by Loki Renard
My brother starts giving me shit the moment I see him. It’s been busy the past few weeks. Lots of work. Lots of casualties. I’ve spent days and nights elbow deep in blood and guts, but that’s the life of a surgeon and it’s what I trained for. I’ve also trained for taking Ken’s bullshit over the years. I don’t know which I’m better at, taking shit from my baby brother, or saving lives. It’s a pretty close tie.
“I’m on standby, in case your girl hurts anyone.” I say, shaking my medical kit at him.
“Hope you brought enough for all of us,” Ken smirks. “She’s in a rough mood today, I can tell you that much.”
We’re standing on a gangway which leads around the internal training area. The recruits and agents call it ‘the Pit’. It’s aptly named. There’s guttering around the base of the sunken arena where the blood can be washed out after the more feral training sessions are completed.
To outside observers, this facility is a concrete factory, albeit one with very high security. The tall wire fences hide a secret world that the people who pass by on the road below could never guess at. A home for mercenaries, military dropouts, criminals, this is a den of what should be absolute chaos just barely kept in check. This is where the people who do the things that have to be done reside. This is where the best of the best - and the worst of the worst find their home.
Mary’s down in the Pit, apparently. Ken’s keeping a watchful eye. She’s tough enough to take care of herself, but with Ken standing over the whole affair I don’t think she’s going to come to any harm. Some of the less scrupulous agents with personal issues like to train with women and beat the shit out of them. I’ve treated more than one female agent baited into a training session that took more out of her than she bargained for. The people in this facility are, by and large, not good people. Ken’s an exception. I’d like to think I am too. Mary’s a borderline case, but she’s well taken care of by my brother.
“AIEEE!”
A high pitched scream comes from the ring.
“TIME!”
The ring master calls a halt, and an unfortunate young man is helped out by two of the guards and sent up the stairs to me. There’s a red smear on his pants, from the chalk dust where Mary must have tagged him with the one of the chalk markers they’re both wearing. I guess this fight wasn’t full contact. Maybe this place is becoming more civilized.
“Bring him over here,” I say. There’s a treatment table right next to the ring. I’ve been called out here for all sorts of injuries over the last few months. This guy barely has a boo boo. There’s a smear of chalk on his leg, and another on his temple. It’s not clear which made him squeal.
“Did she get you in the head?”
“Nossir, Doctor Ares,” he mumbles, his eyes on the floor. He seems more angry at himself for being tagged than anything serious. “She rubbed it in my face.”
Ken snorts. I shake my head. Typical Mary. It's never enough for her to win. She has to make a point of it.
“You’re alright. Sit the next couple rounds out.”
Another young agent drops into the ring with Mary. These trials are something of a ritual around here to keep the agents sharp. She faces three rounds of various levels of opponents. Rookies first, testing their mettle, then experienced agents, and then we’ll have one or two of the top tier operatives do their best to thrash her into submission. She’s doing well so far, but it’s almost inevitable that she’s going to lose this. Nobody can fight their way through a dozen people and keep winning. That’s part of the lesson: to teach an agent that no matter how good they are, there’s always someone more dangerous coming along.
“FUCK! GET HER! GRAB HER!”
A cacophony of shouting makes both Ken and me whip around.
This place is brutal and harsh, but there’s not often outright chaos like this. Every recruit and agent is locked down by a dozen other higher ranked officers, each of whom are tasked with the job of keeping order. I’ve seen plenty go down in the Pit, but I’ve never seen a sight like the one unfolding before my eyes right now.
There’s a containment area to the east, the door of which has just slammed open. A small blonde female comes blazing across the floor, followed in hot pursuit by three guys twice her size. A fourth one is behind them, holding a bleeding wrist.
The girl comes dashing up the stairs, planning on using the walkway we’re standing on to escape. There’s a door at the far end which leads out onto an open area. Not exactly an escape route, but I can see her thinking. Her eyes are locked on it as she blazes past me and runs full tilt into Ken who grabs her with both hands and does his best to wrestle her into submission.
