The seconds tick by. I smooth down my silky ponytail and guide it to tumble over my shoulder. My eyes focus around the deserted alleyway. The cobbles that lie beneath my feet are uneven and slippery. I’m enclosed by 2 walls on either side of my tensed body. A 30 ft wooden barrier prevents my escape from behind me. The adrenaline courses through my veins and my hands shake with apprehension. The wind whistles loudly, surging down the tapered street. I am the dead end.
I reach into the pocket of my black lycra jumpsuit; the newest technology of modern fighting. Apparently cleansing doesn’t rid the planet of every compulsive obsession. The suits control your body temperature, making sure you are neither over-heating nor unpleasantly cold. Right now, warm air fans through the jumpsuit despite my chilly surroundings. My muscles feel warm and I’m ready. They shan’t be long.
My fingers lock around the tiny compact disc. It the same perfect oval; its glossy silver coat is still fully intact however the hologram inside is not. The fuzzy image displayed is the result of my obsessive overuse. I sigh and press the black button.
Even though I’ve stared at this hologram every day for the past 5 days, I still haven’t got used to it. It’s the same photo as the day I found it; the black-haired man bound to a weaved chair in the middle of a dank room, his eyes oblivious to everything except fear. I gasp and bite my lip. The sudden crescendo of footsteps snaps me out of my trance. I disable the hologram and slip it back into the pocket of my jumpsuit.
My eyes snap up just in time. They appear from an adjoining path. 7 white burly figures march towards me; their impassive frowns refresh my memory and my motive. My trepidation flees from my body. I smirk.
My arms cross my waist as I draw my scaled baton from my left holster and my golden dagger from my right. The bodies continue to allure me closer, exciting me with the definite forthcoming attack. I squint up through my layered lashes. Their sparkling white couture stings at my eyes and I refocus my eyes on the dirty grey cobbles; they’re so human, so normal. I love it.
The plodding footsteps of the trespassers come to a halt. I follow their example for once and stop about 5 metres in front. I glower at each of them, assessing which will be the weaker or the stronger. They are all huge; all male.
I size up the closest foe. He looks exactly like me; he looks human. I waver and my weapon withdraws to brush my thigh. Perhaps I shouldn’t fight him? Maybe I shouldn’t kill him?
I shake my head and all my thoughts fly out the window. They’re not human and they never will be. The blank attackers that stand before me are the Leto and right now, they’re going to try and kill me. The haunted, dead eyes of the closest Leto imprint in my brain, clouding my vision.
Seven against 1 isn’t exactly a fair fight. I’m neither tall nor muscular but I am agile and smart. I am also mortal. The mechanical Leto may have the typical characteristics of strength and knowledge but when it comes to fighting, I have the upper hand. My lips curve into a smug smile as my eyes flash wickedly; I will win.
The nearest Leto steps up. There’s silence in the dank alleyway apart from my shallow breaths and the dripping of a leaky pipe somewhere. Dark is drawing in; I need to get started.
The Leto and I begin to circle each other. I need not worry about the other members of the Leto joining to fight with the Leto. Their methods are simple and traditional; one on one. However with my 83 point skill level, on their own, none of them have a chance even in a group.
I let out an animalistic hiss and glower at my attacker. The Leto clumsily stumbles forward, bringing down his fist for what should be a crushing blow. I dodge to the left and I feel the whoosh of his swing brush my cheek. The lumbering Leto stumbles and tries to regains its bearings. I roll my eyes. This one is strong but slow.
The Leto charges again, drawing a long silver blade from inside his white jacket. He slashes forward but I’m ready for the predictable attack. I bring my gold plated shield to protect my head from the blade. I hear the crash of metal upon metal and tense my arms for the powerful blow. The Leto stumbles once again. Time to unleash my wrath.
I let the mental picture of my black-haired boy slip into my mind. My heart rate picks up and I growl at the disgusting thing in front of me. Hot, angry tears spring to my eyes but I quickly wipe them away. I must not get emotional, I need to get even. I clench my jaw and grit my teeth. I want to fight and I want to do it now.
I lunge at the Leto, my dagger raised in my right hand. The Leto brings his sword to meet mine, jarring them in a fierce lock of strength. I cannot win on power alone. I swing my leg up, making contact with the Leto’s stomach. His force on his sword weakens and I swiftly knock it out of his hand’s. The Leto glares at me; his fists are now his only form of defence. His peers won’t save him.
