by Marc Mulero
“Hiezer reinforcements are incoming. You must make your stand and scatter the herd of citizens now,” the turncoat’s voice announced.
The bald and brazen Sin commander made his way over to Melissa, his courage fighting to keep up with his calculations. “There’s no time to land. This sector is free and clear of crowded structures, the Quake saw to that. Prepare your squad.” He made way toward the pilot, away from the Crescent and their Champion. “Wadem, fly as low to the ground as possible and pick up speed. You will slow only for a moment to allow for the Crescent to dispatch from the rear exit. When the time comes, circle back and align thrusters for a vertical landing for pickup. We will rally as soon as our show is done.”
“Roger,” Wadem confirmed.
A smirk crept up Melissa’s face in admiration of Biljin’s bold command. Jumping out of a moving aircraft was not for the shy of heart.
The jet descended, nosediving toward the city grounds. Crescent soldiers unstrapped their belts and grasped the numerous handles stationed on the outskirts of the aircraft, readying to move on their Champion’s orders.
“On your count!” Biljin shouted toward the cockpit.
Melissa and her crew braced to depart the slowing jet as the back latch drew open. The metal mouth sucked in a vacuum of wind, leaving words to disappear in the gusts whipping their ears. Only the pilot’s voice could be heard through amplifiers.
“Three,” Wadem’s voice echoed from the loudspeaker.
Biljin stared out the window, a ball of stress lodged in his throat. They were still too high for a safe jump. “Lower!” he shouted into his radio. Fear was winning again.
The entire Crescent wobbled from the jet’s plummet to the ground.
“Two!” the pilot shouted.
Biljin braced to withstand the harsh descent, hands trembling while reaching for the window’s ledge. He keeled forward suddenly. The drop wrenched his stomach into his heart like he’d just jumped from a skyscraper, leaving him wide-eyed and breathless. Through a vibrating skull, he tried to pull himself together, catching a glimpse of what awaited their arrival in the process. A circle of a thousand Dactuar and Vacal citizens looked back at him from the ground. Their bodies were turned and necks craned. Dread set in. It was time.
“One! Go, go!” the pilot boomed.
Screams from the citizens below pierced through their ears. Panic spread at the sight of the aircraft’s nose plummeting toward their direction with no hint of pulling back. The destination appeared to be the crowd’s center. But at the last second, its roaring thrusters shifted position to face its front, slowing the aircraft merely twenty feet from the ground. The flashy maneuver blasted a wave of heat that forced everyone to turn away, including the armed Hiezers herding the citizens. Dactuars inside the jet were tossed off their feet once more, but they were soldiers, and their quick recovery was proof.
Biljin felt the vibration of pounding boots against the floor. It was happening. The time had come. He turned to see the Champion sprinting full speed toward the jet’s open rear. She was going to jump… she really was going to do it.
Shit.
Her Crescent bolted behind her too, unwavering and strong, speeding at her heels to make their grand entrance. Woosh, she swung the shield to her chest and leapt high into the air, glimpsing her targets below before slamming a fist on the back of her defender. He could hear the metal warping as it expanded at her command. It encased her entire body and ended with spiked bars cascading over her back. Glorious. She was glorious - the living embodiment of the Dactuar symbol - a meteor crashing to the earth. Her troop followed her dive as dark angels descending from above.
Biljin’s heart thumped in his chest, now the only one left in the jet’s core. He waited for the precise moment to make his mark, away from battle.
What was I thinking, volunteering such a mad idea? Being a scout was a better life. Intricate planning and ample timing. A game of chess in which I couldn’t be beaten. No flying, not like this. I’m no hero. He cursed himself, looking out the window and seeing that the jet was pulling back up over the crowd of people.
