The morning came too quickly. Sunlight streamed through the window, dust motes danced in the grey light of dawn. Alex and Tiny had somehow forced Nike to the edge of the bed. She hung off the edge, fingers brushing the floor as the press of the smaller bodies made her felt too hot. She blinked, wishing she could shove them off, but the pressure of them against her back and over her legs gave her a comfort she couldn't put into words.
Grief threatened to choke the air from the lungs, she missed Burger.
Nike shoved the ache away. She hated how it made her feel. Weak, small and helpless, she couldn't afford this. The soft sleepy murmurs against her back, the insistent weight burrowing under her arms reminded her what was at stake.
It was fight day and that meant Red Sand. Fear welled up like a sewage pipe back flowing, black, brackish and foul. It choked and filled her senses in a suffocating hold over her chest. She let her breath out explosively, not realising she was holding it.
"You ok?" Alex asked, her voice raspy with sleep.
Nike blinked, she hadn't realised Alex was awake. "Yeah, just go back to sleep," she whispered.
"Liar." But Alex didn't speak again, instead she shifted and pressed her back against Nike's.
Nike squeezed her eyes shut. It will be ok, one time won't make me a Red Sand fiend right? It's just once. I'll show Frank I don't need it to win. It will be fine. It has to be.
Still when the time came, Nike was more nervous than she was at her first fight. She was young and stupid then. Now she was a little older and hopefully a little smarter, she realised she had something to lose.
"Fight time, Nike," Frank said, bike keys jingling in his hand. "Time to go."
She stiffened and quickly reassembled the pistol she was cleaning. Standing, she shoved the pistol into her waistband and nodded. This was highly irregular, the threat of Red Sand not withstanding. A fight not sanctioned by the Dowager wasn't unheard of but it was heavily frowned upon, so heavily blood were spilled and gangs decimated over them. This was dangerous in more ways than one, but she couldn't find the capacity within herself to worry about what Frank was up to.
He gestured at a back pack on the floor. She moved to shoulder it and was surprised by the weight, one she recognised. It was about as heavy as the Spectre grade shotgun she carried back yesterday, minus the case. "Where are we doing?" she asked.
"Doesn't matter. Just know that this is the first part in a plan that's finally coming together," Frank replied easily.
In the years since, the Reds had upgraded their bikes. Gone were the almost cute scooters they used to ride. These were proper ones, low slung seats and long gleaming handle bars. A single headlight dominated the front. Frank swung a leg over and settled into the seat, the petrol tank fitted between his legs. Nike would have been overjoyed just to be able to ride one. The boys never let her. Excuses were always found, but she gathered it was because she's a girl.
However, this wasn't the way she wanted to ride the bike, not to a mysterious fight, not with the red Doom of Damocles hanging over her head.
The engine revved and it jerked her attention back to the present. It was loud and practically an auditory assault. He jerked his head and Nike climbed on. Before she was ready, the bike lurched into motion. One hand gripped the back pack tightly, her other hand searched frantically for a hand hold to keep herself from slipping.
Wind whipped her hair loose of the hair tie. They lashed against her face but the speed picked up, the weight against her chest lifted in a way she couldn't understand, but the feeling faded all too quickly when Frank stopped and parked.
They were at the Screamers' headquarters. Guards wearing the grinning mask of the Screamers' stood guard at the makeshift gate that barred the outside from their compound. It was a burnt out shell of a building. The top half looked as if it was sheared off by a giant blade and had partially fallen in on itself. Rusted debris too large to move by hand littered the small field next to it. There was a low wall just inside the compound. It was probably what's left of the original gate. There embedded into the stone was a metal plate with "Singapore State Orphanage" etched into it.
Nike frowned. The pungent stench of burning plastic, the groaning of metal warping under sheer heat and the after image of white powder drifting down against a night sky flickered across her mind. She hefted her burden onto her shoulder and kept a tight grip on it. Frank was greeted by a tall bald man. Skinner, Frank called him. They spoke, grinning and gesturing at her. Frank entered, with complete confidence she would follow. He wasn't wrong.
They walked through the gate and into the gutted building. Nike's heart started racing. It wasn't the anticipation of a fight. Fights were her everyday. She was used to those. She knew what to expect. But this? This private fight, what the fuck was this? The fact Frank and herself were walking into what ostensibly was a rival gang's lair was completely unheard of.