The Leto charges forward once more, a crazed look in his dark eyes. He swipes at my head but I bring my arms up to protect my face. I catch his arm and twist it round behind his back. I feel the snap of the bone and wince in disgust. I kick him in the back and he falls to the floor. He begins to scramble up just as I jump down to crouch above him.
"You’ll never beat me" I hiss through gritted teeth. My knife sinks into its back. The Leto lets out a strangled moan as I yank my dagger out. There’s no blood, Letos don’t bleed. It’s body begins to shudder. It quakes like its being shaken yet I’m not touching it. The Leto starts to dissipate underneath my body until I’m no longer staring at the black mop of hair. Only the dirty cobbles gaze back at me.
It’s most definitely not my first kill. I spring up from my crouch and turn around to the remaining Leto. And it won’t be my last.
The next Leto steps forward for the challenge. His face is set in one of grim unconcern. Despite the fact it’s just witnessed my triumph over the previous Leto, he still advances. We circle each other before the fight begins.
He uses the same techniques as every Leto; attack. They cannot adjust their fighting methods; they’re only programmed for one thing. Soon enough I have him pinned to the floor, groaning as the reflection of my dagger shines on his eyes.
"I will never decline an opportunity to kill one of you" I snarl as my golden dagger leaves the Leto’s stomach. It’s body has vanished in a matter of seconds.
I heave a sigh of satisfaction. I progress steadily through each Leto applying my usual tactics; Let them think they’re winning, turn the situation to my advantage and finally, whisper the last words they will hear. I stitch together the cruel and callous words for a purpose. As well as proving to the Leto that I show no mercy, the concluding words remind me what I am and what I’m doing.
I’m a warrior now.
My last challenge is a runty Leto compared to the rest of his lifeless companions; an easy win. However in contrast to me, the Leto still has the odds in his favour from external appearances. Unfortunately for him, appearances don’t matter; it’s time to face the reality.
I’m on my last Leto. My adrenaline is kicking in and my blood roars through my ears. The Leto lunges forward predictably; I smirk. His first blow misses as I dodge but a sneaky kick connects with my lower abdomen. I groan as I feel the Leto’s rock hard skin come into to contact with mine. I wince slightly and straighten up, testing my bruised stomach. My eyes flicker back to the impassive Leto and I grit my teeth. He will not be doing that again.
I dart forward, and my fist swings to catch the Leto’s face. I smile as the Leto grunts with anguish. A slight burning in my knuckle shoots down my hand. I shake off the pain as I crouch and whip the Leto’s legs from beneath him. He topples over onto his back and I hover over him, one foot on his chest like a gladiator. My knife dances in my hands aching for the need to finish the Leto; to finish my challenge.
"You will never win" My tongue curls around the death sentence. I bring my armed limb back for momentum, the Leto’s life will end in a matter of seconds. I will have won.
Just as my knife begins to descend, a strong gust of wind blows the tendrils of my hair across my face. The Leto below wisely stays still. My nostrils flare as the breeze transports a scent I know all too well. I inhale the familiar smell of lemongrass and cinnamon and my arms relax against my sides. I sniff the air, my eyes scanning the dank alleyway for any sign of the smell. Another explosion of the sweet, sensational scent is carried by the wind. My hand falls limp, my tips of my fingers barely grasp onto my dagger as my eyes flutter shut. Is he here? My eyes snap open and my heart rate rapidly accelerates.
The sound of crunching footsteps from the adjoining alleyway is enough for my breath to hitch. I inhale the sweet smell, and feel my heart pounding in my throat with excitement and anticipation. My palms become clammy and I feel my knife slip out of my grip. It clatters onto the cobbles but I barely notice; I’m too absorbed by climaxing suspense as the footsteps crescendo. My heart aches at the thought of seeing him; I can’t stand being without him. The last 5 days have been both excruciatingly lonely and destructive.
The footsteps cease. I wait a few seconds in the silent alleyway. The dim street light glows ominously as I await for the appearance of the person. I silently pray for his presence. The wind continues to whistle as the hairs on my arms rise; its not because of the cold though. I hold my arms closer to myself as my hair is tossed erratically. Precious seconds slip away. I tentatively step forward, trying to peer round the branching alley. The wind dies down and my surroundings become a soundless void.
"Jared?" I whisper. My voice echoes along the narrow walls.
