Chapter 1: She Needs Space
Aazuria unfastened the clasp of her heavy
brocade robe and pushed the weight off her shoulders. Stiff golden threads
grazed her skin as the garment fell from her body and draped itself over the
corner of her bed. The queen sighed and reached up to rub the tension out of
her upper back. Her thumb dug into the scar tissue of an old wound that had
healed long ago, leaving behind only a saddening and somewhat bittersweet
memory.
She was in the process of sitting down when
a knock sounded on the door. Aazuria quickly retrieved her robe and arranged it
around her shoulders again to maintain her modesty. Swiftly crossing the room,
she grasped the knob and turned. She was somewhat surprised to see her husband.
“Trevain?” she asked with a furrowed brow.
“Is everything alright?”
“No,” he said. The grey-haired man ushered
himself into her room and closed the door behind him. He was so large that his
presence seemed to cause the chamber to shrink. “We need to talk.”
“Please,” she said, shaking her head. “I
just put the ashes of my friend’s body into the sea. Can we not save it for
another night?”
“I’m afraid it can’t wait,” Trevain said in
a firm tone. “If I don’t accost you now, you’ll be halfway across the world
before the sun rises.”
“Yes, and for good reason.” Aazuria
frowned. “I promised you that I’d bring your brother home. I have assembled a
small squadron from my army to go after him tomorrow.”
“Forget my brother!” Trevain said sharply.
“He’s probably off on a gambling bender. If only you knew what he put me
through when he was younger—stealing my credit card for crazy Vegas trips. Now
that we have real money, he’s probably fooling around in Monaco or
Germany—Atlantis instead of Atlantic City, but it’s the same deal.”
“No. Callder changed when he had his
daughter,” Aazuria said defensively. “My father mentioned something about
instructing his ‘organization’ to deal with your brother. There is much more
going on here, and even if you don’t care about his whereabouts—I promised
Brynne.”
Trevain let his breath out in a whoosh of
anger. “God, Zuri! How can you say I don’t care? I just know the hooligan
better than you. We have many far important concerns to focus on at the moment;
governments are angry with us! The United Nations is challenging us with the Convention
on the Law of the Sea. We haven’t gotten the CIA off our back. We’re being hounded for oil drilling rights, and harassed
by environmental activists…”
“I know.”
“And what about Leviathan?” Trevain
demanded.
“I know!” Aazuria said, fixing him with a
serious glare. “Believe me, I know.” Her brow became knitted in frustration. “I
do think that trying to rescue Callder could help us learn about Leviathan. His
last known coordinates were in dangerous Mediterranean territory. But even if
there is no connection, just because I’m at the helm of the Oceanic Empire does
not mean I will forsake my family.”
“Really?” Trevain shot back. “Because it
doesn’t seem to me that you’re spending enough time or resources on finding our
daughter!”
Aazuria pulled her embroidered robe closer
around her shoulders, letting her eyes drift to the ground. “You and I both know that Varia ran away. She
doesn’t want to be found. Dr. Rosenberg said that she’s been through a lot of
trauma, and it might be best to give her space…”
“Who cares what he says? We’re her parents
and she’s a minor! She’s our little girl, in a world that is more dangerous
than ever. She should be safe at home
with a skilled security detail. She shouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere without
our permission and protection!”
“You’re very upset,” Aazuria observed with
dismay. “Do not worry so much. Glais will take care of her.”
“I can’t believe you trust that boy,”
Trevain said in exasperation. “Why would you send him after Varia? How can you
know that he really has her best interests at heart? Who knows what they’re
getting up to, wherever they are? Aazuria! I will not let that ungrateful
orphan hurt my daughter! What if he gets her pregnant? She’s fourteen, Zuri. Fourteen. I know the kids think they’re
adults, but they’re not.”
“Please,” Aazuria said, lifting a hand to
her temple. “Maintain your composure. Trevain, it might be prudent for you to
head to bed. We’ve had a miserable day. Sionna’s funeral was not easy on any of
us. I think you should leave me be. We are both too exhausted to make progress
on any matter.”
“You can’t mean that,” he said angrily.
“This is Varia we’re talking about! There is no such thing as being too tired
to be good parents.”
