Hello Dear Readers! The reviews on the twist ending seems to be pretty mixed and I might have lost some readers over it. I'm just gonna keep going with the story as planned. If you were confused by this, sorry, I could have integrated the hints better. Some are bigger than others. There's nothing that straight up says Erin is 56, but there are some parts that suggests she's not, not 56. Props to anyone who can identify them and post them in the comments.
Spoffen has already found one- good job! And Shelbyzz guessed Erin could be the traitor back in chapter 25, so props! Now, some noted that there is a hole where Erin's POV doesn't suggest she's 56. Another commenter, whose name I can't find, actually had an idea that was close to what was actually going on. This chapter will elaborate on the last twist.
I also wanted to clarify one detail someone pointed out, in case anyone else was wondering this, as I don't want anyone to be confused. In the last chapter, Erin is seen drawing. She has done this in chapters 12, 25, 29, and 35. At first, her drawings are simple panel comics to keep herself amused and throw Prowl off her trail while mocking him (knowing he was tracking her use of the data pad), but after discussing art with Sunny in chapter 21, her drawings gradually become more refined and personal. It's not so much filler as it is a way of showing Erin is taking up the twins' hobbies (video games and comics for Sides) to show her desire to understand and relate with them. Thanks for bringing it up.
And thank you to all the reviewers; .Princess, emlovesbatman0098, motorlady, (Guest x4), Anne, justsurvivesomehow (x2), SoulusPrimeLightblast, Spoffen, Anonymous, ElizellaalaxyFireLight, CamaroLady, Quickening, Rachel0424, shadowbellator.94, THE Ellie, Dina Sana, AishaDream, and guadadominguez4
Chapter 36
Two pairs of round, slate blue eyes scanned the pages held in tiny hands. Every image displayed a smile. Each beautiful person was happy, living their easygoing lives. Their stories held the smallest of tragedies, any of which the children reading would have traded for their own experiences. Rejection from jobs, divorce, death of a parent, all nothings the celebrities cried over. The magazine described how these pains made the featured people stronger. But what if the pain never ended? What if there was one after another without reprieve? One can only be so strong, right? So what did they become after that?
56 wondered this silently while 55 flipped to the next page. The pair usually enjoyed reading the articles, imagining they were living the experiences describes, rather than their own. However, each story made 56 wonder about her own life. People who never struggled were considered lucky or normal. Those who suffered a bit were admired. But what about her and 55? Children of Division did not fit within the mold described within the thin paper bindings. They'd also read stories of murderers and monsters who were so tortured, they lost all sense of self and preformed horrendous acts. Wasn't that what they were being trained to do? Be monsters? Yet, 56 could never see herself relating to those stories. She wanted to be the good guy, learning from her struggles and becoming admirable in the end.
"Alright," 55 whispered, her young voice slightly squeaky, "what's wrong?"
56 straightened herself, putting on a goofy smile, "I was just thinking, since we got Martin to get us these magazines, maybe we could get something cooler, like a tv?"
Raising her eyebrow, her sister looked entirely unamused. Didn't you learn your lesson last time?"
It was true, 56 was still limping from her last interaction with their assigned caretaker, Martin. He caught her reading a magazine she'd swiped from another instructor. The children were only allowed access to materials from the outside world when given express permission. 56 had cleverly explained how vital it was they understand society around them, for the benefit of becoming more knowledgeable Division agents. For speaking out of line, the soles of her feet were beaten with a paddle. However, the morning after her punishment, there were a stack of old magazines inside the room shared by the twins and the other children in A block of the Division 'kindergarten'. If anything, 56 felt emboldened by the small victory. Instructors would find any reason to punish the children, it was inevitable. At the very least, 56 got something out of it.
"You know," she added slyly, "why don't we do something to get back at Martin?" she whispered. Maybe she could steal a pepper from the canteen and rub it on the door knob to his office. He'd be none the wiser until rubbing his eyes."
55 didn't look quite as amused. Quickly, she smacked the back of 56's head. "Idiot, you're just asking for something worse. Just be happy things worked out this time."
"I guess." 56 quickly let the subject drop, directing her attention towards the next page, only a slight throb were her twin hit.
55, however, still seemed fixated on her mood. 56 could feel her sister's eyes watching her from just beyond peripheral. "Ok," she asked brusquely, "what's really bothering you?"