I gasp, as reality hits me. None of this is real; I’m in the simulator. That alley way is where the Leto soldiers come from. I’ve fallen into the trap and this time it’s all my fault. I stumble back, blindly searching for my dagger to protect myself. I still have one more Leto.
A sharp blow to the back of my hand throws me forward. I land heavily on the floor as I cry out. A dull ache at the top of my neck makes me groan in place. I feel the crimson liquid seep my from grazed hands. The dirty cobbles glint evilly back at me.
"Game over" The rough voice behind whispers in my ear. Another excruciating blow to my head closes me off from the world.
I’ve been defeated by a Leto.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There’s a specific set of rules to become a fully-fledged warrior. These rules are the very foundation on which the role revolves around. There are a number of key characteristics but the main regulations narrow down into 3 key rules.
Number 1, never turn your back on your enemy.
Number 2, never forget who the enemy are.
Number 3, never get distracted.
I’ve broken all three of the key imperatives.
I turned my back on the Leto I was fighting; I forgot he was even there. I almost lost my stomach when it came to attacking him; he appeared too human. Finally I lost the fight despite my competent skill level.
I lost because I got distracted; side-tracked by a scent in the air.
The STO simulator is supposed to challenge every warrior to the extent of their ability. Its far more complex and advanced than the simulator on board the Caritas ship. The surroundings are realistic, you feel the pain in the simulation but when you come out, your injuries have left no scars or traces of marring. Most importantly, the simulation is very effective for one reason; it detects your weakness and uses it against you.
While most warriors are confronted with higher level Leto’s or larger numbers, I have never experienced anything too far out of my range. Iron however has encountered the most demanding training that any warrior has been put through; 15 Leto’s set on the highest level of 10 all on his own. His weakness was his fear of water yet he barrelled through and defeated each and every Leto. I watched it from the viewing box.
That success in the combat/fear trial earned him the number 1 warrior rank. At the moment I’m ranked at number two which makes Iron and I a combat pair. Each warrior has a partner to always go into battle with. It pairs off evenly with ranks 1 & 2 together, then 3 & 4, then 5 & 6 and so on. However after my recent performance, Iron may have a new partner.
And now I will have to face the analysis. Carlisle Kappor and Vicarius, the second in command of the STO will have watched and judged my performance. They will have seen my humiliating defeat and the thought scares me. They won’t let me go out and fight the real Leto until they think I’m ready. After my loss in a simulator, there’s no chance I’ll be going into the external fighting ground. If I was conscious, I know I’d be gritting my teeth. A failed simulator means a failed test; a failed test requires more training. All of this entails more time taken out of the equation to save Jared.
I’ve already lost 5 of my 90 days.
I can’t take it much longer. I must let my mind relax. The sooner I calm down, the sooner I will slip back into consciousness.
You can never escape reality and right now, I don’t have time to waste.
"Lara!"
The piercing voice protrudes through my closed off walls. It’s hazy, it’s foggy but something inside me recognises the voice. It’s Carlisle.
"Lara can you hear me?"
My eyes slowly open, squinting at the bright light. The light quickly moves away and the room becomes dimmer. I’m in the simulator room but there’s no alley, no Leto and most importantly, no Jared. The simulator has been turned off.
The crimson red walls burn through my eyelids; their colour is unfriendly and protruding. Even with my eyes closed, I know the room will be empty of any objects apart from the weapon stash at the top right corner. The racks will hold a range of weapons just like the simulator on the Caritas ship. My golden dagger and baton will be hanging in the same place they did before I began my challenge, as if I never even touched them.
"Lara, my child" A throaty voice rasps.
My eyelids gradually tear away from each other and open to their full capacity. I’m greeted with the three slightly anxious faces. To my left is Zena, the Medic for my Warrior base putting away the silver torch she tried to blind me with. Her dark skin causes her violet contacts to dominate her heart shaped face. Her cheek bones protrude through her skin as she grits her teeth. In the middle is Carlisle. His middle aged mask has slipped as the worry lines protrude through his skin. To my right is Vicarius.
I slowly push myself off the floor causing uproar and exclamations from the trio. I rest my head back against the floor and roll my eyes. Cautiously, I raise my arms and swivel my fingers, testing for any pain or injury. When none comes, I curve my arm to sweep my fingers over the spot where the Leto hit me. As predicted there’s nothing there. I have nothing but the mental blemish over my defeat. However the people surrounding me will no doubt remind of the happenings.
