Blood’s vision was still blurred as they gained altitude. She felt heavy, sleepy, dizzy.

  The pain lingered; the bleeding had stopped. Hunger ravenously gnawed at her senses — a week without food or sleep or anything, since Holger died.

  She pinched herself to stay conscious and exhaled deeply. Glass had her hands wrapped around Geiger’s arm, the two leaning into each other, almost serene. Blood was too exhausted to judge her new squadmates with any clarity; they were infinitely better than her previous handlers. Even if they had tried to kill her — and they hadn’t, not truly — it wouldn’t have been so bad. The dead cannot be strapped down, dissected, forced to kill, or be used.

  A hand touched hers — bioengineered, not natural; cold, not warm; hard, not soft; deadly, not benign. But not wrong. Good enough. Anything was good enough compared to the past three months, even the nuclear wasteland…

  Rain’s fanged smile filled her blurry vision, inches away. Unhinged. Feral. Chaotic. But also honest.

  His touch, his presence — it pushed the pain, the exhaustion back. Not much, but enough to make a felt difference. The hunger stayed.

  “Daydreaming again… Blood?” His grin widened; his grip tightened. Her heart eased, just a bit. Good enough.

  “I’m… so… very hungry, Rain…” she slurred.

  Geiger leaned toward the pilot’s panel — Kamchatka below them, 5,000 feet, Mach 0.7.

  “ETA?” he barked over the turbine noise.

  “Five hours to the frontline if the winds behave. Enjoy the ride, brother,” the pilot called back, giving a gloved thumbs-up.

  “All right, Kinzhal, fall in.” Geiger straightened. All eyes snapped to him, then slid to Blood’s shredded, blood-soaked fatigues.

  “Status.” He pointed at her. Her chest tightened.

  “Bleeding stopped. Lost too much blood… Exhausted… Famished to the extreme, commander.”

  One hand on her stomach clasping Rain’s hand, the other on her lower back, holding the wounds Glass inflicted earlier. The second most lethal she had ever received. Her right knuckles still black bone, but sinew already weaving over them.

  “Requesting permission to R&R…” She coughed dryly.

  “We’ll all rest as soon as you answer our questions. Clear?”

  “Yes, commander.” Her voice rasped.

  Rain tossed Geiger a pack of Marlboros. Geiger tapped it once.

  “Have you been holo-trained? Weapons proficiency?”

  “Holo-trained in all standard platforms. Proficient with the grenade launcher, regrettably.”

  She blinked, the usual vision reappeared: fourth-gen corpses, POW corpses, screaming, smoke, blood, Semtex. The stink of lethal combat.

  “ATGM? Rocket launcher?” He jerked a thumb toward the heavy gear beside her ruck.

  “Never fired the anti-tank guided missile launcher. Rocket launcher… only thermobarics, high-explosive frag… on personnel. Never faced armor… walkers, or exosuits.” She knew better than to blink this time.

  “But you know the ATGM’s operation?”

  “Theoretically, yes… commander.”

  “Summarize your combat experience. In detail.”

  Her breath caught.

  Rain put a cigar between her fingers and lit it. She inhaled deep, heart slowing; she exhaled. He took her hand again. This time it felt familiar. His fangs now seemed like burdens of circumstance, not dire threats. His touch felt like a medic’s — cold, efficient, nothing like Holger’s.

  “Every few days the red witch dragged me to the testing range,” she muttered. “Imagine a football field of steel cover, wire, mines. Me on one side. POWs or fourth-gen siblings on the other. All armed.”

  She leaned forward, hands over her face. Her shoulders shook.

  Her eyes shut — this time without her permission. Her mind dropped her into the scene once again: bloody floors, scattered casings. The grenade launcher felt like it weighed as much as an MBT, even though its physical weight was negligible in her hands.

  Stared up at the ceiling.

  Why?

  The megaphone blaring: “Eliminate all opposition. Ten minutes.”

  A burning sensation behind her eyes.

  Vergib mir. Forgive me.

  Tears.

  Holger, I will survive. We will be free.

  Wiped the tears.

  Monster.

  Racked the slide.

  Disgust.

  Safety off.

  Shame.

  Gunfire.

  Explosions.

  Screams.

  Corpses.

  Regret.

  Her bloody palms regenerating.

  Why?

  Rain’s cold grip tore her hands from her eyes, pulled her from the nightmare. He brushed a blood-slick red strand away from her face. Her palm crossed the distance and took his.

  “The witch watched from behind armored glass,” Blood rasped. “Brass beside her. Kantemirov, sometimes.”

  Glass inhaled sharply. “The undersecretary of defense…?”

  “Positive.” Blood’s voice dropped to a shiver. “They’d start a five- or ten-minute timer. Kill them all, or endure torture. Every third day. Three months straight. And that was nowhere near the worst…”

  “Typical and hardest encounter,” Geiger said, ripping the packet, lighting a smoke, and leaning forward. He passed the packet to Glass.

