January 14th

8.30am

She leans back into her chair and lights a cigarette, presses the filter between her lips and takes a deep inhale. She feels the smoke travel down her windpipe and hit the base of her trachea. Her head feels light, it is the first cigarette of the day, and the nicotine is now pulsing through her blood to her brain. She closes her eyes and stretches her back, then exhales a plume of smoke into her office. The smoke swirls and dissipates in the air, save for a few wisps dancing around the bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. She feels momentary relief, flicks her ash into her ashtray, and takes another drag. She stubs the cigarette out in her ashtray, saves it for later, and looks at the paperwork on her desk.

What a mess. She thinks before picking up a ballpoint pen and scrawling her signature across a few of the sheets. Laborious.She says to herself as she continues in this manner for a few minutes. Her eyes begin to blur and her head begins to ache. Another migraine, these are a common occurrence of late; the young renegades who have escaped her grasp are a continual headache for her recently. Although she has their location, no one will assign her the troops she needs to raid the hideout without the correct procedures. This is the reason for the paper work. She picks up a glass of water from her scratched mahogany desk and pushes it to her lips. She drinks the cooling liquid and breathes a sigh of relief, before placing it back on the table. She looks at her paper work again and continues, begrudgingly, to sign endless scrawls and pointless details, hoping for an end after each time she removes pen from paper.

January 25th

9.14am

"Maria, can you please fax the complete F-14 booklet to the General for me, thanks" she says into the speaker of her phone, before receiving a compliant "Yes, Commander." and putting down the phone. There are not many people in this world that she had liked, but she liked Maria. She had someone slithered her way in and imprinted herself on her heart. Heart, she muses, as if I have one of those. She picks up the two day old cigarette in her ash tray (She forgot to buy more this morning), clicks her fingers to produce a small flame from her index and relights it. She does her usual lean back, close her eyes, puff and blow the smoke. Again, a wave of relief is washed over her body. She questions herself about the superficiality of this pastime, before shrugging these thoughts as too deep and returning the two risen chair legs to the floor. She receives a call on her phone calling her for duty. She finishes the cigarette before standing and heading out of her door.

12.03pm

The winds swirling around her settle. The unconscious body of her foe slumps onto the pavement before her, a burn etched into the torso exposed through a tear in the shirt. She fixes her beret and looks down at the body. She scalds herself for not generating lightning powerful enough to penetrate deeper than a few layers of skin and pulls the gun from its holster on her thigh. There is a resounding bang as she pulls the trigger, unloading a single bullet between the eyes of her prey. Startled birds take flight, terrified at the sound of the murder. Blood splatters the pavement beneath the body, and a single river trickles down the head. One less mancer, she says to herself. She notices a single, white feather lands in the half-open, stiff palm of the corpse. She whispers something illegible and turns around. "Clean up this mess." She orders her soldiers, whilst walking back to her van. The cold breeze chills the hairs on her neck, so she silences it.

As she steps into the van, she notices the last of the winter snow dissolving into a grey mush beneath her feet. The freeze is over. She tells herself.

18.53pm

She removes a dried out wreath from the gravestone and places a fresh one. It is laden with red and orange flowers. Autumn, her favourite colour scale. She sheds a tear and apologises, whispers I love you and turns away. She lights a cigarette using the lighter in her car, rolls down the window and places her hands on the steering wheel. She wipes her eyes on the frayed uniform clothing her upper arm, starts her car and drives away.

February 12th

8.45am

She is late for work. The papers on her desk have bold red lettering printed across them: Denied. She gets angry and slaps the air, a gust of wind flies sideways across the desk and the papers explode across the room, flying in an unsettling manner. She is careful not to scratch her desk, it is mahogany after all. She is angry. She grabs a fluttering sheet she believes to be the assessment sheet and reads it. Lack of evidence. She alights her hands and burns the sheet, the ashes scattering throughout the maelstrom. She kicks her chair over and picks up the phone.

The line is in use.

She hears Maria discussing with an unknown secondary voice, normally she would hang up, but she decides to listen in.

The prison will be lightly guarded on the 16th as there is a ceremony taking place in the main theatre at Porttown and the Shoulders will be moved as extra security, that is your opportunity to strike and retrieve the targets. Her rage is drowned by anguish. She has been betrayed by the one nearest to her. Her 'heart' sinks into her stomach and her throat swells into a lump. Not her. Not Maria. She slowly places the phone down. She does not want to hear any more.

She storms into the office, a strong draft blasting the room from behind her. Get out! She yells. She wants to kill her, she wants to rend her skin and tear her flesh from her bones, but she cannot. She cannot harm Maria. Maria hangs up and stands from her reception desk. She advances on her and screams at her to turn around and leave. She follows a few feet behind her. She plans to turn her into the security.

"I'm sorry, Commander Flynn. I really am." Maria utters in a regretful manner before lifting one arm. She removes the fan from her hair and it's luscious yellow locks flow down her back. She pivots on her left foot and smashes the iron backbone into Flynn's cheekbone. The commander falls on the floor, crying and cursing. Maria turns Flynn over onto her stomach with her foot and whacks the fan across the back of her head.

1.17pm

She is awoken by a security guard.

Maria is gone, and with her, so is the Commander's last shred of restraint.

Her hatred reignites...