Mcmolly

Amygdala Circuit

Dahlia cursed the fact that she didn’t really have two arms to work with just then, but she wasn’t about to let a little pain stop her from holding Quinn as close as was physically possible. Her good arm wrapped around her pulled her in so tight she felt the pad on her back straining, and her undershirt grew wet on the shoulder. She didn’t care.

“I couldn’t—they wouldn’t—all they told me was you were still fighting! Then I saw it on the TV, there were so many! I’m sorry I’m so sorry, we had another one open near us, I couldn’t get up here in time to help.” She pulled back, hand clasped on Quinn’s cheek. Her eyes flashed, scanned her over for wounds, anything bleeding, anything serious. “God I thought you were gonna die. They said six came out I thought…I thought Eain might…”

She still saw that Modir in her dreams. Saw it stalking towards Quinn, and all she could do was lie there helpless and broken. She’d tried so hard, put in so much time since then, and it hadn’t mattered at all. Quinn had been alone, and vulnerable, and…

And she’d lived anyway.

Dahlia looked at her again, really looked at her. Tear-streaked, dirty, exhausted, and yes, beaten hard by the enemy but undeniably alive. Victorious. Her sister had stood against deathly odds most pilots would never have walked away from. It struck her with sudden, incredible shame that she might have, in some way, been thinking of her as weak.

Who could have been more wrong?

Dahlia pulled her in again, breathing her lungs empty. “Love you so much,” she wheezed. “You were always coming back. Always.”

Amygdala Circuit

Dahlia vomited, again. The first time had been from the nausea, typical following protracted bouts in the cockpit. This time it was the pain, while Follen sat behind her with a beam-scalpel, excising a brand-new growth in her shoulder.

“Steady, Deelie. Almost done.”

He’d said that three minutes ago, but somehow she still believed him. He had that way about him. At least no one could see her like this—sat on the floor over a steel pan, shirt hiked over her shoulders, filthy with her own blood, sweat and sick. Or rather, at least no one unwelcome. They sat behind the massive cubby of Dragon’s holding, and the hangar crew always did a good job of keeping the looky-loos and the amateur videographers out.

A hollow clinking as a chunk of black metal fell into the pan. “There we go,” he said soothingly, though the pain didn’t stop. “That’s the most of it out, just cleaning up the edges, then we’ll get you sealed.”

“Where…” she gagged, swallowed down hot bile.”Where’s Quinn?”

“Exactly where she was five minutes ago. And the five before that.”

“There could be more…”

“There’s no more. And if there are, I’m told the Euseran Savior is waiting for her to leave first.”

He’d meant it as reassurance, but it didn’t make her feel any better. Altruism from a Euseran pilot? They’d already proven otherwise just today, when the ESC didn’t move an inch to help until RISC did. Even then, they only showed up to the singularities that seemed at the time to be the least problematic, save for whatever had happened at Quinn’s.

Now her sister was alone down there with one of them. It was almost enough to make her puke. Again. God, at the very least she wouldn’t have to see her like this.

Follen set his scalpel aside, and someone came round to carry off the pan and the modium chunk. She felt the needle prick of another numbing shot, hardly a register after being carved like a turkey. A cold, thick fluid filled the cavity in her shoulder, and it sent a shiver all the way down to her bones. Then an adhesive pad was laid over the wound, a long-term stopper to give the concoction time to rebuild the flesh and muscle.

“There, all ready for the cameras,” Follen said, standing up behind her and peeling the gloves off his hands. Her blood was all over his shirt, his pants, his arms, but he didn’t seem the least bit bothered. Fallout of being a surgeon, she supposed—it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen worse, often. “You know the drill. Few days’ rest, then minimal motion for a week until the scar fades.”

She wiped her lips, spit stomach acid into the pan and nodded. “Thanks.”

He bowed his head, then left her there. No one else came by; they knew by now to give her space. There’d be time enough for congratulations and interviews later, when she wasn’t in burning pain. When her sister was home.

---

Once again, Quinn was not alone in the dark. The cold and pulsing walls of the cockpit shifted around her as the lift brought Ablaze up through the atmosphere, and molded into the shadows was the shape of herself.

She smiled. That sense of elation, that overwhelming pride. How much was alien, and how much was simply her own, bolstered. “So perfect,” her words blurred into the air, into her ears. “We did it. They come to take and we take from them. They think we’re weak. But we’re not. We’re real! We’re real, and no one can say we’re not.

“We’re monsters’ monsters.”

Childish giggling filled the cramped space, lingering even after she retreated into Quinn’s mind. Eventually the lift stopped, followed by the familiar, muted sound of the Aerie’s seal shutting.

