Chapter Two – Welcome to the Volunteers
Cynthia silently returned into the bakery, a void in her mind absorbing all thought. She couldn't bring herself to speak, only squeeze her eyes shut with exhaustion.
"So? What did he want?" Jennifer had asked, features riddled with concern. Cynthia would just shake her head, resisting the urge to put her fist through a wall. Her teenage years taught her it wouldn't make her feel better. Nothing would.
"I'll handle it" was all she said. In truth, she wasn't sure what she was going to do. So when the night came a week later, she found herself pacing her bedroom, rubbing the bridge of her nose like it would bring her some sort of relief. Most of her bruises had turned an angry green and yellow but no longer hurt to touch. Yet Jennifer still fretted.
"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" the woman asked, walking into the room with a glass of water, offering it to Cynthia. She took it but only took a sip when her mother watched her movements expectantly.
"I'll be fine. I've fought in worse condition," Cynthia assured, sitting on the bed and proceeding to braid long strands of hair in preparation. Jennifer shook her head, starting to pace in Cynthia's stead. She scanned her eyes over Cynthia's desk, looking for distractions. It was currently a mess of eraser shavings, broken pencils, and charcoal smuggled illustrations. Some failures, some not. Jennifer picked up one in particular, a fondness in her eyes.
"Is that the neighbour's cat?" She asked while examining the image of a black and white cat curled up in a spot of sun on their street. Cynthia nodded, not overthinking it as her mother continued to shift through the papers. Another took her eye, and a smug smile crept onto her face.
"Ah, and the neighbour as well, I see," Jennifer commented before Cynthia could react. She held up the paper, depicting several images of Cherry, the woman that lived next door. One with her cat, one where she was hanging out laundry, one where-
"Shit, mom, maybe don't look at that!" Cynthia insisted, springing from the bed immediately to grab the drawing. Jennifer let her take it, the slight grin still on her face. Cynthia's face felt hot with embarrassment. She never allowed her mother to see the more lewd side of her art.
"Language. I hope you asked her before drawing that one," Jennifer stated. Cynthia groaned, hiding the drawing behind her back.
"Of- of course, I did. Stop looking at my stuff, please," Cynthia muttered, sinking her face into her hands to hide the red spreading across her face. Jennifer gave a small laugh, the first genuine laugh Cynthia had heard in a while.
"I use to draw too, you know, when I had time. Never got that good, though," Jennifer mused, sitting beside Cynthia. She kept her face hidden but no longer in embarrassment. For a brief moment, she forgot about tonight's predicament, a sourness coming over her once she remembered.
"You should take it up again," Cynthia said, bypassing the awkwardness. Jennifer shrugged, delicate features contorting with deep thought.
"No time, sweetheart. You know that," Jennifer almost whispered. They sat in silence for a moment, an air of mourning between them. The mourning of lost time, Cynthia realised. They didn't get to speak like this that often. It was comforting, feeling her mother beside her. She wrapped an arm around her shoulders, squeezing tightly, realising how fearful she was of losing her. Jennifer leaned into her, relaxing slightly.
"You ever thought of opening a stall? You could make money doing commissions. It would be a lot safer…" Jennifer contemplated. Cynthia's heart sunk.
"I don't think I could. If I didn't care about what I was drawing, it wouldn't be nearly as good" Cynthia said. Her mother nodded, clearly understanding.
"So the subject matters?" she asked. Cynthia shrugged.
"Not so much. It just needs to mean something to me. Or someone else" Cynthia said.
"You should draw me some roses. It would make me happy" Jennifer suggested, making Cynthia smile.
"Sure mom…. I should really get ready," Cynthia said quietly. Jennifer nodded, reluctantly peeling herself away. She seemed tense, knowing something wasn't right. She took Cynthia's face in her hands, gently stroking her cheek.
"Stay safe tonight Cyn, I don't know what I would do if…." Jennifer said, using her childhood nickname. Cynthia sighed, heart heavy.