56 darted her eyes away, not wanting to look into her sister's knowing gaze. "Are we monsters?" she asked quietly.
55 seemed to pause for a moment. Her momentary shock was palpable. "No." came the firm reply. "Division itself is the monster. We're survivors."
It sounded nice to 56, thinking of herself that way. But it didn't fit. "There isn't something wrong with us?" she whispered.
"Yeah, we're different." 55 replied, trying to sound casual, "That's just because of how Division is raising us. But think of the other kindergartens." She reminded. "The kids training in finance and stocks aren't evil, are they?"
"No." 56 admitted.
"What about the ones in international diplomacy?"
"No." the girl repeated.
"We are training as mercenaries because that's what Division decided. They are the evil ones, not us."
"But we're still different." 56 argued, pointing at a picture on the magazine. "It's like we're not even people." She dropped her hand, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.
"Hey," the other child carefully cradled her sister's face in a small palm, "We are real people, silly."
"But we don't even have names." 56 shot back stubbornly.
"We're just saving them for later." The twin soothed.
56 perked a bit at that. "For when?"
"Well," 55 thought, "for when we're free."
Immediately deflating, 56 stared at her sister, "Freedom is just something we made up, it's not actually going to happen."
Feigning a smile, 55 sighed, "Bleak reality is my thing, remember?" she scuffled her sister's short hair, pulling out the smallest of silent giggles. "It'll come one day, I promise. And when it does, how about I give you a name and you give me one?"
56 beamed at the thought. "Ok."
Nodding, 55 lifted the sheet that was draped over their heads. "We should get to bed before Martin checks back on us." She silently stood from the mat where they had been sitting and stepped over a few children to reach her own designated sleeping space.
56 noticed a few other children glare darkly at her sister, obviously unhappy with them breaking the rules and conversing before lights out. 55 just glared right back, earning fearful flinches from the perpetrators. That made 56 smile. No one messed with her and her sister.
Erin laid in bed, naked and hot. The bruises on her arms throbbed with regret. Her mind rallied against itself. Painful images and emotions flashed behind her eyelids, both familiar and foreign. She felt like she was walking on a wire, two entirely different worlds on either side. Unsure of which one she should jump to, the soldier was forced to keep her balance. However, images waring between left and right threatened to overwhelm her. She turned over damp sheets, each movement marred by lethargy. She tried to focus her mind, but it fogged as she fell back into fitful memories.
Hot air beat down on 56's shoulders. Her only reprieve from the intense heat were groups of trees just past her designated section. She and 55 were tasked with guarding a dead missile shell. Though just training, the situation was meant to prepare the children for when Division would contract them out.
The twins, of course, were confident in their chances. 14, 18, 23, 64, 72, and 73 composed the six man team sent to retrieve the target. There were two rules. The first, only snipers were allowed to use guns, as only they were trusted not to accidentally hit the missile. 72 was the only sniper on the team, but with his presence, 55 and 56 were forced to hide. 55 dug herself underneath the shed where the target was hidden. 56 crouched in a tree, her shadow obscured.
The second rule was no intentional killing. While some assessments certainly called for this, that was not a daily occurrence. Should one person preform too poorly, an instructor can make a case by case decision for some kind of punishment. Death was certainly one of the options, but since the eight children training at the time were all high performing, there would not likely be any mutilating punishments. Division did not want its stars to become damaged.
Such was the case why 56 had to be especially careful. Out of the children in combat training, she ranked number one while 55 was in forth place. As a result, their punishments were less severe. The other children wanted those coveted positions. 14 would be the greatest threat. Like 56, she was mostly skilled in hand to hand. In addition, she was ranked in second place. There was little the young girl would not do to climb to the top position.
Though 55 was not the best of the fighters, she didn't feel the need to work her way to the top. In fact, without 56 she, would rank far lower. Her skill was technically ranked around twelfth, but she had the highest kill count, both real and practice. Meanwhile, 56 sat at number one without a single confirmed kill and hardly any 'practice kills'. Since the twins almost always fought together, 56 would disable the opponent while 55 both guarded her sister and performed the final blow. Usually, 56's low kill count would be a problem, but the pair was so efficient, they saw little backlash. 55 had trained herself to be stronger while 56 remained quick and flexible, making them the perfect team.