I experience a flash of recognition, but my medical training makes me prioritize the bleeding man. I know him well. Trent. He’s a team leader. High ranking agent. Hard as nails, but right now he looks pale and pissed. On quick examination, it’s obvious the gash just barely missed the artery. He’s going to need stitches. In the meantime, I pack and bandage the wound to stop the bleeding, wrapping bandaging tight around his muscled forearm. Just as well I had this med kit with me. The scuffles in the Pit are turning out to be less dangerous than the main floor.
“She has a knife,” he growls. “She’s not supposed to have access to weapons, but she has a fucking knife.”
“Go easy!” Ken booms. Now he’s caught her, the first two agents have taken her from him and pinned her down on the ground. It’s an almost comical sight, the discrepancy in size. She has no chance against them, and they’re being rough as hell with her, pushing her hard against the floor. Ken’s not the kind of guy to stand there and watch a girl get her ass kicked, even if she does deserve it.
Suddenly there’s another shout. An arc of blood shoots across the floor. A second man has been wounded. The girl is still on the ground, her hands pinned behind her back and she’s still managing to do damage. As her second victim staggers back cursing, I move to him to staunch the bleeding which is coming from his cheek. There’s a nasty gash which could also be a whole lot worse. It’s stopped just shy of going all the way through.
Ken gets around the back of her and slips some cuffs onto her wrists.
“She’s bleeding, Tom,” Ken calls me over.
I get over to the girl and see that there’s blood coming from the corner of her mouth. I’m not entirely sure it’s hers. It’s smeared across her chin and cheek. She looks like an angry little animal, pale and snarling beneath my brother’s big frame.
This is the first proper look I have gotten of her and that spark of recognition is quickly realized. This is the girl who was in my exam room a few weeks ago. Electra. I’ve thought about her periodically since then, but have heard nothing further. The Head didn’t get back in touch with me, predictably.
“Electra?” I use her name, hoping to make a connection with her. “Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head. Her lips are pressed together very tightly. Her eyes are lit with vicious mischief. There is a light there which suggests she is enjoying this, even the rougher handling.
There is no doubt she is pretty. A riot of platinum curls goes in all directions, and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks gives her an aura of innocence which I know is nothing more than a facade. Most people here are more than what they seem.
“What are you doing, running around cutting people?”
She gives a shrug. The corners of her lips tighten a little, but her mouth doesn’t move. I don’t think she’s staying quiet on purpose, and I don’t think this is another case of selective mutism. I think she has something in her mouth, held between her teeth.
“Spit it out.” I put a bass-note of authority into my voice.
Her eyes widen in a fake display of innocence. Ken is keeping her from physically hurting anyone else, but if she has something sharp in her mouth, the next person to get hurt could be her.
“I know you’ve got something,” I say, my voice dropping to a lower note. “Drop it. Now.”<
br />
She pouts and lets her toy drop like a scolded puppy. There’s a light tinkling sound as it lands on the ground.. It’s a razor blade. There’s medical tape wrapped on one side, but the other is sharp and laced with blood. This is the most dangerous thing I have seen in a long time. She could have cut her tongue off. She could have lacerated her cheeks, or her gums. Only a maniac or someone entirely desperate would resort to a measure like this.
Electra
“Jesus.”
The doctor swears under his breath as I relinquish my weapon. Funny that he should be one of the ones to catch me. What are the odds? I smirk at his outrage. I have cut myself a little, but that will heal. I’m used to the taste of blood. I’m used to all of this, the yelling, the shouting, the bleeding, and the beating which will probably come once they get me back under control.
“Look at this, Ken,” the doctor says. What was his name again? Something to do with war. I’m surprised he remembered my name when I don’t remember his.
“She had a razor in her face.”
