Chapter 4

"I hate my winter coat."

Renzol shifted in her armchair. Despite the chill outside, Nolan's office was comfortably warm. November was drawing to a close, and fall was turning into winter.

"It's ugly and the sleeves get caught on my elbows."

Nolan simply nodded along with Renzol's abrupt statements.

"Gloves. Hate them too. Don't fit."

Silence followed as Renzol ran out of things on her mind. Nolan let it continue before clearing his throat. "Have you considered wearing appropriate clothing?"

Renzol eyed him warily. "I wasn't aware there was a store."

"You can have them tailored. And Daishi wears her augments openly."

Whatever reply Renzol might have had stuck to her throat at the mention of Daishi. Alongside Renzol, she had been the first of the soldiers augmented during the war. But where Renzol's world had collapsed, Daishi's had bloomed. In the months following the alien invasion she became one of the most popular singers in the world.

Nolan waited patiently as Renzol battled her anxiety, desperately looking for a response. Not so long ago, she would have escaped. But despite the heartache it gave her and the cold voice inside her that sniggered and judged, she drew a deep breath to calm herself.

"What do you feel?"

Renzol closed her eyes. Once her despair had been a vast and endless ocean, and getting lost within had meant the loss of all reason and purpose. But with time she had begun to make sense of it all. She found the obvious first: sorrow. Sorrow of loss, in both mind and body. The woman she had once been was dead. Then came fear, so closely intertwined the emotions had almost become one. It permeated every aspect of her life, dominating her. But there was more, emotions she hadn't even realized were there, hiding under the lapping currents.

"I'm jealous."

The realization surprised Renzol. What Daishi had suffered through during the war – mind controlled and forced to turn on her own, and the guilt that had made her volunteer for MEC trooper augmentation — was no less painful or meaningless than Renzol's. She deserved happiness, and Renzol knew it.

"I hate it. I hate feeling this way."

The waters held more. A memory surfaced from the depths, clear as if it had been yesterday.

"What happened to you?" Daishi asked, her eyes begging for an answer.

Renzol swallowed and balled her fists in frustration. Daishi had only tried to help her. It didn't matter that it hadn't been what she had needed back then. Keeping the Box shut had been the only way Renzol could survive, she had come to recognize that through her therapy. If Daishi had been there for her right after Frag's death, then maybe everything would have turned out different.

But it was too late for what-ifs. Nobody had saved Renzol, and she had become what she had out of necessity. But neither did it change the fact Daishi had only tried to help, and Renzol had shoved her aside, hurting her in the process.

"I'm sorry," Renzol said. "That's how I feel. I'm sorry."

Renzol stopped wearing her gloves. The number of looks she got was surprisingly low; she had been so absorbed in her own worries, so self-conscious that she had forgotten people rarely paid attention to strangers. It began slowly with her walks but in a couple of days, she mustered enough courage to leave the gloves at home while doing her groceries. She didn't dare think of stepping into the realm of tailored clothing though: chances were anyone trying to take her measurements would receive an involuntary rocket fist to the face.

The symptoms of cybernetic rejection syndrome had almost disappeared with her consistent medication. The convulsions still struck a couple of times a week, usually after a long and restless night. The attacks felt even more agonizing than before, in sharp contrast to the days of slow healing, but Renzol refused to let them break her. She had found herself again, and there was still some fight left in her.

Dealing with her changed body wasn't the only thing her most recent session with Nolan had brought to mind. Once again on her way home, Renzol found herself thinking of Daishi.

I suppose it's better than constantly thinking of the dead.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, her heart kicked off to a faster beat. Daishi was still alive. It was so obvious now that she thought about it, but it hadn't even crossed her mind before. She could meet her. All it would take was a phone call. Despite Daishi's busy life, there was no doubt in Renzol's mind she would make time for her. That's just the kind of person Daishi was.

There's no way. I'm not ready.