While this situation was not meant to be deadly, as the children were only armed with paintball guns and rubber knives, 14 could still 'accidentally' shove a rubber knife so far down one of the girls' throats, they would suffocate. Of course, there were no hard feelings if someone died, as long as 55 and 56 went out together. In fact, the twins were quite close with 14 so if they were to die, they'd at least be happy one of their friends was moved to top rank. However, they wouldn't just give her the win.
56 knew she would likely see 14 before hearing her. It would be quite the opposite with the boys on the opposing team. There was too much cover for 72 to set up a distant post. Also, if he had climbed a tree within visual range, 56 would have heard him. Thus, he would be approaching on foot, blending with the crowd. It was a risky move, but one 56 had used in training before.
The agent-in-progress could practically see what the enemy would do. 14 would lead the attack and just as she was within visual distance, the boys would move in, fanned out. The noise they make, crunching over autumn leaves, would distract from 14's approach. 72 would wear the same uniform as his comrades, face obscured and beige tones used to camouflage and confuse. Only, he wouldn't be carrying his rifle. Whomever stood directly to 72's right would carry the weapon. He would stand as a sacrificial pawn, ready to be shot down on sight. That way, 72 could approach and had easy access to his tool. As soon as he was within proper range, though still inside the safety of the tree line, 14 would try to flush 55 and 56 out while 72 lined up the shot.
56 could imagine it all happening. It was in line with their training, but had creative elements the other team believed 56 wouldn't predict, and it would allow the rather uncouth 14 to be let off her chain. But in their attempt to follow Division's guidelines, they ignored the fact that each team had intimate knowledge of the other. They would treat this task as they would anywhere they were given limited information, failing to account for the twins' dynamic. Meanwhile, 56 and 55 were prepared to use their predictable behavior to get an advantage. The approach in her head was the best method she could imagine that would fall in line with these considerations.
The clearing sloped upwards in three directions, leaving one part where a long dried streambed sunk the earth. The twins' opponents would approach from the opposite end, wanting to force their targets to the narrow part, a kill box. 56, however was ready. She rested on a tree over where the team was expected to appear.
Listening closely, she focused on the leaves, discerning any differences between the wind lightly moving them, and careful steps packing them against the dry earth. It was not until the team was a few yards away when she was able to pick out each individual footstep. Mapping them in her head. She could imagine them fanned out, just how she planned. Once they were directly under her, it could be expected 14 would jump into action. Not daring to move and look, 56 noted she was too high in the tree for 14 to reach with one jump, should she know of 56's position. And while 14 was a capable climber, 56 would hear the approach just in time to react. 14 would likely be closer to the missile, perhaps even in the clearing. She was crazy enough to do such a thing.
Just as the footsteps reached below 56's tree, she silently rolled off the branch. In that split second, she saw the rifle, and quickly, she launched herself at the boy left of its carrier. Her rubber knife met the child's throat before she touched the ground.
Using the forward momentum of her strike, she rolled and slashed up the rifle holder's chest. Two down.
Swiveling, she dodged around a tree, taking a second to regain her bearings after her own jarring attack. Four remained. The three boys were the leftmost and rightmost of the group, meaning they were already well spread out for an assault. In front of her, past the foliage, 56 could hear 14 and 55 engaged in combat. 14 had more skill, but she could have been put off by her unexpected lack of backup.
56 heard steps approaching directly behind the tree. She tucked and rolled just as an arm reached around in a blind attempt to slash her throat. Turning quickly, she shot towards her attacker, taking advantage of his precarious position, wrapped around a tree. Taking the wiser route, she switched her blade position, pointing it behind her. Turning her body, she placed her back against the tree as she wrapped around it, giving her more space to shoot forward, should she need to retreat. Her attack hit, and the boy dropped to the ground, not dead, but stunned by the shock collar he wore. Instructors were skilled in using their cameras to identify kills and knock out the victims.
Three remained. 56 heard her sister approach from behind. 14 hadn't taken her out yet, and from the gleeful sounds in the younger girl's voice, she was mostly playing at that point. Without looking, 56 stepped back, eyes never leaving the final two boys as her back made contact with 55. In one motion, the two turned, knives swinging towards the other's targets. 56 met 14's crazed eyes as the more lithe girl slashed madly but hardly left an opening on herself. The child's erratic movements made it impossible to predict where she would strike next. 56 had to solely rely on her own response speed. One weakness of 14's, however, was in the girl's small stature. She had to put far more power in her strikes in order to cause real damage. Thus, as the girl tried to bring the knife down once again, 56 rolled onto her back. 55 had just enough time to hear her sister's move in order to jump out of the way as 14, overzealous as always, fell forward over 56, weapon missing her head and crashing into the ground. 56 kicked the girl over her and into the path of the two boys. All three were momentarily stunned as 55 took advantage as slashed at 14 and one of the boys. 56 took the opportunity to pin the final boy as 56 made the kill.
