by KT Belt
Carmen was in no position to protest. Janus never used the handcuffs with her. She could barely remember the one and only time she’d been subjected to them. This set was quite different. They were more…complete. Absolutely nothing of what made her her was left. She wondered if she’d even be able to put out a candle by blowing on it in her state.
Isabelle beamed. This was a special occasion. She gave a hard pull on the handcuffs just because she could and smiled when Edge’s body jerked forward in response. Here she was, the great monster, the one-percenter, the terrifying Clairvoyant, Edge, and with just a small piece of technology, Isabelle had her at her whim. She steered the girl into a nearby wall and smiled again when Edge winced from the pain.
“Ahh.” This felt good.
The terror of the galaxy was no more fearsome than her niece. It was hard to remember why she was scared of the girl to begin with. They drew so much attention as they went that Isabelle may as well have had an exotic beast in tow. Edge herself was nothing new. It was hard for most to ignore her, but she was a well-known entity. It wasn’t her that made everyone curious; it was that she was subdued in chains and being led along by the decidedly average Isabelle. Only flying pigs would be a more incredible sight.
There were relatively few people in the halls, though, which was expected. Everyone had staked out where they were going to watch the fight by this point. They knew what was going to happen. Isabelle guessed the stragglers in the halls simply wanted a closer look at one of the contenders.
Carmen just walked. She didn’t particularly like her new handler, whoever she was, but she’d rather have her than Janus. She was just so rough, though. It had a crudity her previous handler could never possess. Janus was inhuman in his cruelty, yet there was purpose behind it that Carmen couldn’t deny even if she didn’t agree with it. This woman had none of that. They were ultimately minor slights, but she hurt her just to hurt her. Carmen couldn’t really say what the difference would mean in the long run. Both handlers were deplorable people in their own way. She tried not to think about it. Doing so would draw comparisons to Janus, and she hated thinking about him.
Her new handler gave another hard jerk on the handcuffs, and Carmen was content to just walk. With the handcuffs curtailing her abilities and with her still a little weak from her stint of not eating, walking was enough. The halls were near empty, save the few people gawking and staring. She didn’t know why they were so deserted, but she didn’t complain about it. She typically received a fair deal of attention by just existing, and there were times it was downright annoying.
She closed her eyes. Her handler made quite a job of leading her, so she didn’t need to see. With her other senses dulled to almost nothingness, Carmen took a moment to bask in not being what she was. So much of her life had been influenced by that which she had no control over and didn’t even want—most of the time, anyway. She was a Clairvoyant; she hadn’t become one. The few seconds of no sight, limited sound, and not knowing that which she should have known provided an interesting peek into a world that she rarely glimpsed.
When she wasn’t wearing handcuffs, she was faintly aware of the people around her. She also knew their general moods. At times, she even knew specific things about them, though she often wished the information could be kept private. Now, under the specter of the handcuffs, she felt isolated. She was so very alone and such an insignificant speck that she may as well have not existed at all. It made her wonder if she actually had to take the handcuffs off. In and of themselves, Carmen didn’t hate her abilities, but she’d prefer to just be ignored, given the choice. If that meant she had to be less of what she was, she had no problem with that—at least, not anymore.
Where did everyone go? Janus wondered.
There were no staff meetings or anything else he was aware of. If he didn’t know better, he’d say the building had been evacuated. He could still sense the presence of other people in the facility, though, even if he couldn’t see them. He considered what that meant for a moment. It probably meant nothing. He’d be summoned if he was needed.
Janus instead thought about his charge, as he usually did. There would be no more fighting for her. She had seen enough of it in her young life, by his reckoning. There was no more forging that could be done on that matter. She’d been broken, and now the task was to put her back together again properly. That was the hardest duty for any handler, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to manage it. What made Edge Edge was a delicate balance that even he could only catch hints of on rare occasions. It was a difficult thing to understand.
As he started toward her dorm, he thought perhaps he’d start with her first flight. All Clairvoyants remembered that choice, though he hadn’t been given much of one by the sortens. He stopped to consider for a moment that he may never see her again. On more than sparse occasion, a first flight turned into the final flight. There was nothing he could do about that. It would be completely up to her. He didn’t like thinking about it.
Isabelle frowned. Edge slowed her pace for some reason, and it was suddenly difficult to drag her along. Why now of all times? she thought. They were almost there.
She pulled on the handcuffs hard, nearly making the girl trip. “Come on,” Isabelle said.
She looked down on Edge. Edge glared back at her. Isabelle’s breath caught in her throat. Edge was dangerous even handcuffed; there was no denying that. There was also no denying that Isabelle didn’t exactly subdue her. Edge was allowing herself to be led. It was intoxicating to be in charge of such power, but she really didn’t want a reminder of who was actually in charge.
“We’re almost there,” she said sheepishly. Edge made no response, and the two of them continued on.