Her eyes darted to meet Frank's but he was too occupied speaking to Skinner. Dread and fear was creating a maelstrom inside her guts. Her healing wound started to twinge uncomfortably.
Eventually they got to top floor. It was open to the air, its roof long gone. Scattered bird droppings, feathers and old nests littered the floor. Everyone was up there, everyone was marked in some manner as a Screamer. And Nike's footsteps faltered as her mind yelled trap over and over in her head, but she followed Frank. What else could she do?
There was a loose circle formed in the middle of the space. There awaited her were five burly men. All of them had stripped down to their waist. Arms swinging, legs stretching as they grinned at her.
"You sure she's up for this?" Skinner asked.
Frank glanced at her. "Of course. She's the Champion of the Ring after all."
"Ex-Champion you mean," he retorted. "She looks like she is going to piss herself."
A dark look flashed across Frank's face as he glared at her. She quickly closed her gapping mouth. "Winner takes all?" Frank asked.
"Yes," Skinner replied easily.
"Where did you get these biotics? I'd think the Dowager would have snapped them up by now."
"We have a new formula provided to us. It enhances normies with some semblance of biotics. Today's a trial run against a real freak," Skinner looked at Nike then at Frank. "No holds barred, am I right? Don't blame me if you lose your pet freak."
Nike stiffened. What the fuck is this? A death match against five?
"Likewise, Skinner," Frank replied.
Frank jerked his head towards a bench against one of the few remaining standing walls. She dropped the bag with a thunk. "What the hell Frank?"
He rested his hands on her shoulders. It felt more like a threat than an assurance. "Win this, maybe we can see about you not needing any Red Sand."
She frowned and gazed into his grey eyes. They were flat and opaque. It was hard to tell if Frank meant it, but what choice did she have? Her jaw set and she nodded.
Nike stripped down to her usual fight attire, compression shorts and sports bra. The atmosphere grew charged. The Screamers' gaze sharpened, tracking her movements like she was prey. Frank pulled two items from his pocket. She knew what they were, but she resolutely kept her back towards him. She didn't want to see. All she felt was the rough shove of Frank's hand, forcing her head down, sweeping her hair out of the way. Then, there was a sharp stab right at her amp. The liquid burnt as it entered.
Nike shuddered and groaned. She stumbled a couple of steps away from him, hand pressed against her amp. Don't glitch, don't glitch, don't—
All thoughts fell away.
Explosions rang out inside her head or was it actually happening? Time sped up and slowed down. She blinked. Eyelids opened, then closed. Shutters wiping across her vision. Sound grew warp and echoing, far away and loud. Her clothes were so tight. They wrapped around her breasts, pressing them against her chest. The compression shorts chaffed against her thighs. She longed to adjust them. What was worse were the smells. Cigarettes so pungent it was like they were shoved into her nostrils while they were still lit. Alcohol, sweat, blood and the overwhelmingly unmistakable scent of sex. Spent seed dried and sticky, male musk suffocating and overpowering.
It was all too much. Her senses were overloaded and it was overwhelming her. Waves of sensations swept over her, drowning and choking. She clapped her hands over her ears and bent over.
The jeers came. "Look how the Champion have fallen," they laughed.
Fallen, fallen, fallen.
She staggered against the outer rim of the loose circle. Hands shoved her back in. Men with blue coronas advanced.
One? Five? Ten?
Mass effect fields snapped out in a straight line at her.
Away, away, away.
Laughter echoed. "Can't hit something that's not still?" This wasn't directed at her. Or was it? It was too much to track.
A voice, a pair of grey eyes glared at her. They swell and grew. Teeth turned fangs, like a dragon threatening to snap her head in half. "Fight! Kill them!"
Kill, kill, kill.
She straightened, the effect spoilt by her wavering legs, knees that refused to lock.
Kill, kill, kill.
Biotics flared to life without conscious thought. The crowd staggered back as the force swept out. She wasn't even trying.
Kill, kill, kill.
Mouth opened, voice cracked like the broken pavements, cracked like the fissures across her heart, as she screamed herself hoarse. The world turned black, white and overwhelmingly red.
Kill, kill, kill.
Her arms swung, her teeth snapped, her legs stomped.
Kill, kill, kill.
The scent of burning was overwhelming. Nike coughed, doubling over. She stared at the scene before her dumbfounded.