You'll never be ready, the Box gloated inside her. Renzol balled her fists and grit her teeth. She hated the voice and the feelings it brought, but she couldn't make it go away.

Thoughts of Daishi didn't leave Renzol alone. She began noticing the singer everywhere she went: Her voice over the speakers of a grocery store. A documentary about her life available on Netflix. A poster downtown for her two upcoming concerts. Daishi was smiling in the picture, just as Renzol had always remembered: blue eyes framed by fair hair and lips upturned in a small, wistful smile.

The following night, Renzol couldn't sleep. The phantom pain was back: a dull, throbbing sensation that emanated from her shoulders and crawled down her arms, setting the stage for a violent convulsion she knew was coming in the small hours.

The laptop cast blue light across the kitchen. War and Peace lay beside it, a bookmark protruding halfway through. Renzol scratched her synthetic forearm absentmindedly and sighed when the itch didn't disappear. Soft tunes flowed from the speakers, accompanied by Daishi's voice. Renzol didn't understand where the sudden obsession had come from. She needed to talk with Nolan. It was driving her crazy.

The problem was, her therapist was out of town for the week. Unable to bear it anymore, Renzol took matters into her own hands.

It took a series of rapid key strikes to find both her concerts were sold out, but it took just as long to find an independent site where scalpers were selling tickets at shocking prices. Renzol didn't stop to think. She selected the first outrageously priced ticket and hit buy. Confirmation of the transaction landed in her e-mail.

She was going to see Daishi.

Renzol tugged at her jacket nervously. The façade of the Symphony Center wasn't intimidating in and of itself; it was just like any other old red-bricked building from the beginning of the 20th century with arching windows over the main entrance. It was the line of people that caused Renzol's brain to scream.

Twenty-five hundred. Twenty-five hundred people packed into the same space with her. Threat assessment would be impossible. Renzol joined the queue of suits and dresses and a man in front of her caught her eye. His neatly combed hair and round-rimmed glasses set off alarms inside her head. The man turned and Renzol relaxed. His features were bulky instead of thin, and there was no discoloration along the neck.

Renzol drew a calming breath and looked up to steady herself. A tall poster of Daishi hung over the front of the building. Spotlights illuminated her form in the night; somehow, the photographer had managed to make her augments look elegant as they grasped the microphone. Renzol focused on the image of her former sister-in-arms, forcing out some of the stress of her surroundings. In the end it didn't take long before she was inside and checking in.

Red carpeting covered the brightly lit lobby. Attendees swarmed to and from the cloakrooms on either side before vacating the premises for the main hall farther down. Renzol spied an opening and stepped up to the counter. She hesitated for a moment before unzipping her jacket. A red-haired, politely smiling attendant stepped up and accepted the coat. Despite the smile, Renzol could have sworn she saw disdain in her eyes.

Renzol was wearing a simple gray blouse and jeans. They were an improvement over the baggy clothes she had gotten used to wearing, but still fell far below the standard curve of gowns and suits around her. It bothered her more than it should have. She tapped away at her thighs, resisting the urge to conceal her hands in her pockets.

The attendant returned and pressed a small plastic card with the number 238 onto Renzol's palm. Their fingers grazed as the attendant pulled away, and her eyes widened.

"Enjoy the show," she managed to stammer. Her eyes were wide with shock.

"Thank you."

Renzol turned away, but she could feel the redhead's eyes on her back throughout the hallway. She wondered whether the attendant had been afraid of her, or if she had made the connection between her and Daishi. Restless anticipation made Renzol open and close her fists as she made her way through the white main hall and up a set of curving steps before finally stepping into the concert hall.

The great amphitheater was dimly lit. Red satin seats circled the stage on multiple balconies. Renzol's seat was at the end of the row, halfway up the topmost balcony. She sat down with a sigh. The crowd had made her nervous, but now it felt manageable. She could finally relax.

