Good morning, everyone! I hope you all had an amazing Christmas yesterday! As a present, here is another chapter for you!
Year Twelve.
Rule #11: Do not deviate from the plan or schedule
'Thov qhia kuv yuav ua li cas thiaj tau lub tshav dav hlau? '
"Thov qhia kuv yuav ua li cas thiaj tau lub tshav dav hlau?" she repeated, still typing at the keyboard with her left hand, while her right remained firmly clamped over the gash on her bicep. She tried not to wince as she continued writing the thesis, focusing her thoughts away from the pain and instead on the implications of using a lighter, cheaper, and stronger lead-magnesium alloy versus regular steel in construction. The injury wasn't making it any easier - Stormkrigeren bit her lip and glanced down at the blood seeping from between her fingers.
'Thaum twg lub dav hlau tom ntej tawm rau...?' the recording prompted her.
"Thaum twg lub dav hlau tom ntej tawm rau Dubai?"
Lex was a firm believer in survival of the fittest and didn't like it when she tried to treat the wound, which would usually result in a beating and six hours without any light - a seemingly endless void of pure black and dead silence, leaving her trapped all on her own-
She scrunched her eyes closed and pushed the memory away, trying to regain her train of thought only for it to be broken again by the cheerful ping of the kitchen clock's daily alarm. 0715 AM, Eastern Standard Time. That would be 1215 in London, 1515 in Dubai, 2015 in Tokyo, and 0415 in Seattle. She'd easily memorized the time zones when she was two.
'Ua tsaug rau koj ke-'
She paused the recording and stood up, tapping another button on her laptop to save her paper. Closing the computer, she limped across the main Room and into the small kitchenette, washing her bloody hand in the sink. It had finally stopped bleeding and the platelets were beginning to coagulate - the last of the many wounds she'd received the evening before to do so.
Stormkrigeren reached for the meal planner on the mini-fridge and gave it a quick glance to see what she was making today. It was the Easy American Breakfast, including four different types of eggs ranging from scrambled to hard-boiled, toasted white and brown slices of bread, smoked pancetta bacon, and freshly squeezed orange juice she'd made herself the previous day. Replacing the planner and opening the small fridge, she grabbed the egg carton and milk.
The air filters never ceased their incessant humming, sucking up the umami smell of the sizzling bacon before it could permeate the Room, and the life support computer automatically adjusted the atmospheric regulator to compensate for the rising warmth. She ignored both of them, shutting out the sound and continuing to prepare breakfast before moving on to prepare the table.
Stormkrigeren grunted softly, her skin stretching beneath a coating of dried blood as she pushed against her desk, moving it from its usual place against the west wall to the middle of the Room. It was hard to get a good handhold on it, as it had no drawers or shelves, nothing that could be used to hide something. Her life was all in the open for the cameras and mirrored wall to see.
She managed to move the desk to its destination and went back to the kitchen to fetch the usual array of folding chairs, cutlery, and dishes, arranging them around the desk so it could be used as a breakfast table. Stormkrigeren set two places for breakfast, going around and checking the setting for mistakes before she determined that the bacon was done. Scooping it onto a wad of paper towel, she set it on a plate in the hot oven along with the eggs so they would stay warm while she got ready for the day.
The bathroom was only a few steps away from the kitchen and considerably cooler than the rest of the Rooms, but she was used to the extreme temperatures and didn't even shiver as she slipped her blood-stained tee over her head, neither wincing as it pulled at the dried blood covering the wound in her side. Mister Wilson had taught her better than to let the pain control her.
