The memories sketched out, veering into the abyss, jagged glass against her consciousness.
She could feel sand and grime scraping between every toe. A pounding beat. The crowd cheering, roaring for her to kill.
She was in the pit, drugged to the gills. Every sense sharpened like a laser. Under the almost unbearably bright lights, Jane spotted a small figure. For the first time in a long while, she hesitated. Her mind scarcely grasped onto what was before her when the familiar burning jolted her back to reality.
She lunged, spurred forward by warm elation. A crash, her blue slammed into the earth, haptic feed back prickled at the palm of her hand. The foot she missed by millimeters was small. Her size? Normally they were grown. It didn't matter. Kill or be killed was the only rule in the pits. And she had no plans to die.
The crowd whooped and hollered. Voices clamored, placing bets.
A precipitous pause. A consequential shock.
Moving like liquid death
Insipid wrath around her neck
She dodged and weaved
Charged, evaded
A ragged breath
Brown eyes of death
Jane woke on the bottom bunk, head throbbing like the wrong end of a battering ram.
"What the hell did they do to you?" Balya laid a cool cloth across her forehead. "You look like you fought a penaska."
"Y-y-you should s-s-see other guy." Blood dribbled down her chin when she smirked.
Time was immaterial. Echos, trapped in a frozen world, blurred and mixed under the sedatives. Yet one memory stood out, replaying in her mind's eye like a broken record. The argument that changed everything.
It was an average day, the sun's rays, dimmed by the thick canopy, warmed her face. Jane, a few months past sixteen, bolted through the verdant web of green. What started out as a typical hunt, altered the course of their lives forever. They were tracking escaped POWs, flushing them out of the thick underbrush. Hot on the heels of a particularly troublesome fighter, the rush of blood pounded through her ears. She could practically taste the woman's fear as they whizzed through the jungle in the blink of an eye.
They cornered her in the swamps when the woman attempted to dive into the murky water and escape. Jane caught her in a biotic hold, tossed her to shore and pounced – bringing the knife across her throat.
"WAIT!" Balya cried. Yet, the protest came too late. The woman gurgled at Jane's feet, a river of blood washed over her boots.
"Damnit Jane. Could you maybe not be a complete psycho for one minute?"
"Now what? Going dark and whiny again?"
Balya scoffed. "Hardly."
"What the hell is wrong with you lately? We kill The Resistance. That's what we do. That's what we've been doing since for-fucking-ever. Yet, suddenly you hesitate. It's gonna get you killed. This is not the first ti…."
"And that's just... it for you huh?" Balya retorted, voice venomous. "Nothing but survival matters? I've known you for a long time, I know there's more to you than this. But I dunno. You've been a grade-A bitch ever since your tits came in. Maybe that's just how it is with you now."
Jane snorted "Your just jealous."
"THEY BURNED DOWN A VILLAGE. AND WE HELPED. We were a part of it."
Pieces from that horrible night filtered into the present, clashing against the humid air. It was the sounds that got her, screaming in every direction; a scant, faraway echo, but a reminder of Mindoir – the frantic shrieking, the smell of death.
Over the years, her vision narrowed to nothing but the threat directly in front of her. She was conditioned well. A shock for hesitating. Narcotics for attacking. Trained in the art of death, drugs softening the edges of her memory. Making it easier, more distant. The horror show was nothing more than a dream within a dream now.
Yet, Balya developed an intractable tolerance. For her, the memories were sharper, more defined. And it was taking its toll. Where Jane grew colder, hollowing out pieces of herself until there was nothing but an empty shell, a machine that killed without hesitation; Balya's empathy knew no bounds. Guilt and shame ate at the girl, festering in the dark.
Jane winced under her scrutiny.
"I knew you care. You fucking care. And you're lying about not giving a shit, pretending to be some big bad..."
"Of course I care!" Jane roared. "But you don't get it. Okay? You've seen some shit sure. We both have. But you don't know what it's like to watch someone you love die right in front of you. Your parents were arrested. My redneck dad and wheezy ass brother tried to take on a small army. My dad's head exploded at the end. Like a fucking melon. And my brother?" She was shaking now, tears streamed down her face. "They … beat him over and over and over again. There was blood everywhere. And even when he was face down in the mud, they just kept kicking him as if he wasn't dead enough. WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! To watch that happen to you too?"
Jane was vaguely aware that she'd melted into a puddle of snot and tears. "So, you're right I don't give a flying fuck about anything other than you. When it's you or me we always choose each other. That's how it's always been."
The entire atmosphere changed in an instant. Balya deflated and plopped onto the grass, groaning. "Well, if it helps, my parents were probably executed shortly after they brought me here."
"Yeah. It really doesn't." Jane attempted to wipe some of the gunk from her face. She fell to the soft ground and they stared at the clouds for a time, lying side by side.
"We can't keep going like this."
"We don't have a choice." Jane sighed. "They'll kill us if we try to escape."
"What if we can actually pull it off?"
"Are you high? There's no eluding The Hegemony. They'll string us up the moment we set foot out of bounds. Besides we have nowhere to go."
"The Resistance…." Balya started.
"In case you haven't noticed, The Resistance has a knack for getting themselves killed. And I don't want to run from one hellscape to another. They'll just use us for our powers anyway, you know that."
"At least we'd stand for something better. At least we'd have something worth fighting for."
"Nothing's worth fighting for if you're alone."
Looking away, Balya swallowed. "I'd rather die than do their bidding anymore."
Jane glanced at the burn marks around her neck, vestiges of her ongoing defiance. Sometimes a pang of self-awareness would hit her, unlike Balya, she never balked at orders. Embracing her newfound power kept them alive where others perished. But she was old enough to understand that it came at a cost. It chipped away at her soul. How long before she too became a monster? Or was she one already? Eighty-two never paused to consider who she was executing.
"You're not hearing me." Tears spilled out of all four eyes. "I'm done. I'm tired. And… and I'm done." Desperation and misery were etched into every line on Balya's face. "I have p-p-pills. If we can't escape…."
"Suicide? That's your damn answer?"
"It's better than this."
Jane rolled onto her back. From here, everything felt so peaceful. Clouds drifted by. Birds sang from faraway perches. "Freedom or death then?"
"Look, you don't have to come with me."
"If you go, I go. What is it we always say?"
"Together until the end."
"Together until the end. And you realize this will probably be our end right?"
"At least we'll go down together."
"That's something. I guess."
Nearly a year passed before another opportunity emerged. With The Hegemony looking over their shoulder, cornering a resistance member alone was no small feat. And convincing one that they were genuinely trying to escape, that it wasn't some elaborate ploy, was virtually impossible. But their persistence paid off. After several risky, borderline suicidal, ventures to aid escapees; they earned one's trust. In two months time, The Resistance would be camped not far from Datmar. It was their only chance.
She'd helped her – helped her find doom. Now the movement's leader was trapped on Omega, his army crushed. And Balya with it.
Jane moved fitfully in her sleep, clutching the bed-sheets, as she searched the recesses of her mind for any hint of her.
Gentle pressure against her shoulder calmed the tide of memories. And she opened her eyes.