Ambriel Evades Taxes in the United States

The Sankta on the Run

She was a member of the Sankta. On Terra, they were a race exclusive to the theocratic state of Laterano. The Sankta were a proud race, proficient in Originium firearms and the arts relating to their use. They held guns up to such a revered standard that their home nation had a worldwide monopoly on firearms. Even within their home nation, Sanktan Lateranians were given exclusive rights that other races were otherwise not granted.

But on Earth, they called her an Angel. On Earth, Angels were revered as holy apostles or messengers of God by the most widely-practiced religions across the planet. The notion that she was considered a holy creature on this plane mildly distressed Ambriel; she knew little of religion and had not done much to study Laterano's theocratic culture, despite hailing from there.

She tried her best to stay away from any of that. The worst thing that could happen would be a misunderstanding.

But despite those notions, these humans seemed to hold nothing in holy regard. Sensors dotted both her wings and her halo; pieces of equipment were hooked up to each, measuring the temperature readings and extracting whatever information they could from her seemingly otherworldly appendages.

 The attachments made the poor girl dizzy, although not terribly so. If there was one small thing she could be thankful for, it was that her captors had not decided to wrap her halo up entirely. Being constantly in vertigo while strapped down was something she wouldn't wish even on her worst enemies.

There was someone nearby. Did they just enter the room, or were they always there? Ambriel could barely turn her head to see.

Two distinct voices... she could barely understand them. They were speaking something... it was difficult to concentrate, to make out what they were trying to say to each other.

She could feel her arm being rubbed by a moist cloth. That lasted for just a few seconds, as she relaxed that arm a bit.

Just a few moments later, the Sanktan girl could feel a painful, prolonged pinching sensation, as an additional needle was inserted into the spot that was just rubbed down. She reacted immediately, her hands balling into fists and her arm wincing at the sudden pain.

More chemicals... more, why, why did they have to give her more?!

She yelled. But the only thing that Ambriel managed to force out from her throat was a pitiful, quiet gurgle. Tears streamed from both eyes as the terrified girl wordlessly pleaded to her inattentive captors.

The Sanktan girl would've done anything to go back. She would've been willing to face an entire contingent of ReUnion foot soldiers on her own... Hell, Ambriel would rather face Executor and actually pay her damned Laterano taxes!

The haloed girl wanted to go back to Terra, to her familiar and comfortable old life, and to the familiar Originium technologies that she had grown accustomed to.

She wanted to go home. 

Ambriel screamed through the intubation tube, as the tip of the cold, metal scalpel parted her skin.

. . . . .

She woke with a start. Her amber eyes shot left and right, searching for that bright light source that had been invasively shone into her eyes. Her arms pulled themselves closer to her body, expecting resistance from the straps that were around her wrists a moment ago. A weak shout came from her throat, as she used one hand in an attempt at pulling the intubation tube out of her mouth.

There was none. No light, no straps, no tube down her windpipe...

Ambriel steadied her breathing, as she tried to make sense of the situation. The Sanktan girl sat up from her position, out from the bundle of blankets and clothes that kept her warm.