Stormkrigeren ran the cloth under cold water until the scarlet color had faded to a light pink before depositing it in the laundry basket. Her sports leggings soon followed and then it was a quick shower, blow-drying her dark hair, and brushing her teeth, pausing only once to glare at her reflection in the mirror. It grimaced back - though it did look better than it had before she'd cleaned up. Her dark locks, almost black in the harsh overhead light, were naturally a bit wavy, but it was hard to tell when her hair was barely long enough to tuck into a ponytail. Her piercing eyes were an unnaturally bright shade of azure tinted with grey till they were the color of stormy tropic waters. Her high sculpted cheekbones might have been considered beautiful by others, but she personally didn't care and was more worried about the new wound above her left eye which had softened enough in the shower to start bleeding again. Stormkrigeren managed to close it up and cover the scabs with a bit of concealer before brushing out her hair, finishing up exactly twenty-three seconds before the kitchen clock pinged with the daily alarm for eight AM.
The steel door to the Watching Room remained firmly closed a minute later, and part of her almost relaxed with a small amount of relief, but she stopped herself, keeping her back straight and her head high in expectation as she stood near the door waiting for their arrival. She had changed into a fresh pair of training clothes, identical to her previous white tee and black sports leggings - minus the bloodstains, of course, though she knew that wouldn't last long.
A quick glance at the clock hanging in the kitchen told her that her guests were three minutes late, and she looked back up at the panel of grey mirrors above the door. The rule was she wasn't allowed to touch them unless they needed cleaning, but she had figured out long ago that they were two-ways and that she was probably being watched from the other side - by Dr. Schreyer and Alexander - or 'Lex' as he insisted she call him - in all likelihood.
The steel door finally gave a low hiss as it slid open at 0807 and Stormkrigeren rolled her shoulders, putting on a smile to greet her guests.
"Good morning, Dee-Dee." Lex grinned as he stepped into the room, his dark russet hair bouncing as he nodded in greeting. "Is breakfast all set?"
She didn't say so, but she secretly despised the endearment which was derived from her English name, 'Darcie Skye Luthor'. She hated the idea of sharing his surname - but 'Darcie' admittedly sounded much less harsh and was easier to say than 'Stormkrigeren'. It was more… human. Normal. Comforting in its mundanity and a lot less likely to draw attention, though orders had been that only Lex was allowed to call her by it.
"Yes, it's an Easy American today," she replied, shoving the recollection aside as she took his coat while Lex headed for the table.
"Доброе утро, Stormkrigeren," Dr. Schreyer greeted her, her periwinkle turtleneck spotless as usual and Stormkrigeren caught a whiff of lavender as she shook the doctor's hand.
"Доброе утро, Dr. Schreyer. Как у вас сегодня дела?"
"I'm fine, thank you. Let's continue this conversation in English, shall we?"
Stormkrigeren nodded obediently and quickly ran to put Lex's coat in the storage cabinet in the kitchen before returning to the main Room to see her caretaker already at the desk/table, inspecting the layout while Lex watched disinterestedly. Dr. Schreyer hovered over each set of cutlery and dishes, checking for mistakes in the arrangement, but luckily only found one.
"The knife should face in towards the plate, not out," she commented, pointing out the offending utensil.
Stormkrigeren remained silent but stood to attention nearby, her hands folded behind her back in preparation for the blow. He always found an excuse to touch her, and she hazarded a guess that he knew how much it hurt, so even his hand 'gently' squeezing her shoulder in what might have been a soft admonishment, but felt like a slap. He did not remove his hand while Dr. Schreyer completed the inspection, keeping a possessive hold on her before finally relinquishing his grip with a light pat, causing her to suppress a wince. Lex didn't seem to notice at all and even smiled cheerfully to himself as he stepped forward to pull out a seat for his employee before sitting down himself. "Dee-Dee, I think we're ready for some of that heavenly bacon I smell."
Stormkrigeren nodded in acknowledgment, turning to fetch the breakfast from the kitchen. The dishes were still quite warm from the oven and she flinched involuntarily as her bare hands gripped a plate of fried eggs, but she mentally scolded herself for showing such weakness as something as stupid as a small burn, and continued on despite the burning heat. It took her three trips to bring all the food to the table, monitored by Dr. Schreyer's watchful eye and Lex's hard gaze as she arranged the dishes and stepped back to let the adults eat.