56 and 55 stood, panting and tired, but victorious. Slowly, the other children roused from their shock and meekly got to their feet, well aware of the severe punishment that would await them for utter failure. Even worse, it appeared 18 was the one who held the rifle. As the would-be sacrifice, his 'death' after the snipers was the worst case scenario. Further, out of the entire group, he had the lowest ranking. At the very least the boy would be whipped severely. 56 did not expect to see him for several days.
Hopefully, she and 55, as the victors would fare well, if at least for a little while. And perhaps her three imaginary kills would take some pressure off her for her lack of real experience. After all, pretending was one thing. But to take another life, that thought shook 56. She was just lucky that, whenever it was the real deal, 55 always stood in, willing to shield her sister, even if it meant sacrificing her own soul.
The wire seemed to shake under unsteady feet. 56 shook her head, beads of sweat dripping down her face, soaking into her pillow. The world around her seemed to move in slow motion while her mind raced. She had to separate herself from Erin. She was a Division spy, just playing soldier. She had to stop this confusion. Uncertainly pricked at the edge of her mind.
Was it hot, or cold? 56's skin burned as if licked by invisible flames, but her body shivered feebly, weak from exhaustion. Why was she so tired? She'd done nothing but lie in the corner. How long? Who knew. In the thick haze of her own thoughts, all time had faded away. The only indicator was the smell. Noxious gasses permeated the air in the small room. The body was rotting.
56 knew she should have used the cloth of her shirt to help filter the poisoning air, but she couldn't bare herself to move. Her will was gone. Was it seconds that passed between her breaths? Or hours? Should she blink? Her eyes were crusted and sore, but every time she closed her eyes, that face was all she could see. The one sitting in the opposite corner. She knew its jaws were agape, the expression left permanent with rigor mortis.
How much longer would she be locked in there. Had they not realized the lesson had long sunk in? That life was over, and so was hers.
After an eternity of suffering the door beside 56 creaked open. A small boy was unceremoniously shoved into the room before the door was quickly slammed back shut. Without a moment to recover his balance, the boy fell to his knees and vomited as the air reached his nostrils.
It was clear to 56 what her job was. This boy couldn't stomach the smell of death, his body looked frail. He was a failure. His organs would catch a decent price, though.
Standing, 56 approached the sobbing boy and placed a hand on either should, pressing herself close to his back in a semi-hug. "It's ok." She managed to cough out, her throat dry. "You won't suffer any longer."
A scream got caught in the boy's throat as his eyes wondered to the body before him. Perhaps he had heard of or even seen the young agent 55. Why Division would decide to cull her was a mystery to both the room's occupants. But one of them wouldn't have to worry about that. The body lay there as a lesson for the top trainee in the facility, and she would never forget it.
Afterwards, she stared at both corpses. One fresh, the other bloated with decomposition. Tears welled in her eyes as she felt the last of her soul leave her body. She was nothing. Just a tool for Division to use and discard. But 55 no longer had the same fate. She was finally free.
Erin could feel it, the wire digging into her bare feet as she started to loose balance. Fearfully, she chanced a glance down. On one side was a dark land, familiar, but reeking of blood. Her own screams echoed so often, they wore down the walls. No life thrived there, but the fall was short, at least she'd survive to fight on. On the other side, no ground could be seen. Only a faint blueish glow appeared in the depths. Vertigo threatened to overthrow her as she realized the jump was far too risky. The fog once again pulled her away.
"Come on, beautiful!" The shrill voice of a crazed teenager rang in 56's ear. "There's finally time to have some fun!"
56 scowled at the girl, only a few months younger than her. Her pitiful smile held promise of good times, but the young agent wasn't interested. "Fuck off, 14." She roughly shoved the lithe girl away, knowing she would get the message and promptly ignore it.
As predicted, the blond bobbed straight back, a knowing grin on her face. "That's exactly what I want to do!" she hummed, "But it's no fun alone." She leaned back in, tracing her hand over 56's shoulder.