“No, but one can be too tired to realize
they are being a bad parent,” Aazuria said with warning. Seeing the genuine
concern and fatherly desperation on Trevain’s face, she felt her heart soften a
little. “Look, Trevain. You had the misfortune of meeting my father. He
controlled every aspect of my life with an iron fist. Sometimes, the best thing
one can do for a child is to give her the freedom to find herself.”
He stared at her for a moment, before
making the slightest of nods.
Aazuria reached out to place a hand on his
arm comfortingly. “We have both taught her well. She knows right from wrong,
and she knows a great deal more than most children her age. She knows how to
pursue knowledge, and she has a passion for art. She’s a good girl. We should
respect her enough to let her grieve in her own way.”
Trevain nodded again, with a bit more
certainty. “I suppose you’re right.” He paused, cocking his head to the side
sheepishly. “You’re always right, you know.”
Aazuria smiled weakly. “I try my best to
be.”
“Just…” Trevain hesitated and glanced to
the window. “Do you think she’s happy?”
“I truly believe that she is,” Aazuria
responded without hesitation. “Happier than either of us.”
An awkward silence hung in the air for
almost a minute. Trevain cleared his throat. “Speaking of which… that’s another
subject I wanted to address. I would really like to talk about us.”
“Oh, no,” she groaned, turning and moving
away. “Please. Not tonight.”
“Aazuria, you can’t keep ignoring our
problems. You can’t brush our relationship under the rug like there was never
anything between us…”
“I am not in the mood to have this
discussion right now,” she told him.
Trevain reached into his jacket and removed
a bundle of documents. “Well, I guess we don’t have to talk—but I do have to
give you these papers. I’ve signed them already—and maybe you can consider
whether or not you want to sign.”
Aazuria’s brow wrinkled. She reached out
and took the documents from his hand, scanning them with surprise. “Are
these…?”
“Divorce papers,” Trevain confirmed.
She stared down at the words on the paper
before glancing up at his mint-green eyes. “Oh.”
“You need…” He hesitated and fumbled for
the words. “You need to decide. Either make a sincere effort to fix our
marriage—or set me free.”
“Set you free?” she repeated quietly.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s not right for one man
to be married to two women. I’ve hovered in limbo for too long, trying to do
the right thing and screwing up a little more every day. I finally realized
that it’s not my decision to make. It’s yours.”
“You—you want me to sign these papers?” she
asked.
“I’m tired of chasing after you, Zuri. I
fight so hard… but it’s obvious that you don’t love me anymore. I need closure.
I need you to stop hoping that you’ll come around. My mind twists every small
sign of affection you give me into evidence that we could still make it
through. If it’s over for you—don’t leave me hanging. Sign these papers, and
make it officially over.”
Aazuria felt like there was a great boulder
sitting on her chest. She took a breath, but was somehow unable to fully expand
her lungs. “I—I think…”
Trevain watched her reaction closely, with
a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.
She could feel that he sought either her
vehement denial or her despondent agreement to sign. Either answer would give
him a direction and sense of purpose. He needed her to point him down the
correct path, in order to have the certainty to continue onward. Just like everyone else, Aazuria thought
to herself. They cannot be strong on
their own, so they ask me to create the rules of what should and should not be.
Why can people not make their own choices and determine their own paths?
“Aazuria?” he probed.
“Sometimes I feel that I have lived too
long,” she said quietly. “Life just goes on and on for hundreds of years—and it
never gets any easier.”
“What do you mean?” he asked with concern.
“Trevain, will you please leave so that I
can get some rest?”
“Zuri…”
“Please.” She moved to open her door, and
gestured into the hallway. “Leave. Now.”
Trevain seemed ready to protest when another
large figure walked through the door and entered the room.
Vachlan made eye contact with Trevain
before turning to stare at Aazuria. “We need to get everyone out of here. Now.”
“Out of the palace?” Trevain asked with
dread apparent on his face.
“No,” Vachlan said. “Out of the city.”
Aazuria held her breath before speaking.
“Are we under attack?” she asked.
Vachlan shook his head to indicate the
negative. “No. But we will be.”
“How much time do we have?” Trevain asked.
