Chapter 2
A closing door echoed through the stairwell. Renzol tugged at her gloves and the sleeves of her coat nervously. She took a reassuring breath and started down the stairs, metal boots stomping loudly in the empty hallway.
The day was bright and warm for a late October morning. A gentle sun bore down on the suburbs, marred only by a small contingent of clouds wafting across the pale sky. Renzol stopped outside the front doors and savored the fresh air. She had slept long and deep last night, waking up to a morning blissfully lacking in lethargy.
Her good mood had lasted for three days now. Renzol tried not to think about it, but she had her suspicions that seeing Awo on TV a week ago may have had something to do with it.
Maybe I'm finally okay with the quarterly anniversary approaching, she thought. Or maybe it's…
Renzol shook herself out of it. She refused to think of Frag, and of the night when she had delved inside, looking for answers. Instead she took a breath of fresh air and started on her way, relishing having her life back, as small as it was. In the end, the reason didn't matter.
The sunlight and fresh breeze quickly elevated her mood even further. She had intended to only do her groceries, but maybe she would actually head downtown today. Chicago had been her city of residence for almost nine months now, but it wasn't her home. It was high time she learned her way around the place, maybe even had some fun.
Baby steps, she thought as she reached the sidewalk and headed towards the shopping plaza a few blocks away. Take-out and microwave meals were getting old. It would be great to have some fresh fruit after such a long time.
Renzol could only remember fragments from the days following her crash at XCOM headquarters. She had no idea what lies – or truths for that matter – she had told the base psychologist in order to receive her discharge nor could she recall why she had chosen Chicago; she had simply found herself on a plane headed for the city. Sometimes, she thought about returning to Leverkusen, though that particular train of thought never ended well. She had changed too much to be able to return home. The girl that had lived in Germany before the war was dead and buried now. Seeing the familiar sights and experiencing her native culture could only serve to remind her of what she had lost.
The sounds of construction brought Renzol back from her thoughts. Yellow tape circled a dirt pit down the road where a backhoe dug into the soil. The hydraulic cylinders hissed, propelling the hoe downwards. The bucket struck an old pipeline, and groans of metal grinding on metal filled the streets.
Renzol stopped in her tracks, eyes glued on the backhoe. Deep inside her something moved, and memories from a past life surfaced. She walked up to the construction, completely enraptured by the sight of heavy machinery working in perfect harmony.
The subdued yet pungent odor of ionized elerium. The gleam of polished alloy. Thick black oil pumping through her systems. An itch in the back of her mind where weapon controls connected.
Renzol's breath came fast. She no longer saw the excavator. The burning streets of Melbourne filled her vision, and she heard the supersonic boom of the fighter jets overhead. A thunderous series of explosions rolled across the district.
An alien machine faced her. The sectopod's cannon slowly lit up with crimson. The sheer amount of gathering energy made the hairs in the back of her neck stand up. The enemy fired.
Renzol gasped. Sweat speckled her brow. The memory had been replaced with cold fear. It squeezed her stomach, tying her insides into a tight bundle. She took a shaky breath and finally tore her eyes off the backhoe. She fled the scene, her metal boots scoring the pavement.
Why? Why now? Renzol grit her teeth and ran down the street, pushing pedestrians aside. She wanted to turn around and barge back into the safety of her apartment, but she didn't dare face the construction site again. She covered her mouth and pushed her head down, ignoring the indignant shouts of civilians.
I have to calm down.
She stopped a block from the grocery store in a desperate attempt to quell the rising tide of panic. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't control her breathing. The panic attack threatened to take over, consuming all.
Something bumped against her arm. She shoved reflexively and swooped around. A young man stumbled away, muttering an apology while his friend stifled a laugh. The laughter died when he laid eyes upon Renzol's face. The man grabbed his friend by the arm and led him away. They rounded a police car sitting inside the parking lot and shot Renzol one last look over their shoulders before disappearing through the doors of the grocery store.
Renzol's shoulders heaved, and she glanced at the store window. A warrior's fierce eyes stared back at her. Her entire body was tense, from dead toes to synthetic fingertips. She pried open her balled-up fists, and the phantom sensation slowly disappeared with it. She breathed deep, testing herself. She was in control again.
She didn't want to think what would've happened if the man had ran into her at the construction site.
The grocery store's aisles were brightly lit, populated by a number of customers despite the workweek. Renzol grabbed a basket and headed inside. She took great care to keep her pace steady in order to avoid breaking the tiled floor; just another inconvenience brought about by her altered form.
The abolition of war rationing meant fresh tomatoes in late October. Renzol picked one up and gave it an appraising squeeze, though it was hard to tell the texture through the gloves.
A prickling sensation made her scalp tingle: someone was watching her. She glanced to her side to find a middle-aged woman staring at her. The woman was short and round and the narrowed eyes above her scarf darted from Renzol's metal boots to her gloved hand holding the tomato. Renzol quickly stuffed the tomatoes inside a plastic bag and weighed them. The woman pretended to study a pack of crackers but Renzol could feel the eyes on her back as she chose the rest of her fruit and vegetables. Her anxiety ebbed away, replaced with irritation as she headed down the next aisle.
Mind your own damn business, she thought. There was a time when she would've openly challenged anyone who treated her like that. The urge to walk up to the woman was still there; to tower above her and demand what she wanted. And if she defied her…
We could break her.
Renzol stopped and squeezed her eyes shut. The cold voice hadn't made an appearance in days.
She's just a nosy old hag. I'm not hurting people for looking.
The Box answered with a knowing laugh. Renzol clenched her jaw in frustration. It knew. It knew her all too well. The truth was that sometimes, she wanted to let go. She wanted to hurt someone, anyone. She wanted to drive her metal fist into a man's face, to see the teeth come off and the blood flow. It didn't matter who it was; it didn't even need to be an enemy. After all, she didn't have many enemies left. Only one. And she had to admit, she wanted to see herself suffer most of all.