Out of a dark corner, 25 called over, "I wouldn't do that, 14! Eventually she'll get tired of you and kill you." He stated matter-of-factly. "Even you wouldn't win."
That was debatable. 56 still reigned number one, though the ranking system technically ended after they became full agents. 14 was stuck in the number two position, but she could still give 56 a real challenge.
"That's what excites me!" 14 moaned. "I like to imagine she could take me out at any moment. The thrill of danger is what turns me on!" she laughed, eyes glazed with psychotic lust.
Without warning, 56 gripped the girl's arm and flung her over the couch. The blond quickly adjusted herself, landing calmly like a cat, but 56 still had the advantage, as 14's back was facing her. Still gripping the girl's arm, she thrust forward, her knee digging into her victim's spine as she fell to the ground.
In uncharacteristic wisdom, 14 remained limp. The only sign of defiance was a small huff. After a moment, 56 got up and seated herself once again, wrapping her knees up in a personal embrace.
She could still smell the blood and piss of the last guy she killed. He wasn't even a real target. Instead, some kid within Division has been severely injured, if the somewhat survivable hole in his skull was anything to go by. He was promptly labeled disposable and handed over to 56. It has become her job to educate the younger trainees on all the sensitive spots in the body to target during interrogation. The poor boy only lasted four hours. But 56 was expected to continue the lesson, and she did for another twelve, wearing a mask as the smell permeated the room.
Afterwards, the agent wanted time alone to just think of nothing. Hopefully, the tortured moaning of the boy would fade from her mind and she would manage to gain some peace. If only 14 would grant her such a wish.
"Come on, baby!" she whined even louder. 'It's been forever since we fooled around. Just one touch?" she begged hungrily.
56 answered with a hard glare.
'Tsk'ing to herself, 14 recoiled. "Fine." She stated, sounding disappointed. "Learn to chill sometime." She added, stepping away with the sway of tiny hips, "not even 55 was as pissy as you are nowadays."
56 shot up, earning a flinch from both the other agents. "Her name is Cora!" she seethed, eyes threatening a very real end should 14 argue the contrary. "She is free of this place and its labels!"
The girl put her hands up and snickered to herself. "Alright, alright. I remember. I'll call her Cora for now on."
Rather than retaliating, 56 stomped off, heading towards her shared quarters. Hopefully she'd get a mission soon to take her mind off things.
56 opened her eyes, the salty sweat that pooled by her eyelids left a slight burn. She felt dirty. Her mind was still stuck over the thin wire, but her body managed to crawl out of bed. The only way to cleans herself of this filth would be upstairs. Her own showers were a 'suicide' scene. The ground swayed as if rejecting her touch as she tried to climb the stairwell. There was no point in tuning on the lights, as her own eyes couldn't be trusted.
56 breathed evenly, trying to retain her calm. Only a few meters beyond rested the targets. The elite team of eight was soaking in their last moments before moving into enemy territory. Unfortunately for them, it was the very territory 56 was tasked with protecting, along with the young prince Division has been hired to guard. An extended firefight would not be preferable, she couldn't risk such trained targets getting away. The survivors would track around and finish off 56 and her team before continuing with their mission. The eight targets had to be eliminated.
She shifted in her uniform. It was an exact copy of that which her targets wore. It wasn't common for Division to join a firefight against American soldiers, since that country was one of their greatest patrons. But as long as the Americans blamed the Saudis for their soldier's assassinations, no harm no foul. Besides, these soldiers legally didn't exist. They were mercenaries, bought by the Americans and given citizenship.
The land before 56 waved to and fro across her vision, warped by the desert sun. Glancing over, she noted 72 in position, he looked her way, waiting for instruction. This was the first mission 56 was leading solo. She was given a relatively good team. 72 was the one man she had insisted on joining her. The others, 53, 124, 324, 12, 33, 89, and 44 were assassins from the region's other Division rearing facilities. All waited for a signal.
56 checked her surroundings. The sun was at the right angle, ready to block their enemies' line of sight. All her men were ready. There was a little debris filling the space between them and the targets, giving them room to creep forward for a sneak attack. The Americans believed no one was aware of their operation, thus their small, elite team.
Nodding, she watched as her forward team creeped forward, their feet scarcely making a sound on the sunbaked earth. It was her duty as team commander to give orders or join the firefight as needed. Her men were all well trained and prepared. 72 lined his shot, the smallest smile on his lips gave away who his target must have been, the sniper. His shot would be the starting signal. If all worked as planned, the fight would only last a few seconds.
