I've been away, lots happened and by the time it was over i'd lost interest in writing. But I'm back and there will be regular updates coming now. thank to those who commented; asking when the next chapter is going to be published. it's because of you that I've got renewed motivation. My other story will also be updated soon.
"Do you remember the day they took your hand?" Annabeth asked her. They were still sitting on the floor of Annabeths cell.
907 looked over at her. "Yeah, I remember…the pain mostly. But that's not something you forget. But I also remember what happened after they took my hand. I met him." She ran her flesh fingers over the metal ones and marvelled once again at their delicacy and flawless design. Her mind went back, almost without permission to the day they took her hand and the chance meeting that followed.
2 years ago:
907 woke with the familiar feeling of grogginess. It was the result of being drugged. Her memory was cloudy, when had she been drugged, her food maybe? A devastating realisation dawned on her. They knew. She hadn't been as careful as she first thought. They knew what she'd done. And now she was going to suffer for it.
She took in her surroundings. Grey walls with a blood splatter pattern on the wall, it smelled damp and of purified vomit. She was strapped to a gurney. Her right hand was brought forward, over the arm of the chair, while her left hand rested comfortably on the arm rest. Mental rings around her forearms and ankles kept her still. Turning her head slowly she observed the small table beside her. Primitive medical equipment was laid out in a row, blood from previous patients still coating the blades.
"NO! no, no, no!" she screamed and fought against her bonds. They couldn't, they mustn't. her muscles screamed in protest but she didn't stop.
The leera entered the room. Its blood red eyes sparkled with glee over the situation. Here to avenge the death of one of its own. It had been 4 days since 907 had killed a leera. She thought that no one had seen her, that she had left no evidence of her treachery. Obviously she had been wrong.
It was worth it, so worth it. She chanted over and over in her head. To kill the Leera who put his hands on Annabeth, was worth everything they were going to do to her. To slit his throat and watch him bleed out, for him to look her in the eye and know why this was happening to him, was worth it.
The leera reached her side of the bed and picked up the scalpel. No, no. 907 struggled, it was no use and she knew that, but there was no way she was just going to sit there quietly. The Leera turned towards her and moved her scalpel armed hand down towards her wrist. 907 turned her head. The pain was a biting, burning, fiery hell. The pain went on forever. After an eon the procedure was done, and the hand that had killed a Leera was gone. They left her. No longer strapped to the gurney but unable to move.
The pain was excruciating. She used to think that the worst thing she would ever feel was the pain of Serpine's right hand, she was wrong. So very wrong. That pain, while terrible, was comforting. It brought the promise of an end. It promised death. This pain was different. This pain promised agony, a pain that would never end and consume you from the inside out.
oo)0(oo
There was no recovery after that. She was in no position to fight. Over the following months the other soldiers wiped the floor with her during the Saturday night fights. The pain made her mind fuzzy and she couldn't concentrate on the fight. It was only because of their quiet respect for her for killing one of their oppressors that they didn't kill her outright. But they hadn't shied away from the fight either. Her hearing in her right ear was permanently damaged from a well-aimed fist. It was taking its toll. She knew that soon the Leera would not put up with her poor performance for much longer, her time was running out, her usefulness was coming to an end.
"Are you going to get up?"
There was someone in her cell. Last night the Leera had not even bothered to chain her up. There was no point. She was too weak. She lay on the hard stone floor as light from the red sun filled the room. She didn't even bother to raise her head and acknowledge the voice. It hadn't come from a Leera and therefore was of no consequence to her.
"Do you know why they took your hand?" the same male voice said, undeterred by her silence. "To see what you're made of. Can you overcome this massive disadvantage and not only draw level with your peers, but surpass them?"
907 finally raised her head to look at the voice.
"Who are you?" 907 asked.
This man intrigued her; he was muscular but not overly so. He was ruggedly handsome in a weathered way that showed he had been trough much in his life; scars peppered his arms, which were currently crossed against his chest. But it was his eyes, yes the cobalt blue was striking, but it was the emotion. The raw emotion behind those eyes caught her undivided attention. Compassion. So different from anything she'd seen in the last 15 years that she almost didn't recognise it anymore. But there was something about him that was off. The colours he was wearing.
"And what ranking are you?" 907 continued, observing his red t-shirt.