There was positively no one in the hall now. No surprise, as the halls weren’t the place to be for this spectacle. The observation booth was the front row, center stage. If not that, the numerous rec rooms that would be streaming the fight were just as good. Either way, Isabelle looked forward to when she’d be rid of the little terror. She didn’t know why Janus and some others fussed over them so much. Yeah, they were people just like she was. Sure, even she herself could be a Clairvoyant if she wanted to, but they were just so strange. The way they moved was a fluid, graceful mess that seemed more suited for a fish than any real person; so effortless, so purposeful, yet so unnatural. Even restrained by the handcuffs, Edge moved like a dancer. Plus, just being around them was uncomfortable, like being boiled alive. Isabelle could never get past it.
She looked down at the girl just before she opened the door to the fight room. She held Edge’s arms up with one hand and held the key to the handcuffs with the other.
“You’re not going to give me any trouble, are you?” she asked once more, looking the Clairvoyant in the eye.
Isabelle had never really done that before. Whenever she was around Clairvoyants, her thoughts were usually focused on getting away and not on taking a long look at what she was trying to escape from. She was unimpressed. Edge’s pearly blues were muted—almost lifeless—belying the girl’s otherwise sharp features. If the eyes were the window to the soul, hers was a dullard. How this person was one of the strongest beings that had ever lived was hard to believe. The fight could end before Isabelle had a chance to even get to the observation booth. Edge casually looked away, which Isabelle took as assent to continue.
Good, she thought with a suppressed smile.
She cautiously removed Edge’s handcuffs before placing them back on her belt. She also took a step back without even realizing it. Edge made no indication that she was going to strike. She only blinked several times, and a hand went to her head to steady herself. She looked like she was dizzy. Then she looked at Isabelle.
The woman took several more steps back. “Oh my,” she muttered to herself.
There were no lights flashing, sparks of electricity, or any of those dramatics. Edge didn’t telekinetically rip her to shreds. Actually, she didn’t move at all. She just stared. She
stared as only a Clairvoyant could, penetrating as well as any dagger or bullet. Isabelle was utterly naked before it. She didn’t think Edge was mad at her. It was more like she’d gotten the Clairvoyant’s full attention. She’d rather not have it. She swore each individual atom of her being was being studied, like how a lab technician would study mold in a petri dish. Just then, Edge shook her head slowly. Isabelle didn’t know what that meant. It was the same kind of disapproval one would give an ugly piece of art.
Isabelle swallowed hard and then opened the door, wondering what happened to all the dullness she’d seen earlier. Edge looked in the room, paused a moment, and then looked back at her new handler. Isabelle was about to open her mouth when the girl entered the room without a word or backward glance.
Carmen wasn’t surprised to find herself in another fight room. She also wasn’t surprised that it was the same as almost every other fight room she’d ever been in. It was empty, save for one soul, a brown-haired girl about her age. She didn’t think she was a Construct. She’d never fought female Constructs; there would be no point. Besides, this girl was more than a simple machine made of flesh. She stood in the center of the room with such quiet confidence that it was almost intimidating. Her back was to Carmen, but when she turned, there was something familiar about her face. There was even something familiar about her energy. Everyone’s was unique, and if Carmen didn’t know better, she’d say that she had sensed this girl’s energy before. She couldn’t read her, nor did she remember when they could have met. Whatever the case may be, the girl, whoever she was, studied Carmen just as curiously. She seemed to be just as surprised to see Carmen as Carmen was to see her.
The two girls took a few curious steps toward each other. Carmen noted that the girl didn’t move like a Construct. The ones she faced were what they were designed to be: athletic with incredible balance and precise, well-coordinated movements. They paid for their incredible performance with short lifespans and extreme caloric requirements. By contrast, there was weight and power behind this girl’s actions. They were also deliberately graceful, like she could walk through a brick wall for all the effort of stepping on ants.
Carmen grew anxious as they moved closer to each other. There were only two types of people in a fight room—handlers and opponents—and since it was doubtful that this girl would be her new handler, there was only one possibility left. Carmen didn’t want to fight her. She didn’t want to hurt people anymore, especially not someone who looked like she was as much of a victim of this place as Carmen was.
Except the girl made no action against her. When she tried to walk behind her, Carmen turned to keep her in full view. She tried again, and Carmen turned again. She could only guess the girl’s intentions. Though, on second thought, she didn’t think she was trying to gain any sort of advantage by moving behind her. She was walking too slowly for that to be a serious goal. Did she simply want to study all of her counterpart? Carmen tested the theory by turning around the long way when the girl tried to move behind her again. For one brief, instant Carmen’s back was to her, and nothing happened. She returned the favor by walking behind the girl, who stood still as she did so. There was even a confident smirk on her face when Carmen appeared in front of her again. Carmen didn’t know why. Then the girl took one solitary step toward her. The action didn’t seem curious or exploratory in nature, at least not to Carmen. She took another step forward, and Carmen took a step back to keep the same distance between them.
Isabelle practically ran down the hall. Her pulse beat through her like fire. If anyone had actually been in the halls, she would have crashed through them like a wrecking ball. She’d be justified in doing so; missing even a second of this long-awaited showdown would be blasphemous. Of course, the thought of the credits she’d earn from the endeavor buzzed in her brain, but what was the point of putting in all this hard work if she wasn’t able to sit back and enjoy the show?