56 held her hand over the man's shoulder, ready to command him with a light tap. But before she could release her grip, a grinding noise reverberated the air in front of them. Worried the soldiers caught on to them, 56 pulled the hand from the man's shoulder, prompting him to fire. The noise continued as screaming and gunfire filled the air just past her shelter.
Rushing away from with 72, knowing that would be the American's next target, 56 vaulted over her shelter to see both her agents and the soldiers standing sided by side, firing at something. Instinct kicking in, she shoved herself from her position and saw the common target.
All strategies fell from her mind as the blanched in horror. Towering over her men was a red eyed metal giant. Its body seemed to be made of car parts, matching the armored jeep that once stood in the field. 56 could barley process the monster before her as it pointed some kind of weapon, fused to its arm, at her men and the soldiers. A few quick pops was all it took for dust to explode into the air and two men to crash to the ground. At this point, she couldn't even tell which side they were on.
"56!" the agent looked over to 72, fear painted on his face. "Your orders?" his eyes begged for retreat.
Numbing from shock, 56 straightened, "Aim for the eyes." She ordered before movingto better see the beast. It stood at around eighteen feet tall. Each metal component was intricately placed along its body, creating a sort of armor. There had to be wires or something underneath that was connecting the 'limbs' to a power source. The head and chest, two of the most likely places for a power source were too well armored, but the metal plating with thinner around the joints. Instead of killing to source, they would have to incapacitate this thing, one piece at a time.
72's rifle pierced the sounds of battle as the creature suddenly bellowed, clutching one side of its face while blue liquid dripped down. He must have made the hit. It turned towards 72's hiding spot, gun-like arm suddenly rearranging into something far more sinister looking, with a smoke-flowing blue barrel. 56, realizing she was too close to its target, sprinted from her cover and hit the ground, just in time for a deafening blast to tear out the very earth behind her.
Weapon in hand, she turned on her side to see the monster, glaring at where 72 once was. She quickly aimed for what looked to be a thin tube connecting the forearm to the back arm. When her sot met its target, the beast quickly moved from clutching its face to its arm, turning to glare at her. 56 jumped once again and ran for cover, finding most of the debris that once laid in the field was smoldering.
She nearly tripped over a burnt torso, void of any limbs, as she dodged just in time for a massive blast right behind her. Dirt and blood rained down on her, mixing into iron-rich mud.
She had managed to crawl behind the remains of an old storage shed and hope flared within the agent. She crawled through what was once a door, out of sight of the monster, and desperately felt along the ground. A small creek told 56 she had found her target, a small hidden room under the floorboards. Quickly she tore it open and, without looking down, jumped in. Her feet hit ground only three feet down. Ducking, she tried to quietly close the hanger door.
The steps of the metal creature reverberated through the dark hole 56 hid in. She could feel how close it was. She couldn't hear anything else. No gunshots, or human footsteps or even breathing. Quickly, she tried to count the corpses she had spotted. 72 had to be assumed dead, so she lost per prized sniper. The torso made two. On the far end of the field, 56 has spotted three or four bodies, but it was hard to tell. Closer to the monster were at least six men, though large chunks of them were strewn about. That left between 1 and 6 potential survivors. The creature was half blinded and had an injured arm. Both the agents and soldiers were small elite teams, so there wouldn't be any back up. And there was nowhere to run. The nearest transportation was nearly a mile away and she would never be able to outrun something so large.
The sounds of stone crashing down rocketed off the fragile door while dust rained through small cracks between the wood planks. The creature must of torn apart the shed. 56 held here breath, rifle ready to fire at the first viable target she saw. The wood crunched above her as four metal protrusions stuck through each side of the door. Splinters sprayed as it was torn up and away, revealing a furious metal face. Another fourfingered hand reached for her. With only seconds before death, she made her final move. Aiming between the enclosing digits, 56 fired at the creature, shattering the remaining red eye.
It screamed in what seemed to be agony, clutching its face with both hands, the wooden door still tightly gripped in one. Leaping from her shelter, she made a run for it, not sure quite where she was oriented. Knowing allies were necessary, she scanned the battlefield for survivors. Ten bodies, twelve… thirteen. 56's heart sank. The torso she saw before and 72's remains would be barley perceivable. That left her as the only body standing.