Renzol swallowed. The lump in her throat was lodged in tight. The tide had arrived, carrying her away on dark waves.
She slouched through the store, grabbing things off the shelves without thought or conviction. Her vision smeared to a blur of bright lights and dark shapes. Fighting back the tears took everything she had. Her eyes stayed firmly downcast as she arrived at the register. Three people in line before her.
Oh no, not now. Just let me go. The panic surged inside her. She gripped the handle of her basket so tight the plastic cracked. If she lost it here, she would never live down the humiliation. She looked for anything to take her mind off the rising panic.
The cash register's conveyor belt whirred quietly. Renzol let the workings of the machine fill herself. Her eyes stayed on the scratched black belt as it went around and around in endless circles. There was strange beauty in a machine built for a singular purpose.
She stared off into the past once again. The lights above were blinding, but she could still see the gratitude in the eyes of the surgery team as they thanked her for her sacrifice. The anesthesia mask pressed over her mouth and she knew she had done the right thing. She heard Daishi sing inside the MEC trooper's quarters, her voice filled with both hope and despair, yearning for salvation. She felt her new arms and legs for the first time again, unsure and tentative at first but growing stronger with each passing day. Exhilaration and joy filled her as she trained in a cybersuit. She was unbreakable.
The good days never lasted long, not even in her dreams. The burning streets of Melbourne were back. The sectopod's cannon fire connected and alarms exploded inside her head. The crimson beam of energy rattled her, making her exoskeleton shake in its hinges. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop it, and the energy passed right through her. Cell screamed as she hit the ground behind her. Renzol tried to shout, but not a sound left her lips. She was filled with thick black oil, the liquid bubbling over her lips and through her nostrils, filling the interior of her helmet.
Cell was dead, her face a sizzling mess of black and red. Two children lay beside her; Jamball and Dana. Their dead eyes accused Renzol.
"You let us die, Steel Lady," Dana said. Black blood flowed from her mouth with each word.
Renzol tried to answer, but her words disappeared in a wet gurgle. It wasn't oil. She was bleeding. She was dying.
"Hey, move it!"
Something grabbed her arm, and Renzol screamed. Her groceries scattered across the floor. A fist of solid metal connected with the man's face. He crashed into the queue, and the people yelled in surprise and terror. A streak of bright red hang in the air. Renzol saw it clearly, suspended in time. Blood. She was dying.
Renzol bolted for the door. The cries for help around her were drowned out by the blaring of sirens; an automated voice inside her head announced MEC armor status black. Renzol struggled for air. She was drowning in her own blood.
The sliding doors didn't open in time and Renzol crashed into them hard. The sound of smashing glass pierced through the sirens and she stumbled back, eyes wide. Inside her the mirror shattered, its million shards cutting her wide open. She felt the Box break open again and again. Hunterhr, Cell, Frag, Foogleman. She had killed them all.
A tortured wail left Renzol's lips as she burst through the doors, glass exploding around her. She didn't even register the doors of the police car slamming shut. Her elerium generators were in overdrive. Mechanized boots crashed down in swift strides, cratering the pavement.
She rounded the corner into a back alley. Did you find your answer? Foogleman mocked her.
Renzol grasped her head tight, but she couldn't feel the pain. Her arms and legs were on fire. The muscle burned from within, eating away any and all rational thought.
Hunterhr's accusing voice filled her head. You used me for your own ends when it suited you. After you were done with me, you tossed me aside like a used rag. Renzol sobbed. She crashed into a garbage can and its metallic clashing sounded her frantic escape.
Cell's voice cut Renzol's heart like a dagger. You were my best friend. And what was I to you? Nothing, a casualty of war. If it wasn't for you I would still be alive, my daughter would still have a mother. Instead she's just another war orphan. The alleys disappeared behind a veil of tears.
Frag wasn't smiling down at her this time. You should've died back then. You, not me. His mouth was a cold line. The interior of the Skyranger disappeared in a torrent of green fire.
Renzol stumbled to a halt, sobbing. She wrapped her arms around herself. The pain was too much, she was burning alive. She tore away her jacket and hoodie and stared at her arms with dread. There was no fire, only the gleam of alloy bars under afternoon sun.
"Police! Freeze!"
The shout from behind made Renzol look up. She was in a parking lot. People stared at her with horror and curiosity.
"Hands above your head and turn around slowly!"
"What in the name of Jesus is that?"
"Shut the fuck up."
Renzol heard the officers' voices from somewhere far away. Her body had become heavy but her head was light, soaring high above. She lifted her arms slowly, as if in a dream. The burning had receded. The pain was still there, but it was overpowered by a singular sensation. The back of her cerebellum where the weapons' controls had once been connected to was lit up like a beacon. She finally turned and faced the officers.
You know what you have to do, the Box said. There was no malice in the voice this time; it sounded very much like her own.
Yes.
Renzol's cerebellum radiated thousands of nerve impulses. The Ordinance Delivery System shook her exoskeleton as it thumped on her shoulder. Heat radiated as the flamethrower spat jellied elerium. Her shoulders strained as the Kinetic Strike Module's turbines fanned out with blue fire. Renzol dropped her hand.
Two gunshots roared over the lot and Renzol hit the ground. She felt her life seep into the asphalt below. Her arms and legs were numb, the fires finally extinguished and replaced with blissful cold. Her dead comrades looked down at her from the heavens. For once, they didn't mock or accuse her. They just smiled at her gently, welcoming her home.
A long time coming, Renzol thought as the world escaped her, replaced by endless darkness.