Children, all of them dressed in the same pyjamas. White t-shirts with a logo on their right breast, paired with black shorts. The logo read "Singapore State Orphanage". They weren't sleepy instead they were panicking, sobbing and crying as they pounded their hands against the wide double doors.
Flames were crackling and creeping, burning and devouring everything in its path from the back of the sleeping quarters. Bed sheets, pillows and books caught ablaze quickly, adding more smoke into the enclosed space. The kids coughed, some clawing at their throats, others hammered at the doors harder.
Nike stood stock still as the kids flowed around her like a rock in the middle of a stream. She could breathe just fine, even when the smell of fire filled her nose. One kid, black hair and small, peeled apart from the pack and started opening the window. Her heart was in her mouth as she watched the kid climbed out.
An explosion rocked the building. Nike winced at the sound while the kids screamed. Their fear was contagious, her heart rate picked up. Her eyes searched for the kid frantically. The kid clung onto the side of the building by her fingertips. Nike glanced past the kid and saw white powder was fluttering down from the outside like snow.
The scene was so familiar, her chest ached. Nike rubbed her hand over her forehead. A tight band was forming over her temples, squeezing like a vice threatening to break her skull.
A scream rippled through the air, followed by a thud. It echoed inside Nike's head. She stiffened and rushed to the window. It wasn't the first kid. That kid had made it to the other side.
"What's happening?" As soon as the words left her mouth, the scene shifted and changed. Nike was yanked through space and time. It felt like a biotic charge but she wasn't in control.
Is it the Red Sand? Is it the stupid special formula from the creepy ass dude?
The world resolved around her. The kid, the one who was the first who made it out was stretched out. Her hand tightened around a boy's and his in turn was reaching out towards another girl. The girl had fallen through a hole in the stairs. Cries and screams weren't going to solve this problem but the kids tried anyway.
Nike stared at the black hair kid and stiffened. Green eyes stared back at her. They were so familiar, like they were hers.
This is no dream, this is memory.
A scream ripped her attention back to what was happening. The girl had fallen through and the boy was about to follow. The kid, no she, pulled him back. They turned their backs on their fallen friend and sought another way out of the burning inferno.
The scene shifted. Her guts lurched with it.
The kid, she, was urging the boy on. They were attempting to cross a chasm bridged only by a single plank towards safety. The boy's hair was originally so blonde it looked white, now soot-tarred and ashen.
Tears streaked down his face, washing black tracks down his skin. The kid, she, insisted, hand tugging and cajoling. Nike heard herself coaxing, "Thomas, Thomas."
That was the boy's name. She remembered now. She watched, heart in her mouth, guts clenching at what was to come. The plank would break. She would fall. It hurt, the pain flashed across her legs like it was happening now.
Shuffling of feet, hisses of pain as skin connected with the heated wood beam. A cry and then she was gone.
"No!" Thomas cried. "No! Why did you leave me?"
Nike held her breath, expecting to the scene to change again, but it held. In all her nightmares, she had never seen what happened after she fell. She was never present for this.
Thomas stared at the beam with tears and snot streaming down. He wiped them off with the back of his hand. It didn't matter if it left a smear across his face. He stared at the beam, determination flagging. The longer he looked, the more he hesitated, the hotter the fire burnt.
Thomas shouted and Nike flinched. He ran across the beam. She knew it was wrong from the first step. But he didn't fall, I would have found him if he did.
Tipped off balanced by his ill-advised headlong charge, he made it half way over through sheer luck. He threw his hands outwards and fell hard against the far platform, she could see his chest scraped against the burnt edge. He screamed, the platform was splintered and still ablaze with fire. Teeth gritted, he pulled himself back up to safety.
His chest had a burn wound. It was a red raw line running diagonally across his chest and up his left shoulder. Thomas whimpered and sobbed but he carried on.
Nike stood stock still as the home was burning down around her ears. Fear gripped her. The scene never changed. She peered down the chasm. She saw herself lying among the debris, flames encroaching towards her.
Am I stuck here because I'm still here? What if this is forever?
Boom!
Nike snapped back to herself instantly. The sound pierced her ears. Reality was a bat to her head. She blinked, legs shaky, but she was still standing.
What happened?