  “Typical… POWs… US Marines or Army… armed with 7.62×54 NATO battle rifles; ten minimum, twenty maximum.” She shook her head and looked out the window, at the green radioactive sky.

  Rain gestured for her to continue. She looked at her bloody attire and sighed.

  “Even if I was unarmored and unarmed… they were a very poor match, and I was never unarmed… or poorly armored.”

  “Why were they not equipped with power armor? 20-mil AP autocannons and HEAT rockets?” Geiger barked.

  “I wish they were…” Her mind screamed.

  “Commander… do you have a clue how many rubles our disgusting bodies are worth? Or how much time we need to be synthesized?” She smirked and spat on the floor.

  “Brief us on your combat tactics.” Glass lit a cigarette and leaned back, exhaling a circle of smoke nonchalantly.

  A smile crept across her face; her shoulders shook. She coughed dryly and laughed at Glass.

  “Tactics… right… what is the human reaction time, sister? What is gen-4 reaction time? Do you have the faintest clue about what mine is? Oh… and anti-human rounds…” She got up and pulled a 35-mm-thick tungsten carbide plate from her plate carrier. 25-mm Bushmaster APDS was labeled on the bottom right corner along with manufacturer and date. She waved its 45 kilograms in front of her face like a hand fan, grinning as her hair flew back.

  The gen-6s recoiled back into their seats. Geiger just nodded.

  “And how did you—” he gasped.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “This was my tactic… kin… commander…” Blood’s jaw shut hard. Both of her palms clasped the armor plate; her arms bulged, then shook. Veins shot out as she tried to bend it; her fingertips bled.

  The plate groaned. Veins of fracture marks shot through its middle.

  A rasping, biomechanical growl escaped her tired lungs. It sounded like an industrial angle grinder biting into hardened steel.

  The autocannon-rated plate slid from her bloody fingers and fell on the floor with a thud. Blood’s fingertips recoiled from the pain; her crushed fingertips started regenerating in real time. The fracture marks were still evident on the armor plate.

  “Impossible! That’s impossible!” Glass’s eyes burst wide open; her head moved out of the way as if to dodge a strike that never came.

  “MBT!” Rain smiled. Blood’s and Rain’s hands clasped against each other again, this time by reflex alone.

  “Never damage your equipment for demonstration again, soldier!” Geiger jabbed a finger her way.

  “Apologies, commander.”

  “You never developed any tactics!”

  “An accurate assessment, commander, sir!”

  “So you routinely charged and obliterated a platoon’s worth of ground combatants.” He started stenographing notes on a khaki booklet.

  She sat down and nodded.

  “I am so tired… Please let me eat and rest!” She glanced around at her squadmates.

  “Denied! Anything to add about your combat experience? Who was your most notable adversary?”

  “Sergeant Cristina Jones, US Army.”

  “Unit?”

  “I do not know, sir. All POWs had their ID tags removed.”

  “What made that cockroach special? Did she lick you good?”

  Blood froze.

  “Silence!”

  “What made that particular combatant notable, sister?”

  “She… was the first to call me… a soldier.”

  Glass hissed venomously at the reply. Rain smiled.

  Geiger closed his eyes, leaned back, and exhaled. He took Glass’s hand. Their gazes locked. His arm slid behind her back, and his fingers tapped against her skin, precise.

  “I vote yes. Your call now. Unanimous, or we kill her.”

  Glass shook her head once and lit a cigarette.

  Rain’s hand closed around Blood’s arm.

  “You’re doing fine,” he said quietly. “Hang in there, soldier.”

  Geiger released Glass and pointed at Blood without looking at her. His other hand resumed stenographing in the small khaki notebook, the pencil moving at inhuman speed.

  “Glass. You’re up. Do not touch her. Make your decision.”

  Blood removed her thick myopia glasses, cleaned the lenses against the only clean strip of fabric left on her fatigues, put them back on, and crossed her legs. She said nothing.

  Glass stared directly into Blood’s eyes. Green, unblinking.

  Blood stared back.

  A full minute passed. No one moved. No one blinked.

  Rain tapped twice against Blood’s arm. Obey. Show no emotion.

  She nodded once.

  “Your camouflage is compromised,” Glass said flatly. “Remove it.”

  Blood unlaced her boots, stepped out of them, then stood. She leaned slightly to avoid striking her head on the fuselage ceiling and removed her torn, blood-soaked fatigues with mechanical efficiency.

  She stood exposed.

  Her body bore the evidence: old surgical seams, healed fractures, scar tissue layered over scar tissue, puncture wounds, and burn marks mapped without pattern or symmetry. None of it elicited a reaction. Her face remained blank.

  Geiger turned away from her and fixed his eyes on Glass.

  Rain looked down and withdrew his hand.

  “My body is nothing special,” Blood said evenly. She took Rain’s hand again by reflex and brought the cigarette to her lips.