She was summoned a few times during the course of their meal, usually for one of them to comment on an undercooked strip of bacon or a burnt slice of toast. Part of her still tensed at every mistake, waiting for the inevitable blow that the older Herr Luthor had usually punished her with, but instead, all she got was a pitying or gently chiding smile from his son. She didn't know which was worse - the senior's anger, or the junior's disappointment - though now she only had to bear the latter, and watched patiently for any other mistakes.
As per Dr. Schreyer's request, the student stood at her elbow, attentively studying her teacher's etiquette though they had done this often enough for Stormkrigeren to recognize when her teacher made a mistake.
A very small part of her hungered for the food she herself had made, but she understood the importance of the hierarchy - her superiors always went first to clear the way for her to follow, and it was not her place nor right to have things that were meant for those above her. She simply had to be patient and wait for breakfast to be over when Lex arranged his knife and fork in the 'finished' position, standing up to applaud the meal.
"Thank you for brekkies, Dee-Dee," he praised her in his brisk manner, crumpling his napkin into a ball with a playful smirk on his lips, "It'd be great if we could see each other more often - but unfortunately, duty calls. You have a nice day now!"
He headed for the door without even a glance in her direction, grabbing his coat from the storage closet before he let himself out and the doctor got up to follow him.
"Keep up the good work," she encouraged her as Stormkrigeren shook her hand goodbye, and then she too was gone.
It was quiet again, just the humming atmospheric regulator and the clink of the dishes as she washed and stacked them, clearing the desk so she could push it back to its usual spot. It only took a few minutes to clean her Rooms back to their former neatness - every dish, surface, and cloth pristine - before she allowed herself to have breakfast. Protein powder and milk made a shake that could last her until the next meal, easily consumable while she returned to writing her thesis paper.
Stormkrigeren couldn't say she really enjoyed writing - especially if there was a word goal involved - mostly because she was already pretty good at boiling down complicated thoughts and ideas into simplified, but encompassing explanations. Having to go into extreme detail to describe something as basic as industrial metallurgy was just plain irritating, yet she bore it well and carried on until she had completed her goal for the day.
When that was finished, she performed a grammar and punctuation check on the eighteen chapters she had already completed and only found three mistakes in comma placement, but the paper was otherwise pristine by the time the kitchen clock chimed ten AM. After submitting the file to her doctoral advisor - a nice older man working at Berkeley University who would no doubt email her later about the various mistakes she'd purposefully added to portray the idea that she didn't have an IQ well over one-hundred-and-eighty - Stormkrigeren got up to perform her stretching routine.
Fifteen minutes of flexibility training and warm-ups, then an hour of military-intense bodyweight/cardio, and finally half an hour of speed presses using her punching bag as the weight. When that was finished, she hung the bag up on the ceiling rings and proceeded to execute a series of boxing and kicking routines. Two minutes to 1200 hours she took the bag back down to put it away in its cupboard, taking a moment to calm herself both physically and mentally for his arrival.
The familiar click of the automatic lock on the mirrored sliding door leading to the kitchen signaled that the time had come, preventing her from accessing anything in there that could possibly be used by a weapon - but even if she could reach the knives kept there, she wouldn't have wanted one. Her fists would hopefully be enough.
Once again, Stormkrigeren stood at attention at the door, bowing her head in greeting as he entered the Room. Mister Wilson simply nodded in return, marching past with an air of authority to set his bag down on her empty desk.
"Why do I even come here?" he grumbled to no one in particular as she approached his side.
"To... train me?"
Mister Wilson shook his head, harrumphing softly, "Yeah, but you don't need it - I've met kids twice your age who've 'trained' and still couldn't hit the side of a barn with a throwing knife while you've already stabbed both my eyes out. I could just stop coming for lessons and you'd still be better than all of them."
