1996, in a isolated village in Brazil.
She's lying in the hotel room's bed, alone. The dying light of the setting sun brushes against her naked body; a lit cigarette in her hand drops ashes on the floor.
All is still.
He hasn't returned yet. Nor phoned. Since he left, early in the morning, she hasn't seen him.
He's a fighter for money, a mercenary. Someone hired him and his battalion to get rid of some band of terrorists, or fighters for freedom, or whatever. That's beside the point. The important thing is that he could die any moment. Every day he goes away she isn't sure he'll return. There's something fascinating about those fragile, weak mortal's lives, the way a single, small accident is enough to crush them. They look like babies, so full of life and so always risking to lose it.
She stands up, decides it's time to go look for him. It's late enough for her to walk in sunlight, even though it feels somewhat itchy on her unliving skin.
When she walks in the street, everyone turns to see her. Even after a while she's been staying in that village, her looks still lure a lot of curiosity. She walks past the huts and the few brick buildings of the village, filling her ears with the dialects of the people passing by, farmers, fishermen, traders with their carts full of merchandise.
At the end of the village, on the road which leads deep into the forest, the only guard post, there is usually just one mercenary. He is there. His scent is a lure, his sight a relief.
They run to each other before saying anything. They hug, they kiss, his body is so warm, so alive...
She lifts him like a doll, holds him tight, almost afraid to lose him even while he's in her arms. After all he's so light and frail he could be a porcelain doll.
"Where have you been all day?"
"You know that, sweet- on mission."
"Like always."
"That's
just my line of work."
If only she could tell him she knows
about that more than anyone else. That line of work- being
a soldier. That's what she's been all of her life. But now her
mission is just to stay there, just to wait, just to be with him. And
for the first time in who knows how long, she's happy with that.
She runs her finger through his hair, while his hands run on her back sending shivers down her spine. Their mouths are crossed in a endless kiss. That's the perfect moment. No need for words, everything is right again.
Slowly, everything fades away. The world returns consistent again, the blurred edges of reality retake their original place.
Is it really over?
"Are you coming home now?" she says. "home" would be the cheap, decaying hotel they're staying at- but more of a home than any other place in the world, if they can be together.
"I'm afraid not, cherie, I still have my guard duty. I'll return later." He seems a bit to eager.
"Then I can stay here too. Stay with you a bit, don't you think it's a good idea?"
He doesn't, he definitely doesn't. Why? What could possibly be wrong?
"Just... just no. I don't... I...."
She seems different now, as she gets close once again to his face. Sure, she never looked quite normal in the first place, but now... now she's just unnatural.
"Are you hiding something from me?" She asks; there is suspicion in her voice, sure, maybe even anger, but he also hears hope in it, as if she was waiting for her surprise present.
She waits, and stares at him. Her eyes never looked so alive, so deep and burning from the inside. A monstrous beauty emanates from them.
"What is it?" she asks again, a bit more intensely than before. He has had to do with enough women to know she's nearing a breaking point. He has made one false step, and she's been awfully quick to notice it. He knows plenty of reactions- the most likely will be just a small weep, ans after he's cheered her up, everything will be right again.
But he's not so lucky this time.
She just keeps staring, her hands lock on his own clutching them. He realizes how cold her skin is. Unnaturally cold, like the skin of a dead woman.
And her face- that's just not possible. He sees her face glowing. The tattoos which cover half of her body have somehow come to life and form new words and new shapes. And the words show what is he thinking, show what he feels, like only by looking at him he could know everything that crosses his mind. And it's painful, like a probe cutting through his flesh and reaching for his soul.
And it all disappears, as she descends deeper inside him, searching his memories and finding what she needs.
"So I'm just a freak. So to you I'm just an adventure, I'm just too weird to be your girl, isn't that right?"
Can he lie? Can he hide anything?
"And who's this new one? Just the next in line? Or maybe someone more suitable for you?!"
She retracts from him. Tears run from her eyes down to her mouth cold tears of a living dead. He tries to say something, he tries to explain, but there is nothing to do. He is in a dream, a mirrored reality in which he has no control over himself.
Only the pain right after wakes him up from the illusion. Even so, he needs some time to realize what has happened.
His left eye doesn't exist any more. Warm blood is pouring from the point where her fist hit him and sent him flying through the room. But how could one, singe punch do so much damage? He feels his head exploding, and is surer than ever that whatever hit him, is supernatural. No man or woman could be so strong. He'll probably have to wear a eye-patch all of his life, after that hit.
She moves one step forward, then stops. Something is holding her. The glow on her tattoos fades.
"The Major says to let him go and return." whispers a soft voice in her ear.
She ignores it. It's not over yet.
"Just do it, Zorin." the cat-boy's voice is somewhat peremptory, she knows he speaks for an authority she cannot transgress.
So that's it? Having to leave after all of this? After everything she's been through, simply because the assignment is complete, she has to return to the battalion?
There's no discussing the order. One last time she turns to her ex lover, bleeding and lying on the floor.
"One day we'll finish this, Pip Bernadotte." she says.