Light rushed her as she pushed the hatch open. Light, and the absolute thunder of cheering. The crew were scattered all around the hangar, clapping, hollering, trying to glimpse her as the scaffold platforms pushed up against Ablaze’s form.

Modious blood seeped from its wounds, flooding into the multiple drains at its feet. On the platform, a dozen or so people waited, all wearing the same orange hazard suits she’d seen before. One of them waved both her arms in uncontrollable glee, and through the tinted faceguard Quinn would still be able to tell it was Tillie.

As she stepped onto solid ground once again, another voice pierced the applause.

“Quinn!”

Down below, standing at the center of the hangar was Dahlia. She looked…rough. Smeared with blood and grim, arm in a sling, hair a mess, but the way she smiled it might as well have been the happiest day of her life. She waved with her good arm, screaming again.

“Quinn!”

Amygdala Circuit

FOUR! came the echo.

And then after it, silence. Another heart beat in tandem with Quinn’s, another set of muscles not her own suddenly relaxed. She could feel someone draped over her like a blanket, exhausted, but as euphorically pleased as she was with what they had done. Together.

“God—” Besca’s voice choked over the comms. “I’m…yeah you are, hun. You are. Just—”

A triumphant holler from Firebrand interrupted her, and even that was drowned out by the bestial howl the Savior unleased with her. A brief jolt of fight or flight struck Quinn from within, and then the cockpit lurched, suddenly and with enough force to knock her onto the ground. Laying there, she could feel Ablaze being raised off its feet, into the air, and hear something squeezing it.

“Atta girl!” the woman cheered in her ear. “Bring her in!”

Was…

Was Firebrand hugging her?

Moments later the cockpit jostled again as, presumably, she was set back down. There was an awkward silence, before the woman piped up again.

“Oh, shit—did you disconnect already? Hey, my bad, you alright in there? Sorry, I get a little excited sometimes, head gets away from me. You totally killed it out there though—not that I’m surprised! You’re Quinnlash, right? Quinnlash Loughvein? I’m a big fan of the way you blow shit up and don’t murder people.”

More rustling, and even without being able to see, Quinn could likely tell what was going on—Firebrand was shaking Ablaze’s hand.

“It's an absolute pleasure to meet you. I'm Axan Dane.”

Amygdala Circuit

THREE! A scream in chorus with her own, furious, agonized and ecstatic.

Firebrand swerved, blazing sword cleaving through the axe-wielder’s torso, and then spearing through its head when it fell in pieces to the ground. “Nice shot! Let's go, that's what I like to see!” she roared over the comms—so loud, so energetic, like this wasn’t a fight for their lives.

The singularity weakened rapidly, collapsing on itself as Firebrand spun and sprinted back towards Ablaze. The spearman broke off, charging to meet her, and the woman’s laughter rang in Quinn’s ears. Their clash was brief. Firebrand twirled her blade, batting the spear aside and, raising her weapon high above her head, slammed it down and cleaved the monster in two.

The bladed Modir, however, kept its focus entirely on Quinn, claws outstretched, undeterred by her unbound power. It snarled, leaping at her with claws soaked in both of their blood, and dug them into her sides. But this was not the burly opponent from before, and though there was sharp and certain pain shocking through her, it would be nowhere near enough to topple Ablaze now.

Amygdala Circuit

The submerged anger grew fiercer, but Quinn could feel it tugging on the strings of her own panic as well. They were on the backfoot, disarmed and outnumbered, and every second that passed saw their body whittled down more and more. Her sides flamed, her ankles were cut up and her balance suffered. Blood dripped down over her eyes, stung, messed with her vision.

Surely the phase was close; the static was louder, sure, but the truth was that time protracted in such close quarters. She still needed a minute, maybe more. Too long.

The bladed Modir kept on her, swiping and slicing, and whenever it missed, or Quinn managed to deflect its attacks, the spearman slunk in and jabbed to cover it. Its point caught her twice, thrice in the gut and chest, piercing organs that only people like Tillie really understood, but linked up with Ablaze Quinn could feel they were vital in some fashion. Modium poured from her, dousing the fire and salting the earth with poison where it landed.

We don’t die! came the indignant roar from within. We don’t give!

If she could only summon her cannon.

“Quinn! Two more!”

Two more.

They emerged, one bolting forth with an axe taller than it was raised above its head. The second took a knee far back, and though Quinn might have been preoccupied, she flared with urgency.

Quinn—!

But she was too late this time. A beam of energy, fired from a rifle of some kind, blasted through the gut of the bladed Modir, who staggered but did not die, and impacted Ablaze’s hand, shearing three of her fingers clean off. Quinnlash couldn’t catch it all, and pain, true pain, shot all the way up her shoulder and into her heart.