Ice filled her veins. If she returned to Division in that state, would they do away with her? Far slower than the metal creature would, for sure. Turning, she sprinted to the corpses, keeping an eye on the writhing monster. It seemed to be regaining its composure, if only a little. 56 had no way of knowing what its abilities were, so she had to assume it would be capable of remounting an attack at any moment. She found the body of the man 72 had killed before the firefight started. Luck must have found her because the sniper had been armed with armor piercing rounds. It made sense, since the young prince they planned on assassinating lived in a reinforced bunker.
56 armed herself, shamelessly stripping away gear from the blood-soaked bodies before her. Armed with her best opportunity, the agent faced the beast, analyzing every angle of its massive body. Most off her plan was built on assumption, but it was all she had to go on.
Approaching slowly, she aimed her newly adorned rifle at the creature's hips, hoping the rotating mechanisms she spotted were vital to its movements. Firing off two rounds, she quickly changed locations, expecting the monster to blindly fire in its attacker's direction. Instead, it fell pitifully, bellowing out in odd electronic sounds. 56 could only imagine the computer that piloted this thing was crashing, but it truly seemed to be in pain. It was almost unnerving. Rather than focusing on that, 56 aimed for more exposed spots, each only inches wide. With each bullet, the creature leaked more blue liquid as it feebly crawled across the ground. Eventually, 56 felt emboldened enough to approach it. The creature could barely move at that point, only flinching slightly. The agent couldn't be sure what it was, but at least she handled this threat. And with the soldiers were dead, her mission would be considered a success. As the faint red glow behind blind, leaking eyes faded, the monster grew still.
Through the beating of her own heart, 56 could barely hear the approaching helicopter before it was nearly on top of her. Ducking low, the agent scanned the new player on the scene. Her heart dropped as jeeps pulled up around her and four more helicopters approached from the not-to-far distance. Was her intel wrong? Did the enemy have back up after all?
One jeep pulled up directly next to the agent, who dropped her weapon and ensured her hands were easily visible. She wouldn't win a firefight with the two bullets left in the chamber.
A figure jumped from the vehicle, one 56 did not expect to see.
"Soldier, report." A crisp voice ordered.
56 stared into the eyes of Silas, head of Mech, and enemy of Division. Of course the tech terrorists would have something to do with that metal monstrosity. Falling into the role she was disguised for, 56 saluted wearily. "Sir, our team was ambushed by this thing. We returned fire, but I don't believe there are any other survivors." She held that position as exhaustion weight on her.
"At ease, soldier." The man responded, "You did well, miss…"
56 recounted the intel she had on the soldiers. The leak that brought Division the mission had provided just enough information, including identities. "Brook, sir." 56 stated. None of the bodies, even those recoverable, would have identification on them. The agent couldn't assume what Silas knew of the mission the Americans had been sent on. After all, it was well known in Division how integrated his scheme was with the United States military. There was always a chance he would have basic knowledge of the deceased team's identities.
"Miss Brook." The man greeted her, unfazed, "You performed well today. We'll take you in for a debriefing, and get you home as soon as possible."
The woman nodded, false relief mixing with genuine mistrust.
Erin's stomach wretched as she was just shy of the toilet. What little stomach contents she had splat on the yellowed porcelain. The stench of her own breath burned her nostrils. An odd thought crossed her mind as disgust rolled in her brain; what would the twins think of her, reduced to a heap on the floor.
Her mind recoiled from the cavernous depths on one side of the wire. The warm blue beneath would be unobtainable.
Nevertheless, her shame was enough to prompt her to rejoin reality, if only long enough to start the shower.
-scene change-
56's hands clenched the report, nerves threatening to tear the damn thing to shreds. She didn't want to face those things again. She could still smell the blood that coated her from the last encounter.
After Silas had taken her in for a debriefing, he had presented all the agent could assume he knew on the creature she fought. An alien robot, called a Decepticon, had been the beast which took out the fifteen men and women before her. Silas, however, seemed entirely unconcerned with the loss of life. Rather, he was far more interested in how she had managed to survive such an encounter. 56 could practically see the gears turning in his head as he presented the military sub-branch N.E.S.T to her. It was all too easy to figure Silas was hiding his true motives. He claimed to be a recruiter on their behalf. Any agent in Division could contest to that; Silas only looked after Mech.