“I don’t know,” Vachlan responded. “It
could be days. It could be months. But I don’t want to have my children in
harm’s way when they come.”
Aazuria squinted. “What has led you to
believe that we will be attacked?”
“I have a bad feeling,” the dark-haired man
responded. “Something’s about to go wrong.”
Trevain and Aazuria exchanged confused
looks.
“A bad feeling,” Aazuria repeated. She
shook her head in disbelief. “A bad feeling? Vachlan, I understand that you’re
upset. We all are. Just go to bed, my friend. We’ll deal with matters of state
in the morning.”
“Queen Aazuria! I’m your advisor, am I not?
Well I’m advising you to evacuate every soul in Romanova. You’d be wise to do
as I recommend.”
“My friend,” Aazuria said gently. “As much
as I trust your counsel—which is usually implicitly—we simply cannot send
thousands of people out of their homes in the middle of the night because you
have a bad feeling. It’s not good for morale, to send everyone into a panic
like that.”
“Panic is good!” Vachlan roared. “Panic
will keep them alive when fire rains down from the sky. You need to send all
your people back deep underwater, where they stand even the slightest fighting
chance!”
Trevain cleared his throat and looked at
Aazuria. “Should I say it, or do you want to?”
“I will,” Aazuria responded quietly.
“Vachlan, you haven’t been yourself lately. You’re not thinking clearly, and
you should probably take some time off. Your judgment has obviously been
impaired by Visola’s disappearance.”
Something flashed in the man’s dark eyes.
“This has nothing to do with her!” he almost shouted. “We are at war and none
of you morons even realize it! You’re going to get us all killed! For God’s
sake, they shot Sionna! Sionna! Do
you know what that means? It’s the beginning of the end!”
Aazuria felt a chilling sense of alarm
creeping through her spine. She could not seem to ever recall seeing Vachlan so
emotional. For the first time in their acquaintance, there was something
approaching fear in the man’s eyes. It was unnerving. Aazuria swallowed and
glanced at Trevain. “Your grandfather is not well. Please take him to bed.”
“Not well?” Vachlan said in disbelief.
“Being cautious and trying to save your people makes me insane now, Aazuria?
Fine! You want to avoid making them panic? I’ll bomb the city myself and say that
our enemies did it! I’ll show them what terror really is! I’ll put the fear of
god in those puny little people!”
“Please don’t do that,” Aazuria said
quietly. “I highly doubt that will help the situation. I will consider your
advice and begin planning a calm and efficient method of evacuation for the
future, in the event it will be needed.”
“It will be needed,” Vachlan spat. “Mark my
words. It will be needed, and you won’t be ready!”
“Come now, Gramps,” Trevain said in a
kindly way. “You could probably use some shut-eye. When was the last time you
slept?”
“I… I don’t know. I guess it’s been a few
days. But I don’t need any sleep,” Vachlan swore. “I’m being perfectly
rational.”
“Take him to the infirmary,” Aazuria told
Trevain. “Maybe Sionna can give him some…” She trailed off in mid-speech.
Both men stared at her in stunned silence.
Unable to bear the weight of their
pain-filled gazes, Aazuria shut her own eyes. “Go,” she ordered them sharply,
her voice breaking. “Both of you, leave my room and shut the door.” When they
complied, she moved to the edge of her bed and allowed her body to sink down
into the mattress. She let her head fall forward into her hands.
“Viso,” she whispered into the empty space.
“Where are you? Please come back. We all need you so much.”
* * *
“Where’s Mommy?”
Vachlan was woken from his fitful rest by
two tiny bodies jumping on him. He extended his arms protectively to catch the
dozens of pounds of energetic toddlers that had catapulted onto his chest.
Looking up into a pair of inquisitive little eyes, he could not, for the life
of him, think of how to respond. “I… I don’t know, munchkin.”
The little girl wrinkled her nose. “Is
Mommy in outer space?”
Vachlan released a sigh. “Maybe. That
woman… It’s just as likely that she’s in orbit as anywhere else.”
“Is she with Auntie Sio in outer space?”
Ivory demanded.
The dark-haired man gave his daughter a
puzzled look. “Who told you that Aunt Sio was in outer space?”
