Episode Three
Mouse stomped her way down the
long hallway behind the training arena, intent on blowing off enough steam to
cook a dinner for two. The door to the women’s locker room took a moment too
long to open, and her fist met the doorway as she rushed through. By the time
she found a changing stall, her backpack was already opened, and she scattered
its contents across the small stall bench.
When the door eased shut behind her, she took a deep breath and closed
her eyes. She exhaled slowly, trying to calm the twitch in the base of her
tail—a quivering, involuntary motion that betrayed her anxieties and
frustrations alike. It wasn’t working. Her face twisted into a grimace as she
reached for her belt buckle.
She still couldn’t believe it.
Just after Mutt said his goodbyes, her human ex-boyfriend, Maeko, had just
casually strolled right up to her. Strolled right up like some sleaze-wad
slime-chunk in a bar, cruising for a lay under the guise of actual interest.
The conversation just kept looping in her head, like the soundtrack to a
c-grade horror film.
Him: “Hey, beautiful lady.”
Her: “Maeko? What the fuck do you
want?”
Him: “To apologize. I hurt you.”
Her: “Does your skeezy little cock-zombie know you’re here, asshole?”
Him: “Should she? It’s not her business. I miss you, Aeliahae.”
That son of a bitch.
Maeko had the more balls than those Gervoli guys who really had like five balls each. More balls
than a goddamned… sports shop or
something. After what he put her through, he had to be channeling ESPN73 to try
to hit on her like she was some flimsy waif with quivering knees, her heart set
afire by the first sign of affection. Or by his beautiful blonde locks. Or his
perfect smile, his six pack. Fuck
that. And fuck him! She hadn’t talked to him in nearly four months, and her
last words to him had involved choice phrases ranging from “cheating cum-twat”
to “whore-face jock-nipples”. And then he just… waltzed right up. Goddamnit.
She sighed, shaking her head as
she kicked her shirt and shorts into a corner. Whatever. She had more important
things to think about. She was about to hit Mutt with a stick. That was
pressing. Worth thinking about. Ohh, but she’d have rather hit Maeko.
To death.
Stepping out of her
undergarments, she reached for the crumpled wad of white clothing she’d freed
from her bag. The clothing stuck together like a self-adhesive bandage, and
picking the shirt free from the pants, gloves, and socks always made her hate
her life just a little bit. She would tell herself that next time she would
fold them, and place them in the appropriate bags. She would not do so.
At least the inside of the
material was comfortable enough. The texture of the outside she figured had
been deemed necessary by the magical lab-wizards. She’d read something-or-other
about it being necessary for “surface conductance” or some bullshit like that.
The certification test had asked at least a dozen questions about how this
“neural suit” thing worked, and had left her very proud of herself for hiding
the answers in her admittedly scant cleavage.
The shirt for the so-called “suit” was far too small, on purpose. Thin
and flexible, it was meant to stretch to fit her slight, but muscular frame,
becoming the very definition of the term ‘skin tight’. It took a bit of
fussing, grunting, and cursing, but she managed to get into the thing. The
pants were no easier, and the gloves left her feeling like her hands were being
pinched and squeezed at the same time. She paused for a moment, wondering what
her male peers did with their testicles during these misadventures, before
squeezing into her socks.
Finally, she started to wrap her tail in what she had bet actual money on
really being a roll of extremely expensive sticky bandaging. She’d lost the
bet, but suspected Mutt had fabricated his source. Still, his long-winded
explanation for why this crap was necessary had left her grateful she’d
followed the safety procedures. A bit of tape fastened the tail wrapping to her
pants, her gloves to her shirt, her shirt to her pants, and finally her socks
to her pants. Not an inch of skin was exposed below her neck.
After hanging her bag and clothing, she scooped up her rather
light-weight helmet and peeked her head out of the stall. She wasn’t the most
self-conscious person in the universe, yet wearing this thing always made her feel
vulnerable. Naked. Probably more naked than actually being naked, because
actually being naked wasn’t that bad. In fact, she was pretty sure some of the
better parties on base had led to the circulation of some mildly compromising
photos—the kind of stupid crap that the boys spread around to whoop and holler
over while any nearby women wondered what the big deal was. Standing here now she
was just glad she hadn’t been wearing this thing. “Neural suit”, her ass. They
should have called it the “nipple suit”.
At any rate, no one was coming. Tip-toeing away from the stall, she
stepped into another stall directly across the hall from the first. This one
beeped as she entered, prompting her to don her helmet and enter her passcode.
With a quiet grunt, she hefted the helmet above her head, sank it over her ears,
and started jabbing at the holoboard with her forefingers. MUTTH4SBUTTH3RP3S. She jabbed the ready key, then raised her arms
above her head. Her legs spread just a bit, and she spaced her fingers and toes
as well as she could.