"I'll be fine", Cynthia said again. And then we'll run, she thought. She wasn't sure where, but they were running, regardless of the night's outcome. Jennifer nodded, closing the bedroom door behind her as she left. Cynthia brought out the drawing she snatched, placing it back on the desk. The more explicit image was of Cherry relaxing in a bathtub, completely nude. That was a good night Cynthia thought. She only wished she could afford coloured pencils to give justice to the brilliant red that was Cherry's hair. She made a mental note to hide her more explicit drawings.
The ring was crowded again. The underground halls echoed with drunk shouting, the heat building quickly as it did the other night. Cynthia heard her name called once again, ice shooting through her veins. She was more nervous than usual, the feeling of Gideon's firm grip on her shoulder continuously coming back to her.
"The White fox!" The new referee shouted, pointing to Cynthia as she entered the ring. She was especially popular this week, considering her victory against Big Sam. Thankfully, he was nowhere in sight this time. Her opponent this time was of the correct weight class, it seemed. It made her suspicious, the limber, young looking man entering the ring with the complete opposite disposition to what Sam had.
"Our newest contender… uh, James?" the referee faulted.
"How are we tonight, fellas?" James called into the crowd, riling them up. Obnoxious. Cynthia wrapped her hands, judging her opponent closely. It looked like Gideon had pulled a random from the street. It was confusing at first but she readied herself regardless. James held up a relaxed guard, an stupefied look upon his face. Obnoxious and high.
"Fight commences… now!" the referee called. Cynthia engaged first to throw him off, feigning an attack. He fell for it instantly, dodging out of the way of an imaginary strike and leaving his flank unguarded. She made for a swift kick to his side, almost knocking him to the ground, a complete lack of strength in his stance. That's when it clicked, hot fury and humiliation flowing through her.
Gideon expected her to concede - it didn't matter the skill level of the fighter pitted against her tonight. The overwhelming indignantly stopped her in her tracks for a moment. At this point her life, she didn't think any level of underestimation would bother her anymore. In her dumbfounded-ness, James recuperated and tackled Cynthia. They tumbled to the ground clumsily, Cynthia blocking the fists of her opponent as they crashed towards her. All she did was block the attacks, uncertain if she should fight back.
The combination of the incompetence of her rival, the jeering from the crowd and feelings of entrapment sent Cynthia into an emotional meltdown. The overbearing weight of indignity, resent and fear concentrated into a wave of red hot anger, swelling up in her chest, threatening to crush her resolve. She had so little pride at that moment she wanted to die - complicated sense of self-loathing started to overcome her, and the pain of it was unbearable.
Fuck this.
It didn't take much effort to know what she needed to do. Cynthia drove her knee sharply into James's gut, knocking the air out of him quickly. It allowed her to wrap her hands around his throat and turn him over onto his back, pinning him to the ground with a knee planted on his chest. Her hands gripped his neck mercilessly, her fingers arching under strain. He clawed at her hands and arms, wiggling under her weight, too panicked to counter her correctly. Cynthia wanted to scream. She hated every agonising second it took for his face to turn purple and for his eyes to eventually shut.
This is what Marley does to us, Cynthia lamented, thinking to the fight from the night before. She let her hatred overcome her. She let go of her unconscious opponent and stood, the crowd incredibly loud with their displeasure. The fight must have lasted all of a minute. Cynthia didn't realise she had tears running down her face until they hit the dirt beneath her. Through blurred vision, she watched the crowd, spotting Gideon. He was leaving. Hastily.
Shit.
"WINNER, the White fox!" the referee shouted.
Cynthia hadn't run as hard as she did since being on the front lines. The cool night air burned in her overworked lungs as she made her way home, traversing streets she knew like the back of her hand. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to leave them behind. In her race home, she almost didn't smell the burning ash in the air. She rounded the corner of her street, her distress mounting when she saw the smoke billowing from the first floor of the bakery – her home. The building was ablaze, the glow lighting up the whole street. Fighting through the shock, Cynthia forced her feet to move forward. It became harder to breathe the closer she got, unsure if it was her fear or the smoke. Some standbys were in the street, watching the scene unfold helplessly. Cynthia desperately searched their faces, unable to spot her mother.