The rifleman stayed put, perhaps lining up another shot, but the spearman obfuscated her. The bladed Modir got back to its feet with an angry growl, gaping hole in its stomach.

Thirty seconds was an optimistic count.

“Quinn get up!” Besca shouted over the comms, desperate. “Get up, hun, just run! Just buy time, you gotta—”

The comms stuttered, and then there was the ping of someone joining their channel. Was it Deelie? No, a mental glance registered the newcomer as…

“ESC? Who is this?”

And, in a voice utterly wrecked by static and volume peaking, Besca got her answer.

“WOO—o…OOO—oOOO—H…oO—HOOOOOOO!

Sort of.

The quartet of Modir all stopped, their eyes turned skyward. A meteor plummeted to the earth, consumed by fire, and impacted the field between Quinn and the two newcoming Modir. The ground erupted in a geyser of dirt and fire, and as the smoke cleared, a lone figure rose within the crater.

It was a Savior, not quite as lean as Ablaze, but sleek and powerful. Its plating was red as fire, accented ivory over the modium-black flesh. A pair of horns, not too dissimilar to those on Dragon’s head struck out from its skull, and though all Modir wore a flayed rictus, this one truly seemed to grin as though exhilarated by every breath.

It reached an arm up, and yanked down a greatsword to rival itself in height. Yet, with the grace and ease with which one might wield a baton, it twirled the thing up and let it come to rest across its shoulders. Lazily, it glanced back to Quinn. If it weren’t for the fact that Saviors didn’t have eyelids, she might have been able to swear it winked at her.

“ESC Firebrand, reporting for duty.” A woman’s voice, though there was the pep and excitement of someone Quinn’s age in it. “Hope you don’t mind sharing some of the glory with me, Sparky.”

Firebrand shrugged the sword down like she was striking a match, and, appropriately, white fire burst to life and consumed the blade almost entirely. Ducking low, she dashed towards the axe-wielder and the rifleman. The latter wasted no time, taking aim and firing a round directly for her head. But she was low then, and quick as a wick, she rose up and leapt, torquing herself around into an aerial as the bullet sailed beneath her and into the ground. Landing with all the deftness of a dancer, she spun, brought her sword around with both hands and met the other Modir’s axe with a powerful swing, cleaving straight through its haft and turning it to ash just as they’d done to Quinn’s cannon.

Speaking of.

The tether reformed as the numbing wall around Quinn shrank considerably, but she would know instantly why. All of her effort went straight to the static that had grown deafening in the meanwhile, and while Quinn felt power both familiar and unimaginable flood through her, she was also granted the precious clarity to focus it.

Quinnlash phased.

Amygdala Circuit

The Modir let off one more salvo, but Quinn’s shot was dead-on, striking the missiles as they clustered and blowing the monster’s chest apart, only for it to be utterly mulched in the explosion of its own artillery.

Two... came a gutteral anger so visceral Quinn could hear clear as day.

Not so clear was her view of the two newcomers. The second Modir’s demise had left a sizeable cloud of smoke and ash in its wake. Fire was beginning to spread through the fields, catching red once it touched the wheat and turning the ground into a carpet of flame.

Aside from the thundering footsteps growing ever closer, and the encroaching static of something beyond, these moments were nearly peaceful. Nearly.

Quinn!

An alien reflex wrestled with her, and managed just enough control to lurch her sidelong as a modium spear pierced the smoke like a bolt of lightning. It had been aimed for her head, but blessedly it missed; instead, it struck her cannon, right through the barrel. There was a low whine almost like that of a living thing, and then Quinn’s weapon burst into flames and crumbled into ash in her hands.

Inside her it was like a tether had snapped, but she knew it wasn’t permanent. Already it was reforming, strand by strand, but it would be some time before she could wrench her cannon back from the void—if she was lucky, it would be as she phased.

But as the agony of combat was keen to keep reminding her, minutes did always feel so long.

The two Modir cleared the smoke and charged her. The one who’d thrown the spear manifested it once again in its hands, and lunged to stab at her. The other, whose weapons appeared to be a pair of long blades extending backwards down its forearms, skirted around to flank her before dashing in as well.

Amygdala Circuit

As the smoldering remains of the first Modir crumpled to the fields, the second took aim again. This time the salvo was much closer and angled much lower—so low in fact, that the first round of it impacted the brief stretch of dirt between them instantly in a bright, furious explosion that engulfed the monster entirely. The next volley came barreling at her through the heat and smoke, much too quickly for another interception, but also with less care given to aim. Many of the rounds flew past her, blasting her back with earth from behind but doing little else. Some, however, did hit their mark.