Stormkrigeren smiled, remembering the few times she nearly had stabbed his eyes out during blade practice - of course, Mister Wilson was trained too well to ever let it happen and the best she could do was clip at his silver hair, but her attempts had become sort of an inside joke between them. Even so, the idea of Mister Wilson simply not being around any more quickly dampened her mood. She liked her teacher - even if he was a bit rough sometimes - he was still the only person (besides Dr. Schreyer, of course) that Stormkrigeren truly felt comfortable around. Mister Wilson was never too loud or got in her space without asking or made her answer questions for hours on end, and he was very patient with her and taught her things she was actually interested in learning. Not having Mister Wilson around would mean…
Stormkrigeren honestly had no idea what she would do without him.
"In all likelihood, if I conveniently disappeared, the ugly bastard would decide you were ready and set you on my trail. You would fight against me Outside," he muttered thoughtfully, keeping his voice low so she had to strain her ears to hear him as he pulled two pairs of sickle-like weapons from his bag before glancing her way, "Do you think you'd win, Storm?"
It was a challenge. He wasn't just asking her if she believed she was ready, if she believed she was good at what she'd learned, if she believed she was worthy of the title 'warrior' - he was asking if she believed she was the best. Saying yes would be revoking him of his status in the meager hierarchy that defined her life, and claiming that she, the Student, was better than her Master.
"No," she said softly, knowing it was the truth.
"Good. Humility and staying alert are key virtues when battling an opponent. Explain why."
Stormkrigeren complied. "Humility prevents you from overestimating your prowess and underestimating your rival. Staying alert prepares you for an unexpected attack from any direction, even from one you believe to be safe."
"And what are these?" he asked, handing her a pair of the curved blades.
"鎌 or がま," she answered in perfect Japanese, taking a pair as they were passed to her, "'Kama, or gama, are traditional Japanese farming implements similar to the sickle used for reaping crops and are also employed as a weapon throughout various Southern Asian cultures.'"
Mr. Wilson nodded in approval. "Starting position. Blades low at your sides."
In the blink of an eye, she was ready, feet spread apart in a lunge with a low center of balance for optimal reaction to an attack with as little adjustments as possible. Mister Wilson frowned, still not entirely satisfied with her form, and had her crouch a little closer to the ground before they began combat.
Mr. Wilson was a good foot-and-a-half taller than her and much heavier - not to mention his advantage of experience. When they sparred, Stormkrigeren was often reminded of little David facing off the towering Goliath, doomed to lose the battle the moment he stepped up. And just like everyone had told him, every day, every fight, she lost the match and some blood. But she reminded herself that even with all the odds against him, David still felled his giant, and she could too if only she learned to sling a little better and fight a little harder. So she fought all the harder.
Stormkrigeren gripped the leather and wood in her palm, swinging low at his ankles only for him to jump over the blade and reply with a hack at her backside. She rolled, letting it glance off her ribs as she hooked one of her double kai around his and struck at his side with the other. He deflected it with his free blade and twisted his weapon out of her grasp, making two quick swipes at her head to keep her off guard. Steel met blood, but she did not cry out or flinch at the fresh wounds on her jaw and throat.
"Use the pain!" he urged her, "Let it drive you! Take the strength it gives you and use it against your opponent!"
Stormkrigeren growled, throwing herself into the fight as she slipped beneath his reach and again hooking his kai to wrench it from his grip, simultaneously butting the head of her other kai against his shoulder and twisting it around to gouge his bicep - but he was too fast. With a chop at her wrist, he deflected the slice and threw his weight against her left leg in an attempt to topple her off-balance. She stumbled, but lunged out of his way, replying with a back-kick to his hip and a swift swing at his left arm. He reacted quickly, moving his limb out of the way, but she was just as fast and made another slash towards his arm.
She drew blood.