"While I was here, my number was 943, I go by Marshall now. And technically I don't have a rank anymore; I'm a red-shirt which means I'm retired. I choose to be here."
"Impossible, soldiers can't retire." 907 stated.
"Blue shirts like yourself can't. You know the hierarchy? Blue shirts then white shirts then black shirts. White shirts are specially selected and trained for covert operations, Intel and infiltration of the enemy. Blue shirts, like you, are foot soldiers."
She nodded to show that she knew this.
"You're expendable, replaceable. There are hundreds of you. You fight till you die, which will probably be soon. But black shirts, that's what I used to be. Blue shirts that show amazing hand-to-hand combat ability, amongst other qualities like possessing magic, are also especially trained. After serving for 200 years, you can retire. Or train the next black shirts. But we don't get to choose them, the leera do that for us if they see something special in a blue shirt."
"I doubt they see anything special in me."
Marshall tilted his head. "Haven't you been listening?" he sounded annoyed. "You're a blue shirt, you're replaceable. So when you killed that Leera, why didn't they kill you and replace you, huh? No, instead they took your hand as a test, a chance to show them how strong you are."
907 laughed bitterly. "They want me to be a black shirt, sure, sounds fun. But there is no coming back from this." She held up her wrist.
"And that's where I come in. How would you like to have a weapon that could topple armies and empires? How would you like to be the strongest solider to ever advance to black shirt?"
"Hell yes."
A few weeks later:
"So, are you going to tell me your name?" Marshall asked her while he sterilised his hands.
"Why does it matter?"
"I'm about to perform an incredibly risky operation on you, might be nice to know your name first."
"Do this right and I'll tell you my name."
"Fine, are you ready?" he asked concerned.
907 observed him for a moment before answering. Beauty was not something that 907 thought could be found in this place. But if anything in this world was beautiful, it was him. Perhaps it was that he was the first person to show compassion to her, or perhaps it was just him. It had taken time for 907 to trust Marshall, to believe that his offer of help was not a trick. But as the weeks went by and the pain intensified, she had little choice but put her full faith in him.
907 nodded. "Do It"
Her saviour brought the knife down in one swift movement, and 907 screamed.
Marshall inspected the wound and nodded. "Okay, the wound has been reopened. Just sit back."
Panting quickly she laid back and allowed Marshall to strap her to the filthy gurney, this time she was there by choice. The scab on the end of her wrist had to have been reopened for this to work. It exposed the bone, muscle, ligaments and tendons.
Marshall worked quickly and fluidly, never pausing and hesitating, as he attached metal counterparts for the complicated structure of her hand. It took hours but it was worth the time and pain for the end result.
It was beautiful. Gold metal was painstakingly shaped into the delicate curves of fingers, clogs and wheels were in place to allow fluid movement. The hand was simple yet complicated with so many parts and components, and yet each part complimented the rest. It reminded 907 of an expensive, vintage clock. 907 moved her new hand experimentally. The mechanisms were silent as they obeyed her request.
She looked at Marshall. "Valkyrie."
"Hmm, what?" He had been admiring his handy work also.
"My name was Valkyrie."
"It's beautiful."
"It's worthless. Just like I was before this." She held up her knew hand. "Thank you."
"It's still healing; soon you won't know the difference, apart from the cosmetics. At a later date we can add more weapons and tools but right now you've got a concentrated Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation beam."
"A L.A.S.E.R beam?"
"Sounds so much better when you call it a concentrated Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation beam, by hey, suck the fun out of life" He smiled.
"Why did you do this for me?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
"It's because you killed that Leera. This is my way of thanking you"
"He deserved to die."
"Yes he did, but he was dead anyway, long before you got your hands on him. Weather it was you or me who killed him doesn't matter. He was dead the moment he laid hands on Annabeth. You just saved me the trouble." Marshall explained in a tight voice.
"You were going to kill him, because of Annabeth, why?"
"Annabeth is my sister. Being a black shirt I was able to place her under my protection; no one was supposed to touch her. But I retired and he got brave. He stepped out of line."
"I had no idea."
He shrugged. "You've got a couple days of rest until Saturday, and then show them what you've got. They'll make you a black shirt. I'm going to put in a request to be your mentor when that happens."
"Fine, but you've got a lot to live up to. My last mentor was amazing."
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