"MOM!?" Cynthia screamed, hoping to see her on the street. Please, please have gotten out. The fire had progressed far, a lot further than if it was only sparked after the fight. Something wasn't right. Her search became more desperate, getting closer to the flames breaching the windows, glass exploding from the heat. She watched as the angry blaze ate away at the inside of the building, heart in her throat.
"JENNIFER!" Cynthia shouted into the building, her lungs hurting. On the second floor, the windows opened, and a billow of smoke burst into the air, a dusty Jennifer following.
"Cynthia! I can't get out! I can't get out!" She screamed desperately, leaning against the sill. Cynthia gripped the sides of her head, stress putting her mind into a paralysing vice. She felt useless, defenceless and defeated. There was no way she could enter the building by this point. Their only hope was the fire brigade – a notoriously unreliable service in this part of the city. The encampments were not a priority.
"Mom, you have to jump!" Cynthia yelled over the noise of the raging fire. Jennifer rejected the idea instantly, shaking her head. Her eyes were wild with fear, soot staining her skin and clothing.
"I can't…" she yelled back, the flames creeping into the second story. Cynthia couldn't keep still, practically jumping as she screamed. The frustration caused by her helplessness was overwhelming.
"Please! Jump! I'll catch you okay, you need to jump! NOW!" Cynthia pleaded, fresh tears running down her face. She felt nauseated by the sight of her mother staying put, frozen by her fear. Cynthia screamed at her until she ran out of breath, her limbs feeling heavy.
"Oh gods, please….by Yimr, please…" Cynthia muttered, losing her voice. Jennifer turned, watching the flames approach closer and closer. Eventually, she threw a leg over the window sill, the fire close to engulfing her. Their neighbours were yelling, contributing to Cynthia's pleads.
"You got it, Jennifer! I'm right here. Please, just do it!" Cynthia begged, getting as close to the building as she could. She figured having broken legs was the least of her worries by this point. She would willingly experience any other kind of pain rather than lose the person worth living for. This world was not worth her tolerance without her. Jennifer looked at her daughter through tearful eyes, her skin reddening and breathing harsh. For a moment, it looked as though she wasn't going to do it. Cynthia swallowed back the bile building in her throat.
"Mom…?!" Cynthia shouted, her voice becoming hoarse. Jennifer grimaced and started to propel herself off the window frame. Cynthia was ready, arms outreached, but it was too late. Cynthia felt her heart stop as an explosion of wooden splinters and glass sprayed out into the air, cascading onto onlookers. Deafening screams ensued as Jennifer was thrown into the air, and Cynthia was forced to the ground by the shockwave, eardrums stinging as though spikes had been driven into her head. She watched in terror, frozen as her mother's limp body fell. She landed behind her in the street, the sickening sound of crushing bones and flesh loud enough to hear through the ringing. Cynthia could barely feel the splinters that had lodged themselves in her body, the pain nothing compared to the crushing onset of grief. Immobilized, all she could do was stare at the clouds in the sky.
Being awake, being able to think was intolerable. Existence was intolerable. Cynthia slept and only slept. When she wasn't asleep, she either felt empty or so full of rage she couldn't breathe. It was all gone. All she could think about was her mother's face before the explosion, reddened and pained.
"Do you think her bandages are ready to come off?" Cynthia heard a nurse whisper to another. The trauma wing of the hospital was quieter tonight; most of those affected by the fire now gone home. Cynthia wasn't sure how much time had passed, days blurring into one another.
"The wounds need some air time", the other replied as they judged Cynthia closely. She had caught all their sympathetic glances, wishing for it to stop. She wanted to be alone. So when they approached, she ignored their presence.