For that reason alone, she should have gotten Larry to do it all, if she could have. He and all their friends were able to relax while they watched the fight of the century, yet she had to do all the dirty stuff. How was that fair? He’d probably screw it up somehow if it was up to him, though. He wasn’t the fastest minnow in the pond, as both she and his wife agreed. Thankfully he has other virtues, she thought with a contented sigh. But that was for later tonight.
She got in an elevator. It would be a short trip. She’d only barely caught her breath when the doors opened again. Now which booth is it? she thought. Why did everything in this place have to be so nondescript? If she could find a better paying job, she wouldn’t think twice about leaving, if just for better scenery. The thought produced a knowing smile. Money? She wouldn’t have any problems with money very soon—especially after Artemis killed or at least beat the little blonde milquetoast.
“Ahh, life is good,” she said to herself as she opened the door to the observation booth.
The place was packed. She never really spent any time in the observation booths herself. Consequently, she had no real idea of how they normally operated. Nevertheless, it was obvious that they were never designed to hold this many people. Only sardine cans approached this level of meat packed density. There were so many chairs on the floor that mice would have had trouble walking through. Thankfully, some very wise soul had raided the mess hall for several kegs of beer and food. Those items rested on a table, but other than that sacred area, the tables were covered by people standing on them. There was no room to sit. There were, of course, the technicians, scientists, and even the odd handlers one would expect to see in an observation booth, but now they were joined by security guards, cooks, program managers, and probably half the janitors that worked here. Isabelle figured she’d have an easier time trying to count who wasn’t watching the fight. She knew of at least one person. In any case, in that moment, they all looked at her.
Isabelle beamed. Their stares were like the nourishing rays of the sun. Aside from the money, this was what made the effort worth the trouble. No one ever thought they’d see Artemis and Edge standing toe to toe, at least not when Janus was Edge’s handler. No one ever thought anyone other than their handlers would be able to wrangle them and bring them together. But she had done it.
It started slowly, but the lot of them began clapping. Isabelle walked slowly forward and embraced the applause. Arms reached out to pat her on the back. She heard “Good job,” and “Way to go,” more times than in the whole of her life up to this point. She soaked as much of it in as she could. Isabelle smiled again as she wondered if this same scene was happening throughout the facility. She’d find out later. For now, however, this was the best moment of her life, and to think it was only the start for her. Nothing would ever be the same after today.
She continued to walk through the booth. At the end of her journey was Larry, and the two embraced in a kiss.
“Is Edge dead yet?” Isabelle asked. If she had missed all the action, that was the most important thing to know.
Larry shook his head. “No,” he said, and she groaned. “It’s really strange. They’re just walking around each other and stuff.”
“What?” Isabelle said, dumbfounded.
“Yeah. They haven’t even slapped each other or started pushing and shoving or anything.”
She looked away for a moment and began worrying that maybe they wouldn’t fight each other. It would be just her luck that she went through all this trouble for naught. Just then, someone shoved a beer in her hand and put his arm around her.
“Who cares about all that shit?” the person said loudly. “We’re here, they’re there, and they’ll start killing each other eventually. Let’s have fun.”
Isabelle couldn’t really argue with that logic. She downed the beer with a smile. Larry then led her to a chair that had been reserved just for her, and they sat down and awaited the show. Silently, she hoped this would be like watching storm clouds. They would roll in and build all day, and you wouldn’t know when it was going
to rain, but you knew it was inevitable. Then, when you least expected it, there would be thunder and lighting.
Carmen took another step back. Her eyes were wide, and she was near panting. It was then that she remembered her first ever fight. She didn’t want to fight now, just like she didn’t want to fight then. But she also remembered what Janus had said—how her body, her Dark, wanted her to fight and prepared itself to win, despite what she consciously thought. All the reactions were the same as then, as when she killed Mikayla, and as when she tried to kill Janus but couldn’t. As probably every moment in her life, she was set against herself.
She took another step back, and her hand brushed against the wall. Her heart rate ratcheted up twenty beats. The girl shook her head in pity. It was at that moment that Carmen realized who she was.
“I know you,” she said. “We’ve met before.”
The girl took another step forward, but it was smaller than before. “I doubt that,” she said simply. “I’m sure of it, even.”
“Why?” Carmen asked.
“Because I’ve killed everyone I’ve met, other than my handler.”
Carmen winced but remained undeterred nonetheless. This girl seemed a bit…extreme, but she didn’t think she was crazy. Reason had to work.
“But we’ve met before, sort of…years ago, when I first came here. I was crying in the hospital, and you looked at me from across the room.”
“I don’t remember,” the girl said. She then assumed a guard and took another step forward.
“Okay, well, we don’t have to fight. My name is Car—Edge. What’s yours?”
“Artemis,” she said, with none of Carmen’s hesitation on what to call herself. “And you’re right. We don’t have to fight each other.”