“Kaito told me. Kaito knows lots of things,”
Ivory said with a solemn nod.
Ronan frowned, tugging on his sister’s
pigtail in a cynical way. “Why would Auntie Sio be in outer space? She’s not an
astronaut! She’s a doctor.”
“Oh Sedna, you’re so stupid,” Ivory told
her brother with a groan. “There’s sick people in outer space too! They need
doctors there badly, because everybody gets sick from the radiators. Right,
Daddy?”
Vachlan nodded dumbly, unable to focus on
the conversation.
“Radiators?” Ronan said with a puzzled
look. “So Aunt Sio has gone to save everybody from the radiators?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Ivory reasoned. “Nobody
will tell me anything, so I have to figure it out myself. I think mommy went to
outer space too.”
Reaching over to the side of his bed,
Vachlan retrieved a bottle of painkillers. He popped three pills into his mouth
and swallowed them down to attempt to combat his headache. “Okay, tidbits,”
Vachlan said, with strained cheerfulness. “I think you should head back to your
bedroom and let Daddy rest. I have a very critical meeting early in the
morning, and some phone calls I can’t miss.”
“No,” Ivory said firmly. “We have important
news, and we need Mommy.”
“What’s wrong?” Vachlan asked, sitting up
and yanking his gun from beneath his pillow. “Are they here? Are they coming for
me?” On second thought, he reached to his side and slipped his hand under the
pillow that used to belong to his wife. Retrieving another gun, he handed it to
his five-year-old daughter. “Here, take this. Just stay calm, and we’ll get out
of here together.”
Ivory stared down at the gun in her hand.
“What’s this for, Daddy?”
“He thinks it’s time for fighting,” Ronan
whispered to his sister. “That’s why there are dark, puffy bubbles under his
eyes.”
Vachlan reached up to touch his eyes
self-consciously.
“Silly Daddy,” Ivory said, putting Visola’s
gun back under the pillow and patting her father’s cheek. “There’s no fighting
yet! I’ll be the first to let you know when the fighting begins.” She nodded
gravely. “The important news is other stuff. We have a surprise!”
“A surprise?” Vachlan asked in a tired
voice.
“Yeah! Ronan lost his tooth!” Ivory
shouted. She pointed to her brother’s face with excitement. “See?! It fell out
when he was eating a banana!”
Ronan gave his father a big smile to
demonstrate the large gap where one of his front teeth used to be. He then
removed a hand from behind his back, offering up the tooth to his father
proudly. “I want to show Mommy,” Ronan told him. “She said I could play with
the flamethrower when I lost my first tooth!”
“It’s not fair,” Ivory said, shaking
Vachlan’s shoulder. “I want to play with the flamethrower too. Why did he lose
his tooth before me, Daddy? Is he more growed-up?”
Vachlan stared at the small tooth in his
son’s outstretched hand. He reached out and took it between his thumb and
forefinger. He held the incisor up and stared at its silhouette in the dimly
lit room. He looked back to the gap-toothed grin of his little boy, and felt
overwhelmed by emotion. The desire to share the experience of the lost tooth with
Visola was so strong that it hurt. Feeling a prickle in the back of his eyes,
he closed them briefly and cleared his throat, where a lump was developing.
“I’m proud of you, champ.”
Ronan was surprised when his father
enveloped him in a giant hug, but he quickly returned the embrace, curling up
against his father’s side and nestling his head in the crook of the man’s
shoulder. “Daddy, do I get a prize if I put it under the pillow? Is that how I
get the flamethrower, from the tooth-fairy?”
“Yes,” Vachlan said, kissing his son’s
forehead and placing the tooth under the pillow, beside Visola’s gun. Then he
wrinkled his brow in thought. “Well, maybe not a flamethrower. Maybe a
crossbow, or some grenades.”
“Yay!” Ivory shouted, violently seizing her
spot on Vachlan’s other side to avoid being left out. She smiled and wrapped
her tiny arms around Vachlan’s chest with as much strength as she could muster,
giving him a vicious hug.
