Unification
"I am Rita Iglehaut, acting commander of the Quinta Garrison. This is your last warning, come out!"
Rita stood outside a warehouse with a blowhorn, addressing those barricaded inside. They were associates of the man killed by Ducio on that unfortunate day, and the last of the more radical members on the side of those outspoken against the military taking full control of the District and what remained of its citizens; which, since she resumed her duties as acting commander, were growing increasing more desperate. Though they'd made a previous agreement for no more bloodshed, two of her soldiers' were beaten savagely near death recently—and only near death, thanks to others' timely intervention—some days prior in retaliation for one of their own. Two trainees transferring a cache of equipment that was now stolen and in these peoples' possession.
And before Amanda stormed in, she was here today because she believed that they weren't completely unreasonable. She hoped to persuade them to surrender, and, perhaps, in time, under watchful eyes, regret the choices they've made. See that violence wasn't the only answer. That together, united, they might come to a compromise once order was fully restored to the District as a whole. Though, so far, it seemed that Amanda was going to get her way.
She scowled.
"Told you they wouldn't listen," Amanda said behind her, arms crossed. "Go back to your papers." She pushed to the forefront and unsheathed one of her blades in one, fluid motion. "Just let me deal with it."
But, regardless of how it was done, there was only one rule: no killing.
Rita would make sure to remind her of that.
As Amanda went to unsheathe her second blade, Rita grabbed her arm and squeezed. "No excessive force. That's an order."
"Yeah, I got it." Amanda shrugged her off and pulled it free. "Commander."
Rita glared at her, waiting until she got the message, then touched the scar across her temple, hidden by her hair as Amanda went up to the warehouse doors and checked to see if it was locked. Which it was.
Observing Amanda's actions to be doubly sure, she watched as Amanda fired both anchors to hook above of the warehouse windows and kicked off the ground, gliding above Rita's vision so she had to crane her neck upward to see, reeling herself in fast and quiet.
Feeling the sun on her forehead, burning her wound, she was careful not to upset the stitches because it was still raw.
Her father gave it another week until it would heal completely. He'd cautioned not to do anything drastic in the meantime. Just sit and take things easy, but, how could she when the longer she sat doing nothing except organizing papers, stacks upon stacks, as people kept dying?
Amanda shifted her weight right before impact, arching up and curving her knees and torso to absorb the tremendous force, and swung her feet around, landing on the roof, before casually slipping inside.
Judging by the sudden shouting, she must've dropped straight into their midst. And after a few seconds more, the shouting twisted into screams, the warehouse doors burst open as who remained all attempted to make their getaways, until the soldiers positioned outside rifles raised convinced them otherwise.
"Please desist from any further criminal activity," she warned before having them rounded up and sat on their knees.
Satisfied, going from them back to the warehouse, Rita wondered why Amanda hadn't come out yet to gloat or complain and got her answer soon enough when a shot rang out, several stragglers stumbling out backwards with weapons, at least one or two brandishing rifles.
Their backs were turned, frantically trying to reload their rifles at something still inside.
Rita held up her hand. "Hold your fire," she said, just as Amanda darted out, little more than a blur, and dropped into a crouch, instantly closing the gap between herself and the stragglers. Four men, one woman.
Turning her wrist she drove the hilt of one of her blades into one unlucky man's abdomen. He coughed up froth, then collapsed, his weapon—a poker, something used to pry open a door or window—falling from his grasp.
In the time it took him to hit the ground Amanda already tripped the legs of the second and stepped aside to ram her other blade hilt into the side of the third man's head as part of the same movement. As all three dropped she then slammed her knee into the woman's chin.
Four down, one left.
And he had just reloaded his rifle when Amanda, who was too far away to reach him before he fired, shot one of her anchors directly at him which impaled his right thigh.
The last man let out an ear-piercing cry and fell. Writhing in pain, he cursed her until she mercilessly reeled it in and dragged him toward her until his face connected with her fist and he was out cold.
Teeth scattered as a crowd gathered, drawn and entranced by the violence, and Rita took to the sky, soaring above everyone's head to land atop the warehouse with a blade drawn, looking down upon them.
"Hear me! Everyone!" she said through the blowhorn, "I am Rita Iglehaut, acting commander of the Garrison. This District is now under the law and order and jurisdiction of the Garrison and Training Corps!"
The reality, of course, was that the only Garrison troops left to carry out their duties were Rita herself, Amanda, and a handful of others from their own year and the next. The rest were all trainees like Ducio with next to no experience. Though, she saw no reason to remind them of such information, and ordered several of her trainee soldiers to turn their rifles on the crowd to send a clear message: if anyone wanted to challenge her authority, anyone, even a trainee, could fire a gun.
"We will respond with zero tolerance to theft in all forms! Now disperse and go home! Please go on as though everything were normal, inasmuch as you are able! I guarantee help is on its way. To enable us to make a new start in a new environment, please respect the law, and help one another!"
She waited.
There was only silence.
It struck her then that this was probably the first time she'd had to speak in front of so many people.
—What if they just ignored her? Dismissed her as some bubble-headed girl spouting nonsense? Even after all this?
Then, the crowd chanted into a chorus. The people calling her name, chatter and tales of the day's events were certain to spread like a wildfire, and all at once Rita felt her tension drain away.
She cracked a smile for the first time in weeks.
Quinta was finally hers.