A brief flicker of pain passed over his face before Mr. Wilson shut it out, but she saw it and knew she had made a mistake. Her kama fell from her grasp as she dropped to her knees, hands folded behind her back as she bowed her head in submission.
"I submit to my punishment," she said softly, her words almost drowned out by the sound of their panting. Mister Wilson's usual glare hardened.
"What are you doing?" he growled, and she shrank lower in response.
"I-I made a mistake-"
"What the hell has that dog of a Luthor been teaching you?" she heard him mutter before her Teacher swore under his breath and picked up her fallen weapons, "Get up off the floor, Storm."
She obeyed, pulling herself to her feet and standing to attention in expectance of at least a harsh rebuke, but all he told her was, "Spit it out."
She spat, the drop on the floor more blood than saliva, but the injury did nothing to dull her savagery as she bared her teeth in a feral snarl.
"Good," Mr. Wilson praised, shoving her kama back into her hands, "No weakness, no hesitation, and no mercy. You get one hit in, you sure as hell go in for another. Understand?"
She nodded and gripped the weapons tighter, dropping back into the starting position. Mr. Wilson nodded and rewarded her with a hint of a smile.
"Now, fight."
V*V*V*V*V*V*V
The lights had been out for nearly an hour when the metallic taste of blood finally left her tongue. She'd had to clean her injuries without help and luckily had gotten permission from Dr. Schreyer to bandage the ones on her throat that took longer to stop bleeding. Mr. Wilson had left a few hours and combat practices later, considering her exhausted and injured enough for the day. She had not been able to draw any additional blood after that afternoon's incident, but she thought she'd scored enough bruising hits to be at least satisfactory in her proficiency of the kama.
The lesson had ended as always, with the usual cleaning and examination of the weapons used that day before Mr. Wilson took his leave. Stormkrigeren had an hour to eat and clean up any blood that had spilled on the concrete floor during practice before performing her nightly routine. It was only a few stretches and yoga positions to help her relax in preparation for sleep, but in her opinion, they didn't seem to do much. After that, she brushed her teeth and hair, washed off any additional blood, cleaned her face, slipped into her pajamas, and ended off by taking some time to wash her hands again. It wasn't exactly necessary or useful, yet she still did it anyway, if only just to know that she was going to bed clean. She'd already been doing it for a few months before the symbolism dawned on her - that she was washing her hands of any wrong deeds she had done that day. Her entire life, every movement, every breath, was strictly controlled by her Watchers, and Stormkrigeren had no say in what they were training her to become. When Mister Wilson had first arrived, he had claimed to be there to teach her how to fight , but she could never shake the feeling that the art Lex had him teach her was one more of attack than of defense.
The lights never went out when she expected them to - for a long time, it had been a sudden shock when they suddenly turned off, setting her on edge as she was forced to feel around the large Room for her mattress. Eventually, she got used to the unexpected darkness and grew accustomed to blindly locating her bed every night, where she would quietly make herself comfortable with her one blanket hugged to her chest. Despite the ever-changing temperature in her Rooms, she never seemed to get cold enough to use the blanket for its intended use, and wrapping it around herself felt too much like being bound or trapped in a net. Plus sleeping without it gave her free movement, which would be crucial when Mister Wilson returned.
Sometime during her sixth year, it'd been decided that some of Mister Wilson's hours as her Teacher would be dedicated to 'night training'. It was similar to her usual lessons with her Teacher in that they practiced through combat, except that now she was forced to attempt disarming him in the dark. Mr. Wilson was her better by far, but he had even more experience in the darkness while all she had were her fists.
Stormkrigeren clenched them on the mattress and exhaled slowly, her eyes closed as she allowed her keen hearing to pick up any unusual sounds echoing in her cavernous Room. The atmospheric regulator was always on, the glorified air-con humming as incessantly as ever and possibly canceling out any noise Mister Wilson made as he entered. He was a master of silent movement - so much so that for the first few months of night training she hadn't noticed him until he was right beside her. By now she had learned to listen and recognize the sounds associated with an intruder, so she lay alert to wait patiently for them to reach her ears - waiting for his arrival.