The physicist decided to ignore all second thoughts and let go of his insecurities. And so he ran for the back of the plane, fingers numb, sure that his legs weighed a ton each. His body was resilient in its cowardice, fighting to hold him back even at such a crucial time. As arrogant and self-indulgent as Biljin was, a fervent sense of pride did not elude him. Through his missions, he’d grown fond of the Dactuars and couldn’t leave them out there alone. He had to do his part. Willpower fought past his craven body. His legs continued to slug forward, picking up speed as he neared the edge. The outdoor light peeked closer and closer as he reached the rear ramp. His whole body trembled and his jaw shivered, clattering his teeth. He closed his eyes upon his release and jumped.
Wind plastered his decorated coat to his body. Air streamed up his nose and against his face, making it hard for him to breathe. He flew for a brief moment before he opened his eyes to see a pit of panicking bodies.
Bullets ricocheted off the Champion’s expanded shield as she flew down toward the formation of Hiezers. Hands were braced hard against the metal. Then crash – right into her enemies. Soldiers crumbled to the ground on impact, softening her landing and reducing Hiezer numbers in one fell swoop.
No time to focus on the sting that shot up her arm, nor the ringing in her ears. Adrenaline had taken over. It pumped through her veins like nitrous injected into a car engine, empowering her while she slammed a fist into the shield’s back. Her shell constricted to its normal size as she got her footing. Enemies everywhere. The shock of her arrival would only last for so long, so she had to use it. In war, one slip up would determine life or death. And so she swung her compacted shield upward, ending with a bash that sent a recovering Hiezer’s weapon flying, followed by a commanding kick that drove him back. Thumps reverberated all around her; it was the sound of her soldiers stomping down closely behind to even the odds.
The Champion pivoted and pushed off the ground with her metallic leg, leaping high, braided hair snaking in the wind. “All eyes on me,” she commanded, and then curled mid-air, tucking herself behind her symbol to deflect the next round of automatic bullets. Her shield quivered from the barrage and her wrist hurt from trying to keep it steady as rifles lowered from sky to ground, always aimed at her as she fell. Now, however, she was between them. This madwoman had a plan.
Hiezers ceased fire to avoid shooting their own, and that’s when she roared.
With an arched back to gain momentum, she jammed the southern edge of her defender into a Hiezer’s neck.
Spatter everywhere. A fountain of blood spewed when she wrenched her weapon free and spun into an about-face. Before a bullet could meet its mark, she wedged the shield between her and the rushing storm of lead.
Melissa became feral, a creature of instinct, a wolf defending her pack. Gritted teeth and wild eyes shined as the light was taken from her foes.
Two hard steps propelled her into a somersault where she knocked her shield mid-tumble, expanding it into spikes once again. Graceful and terrifying, she impaled a diving Hiezer before shrinking the defender down on her way back to her feet. The newly made corpse was pulled toward her with the compacting metal and then elbowed out of her way. Attention was hers. Boldness unmatched.
The Champion’s show got her what she wanted: all weapons aimed on her now, to crush the citizens’ savior. They had to end her. They could not let her break through. And so here came the true swarm of lead and steel to finish it. Clashing metal was all she could hear. Deafening. Then her leg twitched from shrapnel pinging off of it.
“Ah,” she grunted, finding herself having to duck lower. More bullets, more fire. Lower. She had to go lower as the shield shook more violently.
Machine gun rattling was so explosive, so endless that it was beginning to overwhelm. She dug her heels deep into the graveled ground.
“Can’t give up. Not now.”
Sparks flashed from her exposed leg and blood dripped from her hidden one. Both limbs felt nothing. Only perseverance riled through her: a sense of duty that made her the tank of her people. And it was contagious.
Here they came - the Dactuar Crescent - fanning behind her, just when she needed them most, laying waste to their enemies. The machine guns lulled, the grenade launchers thudded to the ground, and the Champion rose, grinning behind her wall to deal the next blow of justice.
Biljin held his rattled head from the awkward plunge and extended his hand to help up the toppled citizen that broke his fall.
“That’s Madam Brink,” he heard a hopeful woman say from within the crowd.