Nevertheless, 56 eventually managed to earn the man's blessing and return to America where her branch of Division was located. It only took a matter of hours for the upper echelon of Division to assign her a new task- spy on N.E.S.T and report back on these aliens. The intel would be invaluable to many countries and agencies. It was untold how much Division could earn from such information.
56 found all arguments stuck in her throat. 'This would be better suited for the espionage sector.' But she already had a way in. 'Was it really worth the risk of working alongside Mech?' They were pitiful compared to Division. At worst, one agent would be sacrificed.
56 stared down at the document detailing her new identity. Sure, she'd held other names before, but only God would know how long she would be on that island with those things.
Her attention snapped back to the present as an Instructor entered the room. Though he stood tall, the young woman could easily see the platforms on his shoes adding height.
"Do you have any questions?" he asked, breath wreathing around the agent's face. His voice was filled with contemptuous authority.
"No sir." She replied evenly.
"What is your name?"
"Private Erin Brook, sir."
"And what is your mission?"
"To serve the United States Army at N.E.S.T."
"Very well." He responded. Stepping back, satisfied with how willingly she tied the puppeteer's strings to her own limbs.
The woman floated all her thoughts as 56 to the back of her mind. Erin Brook, the soldier, turned away and headed for the door that would lead to her temporary life on Diego Garcia.
The shower was too cold and too hot. The pressure too much and barley perceivable. The fire burning under her skin was barely more than an itch. Agent and soldier curled down onto the old tile flooring. The sound of the water was deafening, or at least it seemed so until her own sobs echoed off the walls. She felt like she was splitting. The lines had blurred and there was no restoration in sight. One side would have to consume the other. Logic screamed which one should survive that night, but her own memories worked against her.
An odd paced tune awoke Erin. Blinking her eyes open, light flooded in unnaturally. She felt stiff, but well rested and warm. Her own wondering eyes picked up a shining silver sheen. A slow glance up revealed Sideswipe, optics shuttered, with a peaceful expression on his faceplates. He was in recharge. No shock, nor embarrassment coursed through her, she was simply content knowing she could sleep safely. Under Sideswipe's helm, was the yellow form of Sunstreaker. He recharged, somewhat slumped over, but not lying flat out like his twin. It was evident they were resting on the concrete couch in the rec room. Erin was wrapped in in her white comforter, pressed against Sideswipe's thigh.
Sleep arrested memories flowed back, reminding Erin how she had spent most of the night playing video games. Sideswipe wanted to make bets, telling her to sing a song of his choice should she lose. Knowing how the games would end, she refused and they played without any stakes. The young soldier lost horribly, of course. Sideswipe was more for gracious a winner than he was a loser, and Sunstreaker made sarcastic comments all while watching.
The entire affair was somehow both familiar and otherworldly. And it was something Erin did not think she could tire of. Both mechs were deathly still, an odd side effect of being mechanical. Luckily, it meant she wouldn't be crushed in her sleep.
The twins looked so serene, she didn't dare wake the,. Instead, upon checking the time, she saw it was the middle of the night. With a half-hearted stretch, she rose from her comfortable position and hopped off the couch. Sleepy fingers turned off the game before tired legs brought her to the rec room light switch. The only thought coursing through her head was that she was too tired to return to the barracks, so it only made sense to stay. And no amount of logic could convince her otherwise. A small jump was all she needed to pull herself back to her perch.
Grabbing her blanket, she cocooned it around her and settled down, this time at the cross section where Sideswipe's chassis ended and Sunstreaker's leg began, making a comfortable little wedge. There, she slept, feeling safer than she had in years. At the very edge of her consciousness, she recognized a large, three digit servo cupping around her head and torso. She felt at peace.
Erin stared in the mirror, water dripping down her face. Her hair had grown longer; she'd neglected to cut it as often. It made her look younger, like when she and Cora were teenagers. Maybe if it was Cora standing there, she'd know what to do. Although her sister hated Division as much as Erin, she knew better than to betray them. And if she was around, Erin might not have thought twice about the twins. But she was gone, and Erin was forced to live on. But she couldn't survive as she had anymore; flipping between 56 and Erin. The solid walls she had formed between the two were cracked. It would be impossible for one to deny the existence of the other, because they were no loner separated. The resulting woman, neither malicious agent nor innocent soldier, wanted to actually live for something. If she was going to go through all the with this, turn her lie into reality, she'd need reassurance.