The view from her seat was great, almost justifying the outrageous price of the ticket. The stage was simple black-painted wood with no decorations, erected behind the orchestra pit. Drums and guitars dotted the traditional symphony orchestra which was predominately strings, complete with a grand piano. The stage was only missing its star.

"Sorry… coming through! Oh shit, sorry! Excuse me!"

Renzol looked up at the commotion. A petite woman in her early twenties stumbled along the row of seats. Her short gray dress fluttered wildly around her thighs as she strode over the outstretched knees. Brown bangs lined round-rimmed glasses, and the eyes behind the lenses didn't seem the least bit apologetic at her intrusion. She finally reached the end and sat down next to Renzol with aplomb. She noticed Renzol staring and offered a mischievous grin.

"Fancy-ass suits n' gowns… not sorry at all! I'm gonna see Daishi!" The girl squealed with delight. Renzol turned away without a reply, but the girl didn't seem to mind.

The dim lights died and the crowd's murmurs kicked up a notch. A single spotlight fell on the catwalk and followed a man walking up to the stage. He stopped to clear his throat by the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Symphony Center Nights! Today will be a very special performance – a prelude, if you will – to the world's number one singer arriving in Chicago. Tomorrow her music will entertain all but just for tonight, she is exclusively yours. Without further ado – ladies and gentlemen, the cream of Chicago – I give you Daishi!"

The crowd exploded into thunderous applause. The spotlight shifted to reveal Daishi stepping into the hall, and the girl with round glasses released a shrill whistle. Daishi's dress sparkled golden under the light, leaving her shoulders bare. The light gleamed off her alloy arms as she came to a halt before the microphone. She crossed her fingers and closed her eyes, smiling gently as ever.

Renzol leaned forward in her seat. It felt like her heart had stopped beating. She didn't notice the applause die down or the band prepare to start; all she could see was Daishi. It was really her.

The first song went by in a daze for Renzol. The world around her had disappeared: all that remained was Daishi and her voice. But she didn't hear her then and there; she had gone back in time, back to that cold metal structure deep underground off the coast of Japan. She was standing in the empty corridors of the Cybernetic Augmentation Center, and Daishi's voice echoed through as she sang away her phantom pain.

The cheering made Renzol jump. The girl next to her was up on her feet, clapping wildly in-between whistles. The rest of the audience was doing the same, the fanciness and reservations gone as they stomped their feet and clapped their hands just like any other concert. Daishi accepted the applause with a smile.

"Thank you."

The audience roared once more before quieting.

"Thank you all for coming. Really, what a heartwarming welcome. Tomorrow will be my main performance here in Chicago, but I always enjoy singing to a smaller crowd. Once again, thank you."

Renzol was captivated throughout the concert. The music was great; she had already grown to enjoy Daishi's songs in the days she had listened to her, and the live performance far exceeded any recording. Every song brought something back to her: a vision of Daishi leaping at the sectopod inside the Temple Ship; a sparring session between them in the MEC training grounds; a shared meal in the mess during the early days of the invasion, back when they were still whole.

Renzol was certain one song titled The Red was about Wolfer. As with any good art the lyrics could be interpreted to have a deeper meaning, but Renzol recognized the very literal story of a man running to a dead end. The part where Daishi sang warehouse falling on top of me even drew a sudden laugh out of her. She hadn't expected herself to have made it into Daishi's songs; a stray rocket she had fired on one operation had quite literally dropped half a warehouse on Wolfer.

The tears were close many times, especially when Daishi launched into her number one hit Become, but Renzol managed to control herself. It was the song after, a cover that caught her off guard.

"A huge thank you to Ash for letting me sing this song, it means the world to me. This one's called Paper Boats."

The gentle piano took Renzol right back. The memory was vivid like nothing before. She smelled old liquor, cigar smoke, and dried blood from Medve's and Drake's bandages. It was the old familiar operative's mess. Orange light illuminated scratched hardwood tables. Scuba had kicked back in an armchair, wearing a reminiscent smile. Drake and Kilroy were curled up together, weeping openly as they sought comfort in one another. And captioning it all was Daishi, singing in the corner to the soft tunes floating from the speakers.