Stormkrigeren guessed she had been in bed for a little under an hour, muscles taut in expectation and ears pricking up at the slightest sound, when she finally picked up the low hiss of a door opening. Silently, she picked herself up and padded towards the nearest wall, all the while listening for any more clues to Mister Wilson's whereabouts. For a long moment she heard nothing, and she wondered if she had imagined the sound when her sensitive hearing detected the unmistakable grated swish of steel leaving a scabbard.
She turned her back to the concrete wall so he couldn't sneak up behind her, and faced the void. Sight was useless, so her only warning was the slight stirring of the air as the blade swung at her shoulder.
Stormkrigeren ducked beneath the blow and kicked out at where she assumed his legs would be - and her guess proved correct as her foot made contact with his shin. He gave a swift reply as the sword bit into her arm as she rolled out of his way, but not without another kick in the direction of his left knee. The strike was ill-timed and she didn't hit the joint with enough force to hurt him, only alerting him to her location.
The sword descended on her once more and she grunted in pain as it cut into the skin above her shoulder, yet did not let the agony cloud her thinking as her hand shot up to wrap around his wrist. Mr. Wilson pulled back and she held her grip, twisting as hard as she could until he was forced to release his weapon. It hit the floor with a sharp clang - in an instant, they were both lunging to claim the advantage.
She was lighter and faster than him, her fist closing around the hilt a moment before another blade slashed across her thigh. Stormkrigeren gritted her teeth, swallowing back a scream as she turned to force him away with a flurry of jabs and cuts, a few even hitting their intended mark. Mr. Wilson was not put off by the offensive maneuver and moved to turn her own move against her, dropping low to kick her ankles out from under her. In the darkness, Stormkrigeren barely had time to perceive and react to the attack, jumping out of the way so he missed her by a hairsbreadth, yet he sensed the defense and replied with a sharp upward chop with his own sword. She inhaled sharply as it bit into her forearm, and she struggled to remain in control of the muscle spasm that threatened to make her drop her precious weapon, but Stormkrigeren managed to overcome the pain a moment too late as Mr. Wilson reclaimed his katana. She had no time to think and no light to see the thrust aimed at her injured shoulder, but years of daily drills had not been for nothing. Her left hand curled around his wrist holding the sword while her right formed into a fist, her knuckles cracking against his helmet as she struck him as hard as she could. The blow sent him off balance and Mister Wilson stumbled, giving her the opening she needed to jab her knee into his chest and successfully force him to the ground. Stormkrigeren did not give herself any congratulations for the hard-won position, which she quickly lost as Mister Wilson used their momentum to pitch her over him and she heard a muffled crack as she was forced to roll with the throw. Agony sparked in her side, but she had no chance to address it as she jumped to her feet, searching wildly for her opponent until she felt the sharp steel edge slide over her throat. She had lost.
They were both panting for breath when the lights blinked to life a moment later, revealing Mister Wilson's katana pressed against her exposed throat in the winning position, one she herself would have held if she could have only pinned him down.
Stormkrigeren unclenched her fists at her sides, giving her Teacher a hard stare as he lowered his weapon to remove his battered orange-and-black helmet. He frowned and retrieved a stopwatch from his belt, holding it up so she could see that the hands had stopped just before the twenty-five-minute mark. Pride swelled up in her that she had managed to last so long against her Teacher, and he gave her a slight nod of approval in acknowledgment of the fact, but she knew he would never give her much more praise than that. Still, it proved that she was getting better at the one thing she truly enjoyed.
Mr. Wilson took a long moment to wipe her blood off his blade while she watched in silence before he sighed, pointing towards her desk. "Back to work, Stormkrigeren."
by the way, we are still on track to fully complete this fic on the 31st of December.