The briefest shock of pain exploded from her leg as a missile landed home at her thigh, before that hissing guard took hold and numbed it to an uncomfortable heat. Another hit her in the shoulder, tearing off a chunk of bicep, and another still burst beside her, scorching her ribs.

Quinnlash’s influence strained, the venom of agony seeped through, but only just.

Suddenly the Modir came charging through the smoke, colliding head-on with Ablaze and, being much heavier, tackled her easily to the ground. It did not, however, have the mind to pin her, or get her into a hold of any sort. It simply threw itself on top of her and began to wail on her with its claws, snarling and growling like a rapid animal.

“We’ve got more Modir coming!”

Through the numbing field, Quinn could feel her fury boiling. Of course there’s more.

And sure enough, two more Modir came rushing out of the singularity, full-tilt and bloodthirsty.

Amygdala Circuit

Born ready.

“You’re free-range, Ablaze.”

The Modir closed in, the distance much shorter than she might have anticipated. She could see them clearly, both them were already armed. The closer of the two was sleek, built for speed and agility. Its clawed feet tore into the earth and propelled it with the gait of a career sprinter. Wrapped around its forearm was a chain, leading to an orb clutched in one hand.

The second was more heavily armored, but by no means slow, and would reach them within moments of the first. Its maw was uneven, its lower jaw jutted and more plentifully-teethed. It held nothing in its massive hands, but fixed to either shoulder were a pair of modium-marbled cannons, not quite to the size of Quinn’s, but still large and already filled with white fire. Still a ways back, it loosed a barrage of missles, each trailed by comets of ivory light. A few landed early, exploding like grenades into the fields, showering Ablaze with wheat and molten dirt, but the lion’s share of them stayed true to course.

The first Modir, now closing in, poised to collide with her immediately after the salvo would hit, released the ball from its grasp. White light flared from dozens of holes bored into its surface, creating spikes of energy like the head of a mace. It whipped its arm back, and with a vicious flick, sent the ball hurtling towards her.

An anticipatory hiss ghosted Quinn’s ears, and she felt a sort of shelling around her consciousness, not unlike at the duel. A barrier ready to catch as much pain for her as it could.

Make them pay.

Amygdala Circuit

She wasn’t alone in the dark, less now than almost ever. A shape manifested imperceptibly across from her, glinting off of light that wasn’t there before the shadows claimed it again, and left it hardly more than a smudge against the black.

But Quinn could feel it. Could feel her there. Fingers raked gently through her brain, picking at the thoughts submerged so deeply therein that she wouldn’t be able to tell if they were truly hers or nor—only that she felt them.

“Now we feel real,” she said, excitement shaking her voice. “Now we show them why.”

Besca’s voice piped up in her ear. “You girls in?”

“We’re ready,” Dahlia answered. Quinn might have seen that little shape grin at the sound of their sister’s voice.

“Good. Listen, CSC’s all occupied, so you both are gonna have to handle one of the singularities each. Deelie you’ve got the northern one, we’re lining up…now. Get into position, you’re shock-dropping in. There’ll be a town about four miles south of you, but north past the singularity there’s nothing, you’re free-range that direction.”

“Got it.”

There was a shaking outside, a heavy thumping Quinn could feel even through the cockpit as Dragon got into position. Shortly, a siren blared—the lift hatch opening, followed by the sharp hiss of the hard-light barrier keeping everything from being sucked out into the void of space.

“And…go, go, go!” A scraping sound, another blaring as the hatch resealed moments later. Besca’s voice came again, this time over the speakers. “Brace for redirection.” Again the Aerie shifted, though inside the Savior it was nowhere near as jarring.

“Quinn,” Besca said, back in her ear again on the pilots’ comms. The ways he sounded, it seemed like she’d wanted to say hun’. “We’ve got two Modir coming out of a singularity in the west, heading towards a city about thirty miles south. It’s farmland out there, lot of flat ground, not a lot of cover. You’re gonna have to shock-drop, alright? You’ve gotta get yourself through the hatch, then disconnect—don’t reconnect until you’re through the atmosphere, got it? Try to cushion your fall if you can, but if you can’t, then ball up, disconnect and lock yourself into the seat. Ablaze can take the impact, just reconnect once you’ve actually landed.”

The siren blared again.

“We’re lining up…and…good to go. On you, Quinn.”