Before she could gather herself another boom rang out. She whirled. Frank had the shotgun in his hands as he fired shot after shot at the Screamers. They, like their name, screamed. It was a blood bath. The shotgun didn't just fire pallets at high speed punching through skin and flesh. It obliterated bodies. What was left wasn't just damaged, it looked more like a sponge than human remains. Nobody could survive a shot from it. Spectre-grade indeed.
Nike couldn't afford to be distracted. All warning she had was a scruff of shoe against gravel. She reacted. Hands thrown out and her biotics followed. The Screamer flew off her feet, but she didn't stop. The roof had no walls. The Screamer didn't stop screaming until her body met concrete ten metres down.
What the fuck was going on?
There was no time to hesitate. The Screamers came and came. Nike flung her biotics at them. Her amp vibrated against her neck, it was warm but it didn't burnt her skin like how it used to. Power flowed like water through her. It was a dam filled to the brim. Holding back the power was harder and more painful than to simply use it, waste it. And so that's what Nike did.
Bodies flew off the building. It didn't matter if they dug down with their fingers and shoes against the gravel. They were no match for her biotics slamming into their faces. She stood bold and proud out of cover. One of her punches could shatter bone. With a gesture, she could press a body against the ground and liquified it through sheer pressure. Bullets stopped in their tracks when they met her barrier.
Kill, kill, kill.
She was invincible.
"Nike!"
She spun on her heels, hands raised in preparation to send another person their death, but she found the black matte muzzle of the Spectre-grade shotgun staring at her. She stiffened. The barrier she erected flickered and spluttered. She frowned. Her hands trembled and her legs buckled. She fell onto her hands and knees.
What's happening?
Her biotics winked out, like a switch was flipped. It was a sensation altogether foreign and frightening. Nike was never without her biotics, not since she discovered them, never. It felt like she was violated in a way deeper than skin and flesh, deeper than physical. She realised her heart was racing, her lungs screaming for air as she bent forward to breath.
Frank was grinning, the shotgun propped against the floor. "We did it, Nike," he laughed. The grin across his face threatened to tear at the seams. "You were glorious!"
It was then the scent of iron hit. Lifting her head took everything she had, but she managed it. Blood smears everywhere, bone fragments and pulverised offal were spread out in a circle around her. Those she didn't throw off the roof, she smashed. She was covered in blood. Her gorge rose as she clenched her fists. The faint echoes of Frank's instruction to kill lingered at the back of her mind.
This is not me.
"I was right to give you a double dose, you performed well Nike," Frank said, panting as he approached. He was likewise coating in blood. His from the shotgun blasting away at the Screamers. "I'm pleased."
Maybe no more Red Sand. No more…
Nike's knees went out like someone had taken a stick to them, she slammed onto the hard concrete. Muscles shaking, she squeezed her eyes shut to get a grip on her body. Her tongue ran over her lips. They were dry, her throat felt stuck together. Frank walked over, shotgun dragged behind him. Nike fought to sit up, wary of the shotgun so near her. Jitters ran through her and her elbow buckled. Her chin smashed against the floor, and she rolled onto her side. Her breath displaced the dust in puffs. As darkness crept into her vision, she heard multiple footsteps approaching.
"Boss, we've got it done," it sounded like Scars. "We've mopped everyone up."
"Good, remember this is but the first step. The bloodier the better," Frank replied.
"One of the others was almost fucking brained by one of the falling bodies," Cutter said.
"That's all Nike."
"What's wrong with her?" Cutter asked, his voice closer now.
Hands flipped her on her back. Her vision too dark, too blurry to make out anything beyond a vague shape.
"Kid!" Cutter shouted. "Get one of the others to help you. Get Nike back to base."
Smaller hands joined the larger ones. They tugged, they lifted, they took her weight. Her knees refused to lock, her neck couldn't support her head. She groaned as the motions made her body ached. Jitters rocking her core.
"What's wrong?" Alex's higher pitched voice asked. "Nike!"
Her mouth opened and closed as she tried to work out the words.
"Ahh, one of Nike's strays huh. I gave her a double dose, I think she is expanded a little too much biotics," Frank laughed.
Cutter ran a hand over her forehead, brushing the hair aside. "Kid, get her back to base. Energy drink, the sweeter the better. Make sure she drinks and eats. Got it?"
"Like the last time, got it," Alex replied, her voice shook.
"Kid, look after Nike well," Frank called after them. "You and that runt remained at the Reds at my pleasure."
Nike could feel Alex's grip tightened around her arm as she was half dragged, half carried away.
