ARC10

Chapter 7.2

I suppress my smile as pieces of a new, personal mission fall into place. My brisk stride back to the Sink clears my head.

The mood surge doesn't last long.

What I forgot about from the day after the incident on Level 7 all those years ago, was how long they talked about the girl with her swinging tits. I remember the conversations about her and her lover's burning red gashes and black eyes. During my shift, I do my best to ignore the bombardment.

"Who's the lucky guy, Lorn?"

I don't want their questions. I want them to shut their mouths and drink their beer. I want to hold my guns and dare them to say another word.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

I'm trapped in a cage. They poke and gawk at the freak behind the bar. My hands shake as I pour the Junk.

"How was Freyer? I hear he's hung like the main gun on a tank."

My bubbling shame and simmering rage roil under the surface.

"Did they use the rod on the other kid? Was it worth it?"

"Shut up," I growl, the bottle of Junk Juice tight in my hand. "Or your next shot is going up your ass."

They avert their gazes. No one says a word. The rest of the shift is spent in tense silence. Good.

***

I've spent the last three hours immersed in the mission pages. I might not be able to read new information with the same relaxed enthusiasm as Dean the bookworm super-nerd, but I have at least mastered the art of cramming.

Sitting in my room, lacing my boots, pulling my arms through my cleanest gray utilities, and tucking the papers under my arm, I prepare for battle.

I tiptoe out, careful not to wake Simon or the other neighbors who share our common room.

The journey passes like the slow crawl of corrosion. Each level I traverse sends more jitters straight to my gut. By the time I finally make it to Level 6, I'm humming from the inside out.

I'm nearly there, I'm practically in the room, throwing my papers at Hayomo and explaining where she can shove them. I'm imagining the rage in Dean with his clenched fists and rounded shoulders.

The scene manifests clearer and brighter until I turn the next corner.

Dean leans against the doorway, his arms folded over his chest. He stares at the floor as if he were watching the most troubling events happening right through it.

He blocks the way. I can't avoid this confrontation.

"How did I know I'd meet you here?" he asks.

He straightens to his full height, creating a massive barrier between me and the first checkpoint on Level 6.

He knows I can take him. He doesn't need to puff himself up for me.

"Do you mind? I've got somewhere to be."

"So what I asked meant nothing?" His voice is sharp.

I register that there is more than the affectionate intensity I normally find. It's a look I'm too familiar with in Dean, but I have only seen it on battlefields.

"There's really nothing you can do to stop me, Freyer. I was invited here, just as you were."

"You're carrying our child now, Nika. That changes things."

"That's not confirmed yet," I shriek more loudly than intended. "It's been twenty-four hours, and I'm pretty sure it doesn't work that fast." Our argument is childish. It would probably be inappropriate to stick out my tongue at him or flick him off.