet you halfway, send your location.”

“No, forget about me. You head home without me. I need the exercise anyway. I’ll be f-”

“I wasn’t asking, you know what His Majesty will do to me if he finds out I let his favorite rising star walk all the way back to the capital from the WarLands?! He’ll kill me, that’s what!” She interrupts and feigns worry.

Please, that woman could easily kill the king if she willed it; and not only that, she could probably kill the Northern Queen too. That’d be one way to stop this everlasting civil war. I chuckle at the thought as I continue to waddle my way home.

“If I’m his rising star, then you’ve gotta be his current star, right? So stop bothering me and build something that’ll end this war. I know you’ve got the funds for it.”

“Pfft,” She blows a raspberry into the microphone as if the very thought of her doing her job genuinely as the Royal Crafter was comical.

“And if I do, and His Majesty becomes His Imperial Majesty? What then? I’ll have worn out my usefulness and be cast out, right along with you, might I add?”

“Mmm. I disagree, you’ll just become the Imperial Crafter and I'll be the Imperial rising star.”

“Hmph, cocky. Are you sure you belong to me?” She teases.

“God, I hope not.” I shoot back and hang up because I could see the little buggy filled to the brim with knights trudging its way towards me from the edge of the horizon. Now I know that that woman tracks me. As soon as I hop in, I’m bombarded with questions.

“What did the Northerners look like?”

“Did they travel in groups like us?”

“What did they fight like? Do they take prisoners?” The knights inquire.

One would think they would know best as they’re charged with protecting me and the Boss in circumstances such as these. Evidently not, seeing as Northuns rarely grace us with their presence in these parts; so these ‘guards’ just follow us around like they’ve been doing my entire life, clunking and shuffling their loud armor behind me. I barely managed to sneak away this time as well.

“Enough. I’m sure my daughter deserves some much-needed rest after her good work.”

She must have emphasized the word because she needed to remind some of the knights of the difference between their positions and ours. The woman I am more than reluctant to call my mother shifts so that I may sit beside her. 

She was more like an employer than a mother, hence the contact name. Even in my adolescent years, I don’t remember her treating me like a normal child as opposed to a small employee, able to wiggle my way into places adults couldn’t. But I must say, I do respect the way she made a name for herself, so much so that she ended up the Royal Crafter of the South, right hand to the king himself. This makes living life the way I want to somewhat easier; I have the privilege of not needing to worry about things like what I’m going to eat tonight or will I have nothing after my parents die? On the downside, that woman uses me as her lab rat for her new inventions and sends me out on “recon” missions to test them out. 

She calls her latest work ‘Familiar’ as it involves linking a cyborg and an animal-made-cyborg, in this case, a crow, together. 

Hypothetically, it’s supposed to let me see through Phoenix’s (yes, I named him) eyes and let me beckon him whenever the need arises. At the moment, however, it only lets me randomly see the sky while Phoenix is flying around being disobedient. Unfortunately for the both of us, there’s a range limit; if he flies too far away, we’ll both get headaches because of the weak signals. It couldn’t be more inconvenient. 

Perhaps I should be giving the bird more credit, he did lead me straight to those Northuns and they were none the wiser. I’ll feed him well later after Boss works out the kinks.

“I don’t know much about the Northerners, but from the looks of it, they’re not the sharpest tools in the shed,”

A cacophony of laughter erupts. 

I didn’t intend for it to be a joke, but I’m glad they’re enjoying themselves. 

Somebody should be. 

Boss takes a firm hold of my upper arm with one hand and her other hand circles around my wrist. With one swift jerk, she pops my shoulder back into its socket. I grit my teeth and gasp repeatedly to smother my screams. I feel tears coming to my eyes but the pain subsides before I have time to whine.

“…I’m pretty sure that they were sent on a wild goose chase for nonexistent hostages in a territory known to be overrun by us Southies. I mean, think about it, why would we have hostages in the WarLands? They’d just get shot and then be useless. Even if we nabbed them in the WarLands, why would we keep them here? That’s what prisoner of war camps are for. If not that, they’d at least be somewhere well guarded and inland,” I reason.

I place my head in my palms at the sheer idiocy of the Northern troops. No, maybe not idiocy, maybe the North Queen is more conniving than one would assume. Just what is she planning?

“That Mental enhancement of yours really works wonders for you,” one of the knights chimes in on my incomprehensible train of thought that had continued long after I stopped speaking.

I want to correct him but I stay silent because if I let a word of the truth slip out I wouldn’t be able to stop until every Southy knew my origins. It’s not Mental enhancement, and it’s not Physical either. I had no selection ceremony when I was a teenager because I’ve always had the enhancements.

A machine could sacrifice a baby for five elderly people without hesitation because that’s how it was programmed. 

But a person, a person would sacrifice ten strangers for just one person they considered beloved. 

I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way about anyone, not even Boss. Sure, she’s not expendable, but it’s not like it would be the end of the world if she died. But if she did die, that would bump down the number of people who know my secret from three to two, including myself. So, the last thing I want is to be blackmailed by the king because I can’t live up to Boss’ legacy. To me at least, that would carry just as much weight as the end of the world.