I look over at the man he’s talking to. The one I ran into, who moved into my path when I was looking back over my shoulder. I should never have looked back. That’s always a mistake. When you’re running, you gotta keep running.
They look a lot alike. Brothers, maybe. The one holding me isn’t too bad. Usually they do the cuffs up tighter than he has, wrench my arms back more aggressively, put more of their weight between my shoulders. He’s not doing that. The one in front of me, the doctor, would have to be the older brother.
“Young lady, you could have cut the inside of your mouth to shreds with this,” he growls.
Like he cares. Wait. Does he care?
“There’s tape on one side to stop that happening.”
“And on the other?”
“Practice.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t put razor blades in your mouth,” he says firmly. “It’s not safe.”
The lecture is laughable. What do I care about safety? Who in this place could begin to give even the slightest shit about safety? Is he on some kind of work placement? Does he not know what goes on behind the doors I just came out of? Nope. Looking around, I see all the signs that what’s out here is just as bad. There’s a death arena sunk into the floor, and there’s two people fighting in it, a girl and a guy, hitting one another unabated as this goes down.
“You must be new here,” I snort at him. “We all chew glass and shit detonators here.”
He smiles. He has a nice smile. His face is just as handsome as I remember it, made hard and broad and strong. This place is full of thick browed, hard-chinned meat heads. Superficially I guess he could be one of them, but there’s something about him that suggests a kinder side. Must be those green eyes. Usually people look at me with their eyes all narrow and stress lines zooming out all around their faces. This guy isn’t worried by me.
He probably should be.
Tom
Before I can reply to her flippant remark, fresh hell breaks loose. Someone hits an alarm several minutes too late and makes red lights blind everybody, along with a wailing siren adding more general chaos. Six guys with guns burst in far too late to be useful in stopping Electra, but in plenty of time to add drama to the situation.
“We got her!” Ken shouts, lifting his hands from her body to wave the others down as they surround the three of us. I don’t like having guns pointed at me. I’m sure Ken doesn’t like it either.
“We have her,” the leader of the unit reports into his radio. “She’s down.”
“Who is she?” I ask the question as they come over, guns at the ready as if this girl is explosive. I want information I didn’t get last time. I almost ask what is she, for some reason that seems like a more sensible question.
“Give her over,” Tyko growls at me. Of course. Fucking Tyko. He’s limping and bleeding, as if she’d already done damage to him. Not enough to kill him obviously, which is interesting because I’m fairly certain she could kill anybody she wanted to.
“Hold on a minute,” I reply. I don’t want her going back into his custody. She's clearly not safe with him, and I might not know her more than in passing - and she might not even seem to recognize me, but I care.
I can’t understand why Tyko would have been given the job of handling her. He’s one of the more aggressive tactical leaders. A man’s man, they’d describe him. A sexist fuck, Mary would call him.
“What’s going on?” Ken asks. I’d like to know the answer to that too.
“She broke out of her cell, wounded several men on the way out, including me,” Tyko says. “Give her to me. Now.”
“Any serious injuries? I haven’t been paged to the infirmary,” I frown, checking my pager. If she wounded people on the way out, I should have been notified. Something tells me Tyko is trying to save face for letting her get away in the first place.
“None yet,” he grunt. “But she’s dangerous.”
“She’s too small to be dangerous,” Ken rumbles. She barely comes up to his chest. She looks smaller and more vulnerable than ever, and that has both of us feeling protective. We all know that things happen here that wouldn’t happen anywhere else. This is a facility where the rules of normal society are suspended. But that doesn’t mean we don’t care about what goes on here. And it doesn’t mean we stand by and just let them happen.
“Hand her over,” Tyko repeats, snapping his fingers.
I lift a brow. Neither Ken nor I are the finger snapping at kind.