The door hissed shut behind her, and a ceiling vent engulfed the space
above her. An array of what she suspected to be repurposed fancy showerheads
began whirring and spinning above, below, and all around her, and a moment
later began coating her in a thick, warm blue gel. As soon as the showerheads
came to a halt, a quiet hiss announced the arrival of a clear chemical cocktail
she was quite certain wasn’t entirely safe to breathe. The gel began to bubble
and shift, seeping into the porous fabric she wore and expanding into cords and
ridges, like bare muscle tissue. When she felt a sensation akin to being
pricked by thousands of tiny needles down her spine, she grit her teeth and did
her best not to clench her fists, lest the armor grow wrong and glue her hand
together—‘birth defects’, as her more sensitive peers had dubbed it.
Finally, as the gel solidified, the showerheads returned to life, this
time emitting some mystical sudsy concoction she was pretty sure was just dish
soap and water. The gel on the stall walls and on her helmet was washed free,
save for on her neck where the helmet met her shirt. The helmet’s internal HUD
bloomed to life. A myriad of status displays crowded the edges of her vision, displaying
a series of happy status symbols that assured her that the helmet had
successfully bound with the suit, and the suit had successfully bound with both
her body and the gel. By extension, the helmet was synched with her nervous
system, and most importantly, the gel wasn’t going to turn her flesh into jelly
dessert.
She knew a guy that had gotten lazy with his tape. His arms were
prosthetics, now.
The door behind her fell open. The locker room air struck her as chilly,
a sensation that, below this armor, had never ceased to weird her out. She
brushed a fingertip across her arm, feeling what the armor felt, and wondered
not for the first time if this was going to make her spinal cord melt out of
her butt or something. Was that covered under worker’s comp?
Stepping back across the hall, she opened the door to the previous locker
with one hand, reached in with the other, and retrieved a white metal tube
about the length of her forearm, along with a sheath much longer. Slamming shut
the door, she stomped her way toward the training arena, intent on leaving Mutt
with as many bruises as possible. True, he hadn’t done anything, but she was
pretty sure she’d feel better, anyway. Better him than Maeko. Maeko wouldn’t
live to tell about it, and she’d heard dishonorable discharges made it fairly
difficult to find honest work these days.
When she pressed through the massive double doors to the arena, the small
sterile hallway bloomed into what was effectively an enormous bowl-shaped
greenhouse, lined with a few spectator stands and the occasional EMT stand.
Stepping in, she shook her head. As much as she understood the need for a
realistic simulation of the indigenous landscape, it would have been so much
easier just to let the troops train outside.
But of course, the ever-present threat of a limp-wristed ambush was enough to
scare any base commander into wasting millions.
Her feet traced the immersion-bursting footpath, lined with the same
step-tracing nonsense as the rest of the base. Here and there a thick metal
wall rose from what looked like cracks in the earth below, forming a cage to
grant some privacy to sparring partners—especially necessary for those who
trained with ranged weapons. It was one expense she was grateful for,
especially after some cum-snuffler with an L32 Repeater pistol nailed her in
the back of the head with a stun bolt by accident.
For a moment, she imagined shooting Maeko. Live ammunition. The way his
head would split, the back of his skull showering the wall behi—
Her illusion shattered when she spotted Mutt up ahead, half-asleep on a
bench. She sighed, robbed of her jollies. Mutt was wearing his usual
chunky-looking armor, which mostly consisted of plating so thick she could
hardly lift it off the floor. The bastard could wear it for hours before it
wore him out, and it was so much easier to get into than hers was. At least
hers made her faster. And stronger. And just generally better, though she liked
to believe she could manage to trounce Mutt’s fugly ass either way. Cupping her
hands over her mouth through the helmet, she hollered at the top of her lungs.
“HEY! ASS SNIFFER!”
Mutt sat up slowly, unleashing a massive yawn. His gaze settled on her
form as he began climbing to his feet.
Mouse quickly closed the space between them, soon thonking him on the
head with her metal tube. “I’m gonna beat the fuck out of you, Mutt. Just so you know.” Beneath her helmet, she
gave him an ugly face.
Beneath his own, he sighed. “Such hostility, Mouse. What happened this
time? Did you stub your toe? Bite your lip while you were chewing?”
She grimaced, shaking her head as she took a few steps back. “Nothing.” Twisting
her fingertips over her metal tube in a practiced motion, it responded with a
small beep. Several feet of a blue alloy blade hissed free from one end, the
sharp edge covered with a protective black strip. A low hum announced that the
weapon was live. She tested it, prodding at a nearby tree. The alloy crackled,
but did not spark or char the surface. Good. Killing her best friend would not
improve her day.