The older man could not help but smile at
her aggressiveness. Ivory’s energetic ways clearly betrayed her to be her
mother’s daughter. Receiving a Visola-style hug from this miniature version of
his wife should have eased his agitated heart, but it just made him miss her
even more. He slipped his gun back under the pillow so that he could ruffle
Ivory’s auburn hair. Feeling the soft red curls beneath his rough hand, he
frowned. The organs in his chest felt like they were spinning around within his
ribcage, and smashing into each other like bumper cars. He could not remember
ever having felt so unsettled.
“Why are you mad, Daddy?” Ivory whispered
in the dark. “Did we do something wrong?”
“No, sweetheart,” Vachlan said, sighing and
hugging her against him. He reached down to kiss her forehead as well. “I just
have a lot on my mind.”
“Can we sleep here tonight?” Ronan asked.
“Please!”
Vachlan found himself nodding before he
could vocalize his assent. “Sure, kiddo. There’s a lot more room here in this
big bed, lately.” He realized that, in this moment, he probably needed the
touch and cuddles from his children more than they needed his affection. The
two adorable innocents had bundled around him, bringing plenty of love and good
energy—it was easing his headache and anxiety much more than any medication had
managed to do in the past few days.
“When’s Mommy coming home?” Ivory asked
again, in a sleepy voice.
Vachlan studied the ceiling, seeking
answers. “I don’t know,” he said miserably.
“Is she on her way back from outer space?”
Ronan asked. He put his thumb in his mouth, poking around at the spot where the
tooth used to be.
Tightening his arm around his son, Vachlan
sighed. “I certainly hope so, Ronan.”
Chapter 2: She Deserves Retribution
A pair of black combat boots pounded the
pavement with surefire purpose. Dozens of armored boots followed soundlessly,
keeping in perfect stride behind their leader. Filling the steel-reinforced
footwear were solid calves that rippled in flawless synchronicity. Attached to
these calves were thick, burly thighs, which heaved and alternated in a dogged,
relentless rhythm. Erect torsos, with abdominals not too dissimilar from brick
walls, floated gracefully forward, presenting the illusion of being carried on
liquid limbs. Most importantly, severe
faces with utter devotion to their objective, and sinewy arms carrying the
necessary tools and weapons for success, drew nearer to their destination,
moving as a single, unstoppable unit.
These warriors were not driven by
motivations of a financial nature, or patriotic duty; they were not compelled
by any tangible force. It was the woman spearheading the operation that filled
them with fire and bile. They drew on her emotions, inspired by the way she
clenched her jaw and fist. They clung to her decisions, recognizing something
holy in her altered mental state. All her capacities were heightened in her
madness, and she was somehow more than just a woman. Her warriors had each
become an extension of her body. They felt what she felt. They moved according
to her will. Their purpose was the purest of sorts. Revenge. Revenge on a nation.
Revenge on a people. Revenge of any kind; damage of any conceivable measure
that could possibly amount to the loss that had been suffered. Punishment. It
was only fair. It was merely what the universe owed her. She was from a place
where the holy people taught balance in all things. They said that everything
the earth took from a person, the sea would someday return. But this time, the
land had taken too much. There was nothing else to do.
She would punish the world.
Marching
stealthily in the darkness, the woman turned back to her warriors. She waved
her hand to indicate where each person should move in order to properly
penetrate the power station. Their Japanese features displayed acknowledgement,
but their boots did not even squeak as the men swiftly dispersed. The woman
crouched down as she approached the gates, and waited for a full minute for all
of her men to take their positions. Once she felt adequately covered, she
pressed a button on a large panel on her forearm to indicate that she was about
to take action. Dozens of green lights appeared on the small LCD screen,
signaling that the coast was clear.
The dark-haired
woman reached into the holster at her thighs, removing a small weapon with one
hand, and an electronic master key. She used the key to open up the gates, and
placed her gun in the crack between the doors, using the barrel to push it
open. She carefully slipped her body inside, positioning herself behind her
weapon and making sure to check every angle from which she could be approached.
She frowned when she saw that there were several security guards in the
courtyard who had already been killed. They had not been killed by her men. Her
own weapons contained a fast-acting neurotoxin in tranquilizer darts, not
lethal bullets. Lately, she had been feeling rather insane with rage—but not this insane. Frowning, she quickened her
pace as she began to jog toward the central control room of the power station.