The Sin commander pushed through the mob, hoping to get a visual of the battle beyond them. He looked back after hearing a crash. A large crate dumped from the jet had fallen, landing beside the horde as planned. They didn’t come just to make a show. Gifts for defense was also in order. He used his decorated arms to lightly shove the people from his path. The smell that filled the air was of day-old sweat sloshed with perfume from the Citizens who tried to preserve their status while being forced into bad hygiene. High ranks suffering lowly struggles. Grease and perspiration brushed over the physicist, giving him a new perspective.
He clamored to lift himself, using a large man’s shoulders to peek between writhing bodies, to see how the show beyond was playing out. There, he glimpsed Melissa swinging and blocking far ahead. It was her. Unmistakably so. And what’s better, she was pushing forward while Hiezers staggered back. She was winning…
Blood striped her face, her armor, everything. Biljin hoped it wasn’t hers.
It didn’t matter, though. She wasn’t holding back regardless of the pain, so what excuse did he have?
It was time for him to grab the wheel. He pushed to the center of the crowd, where the sitting ducks awaited their fate.
“Vacals, Dactuars,” the physicist shouted over gunfire, “you are not alone! The Hiezers have abandoned the hierarchy. They are their own monarch now. If you choose to side with your oppressors, then you deserve their Quarantine.”
The brash words caused the worried mob to begin shifting to its center.
“For the rest of you, the ones who still value the future of your loved ones, join us. Join the movement of the Sins. Melissa Brink, your Champion, she fights for you!” Biljin made sure his voice was heard.
He watched hopeless expressions regain some life and determination as they turned their eyes back to the battle, only to be horrified once again. The frontlines of the unarmed masses collectively screamed in terror as gunfire entered the crowd. Hiezers focused their weapons on the defenseless in their desperation, to stop Melissa and the Crescent’s onslaught. It didn’t. Anger boiled from the injustice, but fear still held the mob back. Gasps multiplied from the citizens, Vacal doctors rushed to help the wounded, and all the while the image of their Tribunal leader reproving her title burned into their minds.
Melissa scanned the battlefield to see she had but few enemies left. Danger was waning. It was time to accomplish the true purpose of this mission. She flipped the shield onto her back and raced forward to the next Hiezer guard closest to her, closing the gap before the distracted soldier knew what hit him. She lunged to strangle him, wrapping tense fingers around his neck and kneeing him with the iron force of her phantom limb. Her eyes were seared with the fire of war, burning a hole through her faceless enemy, almost squeezing the life from him. Finally, though, she found composure in his struggle and loosened her grip, before ripping off his mask and kicking him into a Crescent soldier.
“Keep him alive!” the Champion shouted while the rest of her followers culled the last of their enemies.
She looked down at a gash through her outfit that caused her forearm to bleed. Gore covered her flesh leg and a slew of bullets had punctured her metallic one. “A small price to pay for victory,” she said to herself, surveying the Crescent-filled battlefield and circle of onlookers.
“The highlords have received word of your attack. You have thirty minutes until the Quarantine is enforced. Get moving,” a voice projected from Melissa’s radio.
She tightened her lips and beckoned the unmasked Hiezer back over to her.
Biljin pushed his way through the crowd, which parted for the speaker.
Put on your spectacle, Melissa. You heard the turncoat. Time is against us.
Melissa dragged the fearful Hiezer guard from the Crescent’s grasp. She tossed him onto his knees in the center of the battlefield, setting the stage for the citizens.
“I was just following orders,” the guard abandoned accountability, tilting his head up to lock eyes with the Champion.
“Here, we own up to our actions,” she said, and then gauged the mob with her eyes. “We are not them!” she shouted with a bloodied index finger aimed at the captured Hiezer. “We do not abandon those who call upon their protectors, nor do we dictate the fate of our world. And we do not shoot the unarmed!”
The Hiezer breathed out a sigh of relief at her last words. He might live. He might live another day. But even if he did, what was next? A future ridden with guilt? It was one thing to do your duty behind the guise of a mask. It was easy, then, to pretend to be someone else. But it was something else entirely to be exposed in the open. He was human now, not some authoritarian drone. And with all of that likely running through his head, he looked down to the floor in shame.