"Cynthia… we're going to change your dressings, okay? We'll also take you to the lavatory after if you need," the woman said softly. Cynthia couldn't respond with words, simply nodding her head without looking at them. She wanted to get it over with so she could sleep again, a feeling inside her threatening to tear her apart the moment she awoke. The second nurse pulled the privacy curtain as the first pulled back Cynthia's sheets, revealing her sullen form. Cynthia sat up slowly, and they gingerly removed bandages from her arms, chest, neck and lower face. She wasn't sure of the extent of the damage, not moving from the bed often after being admitted. She could guess where the majority of her wounds were based on the pain. Her skin felt taut where stitches had been made.
After the dressings were gone and the areas disinfected, the nurse gently encouraged Cynthia to stand and led her to the bathrooms. It was cold, the stalls empty and quiet.
"I'll just be outside the door if you need anything," the nurse said quietly and shut the door. Cynthia stood for a moment, afraid to approach the mirrors that faced the stalls. She shuffled slowly towards the doors, daring to take a glance at her visage. What she saw made her stop and walk towards her reflection. She looked as though someone had hacked at her with a surgical knife, small, sharp cuts all over her body, the deeper ones stitched. Two longer stitches had been made across her jawline in the shape of a wishbone, the incisions stretching down her neck. Her skin was coloured purple and blue, bruises from the impact littering her body. Red blotches of exposed flesh were still covered with gauze where flames had hit her. Her eyes held nothing but exhaustion, a small sigh escaping chapped lips. She could only look so long before retreating into a stall. When leaving, she kept her eyes to the ground, avoiding the mirrors.
Going back out into the hallway, she was surprised to see the nurse speaking with someone she hadn't seen around the hospital before, just out of earshot. Her androgynous counterpart practically towered over her, easily over 6'5, their hair fashioned in a blonde bob. Even from this distance, Cynthia could see their dark eyes as they glimpsed towards her. They nodded their thanks to the nurse, slyly slipping something into her hands quickly. Money?
The nurse quickly deserted the area as the giant made their way towards Cynthia, who just watched their approach. From what she could tell, they meant no harm, their hands firmly planted in their pockets.
"Cynthia Tempest?" they asked flatly, their voice of feminine inclination. Cynthia simply nodded, suspicious but mostly just yearning for her bed.
"I heard what happened. You have my condolences," they said, some sincerity to their words. Cynthia judged them closely. They were undoubtedly military; a muscled body was partially hidden under their casual suit. What skin was visible was scarred. Their jacket didn't have the Eldian armband, but something told Cynthia they weren't Marley either.
"I don't know you", Cynthia stated, wondering if she should call for the nurses. They smiled slightly.
"My name is Yelena. Conscript with the marine forces," they said. Cynthia rolled her eyes, assuming the worst. She managed to escape the forces once, but not before serving four years. All thanks to dad Cynthia thought sourly. The horrible realisation that she was an orphan overcame her. If she wasn't so tired, she would be sobbing once more. She eyed Yelena, suspicious of anyone from the forces, knowing she would do anything to avoid going back. In fact, she was surprised they sent anyone, considering her state.
"Shove it. I don't have time for this," Cynthia said, moving to walk back to bed. Yelena held up a hand, silently asking for patience.
"I'm curious. Why do they call you the White fox? Apart from the hair, of course," Yelena asked to Cynthia's surprise.
"Curiosity killed the cat, did it not?"
"Please. I won't waste your time," Yelena promised, face soft with patience. Cynthia took a deep breath, composing herself.
"It's a nickname the Marley officers so graciously bestowed on me during an expansion 'expedition'," Cynthia said, words laced with sarcasm.
"If you mean 'killing of civilians' by that, then sure, 'expedition'" Yelena said blankly, catching Cynthia off guard. It seemed they took her words seriously.
"I just did what I needed to survive" Cynthia bit back defensively. Yelena blinked slowly, unfazed.