Mutt crossed his arms, waiting expectantly.
Glancing up, she frowned. “Fine,” she spat, sauntering over toward a
small panel suspended from a nearby branch. She sheathed her sword. “I ran into
Maeko. He tried to fuck me.” Jabbing a button, she watched the ground by her
feet, expectant. The cage began to rise not far from her toes. “Used my… my name, too. The real one. Fucker.”
Mutt winced. “Ahh.” Hesitating just a moment, he began to check on his
own weapons. His usual heavy chaingun was useless at this range, and had been
left behind. His pistol was almost as useless, and he removed it from his hip
for just long enough to shoot at the ground. No searing hole. Good. The
training computer could trace his would-be bullet path. The short sword on his thigh—
typically his last resort—was properly bound. Mutt was satisfied. These
sparring sessions were effectively worst-case-scenario practice for him, but
that was perhaps the scenario most worth training for.
Mouse grit her teeth as she watched him prepare. “’Ahh’? That’s fuckin’…
all you have to say about it?”
The massive canid sighed, shaking his head. “You know how I feel about
Maeko, my dear friend. I don’t wish to upset you more by repeating myself.”
She bit her lip, looking down at her feet. Her fists clenched, then
unclenched, and she turned back to the panel, ensuring the training computer
was properly configured. “Yeah, whatever, Mutt. Maybe that’s the problem? I
never asked for a ‘told you so’, asshole.”
Mutt sighed, checking his weapons again to look busy. “I’d like not to
fight about this. Not before we spar. You know I’m not the villain, Mouse. What
do you want to hear from me?”
She rolled her eyes, only to crouch down in a fighting stance. “Nothing.
Fuck it. Let’s do this. Same safe-words as always.”
Mutt nodded, a hand hovering over his pistol. He paced toward the far end
of the cage. Just enough distance to strike first, should his aim prove true.
“Computer. Mutt and Mouse. Match one. Start.”
A display on each wall of the cage began to count down from five. As soon
as the timer struck zero, Mouse’s feet propelled her forward in a low-flying
leap. The painfully loud crack of Mutt’s pistol sent her pulse racing, but her
control was tight and practiced, even as she bounced off of a nearby tree like
a house cat fleeing a vacuum cleaner. Mutt fired again. She rebounded off the
ground, unsheathing her sword as she flew past his left side.
The pistol fell into its holster, Mutt’s blade leaving his side just in
time to meet hers.
Mouse pressed her strike, the strength of her armor pressing Mutt’s arms
back toward his chest. Her blade came inches from his face before a knee to her
stomach pushed her back. She rolled as she hit the ground, narrowly avoiding a
stab at her chest.
Mutt saw her counter-swing coming, yet the weight of his armor rendered
him too slow. His sword caught hers just after it struck his leg, sending a
dull shock through his calf that nearly knocked him off his feet.
The computer blared. The wall displays etched a tally mark by Mouse’s
name.
Mouse glanced up at him from the ground, her chest heaving. She could
feel each blade of grass against her back, and it was itchy as hell. Maybe
clothing for her armor would be a bright idea. “Hey. Mutt.”
Mutt groaned, giving her a look as he shook the tingle from his leg.
A small smile met her lips. “You’re dead.”
He rolled his eyes, gesturing toward the other end of the cage. “Yes.
Shoo.”
Climbing to her feet with a grunt and a sigh, she plodded back toward her
starting space.
*
The score was nine to nine. As her blade clashed with Mutt’s for the
hundredth time, she wondered how in the hell she’d gotten clumsy enough to lose
her eight-five lead. She’d probably gotten cocky. She usually did.
Mutt caught her chest with an elbow, his blade swinging toward her thigh
as she toppled back.
She barely managed to block him before her head hit a rock. The helmet
helped, but not enough, and what should have been an easily avoided swipe
turned into a narrow miss. She climbed quickly to her feet and took a few
wobbly steps back, her skin beneath her armor coated in sweat.
Mutt took a deep breath, standing defensively, visibly aware of his
disadvantage. Stepping back as well, he gestured toward the scoreboard. “It’s
because you get so angry, Mouse.”
She blinked, taking a long glance at the score. “You sayin’ I get
careless, you big smelly fuck?”
He smiled a bit, pulling his arms back at the shoulders in a small
stretch. “Yes. I win a match, and you get angry. I win another, and you get
more angry. Then I win. Like this.” He readied his blade again.