More and more bodies seemed to litter the area, and it was obvious that the
security guards of the power station had fallen hard and fast—before they had
even been able to draw their weapons.
It was evident to
her that this could only be the handiwork of one person. One very dangerous,
volatile person. Lifting her gun to eye level, the woman cautiously crept
forward, trying to ignore her heart beating in her ears. She saw a door that
was slightly ajar, and heard large smashing noises coming from within, followed
by electronic beeping. Moving forward rapidly, she tried to breathe as quietly
and calmly as possible. Shoving her weapon into the tiny space between the door
and the wall, she carefully advanced into the room.
Before she could
take a step, a large hand had clamped around the barrel of the gun and pulled
her forward. She found an elbow slamming into the back of her neck, and a knee
against her lower back. Her face smashed against the cold, sticky floor, and
she gasped as the air was forced out of her lungs. She felt the chilled circle
of a gun nozzle placed against her temple.
“Don’t shoot!”
she said desperately. “It’s me.” She felt the shooter hesitate, and she was
almost sure that her opponent’s finger had already begun to squeeze the trigger
before being halted by the sound of a familiar voice.
“Yamako.” The
voice that spoke this acknowledgement was as cold as steel and much more
bitter. “Why are you here?”
The Japanese
princess exhaled and shifted her body on the ground so that she could stare up
into the expressionless face of General Visola Ramaris. For a moment, her heart
caught in her throat—the empty jade eyes and grim red lips were identical to
those which had belonged to her dead lover. For a moment, she wanted to go to
her, and trick herself into believing that Sionna still lived. Instead, she
managed to croak out, “You’re doing it wrong.” Taking a ragged breath, she
cleared her throat. “I’m here to help shut down the electrical grids.”
Visola turned
away, and headed back to the control panel. She picked up a giant sledgehammer
and returned to smashing the machinery.
“That’s not
effective!” Princess Yamako shouted in exasperation. “For Sedna’s sake,
Visola.”
The furious redhead turned to look at her
sharply. “Get away from me. You shouldn’t be here.”
“This is precisely where I should be.”
Swinging her arms one final time, Viso
plunged the entire power station into darkness. The only light in the room was
the dim glow of the electronic arm band worn by the Japanese princess. Yamako
could see the green glint of Visola’s eyes flashing at her with fury.
“I know what I’m doing,” the general said.
“Don’t fucking get in my way.”
Yamako sighed. “Will you listen to me for a
moment? This is temporary. You destroyed the hardware, but it can be easily
repaired. Granted, it’s pretty important hardware, and the parts will take some
time to replace. But there are tons of backup generators. This won’t slow them
down for as long as you need.”
“How did you find me?” Visola snarled.
“I can find anyone,” Yamako said with a
shrug. “Listen, Viso. You need me. I can get you way more intelligence than you
could possibly find on your own.”
Visola was hoisting a weapon against her
shoulder as she peered through the window of the control room. “Why are there
guns pointed at me?”
“I brought a team with me,” Yamako
explained. “They’re covering us.”
Visola arched an eyebrow. “They’re
amateurs. I could spot them from a mile away.”
“They’re not just warriors. These men are field
engineers and programmers. I went to school with some of them in Japan, and
others are specially trained Ningyo warriors. We can help you, Viso.”
“I don’t need your help,” Visola spat.
“What do you take me for? I don’t need fucking
electrical-engineer-ninja-mermaids.”
“Yes, you do!” Yamako insisted. She used
her elbow to push herself off the ground and pointed at Visola accusingly. “With
your methods, you could put about eight million people out of power for a week.
Sure, it’s no small feat, and it will allow you barely enough time to carry out
your plans. But with my methods, you
could have eighty million people without
power. For several months.”
Visola hesitated.
Seeing her opportunity, Princess Yamako
rose to her full height—which wasn’t much—and stepped closer. She pulled a
small microchip out of her bra. “See this? Just one small bug, Viso—one tiny
little virus is enough to give you what you need. Something similar caused the
Northeast blackout of 2003. You want riots and massacres? You want mayhem and
anarchy? I’m your woman. Take away their refrigeration and they’ll lose their
civilization. We can sit back and watch as they turn on their neighbors and
kill each other for a bit of a food. How else does one bring down a giant?”