"Lara, what happened in there?" Carlisle asks. Slowly I push my body of the floor again. The cries and orders for my well being are ignored as I hunch in a sitting position. Zena’s lips purse in a thin grimace.
"I don’t know what happened" I shrug.
"You seemed distracted Lara?" Zena inquires. I nod slowly.
"Do you know what distracted you?" Carlisle jumps in. His pixie ears perk up as he leans in slightly closer.
The scent of lemongrass and cinnamon distracted me; the smell I’ve associated with Jared. Yet he wasn’t even there. They may think I’m making it up or worse that the separation is slowly making me lose my marbles. But it’s not. I can’t let them think I’m weak or I’ll never get Jared back.
"No" I reply, swallowing hard. "No I don’t know"
Carlisle sighs and straightens up. Zena pushes herself off the floor, grabbing her small white medical kit. Shakily Carlisle staggers up, resting on his silver cane for support. If Carlisle was not so fond of the vile stick, I would spit on it. Even the sight, makes me glare with loathing at the Leto gift.
The joints in Carlisle’s knees click with the exertion as he wobbles to his feet. Vicarius stays rigid. His turquoise eyes are fully focused on the floor. His retains his crouched position although both Zena and Carlisle are now standing. I speculate Vicarius with confusion. Although he is an STO leader, he’s more like an over protective brother. He treats me like a fragile doll; as if I’ll snap at any moment without my bond-mate.
"We will leave you to recover Lara. Remember we’re here to help" Carlisle sighs. I nod my head. Carlisle knows I’m not saying everything but I can’t take any risks. I don’t need setbacks; I have to convince the STO leaders I’m ready. I can’t appear emotionally unstable right now.
I exhale with relief as Carlisle and Zena head for the door. The interrogation was short and surprisingly irresolute of Carlisle. My eyes trail their bodies, waiting for them to leave. As Carlisle activates the control pad, my head snaps to Vicarius.
"Are you not going with them?"
Vicarius shakes his head. I frown and turn back to the door to see Zena striding out, with Carlisle hobbling behind; they don’t even look back.
"Lara what actually happened?" Vicarius asks. I spin round to face him.
Don’t sound crazy.
"Nothing" I reply too cheerily, forcing my lips into over-enthusiastic grin. Vicarius uncrosses his legs and ascends to his feet. No doubt its to try and intimidate me with his bulky frame. I copy his actions and rise to my feet. Vicarius folds his arms as his eyes pierce into mine. Though his towering height doesn’t scare me, his intense gaze momentarily fazes me.
"Don’t bullshit me Lara" He retorts harshly. "You have the number 2 ranking. That should have been an easy win"
"I was just having an off day" I shrug.
"The simulator is detecting your weaknesses at the moment Lara" Vicarius replies. "Sooner or later, your weaknesses will be revealed. We can see everything in that box" He points at the viewing box.
But they can’t see a scent.
"It was just an off day Vic. I got too cocky"
Vicarius raises an eyebrow. "Fine" He shrugs "However, your death sentences are getting better" he smiles.
"Thanks Vic" I roll my eyes and grin back.
"If you’re sure you’re alright you may return to your compartment" Vicarius replies.
My smile slips off my face. My whole body slouches in dismay. Vicarius frowns.
"What’s wrong?"
"Nothing" I choke. Don’t sound crazy. "I'm fine"
My compartment is where my melancholy madness reaches new heights of torture. I share my compartment with Ally and Iron. They’re bonded, together and happy. I would rather endure being jabbed repeatedly with the world’s sharpest and largest needle than watch 5 minutes of their euphoria.
I’m not allowed to move compartments either. The STO have assigned them to be my ‘keepers’. They have to ensure I won’t run off on my own to find Jared.
I’m tormented daily in my confined compartment. I can’t leave, I’m stuck. Every day is more of a struggle to drag my feet back as their bond grows stronger. With every night, I’m more aware of my loneliness without privacy to even unleash my emotional turmoil. In time, I will become invisible to Ally and Iron as they enter the ‘Orbis Amore’.
The jade green envy winds around my limbs like a vine. It irritates my body with its contagious rash like poison ivy. I should be happy for them, I should be happy they’ve found each other, I should be happy they were able to make things work but I’m not. I run my hand through my hair with a weary sigh.
I only have 85 days to find Jared. The ticking of the clock pulsates steadily. I’ve accepted my conditions.
Now I have to complete my mission.