The Champion circled her prisoner, wind spreading the stench of war passed their noses. “You will be tried and sentenced by the Tribunal,” she said loud enough for everyone to hear. She lifted her gaze. “Four of you, in the front, step forward,” she beckoned with two fingers.
The frontline of the crowd exchanged uneasy looks. Some held onto injured friends, and several others stood tall, before making their way toward the Champion.
Melissa’s eyes gleamed in the chance to right this wrong, drowning out the blood spatter and welts that streaked her face. “This Tribunal of four will decide your fate, Hiezer. Your crimes set forth include the wrongful abduction and blatant murder of Dactuar and Vacal citizens.”
Throughout her career, her position of power had felt earned. She was righteous, wasn’t she? Well, sometimes it certainly didn’t feel that way. Something was always amiss back then. After each sentence that she handed out, even though she was doing what she thought was right, a piece of her died inside every time. It was the shadows in black and gold looming over her, of course. That’s why.
Those shadows weren’t here, though. The light had finally overcome to cast them aside. And now, in this gritty moment, she was more justified than her entire run as judicator. For some reason the realization threw her back to the Dactuar retreat in Old Iceland, where Biljin had made his comment about fighting for the wants and needs of those above her. It hit home, because back then she couldn’t answer him with clarity. The Hiezers were on top, always watching. But now there was certainty. Her heart had grown fond of the Sins, and she knew that she was meant to be a force to help lift them from a life of misery.
“How do you plead?” Melissa leaned in to address her captive.
He averted his eyes from the regal Champion. “Guilty of abduction, b-but not murder,” he spoke to the floor. He hoped his plea would lessen whatever punishment would be granted, or stall long enough so reinforcements could rescue him.
Melissa looked up to the four judges. “Is there evidence that is contrary to this man’s claim? Is he a murderer of the innocent?”
“I have no evidence of murder, but this man is part of a seed of hate that should be punished,” a well-dressed man said with malice.
Another asked, “What sector were you assigned to?”
“Gated Community Alora, in the Horace Garden,” the Hiezer replied.
The esteemed woman held her head high and said, “That’s a small
community. I would imagine you were one of the only guards sent to Quarantine that sector?”
The Hiezer looked up to address the thin, mocha-skinned woman who was dressed in a doctor’s robe. “That’s right, there were two of us,” the guard answered truthfully.
There was rumbling amongst the horde, until a man with slacks and a double-lapelled shirt elbowed his way to the front. “It was you!” the man roared, tears brimming his eyes. “You killed her, you killed my wife!”
Two saddened citizens reluctantly tried to hold the grieving man back.
“How do you know it was not the other guard?” the doctor inquired.
The man scrambled to get past the arms grappling him. He was out of breath, panting. “The other was fat and out of shape. This skinny monster fired at my frightened wife. She was beautiful, you bastard. Innocent! And now she’s gone…” He crumpled to his knees in defeat. “She’s gone!”
The Champion felt for the man, but her focus was on the woman who had a natural affinity to succeed as a Tribunal member.
The Hiezer bit his lip in silent response to the claim.
“What do you say to such an accusation?” Melissa asked the Hiezer.
He leaned forward and caught himself on trembling fists that dug into the gravel below him.
Biljin watched this all play out, becoming as immersed as the citizens who were involved. He eyed the jet that had landed not far off, and then looked at his timekeeper in despair. Fifteen minutes before this entire lot would be detained, or killed.
This guard is no elite of the Protective Order that I’m used to. Not even a Hiezer patrol. He’s a groveling peasant. Or, is that what he wants us to believe…
“Melissa!” Biljin shouted. “He’s stalling. The Hiezers will arrive at any minute. Sentence him and be done with it.”
The air grew tense, but the doctor ignored it. “Did anyone hear the gunshot in the Alora Garden?” she addressed the crowd.