Visola narrowed her eyes.
“It’s easy,” Yamako whispered. “Just give
me the word, honey. You don’t even need to go
anywhere and get your hands dirty. The entire electrical grid is run on
software. It can all be accessed remotely. And hacked remotely. Just trust me,
sweetie: This tiny bit of metal in my hand is enough to start the end of the
world.”
The general’s pink tongue darted out and
slowly ran over her top lip. Her lips then pressed together to share the
moisture, as if hungrily preparing for a scrumptious meal. Even in the dark
silence of the control room, where the only sound and light came from the
fizzing and flickering of destroyed equipment hissing its final breaths, the
microchip in Yamako’s hand seemed to glow with the promise of far greater
destruction. Visola looked into the eyes of the Japanese princess, and saw the
reflection of the dancing sparks, along with a glimmer of sadism—the latter
might have been her own emotions mirrored back at her, but she could not be
sure. A few gunshots distracted Visola from her thoughts, signifying that it
was time to go. The redhead stepped forward and pushed past Yamako. “I work
better on my own,” she stated simply.
“Viso!” Yamako shouted, following after the
woman frantically. “You can’t do this without me! Most of the organizations you
intend to target specifically have backup generators anyway. Even after I mess
with the RTOs and ITOs, cutting the power for almost 100 million people, we
will have more work to do. We’ll need to carefully plan the attacks on the big
boys, once they are too focused on protecting their people to remember that
they’re sitting ducks. If we plan this correctly, we can…”
“There is no we!” Visola shouted, swiveling sharply. She slung her weapon over
her shoulder, sending Yamako a finite look. “Do you understand me? I’m doing
this alone. Get the hell out of my face, and keep out of my way.”
“I can give you Washington D.C.!” Yamako
shouted. “I can give you D.C..”
Visola turned back to look over her
shoulder in a skeptical but interested way. Her lips parted slightly, as though
she were considering the offer—she looked as though she might be deciding
between having waffles and pancakes for breakfast. “No,” she finally said. “I
will take it on my own. I can get around more quickly without you and your band
of nerdy-ninjas getting underfoot and slowing me down.”
“Damn you!” Princess Yamako said bitterly,
flicking a few tears from the corner of her eyes. “You and your fucking selfish
pride! You act like you’re the only one who lost her. You act like you’re the
only one she meant anything to. I loved
her. I deserve my own chance at retribution, Visola Ramaris. You won’t deny
me that!”
Visola swiveled suddenly and put her hand
to Yamako’s throat, slamming her into the wall. Sirens began blazing throughout
the hallway, sending red flashing lights over the faces of the two women. The
coloring enhanced the bloodshot veins in Visola’s eyes, accentuating the
madness that had taken over every corner of her being. “You’re a child playing at vengeance, Yamako.
This isn’t a game that you can win with your fancy gadgets and gizmos. This is
fucking war. Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”
Princess Yamako’s dark eyes began to water.
“I loved your sister,” she whispered tenderly. She lifted a hand to encircle
Visola’s wrist around her neck as she struggled to choke out her words. “I
understand why you’re like this. I loved Sionna too.”
Visola’s eyes widened in horror, as though
someone had just spoken the secret name of God. She stepped away as though she
had been struck. “Don’t say her name!”
Yamako looked down for a moment, unable to
bear the pain on Visola’s face. Partly because she felt the same way, and
partly because Visola’s face was too familiar, too indistinguishable from the
woman who had been so brutally killed. Ghosts of the past came rushing back to
the princess in Visola’s every scowl and glare—yet, this was the preferred
situation. Yamako felt like she might fall to her knees in grief and be unable
to stand ever again if Visola were to smile. Luckily, that did not seem to be a
very plausible event. “Please,” Yamako said quietly. “We’re stronger together.
This needs to be done correctly. Please, let us help. Vachlan and Dylan have
prepared plans, and Aazuria wants to…”
“They’re all useless to me,” Visola
whispered.
Yamako did not look up, for she could hear the chilling expression on the
redhead’s face.