Mouse grimaced, rolling her eyes. “Oh, fuck you! I’m always angry! The fuck does that have to do with—”
Mutt lunged at her chest, nearly striking her breast before she caught
his strike. He rolled with his momentum, landing a fist in her side and
knocking her clear off her feet.
“Fuck!” Mouse’s back hit the
cage wall. She moved to leap away, but Mutt’s leg caught her shin, sending her
into something of a summersault as she crashed to the ground. Just as she came
to a stop, the crack of Mutt’s pistol stung her ears. She blinked, unbelieving.
The computer announced her loss.
Mutt heaved a sigh, leaning his back against the wall as he sheathed his
weapons. Peeling off his helmet, he dropped it to the ground. He eyed her with
a small smile. “I told you so.”
“I… you… fucking… goddamnit! Fuck!” Once on her feet again, she pointed at
Mutt accusingly, sword still in hand. “You fucking… you just… argghh!!”
The large canid raised an eyerbrow, waiting for her to complete her
thought. “Yes, Mouse?”
Mouse stomped toward him, gripping
her sword in both hands as she closed the gap. ”You stupid… fucking… overgrown
shaggy-ass carpet-fucker!”
“Mouse, this is how it usually—”
“Fuck you! You don’t think I fuckin’ know how it goes, you smug son of a
twat-chugger?! We come here. I beat your ass. I get smug. You beat my ass! Yes!
Yes I fucking know! But you know what
I don’t fucking know, asshole?!”
Mutt groaned, leaning his head back against the wall. “Wh—”
She pointed her sword at his chest, like some extension of her hand. “Why
the only person I fucking care about in this whole fucking base has to act like some smarmy stuck-up ass-burgler every
time something shitty happens to me! You don’t think I fucking heard you about Maeko, Mutt? You don’t
think I heard when you told me not to fuck him? When you told me not to fall
for him? When you told me he was a sack of shit and I was… I was fucking better than that?!”
Mutt’s shoulders sank. He sighed. “Aeliahae… You were fine while you
were—”
“What?! Winning? Fuck you! I was fine until you rubbed it in my fucking
face! You don’t think I know I have a problem?! Just… fuck off, Mutt!”
Mutt reached out a hand to grasp her shoulder, but she swung her blade
his elbow, sending a shock up his arm. Wincing and grasping his arm to his
chest, he watched as she stomped away, holstered her sword, and climbed over
the cage wall.
*
The armor stall hissed quietly as it filled with a noxious steam. Mouse’s
armor began to sag, then drip, soon falling free from her neural suit in chunks
before seeping down a drain to be recycled. When it was completely gone, a loud
‘whirr’ announced the air filter had activated. A few seconds later, the door
behind her opened.
Mouse padded across the hall, slowly opening her stall and closing it
behind her. Flopping against the inside of the door, she peeled off her helmet
and dropped it on the floor by her clothes. She winced as she felt her ears,
sore from being cramped up in that damn thing for a couple of hours.
Removing the suit was even less fun than putting it on, and was usually
enough to put her in a bad mood by itself. She took her time, now, intent on
saving herself as much frustration as possible. Folding each piece of the
neural suit, she reached into her backpack for the appropriate bags. Better
late than never.
With her shirt and shorts back on, she dug around in her pocket for her
phone. One visual message, from Mutt. Text scrolled across her screen.
“I’m sorry, Mouse. It’s just that
Maeko is the third one this year. It’s hard to draw the line between supportive
friend and enabler. I don’t want to see you hurt, again, when you’re the only
one who can protect yourself. We should talk, when you’re willing.”
Mouse took a deep breath, closing her eyes as they grew moist. Cursing
under her breath, she stripped the battery from her phone and threw it in her
bag, along with the rest of her belongings. Her feet carried her away from the
arena by memory alone, her eyes on the flashing floor as her mind traveled
elsewhere.
Maybe Mutt was right? Maybe she did tend to put herself in this kind of
situation. Every time she told herself she was going to keep things casual, to
keep things physical, she wound up falling for the asshole she was sleeping
with. She tried to find someone nicer, last time, but the nicer ones always got
attached to her first, when the whole point was to stay uninvolved in the first
place. Maybe she should—
“Hey, beautiful lady.”
Mouse blinked. Just outside the arena, Maeko was standing before her.
“I was watching you fight. You’re so hot
when you—”
Her fist struck his face. She heard a crack. She wasn’t sure if it was
her hand or his nose, or both.
“Fuuuck! What the fuck, you stupid bitch?! Oh, god, my nose!”
Her knee met his groin. With a heavy huff, she stomped away, clutching
her fist to her chest.
Fuck today. Fuck this whole place. Tonight, she was going to the city.
No comments:
Post a Comment