Amygdala Circuit

Besca watched as the pair of fresh Casobani pilots charged courageously at the singularity as it spewed forth a deluge of ink-black creatures. Most were crushed underfoot, and what surged past them was mopped up by the lines of military barricades waiting behind. Eventually a sizable beast, nearly half as tall as the Saviors, breached the void, rushing one of them on four legs, with a wickedly-horned head leading the way. A Modir clawed its way out shortly after to engaged the other one.

The news feed quickly became inundated with drone-feeds, cycling between close-ups and wide-shots, while the anchors rattled off play-by-plays like sports commentators. For a brief moment that whole country held its breath, waiting to see if the newcomers would fold in their first battle. Even Besca found herself worried, instinctually.

But there was no need. The pilots were swift, graceful, and they were obviously toying with their opponents—likely as they’d been instructed to. The pageantry of it all never failed to frustrated her; at least with someone like Dahlia, things were over quickly and without theatrics.

They’ll be in a good mood after this, she thought, but it wasn’t reassuring. This demonstration was as much for the people of Casoban as it was for the ESC. Eusero’s space station was parked right by Casoban’s, watching, assessing. This was an audition; that they would ally themselves was practically given, but the unspoken question of what Casoban brought to their allegiance had yet to be answered. They had to prove that their poor performance at the duel wasn’t a systemic weakness.

Well, good for them.

She’d been trying to ring the CSC station all morning with no luck. All week, really. There’d been no formal severing of ties, nothing in writing to say ‘You fucked up, that’s it,’ but the message was clear nevertheless. She almost felt bad for Toussaint; the man was likely still fighting for their alliance with Runa, and it would undoubtedly cost him his job. Some new Euseran shill would be at the helm soon enough, then there’d be no conversations at all.

Besca had half a mind to just leave. Why did she need to be here for this? The Board was looking for her replacement, and there was nothing she could do about it—there was nothing she could do about anything. So why not leave? Why not just go spend what time she had left up here with Quinn, and Deelie, and just enjoy herself?

With a resigned sigh, Besca started for the door. Fuck it, she’d take the girls to CB Danes, browse some online shops. They’d make an afternoon out of it.

Then she heard it—the beeping. The chatter in the room fell instantly quiet, and everyone went still. Except Besca.

“Where?” she asked, whirling back around. She pulled up the tracking map of Runa, scanning furiously for blips signaling a singularity. But there were none—at least, not here.

On the TV, news stations scrambled, their anchors speaking so quickly and anxiously that the auto-translate struggled to keep up. But she caught enough: Two more singularities were opening in Casoban.

---

“That’s scary,” one of the technicians said. “They showed up fast.”

“Happened during the duel, too, remember?” said another.

“Didn’t even have time to set up barricades.”

The crew was split, gathered into clots around TV screens across the hangar. They watched, muttering and worried, as the news showed the CSC station lowering its elevator on the outskirts of Gontiard, where already a small horde of creatures was charging towards the city.

“That’s Château,” Tillie said, pointing to the Savior that leapt from the platform. Looking down at Quinn, she realized the girl might not have been as thoroughly invested in pilots from other nations. “He’s probably their best when it comes to handling Modir. But with the new guys still on the coast, that only leaves Foudre to deal with the other singularity—she’s more of a duelist.”

Usually, whenever she went off spouting trivia, people just told her to shut up. Now, though, the eyes that turned to her did so deference, and she felt suddenly burdened with responsibility.

“S-She’s fought Modir before, though, I’m sure she’ll be fine. Plus, the others will be done soon, then they can help.”

“No they can’t,” someone said.

The news went hysteric; a fourth and fifth singularity were opening.

Static crackled overhead, then a voice thundered throughout the Aerie’s comms—it was Besca.

“Brace for redirection.”

A moment later the Aerie shuddered and lurched. The crew grabbed onto railings, the wall, or got low to the floor. Tillie was unlucky, stumbling to the ground alongside a slew of smaller, unsecured tools and devices. Before the general air of surprise could shift into anger, the intercoms sounded again.

“All hands to stations. Pilots, prepare to disembark.”

All eyes turned briefly to Quinn, but unlike some of the looks she would and had been getting from the staff in other areas of the ship, everyone here seemed to hold her in confidence. As the crew split up and hurried to their stations, she got nods and assured pats on the shoulder. Go get’em, girl, they seemed to say.

Tillie was much more forthright. “Okay! Uhm! Go get changed, I’ll finish up getting Ablaze ready for you!” She reached out awkwardly, miraculously still unsure of just how to operate her hands at a time like this, and wound up settling for a firm grasping of Quinn’s shoulders and a smile, before she darted off.

Down below, shouts of encouragement rang out as a familiar face dashed across the hanger on a full-tilt sprint for the lockers—Dahlia.