The only difference to the actual memory was the memorial wall. Now it contained all their pictures: Cell, Hunterhr, Hypergeek and Wolfer were there alongside everyone else. But it was Foogleman who had died that day. The black woman was grinning in the picture, standing between Drake and Kilroy, arms over their shoulders. Her eyes shifted to Renzol. She spoke.

"Did you find your answer?"

The question echoed through Renzol. Its weight crushed her heart. It broke her and set her free.

"Yes." The answer opened the floodgates. "Yes!"

Renzol covered her mouth. She could feel the tears streaming down her face. Daishi's voice following her, she stumbled out of the concert hall.

Her broken heart was bleeding, hurting so bad the sobs wouldn't stop. It was good. It made her know she would survive.

She found herself doubled over by the stairs. Her breathing was finally calming down, and the tears had dried.

"You okay?"

Renzol jumped up. The girl with round glasses was behind her, wearing a look of concern and curiosity.

"Sorry, don't answer that. Obviously you're not." She stepped up and offered her hand. "Shelly."

Renzol eyed her warily. She brushed off the last of the wetness and after a moment's deliberation, took up the hand. "Renzol."

Shelly's eyes widened a little at the handshake and instead of making eye contact, she looked down. Renzol realized what she had done and pulled her hand away.

"Don't worry about it," Shelly said. "I noticed. Inside." She nodded towards the concert hall.

"Is that why you came after me?"

Shelly grinned, somewhat abashed. "Yes. Well, at least partially. Okay if not for that, I wouldn't have come." Renzol turned away. "Oh come on! I'm here now."

"So?"

"Wanna go somewhere?"

Renzol gave her another wary look. Shelly took it as encouragement.

"There's a great little place nearby, they make killer hot chocolate with mint. Seriously, you gotta try it."

"What about the concert?"

Shelly threw a regretful look over her shoulder. "It's almost over. And I'm seeing her again tomorrow. Real concert too, none of this fancy pompous bullshit." She turned back to Renzol and lifted a questioning eyebrow. "How about it?"

Renzol had intended to rush back home, but something made her hesitate. Maybe it was the girl's friendly demeanor, maybe it was the vulnerable state she found herself in, maybe it was both. Before she had time to think through it, she found herself agreeing.

"Yes."

"Great! Come on, let's grab our coats and get the hell outta here!"

Shelly led Renzol to the cloakroom and out into the cold winter night. A few snowflakes made their way down under the streetlights. Shelly filled the air with pointless chatter on their way to the place 'nearby' – it was only a measly fifteen blocks away. Renzol didn't mind; she was happy to remain quiet while the odd girl rambled on about hot chocolate and Daishi and snow.

"We're here!"

Renzol looked up. A scratched wooden sign above the door read Alleyway's. Renzol followed Shelly inside, dusting off the snow that had piled on her shoulders.

The bar was delightfully cozy after the chill outside. Authentic oil lanterns cast warm light over tall wooden tables. The walls were paneled with stained oak, and old pictures framed the ceiling line. The space made an L-shape around the bar where a man with a big beard and a bald head served drinks. It was quite full for a Thursday night, but a few tables were still vacant.

"Adam!" Shelly shouted as she stepped inside.

The bartender looked up from the pint he was filling. "Shelly! Done already? How was it?"

"Everything I'd hoped for and then some! Two hot chocs, and don't spare the mint!"

Renzol glanced around the bar curiously. She hadn't been to one in years.

"Can you pick a table? I'll be right over."

Renzol nodded and Shelly turned back to the bar, her voice loud over the jazz tunes and patrons as she humored the bartender. Renzol set her sights on an empty table in the corner where a black-and-white picture of some celebrity of the past hung on the wall. She sat down under his gaze and closed her eyes. The emotional turbulence had receded, leaving her feeling blissfully liberated and tired. The smell of burning oil and melting snow permeated the air.