Before Ken can say anything, the girl takes matters into her own hands, or rather, feet. He’s holding her by the arms in an effort to keep her contained, but she uses that grip to lever herself up and kick out at Tyko. Both her feet contact the guy’s solar plexus, knocking him back and taking the air out of him with a grunt. It’s impressive, how much force she can generate from that small body. She knows how to use her strength, or maybe she’s a lot stronger than she looks.
“You little bitch,” Tyko gasps, clutching at his stomach.
“Settle down,” Ken says. “You stood in striking range, that was your fault.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t get your balls,” Electra hisses, kicking back and almost catching Ken’s knee. Ken’s better prepared for it than Tyko was, and manages to swing her to the side, his body slipping away as her heel comes back toward his joint.
“Cut that out,” he rumbles. He’s not angry though, not like Tyko was. He knows how to handle a difficult girl. As do I.
I move in to help him, taking one of her arms so we now have her between us, her hands cuffed behind her back, keeping her slightly less dangerous than she might otherwise be.
“Settle down,” I murmur to her, keeping my voice low and calm.
I have my hand on her arm. I can feel some of the tension in her body slipping away. She’s relaxing, a bit. I don’t know why she’s in here, and I don’t know why she’s being treated this way. It’s not that typical to have hostile agents. Some people aren’t pleased about being here, some of them act out from time to time, but this is extreme. She doesn’t seem like a recruit. She seems like a prisoner.
“Little bitch,” Tyko swears again, gruffer this time. She embarrassed him and he doesn’t like it. I can see his fists clenching, and I’m pretty sure if we weren’t here, she’d be getting hit like a man.
“You’re a fucking asshole,” she shoots right back. “And you’re stupid as fuck.”
All her muscles tighten up again as she prepares to fight. She’s small, but she’s pretty powerful for her female frame - still no match for Tyko though.
“Calm down,” I rumble. I’m looking at her, but I’m addressing both of them. There’s way too much aggression and emotion going on here.
“Hand her over now. I’m going to teach her a goddamn lesson,” Tyko growls.
“You can settle down, too,” Ken says. “This isn’t how you handle material. You’re making her a hundred times worse.”
“How t
he hell would you know?”
“I’m holding her,” Ken argues.
“What’s going on?”
Mary, Ken’s fiancée, has emerged from the ring. She’s drenched in sweat, has a big blue mark across her torso, and looks pissed. I’m guessing she just lost her round. This is a complication we do not need.
“Hang back,” Ken tells her. “I’ll get to you in a second.”
Just what every woman wants to hear from the love of their lives. I see storm clouds rolling in on every front. The tension is about to break, and I have the feeling it could turn into a brawl.
“That’s enough.”
Quiet, but determined tones interrupt the stand off. They are the mature, icy tones of a woman who knows how to wield power like a knife. I feel a shudder going through me, an instinctual reaction to the woman who runs this place. We’re not on a first name basis. I don’t think anybody knows her name. She might not know it anymore. She’s been the Head as long as anybody around here seems to remember.
The Head is a refined woman wearing business attire, a steel gray pantsuit which matches her eyes and her demeanor. She does not look pleased. Her presence changes the dynamic of the gathering instantly. The male posturing comes screeching to a halt, and Tyko especially deflates, his shoulders drooping, head hanging. He’s been caught in an act of brutal incompetence and he knows it.
“This is a professional facility,” she says, her voice crisp and cool. “You will conduct yourselves professionally within it.”
Electra is not cowed. She alone seems to be immune to the Head’s energy, which tells me she has neither fear or respect for the woman. “Let me fucking go!”
The Head gives the girl the benefit of her gaze. “Miss Electra, we will discuss your behavior shortly.”
Electra
I hate this bitch. She’s worst than Tyko - he beats me, but she’s the one who holds me here. She’s the one who denies me a life. If it wasn’t for her I’d be free. Or maybe dead. Either one of those options would be preferable to this torturous existence.
“You’re going to have to kill me,” I growl. “You’re never going to hold me here. I’m going to get out. One way or another. I don’t care if it’s in a box.”