"I understand that. Completely. Doesn't answer my question, though. Why?" Yelena asked again. Cynthia thought back to her time in the field. The blur between day and night, the pains she saw others go through, the threat of death so persistent that it no longer fazed her, the titans. If it wasn't for what happened with her father, she knew she'd be dead by now.
"I'm fast. They made me use tunnels across enemy lines to get messages between different fronts when communications were down. I was swift, hence the fox. Never shook the name" Cynthia explained, reminiscing on the horrors those years brought.
"Made you? I heard you were pinning for the title of honorary Marleyan" Yelena asked, clearly searching for confirmation. Their words stun Cynthia, something traumatic occurring within her mind at the mention of title.
"Considering what I went through… what I wanted to get away from, that title seemed like my only way out," Cynthia explained matter-of-factly. Yelena, seemingly satisfied with that answer, stood close enough so that only Cynthia would hear their words.
"Would be I be correct in assuming you have no love for Marley then?" Yelena said quietly. Cynthia didn't answer, growing more suspicious. Yelena placed a finger on their lips, like they were suppressing a laugh.
"I'll take that as a yes, considering it was a Marley shithead that did this to you", Yelena continued nonchalantly, examining Cynthia's beaten figure. She felt her eyes go wide. Even during a meeting as private as this, Yelena's bluntness about such a subject surprised her. She found herself checking her surroundings for unwanted listeners.
"Do you know him?" Cynthia asked quietly, feeling her rage return at the thought of Gideon. A sour look crept across Yelena's face.
"Gideon Newman was newly drafted with the survey fleet to Paradis. Same as I. Stupid drunk was talking about what happened to you in the barracks," Yelena said. Cynthia tried not to let the words get to her, taking a deep breath. It was no use. Images of Gideon crowded her mind, especially ones where her hands were around his throat.
"Look… Miss?" Cynthia started, continuing when Yelena didn't correct her, "I'm not sure what you want from me. Why are you telling me this?"
"Do you want him dead?" Yelena asked indelicately. Cynthia sighed, emotionally pained.
"Of course I do", Cynthia strangled out the whisper, angry tears in her eyes. Yelena nodded, looking somewhat sympathetic.
"There's a group of conscripts being drafted onto the same crew as me and Newman who have… interests, in Paradis. To pursue those interests, we will need help getting rid of the Marleyans on the ship once we're close to shore."
"Sounds like you're planning a mutiny," Cynthia said, cautious about saying as such. Yelena simply nodded again but there a certain glint in her eyes this time. Something unsound.
"You scratch my back - I give you Newman," she said, arms crossed. Cynthia mulled it over in her mind. It was the perfect time to ambush un-expecting Marleyans, only the fear the Paradis devils would be on their mind.
"And then what? I get stuck on titan infested island? With you?" Cynthia said, her words lacking bite. In truth, she didn't much care about anything else other than avenging her mother. At this point, only the thought of taking Gideon's life gave her any passion for her own.
"Something tells me it won't be a problem," Yelena said, obviously hiding information. Cynthia didn't care much about that either.
"…Okay", Cynthia muttered, hardly believing her own decision. Yelena looked surprised as well.
"I'll be honest; I thought it would take more convincing considering you avoided the fight with the mid-east earlier this year. How is that, anyway-?"
"When is the fleet leaving?" Cynthia said, cutting off the question. She didn't want to talk about it.
"Three months from now. Enough time for you to heal," Yelena said, almost excitedly. Cynthia did not feel the same way. Rebellious behaviour from groups such as Yelena's was never successful, and they often suffered for their insurgence. A part of Cynthia knew she didn't plan to get that far; such consequences felt intangible.
"Welcome to the Anti-Marleyan volunteers, Tempest" Yelena said, holding out a hand. Cynthia took it delicately, but Yelena's grip was harsh on her bruised hands. Cynthia resisted a wince, shaking it firmly.
"Tough. Exactly what we needed," Yelena mused.