I can definitely see why she'd walk all the way to get here, Renzol thought. She smelled the mint before she heard Shelly.

"Two hot chocolates, as promised."

Renzol opened her eyes to a steaming mug of respectable size landing on the table before her. Marshmallows and chocolate floated in creamy brown liquid, and the overpowering smell of mint liqueur assaulted her senses.

"It's hot but it's super good!"

Renzol simply nodded and picked up the mug. It was warm in her hands but not painfully so: her augments were incapable of feeling pain. She smelled the aroma of chocolate mixing in with mint, and something else underneath: cardamom and ginger. She blew a few times to cool the liquid before taking a careful sip. Shelly had been right. It was, in fact, super good.

"You're right. It's good," Renzol said and laid down the mug. She looked up to find Shelly staring at her hands, still wrapped around the steaming cup. It was different from all other stares Renzol had gotten after the war; it wasn't malicious, fearful or even just plain curious. Those green eyes were reverent. Shelly seemed lost in some world of hers, only the slight movement of her pupils showing she was still there. Renzol pulled her hands under the table.

Shelly came to with a start. "Sorry," she said. Despite the bashful smile, she was undeterred and picked up the conversation again. "You know her, right?"

"Who?"

"Daishi. You were in XCOM."

Shelly's eyes drilled right through Renzol. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and for a brief moment thought about leaving. She opened her mouth but instead of a goodbye, an answer left her lips.

"Yes."

Shelly leaned over the table with glee, almost knocking her mug over. "That's so cool! What's she like? I mean really like?"

Renzol recoiled from the sudden burst of enthusiasm. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know. How they say it's all PR, the way she acts. And the augments, that it's marketing."

"What?" A sudden anger flared inside Renzol. "Daishi would never do that."

"That's what I say!"

"She's the most genuine person I know. She wouldn't sell out."

Renzol picked up her mug and drained deep. She had no idea people had been saying that about Daishi.

"Wow, you're mad. You must be really good friends."

The remark made Renzol stop. She was mad. And annoyed. And defending Daishi. She didn't quite know how to feel about it, so she decided to drain the rest of the hot chocolate.

Shelly yelped in surprise. "Hey, you're supposed to cherish the choco! Damn, you should've just told me you wanna drink. I'll get the shots." The girl slid off her stool. "Soldiers… shoulda known."

Shelly soon returned with two beers and shots. Upon seeing Renzol's face, she cried out, "Don't tell me you drink cider!"

"Beer is fine," Renzol assured and took the pint. It was the truth, but she did prefer cider when she drank, seldom as it was.

"Cider… the hell kinda soldier…" Shelly muttered as she climbed back onto her stool. Renzol followed her with growing curiosity.

They continued to drink and chat inside the cozy little bar. Shelly was a painter, having moved to Chicago from Columbus half a year ago. She did most of the talking, but Renzol found herself answering earnestly and even elaborating a bit. The alcohol soon made her head swim; while the augmentation had gained her height and a good deal of weight in metal, the parts of her body that were susceptible to intoxication were a good deal less.

"What was it like?"

Renzol pushed her empty pint away. "What was what like?"

"Fighting. You piloted one of those Murder Machines, right?"

Renzol's eyes lost focus as she looked inside. Shelly waited patiently for an answer.

"It was incredible. I've never felt anything like it."

The ambient chatter and upbeat jazz felt like silence following Renzol's words. Shelly remained quiet. It wasn't until Renzol shifted that she spoke up.

"I've never been in a fight. Maybe I should try!" She perked up, drawing her shoulders back and raising her fists. "You'll back me up!"

Renzol laughed. She wasn't one hundred percent on whether Shelly was kidding or not.

Shelly picked up her purse. "Let's bail. Afterparty at my place, it's right nearby."

"Why not?" Renzol agreed without a moment's hesitation. The alcohol impacted her judgment, and she didn't see any reason to decline. For the first time in a year, she was having fun.