As unlikely as it seemed to be, Visola
smiled. It was a disturbed and deranged smile; one which a woman might wear
while standing on train tracks with her legs spread wide apart, waiting with
anticipation for the impact. It was evident that she was either positive that
she could stop the train with the power and precision of her thoughts, or in
her heightened state of madness, she was completely invulnerable to being
slammed, crushed, or flattened. Indeed, Yamako believed that a barreling train
would not make a scratch on Visola. She feared for the locomotive that dared to
try.
As gunshots sounded throughout the power
station, Visola did not even flinch or seek their source. “They’re all soft,”
the redhead declared. “They have families. They have responsibilities. They
have lives. They can’t commit to this the same way that I can. Sionna was
everything to me.”
“Then we’re in the same boat,” Yamako said
harshly. “I can commit. You know I can. Please, Viso. If we work together, we
can sick the armies of the oceans on more than just the CIA. We can sink New
York down into the sea. Chicago and Detroit are on the water, and we can take
them down as well. Miami, Houston, Los Angeles. You name it, and we will crush
it.”
Visola stared at the Japanese woman for
several seconds without blinking. “I’m going to avenge my sister. I’m the only
one who can do what needs to be done. Go home, Yamako. Go home to your son.
Don’t worry. I’ll crush everything that needs to be crushed. By the time Kaito
is an adult, the United States will be a distant memory.” Visola rotated her
body and began to walk away again. “I will wipe that abomination off the map,
or die trying.”
“What a shame!” Yamako shouted after her
viciously. “Sio deserved more. She deserved the best retribution that we could
give her, and you’re half-assing this because you don’t want to depend on other
people? I thought you were better than this, Visola. I thought you were
stronger than this!”
Visola clenched and unclenched a fist
around her weapon. She then turned and lifted her gun to point it at Yamako’s
face. “And just how could I do this better?” she demanded.
“Maximize your resources,” Yamako said,
flinching slightly as she looked past the barrel of the gun. “If you don’t want
to talk to Zuri and Vachlan, if you don’t want to drag Adlivun and all of
Oceanus into this—then you need to go to him—you
need to seek out Leviathan. You need to go to the rebels, the gangs, and the
wayward warriors of the water. You need to go to him. You need backup. You need armies!”
Swallowing a lump of disgust, Visola growled
softly. She imagined that her sister had told Princess Yamako the story of her
fleeting romance with the former Prince of Atlantis. This memory added fuel to
her already raging fire of wrath.
“Please,” Yamako urged. “He’s the only one
who can help. Go to him. Secure his armies, and let me take care of the tech. I
have Japan on my side. I am more powerful than you give me credit for. If we
play our cards right, we can take America down in a concentrated three day span
of calculated attacks.”
“Leviathan,” Visola repeated thoughtfully.
Then she spat in disgust. “Leviathan! Honestly, I would rather die than ask
Taranis Evenor for help. After what that man did to me? Fuck him. And fuck you,
Princess Yamako, for underestimating me. Do you even know who I am? Do you know
what I’m capable of? If you did, you wouldn’t be here interfering with my shit.
Get the fuck out of my face, and take your newfangled technology. She was my sister. I am doing this the old
fashioned way...”
A security guard rounded the corner,
pointing his weapon at the two women. “Freeze! Don’t m—”
He had not finished speaking before Visola
had shifted her weapon and unloaded a round of ammunition into his chest. It
knocked the man off his feet instantly. The redhead moved to his side and crouched
down, turning to the Japanese princess with a grave look on her face. Pulling a
dagger out of her boot, Visola slammed the knife into the man’s throat. She
sliced directly across his neck, in a tantalizingly slow manner, as though she
intended to make a point. Wiping the knife on her thigh, Visola returned it to
its sheath. With fingers that were sticky, wet, and still dripping with blood,
she pointed at the dead man. “You see? I like working with my bare hands. I
don’t need technology. And I will wreck anyone who steps in my path. Including
you, Princess.”
With that, Visola was gone. Yamako was left standing in the hallway, grinding her teeth together in frustration. “Damn her,” Yamako swore. “She’s a lunatic. She is impossible. She is so…” The Japanese woman let her hands fall to her sides in defeat. “She is so fucking hot.”