Nearby was more accurate this time; the tall apartment building was located eight blocks from Alleyway's. Renzol lost track of time and distance as they made their way through the now snow-covered city. Past and future had disappeared, and only the present remained.

Shelly led her up a long elevator ride and into her apartment. She didn't turn on the lights; she didn't need to. A short hallway opened onto a large unified space: the kitchen was located in one corner and the bed was a convertible bolted onto and lifted against the wall. The room was illuminated by the lights of the city, shining in through a window that spanned the entirety of the back wall.

"Amazing view, huh?" Shelly said while pulling off her jacket and tossing it over a chair. "Make yourself at home, I'll fix us a lil' something." With that she went over to the bed, rummaging through the small drawer next to it.

Renzol hung her jacket and stepped inside the shadow-veiled apartment. Multiple paintings, both finished and unfinished, hung on and leaned against the walls. Actual furniture was sparse; there was an armchair facing the window, a few scattered chairs and a counter separating the kitchen from the living room. The middle of the room was dominated by an easel. Renzol stepped up to get a better look at the current work in progress.

It was a painting of a warrior. And not just any warrior; Renzol recognized her instantly. The armor was lighter and more beautiful than practical, but there was no mistaking the MEC suit. Radiant blades extended from the arms as the figure charged into battle. Golden hair flowed from her brow, and two angelic wings spread out across the canvas. The lower half was unfinished but the face was already done. Daishi was smiling, but her jaw and eyes gave her a certain quality of strength and determination. Renzol thought it was a very beautiful painting.

"Okay, come here!"

Shelly was standing by the window, beckoning for Renzol to sit in the armchair. From behind her, she brought out a short roll of paper twisted closed at one end and ending in green leaf at the other.

"Ta-dah!" she announced with a grin.

"I've never done pot," Renzol said while sitting down. There was no objection in her voice, it was merely a statement.

"You'll be fine!" Shelly brought the joint to her lips and lit up. The flame burned bright for a brief moment before disappearing, leaving behind the cherry. Shelly inhaled deep and held before letting out a batch of thick, swirling smoke. She handed over to Renzol. "Just breathe deep and hold for a couple seconds."

Renzol took the joint. The paper was thin and it crinkled between her fingers. The alcohol didn't affect her augments, but her grip still felt a little shaky. A whisper from the past, when blood still coursed through her fingers. She closed her eyes and inhaled.

The smoke burned her lungs, and the weed tasted like ass. Despite that, she held for five seconds before letting it all out. She coughed a couple of times at the end, and Shelly gave her a quick round of laughing applause.

"Like a pro!" she said and took the joint back.

Renzol leaned back in her chair. The City of Chicago spread out before them: it may not have been Hong Kong or New York, but the view from Shelly's apartment was breathtaking regardless. Muddy yellow lights and colorful billboards, all draped in a veil of falling snow. Renzol took in the sight as the drug slowly worked her systems, relaxing tense muscles.

"What a view, huh? The moment I saw it, I just had to get this apartment. Even though it was expensive as fuck. Still is!" Shelly laughed and took another hit. She blew the smoke out through her nose and smiled, all the while gazing out the window. "I lived on water and lentils and painting for a month. I would wake up before sunrise and work until sundown, watching the sun work its way down over the city. Sometimes I would forget to eat, I was so absorbed in it."

Shelly stared out into the night, the joint smoking in her hand. "By the end of the month I had completed over twenty paintings. Twenty! I sold enough to pay the rent and eat like a goddess for the next two." She took a small hit and shook the ashes into a beer can. "I know I couldn't do it again if I tried. There was something magical about it, you know? This view, lack of food, smell of cheap-ass paint thinner… I'll never get that back. But I suppose that's okay. What do you think?" Shelly turned around.

Renzol was fast asleep in the armchair. Her legs twitched, and her metal heels knocked on the floor. A soft smile spread on Shelly's lips as she went over to get a blanket.