  Glass’s gaze did not leave her. It sharpened.

  “Knees apart.”

  Blood complied instantly.

  Glass stepped closer, claws sliding from beneath her fingertips.

  “Tell me a lie, half-cockroach.”

  “I am nothing.”

  The answer came without hesitation.

  Glass frowned and glanced at the others. Rain’s grip tightened. Blood squeezed back.

  “What?” Glass said, returning her attention to Blood.

  Blood offered a faint, unreadable smile.

  Geiger raised a fist. Four fingers extended.

  Rain mirrored the gesture.

  Their eyes went to Glass.

  “Who was Holger?” Glass asked.

  “My Holger was Zharova’s chief biotechnologist.”

  A thin blade extended from Glass’s index finger and hovered just below Blood’s abdomen.

  “Did you exchange favors for lenience,” Glass said softly, “sister?”

  “Lenience is something I’ve never experienced,” Blood replied. “If they wanted something, they didn’t need to ask.”

  Glass’s smile sharpened.

  “Disgusting roach-toy. You fraternized with those who used you.”

  Blood did not move. Her muscles locked, her breath steady despite the scream in her nervous system.

  “Did you enjoy it?” Glass pressed. “Being used?”

  “Holger never tortured me,” Blood said. Her voice cracked despite the control. “He never disrespected me. He never treated me like—”

  Rain’s hand clamped down hard.

  Glass smiled wider.

  “Oh?” Glass said. “What did your human treat you like?”

  “He defied her,” Blood said. “And he paid for it. He was ordered to dissect me and document my regeneration. He falsified the data.”

  She swallowed once.

  “He taught me German. He played the violin. We talked about everything.”

  “He risked his position and his life for you?” Glass asked. “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Glass’s mouth curved faintly. “He was a fool.”

  “He was,” Blood said. “Before long, he stopped strapping me to the table. He smuggled food. He—”

  “Why did you not kill him and fight your way to freedom? Were you installed with an intracranial failsafe?”

  “I still am, but that wouldn’t stop me; I would tear up as many vermin as I could before someone pushed the button.”

  Glass’s body eased. A slim smile crawled across her face. She gestured for her to continue, crossed her legs, leaned back, and lit another cigarette.

  Blood exhaled sharply and brought her knees together. Her skin sometimes felt her own, but mostly she felt like it was borrowed property, and all she did was control its motions.

  “So you chose that human as your mate? He was never assigned, was never forced.”

  “Affirmative. We chose each other; best and only choice I’ve made.”

  “How did that work? How did it feel?” She exhaled a puff of smoke.

  “It felt… like nothing I can describe well. It felt like tomorrow would be better, like I had a place to be myself and not a specimen or a weapon.”

  “And… let me guess, Zharova found out your human found alternative uses for her specimen…” Glass nonchalantly took out a cracker and munched on it.

  Blood stared at her feet.

  “Glass! Disclose your decision!” Geiger mumbled.

  “My assessment is this: you are compromised and untrained; much better potential than the random Gen-4 or 5 you are likely to be replaced with…” Glass picked up the cracked carbide plate from the floor with both hands and lifted it in front of her.

  “My decision is to train you in our ways… fail at your peril.”

  Glass stood up and pressed the thick carbide plate against her chest.

  “Keep that. It performed its function; follow its example.” She saluted and started walking away toward the farthest seat of the cabin.

  Geiger also stood up, albeit leaning heavily on one side, and saluted.

  “Only real combat remains. Learn from Rain, obey him without question, and… follow our ways.”

  “Sir! I will not disappoint!” She saluted back.

  “I strongly suggest you plan your common trajectory and rules of conduct with Rain… I have confidence that your synergy will ensure our success and survival.”

  “What does that mean, sir?”

  “Be true to each other. True to yourselves. The last objective is deceptively complex. Carry on!” His hand started trembling; he hid it behind his back, saluted again, and stepped away toward Glass. As he approached, the tremors stopped.

  Rain rifled through Blood’s rucksack and produced a new set of arctic fatigues, a blanket, and a towel; covered her nakedness with the blanket, and set the attire next to her. Blood poured water on the towel, stood up, and started scrubbing the blood away from her naked body as if it were just a piece of gear, as if her skin were just a biological exosuit. The blanket fell back on her seat; she didn’t mind the nakedness. Her skin was just something she piloted. Blood wrung the towel on the floor and looked at her bloody hands; they didn’t feel so guilty.

  “Rain, why did Glass act like this?”

  “Glass is Glass. You’ll get used to her. She fucked up. You are doin’ well!”

  “I will eat and catch a nap, Rain. I feel like…”

  “Chicken or beef, wanna gear up?”

  “What are you talkin’ about?”

  Rain produced a French “Democratic” Republic MRE and then a Japanese one. He held the French closer to her and said “Poulet,” mocking a French accent, then the Japanese one: “Gyui… whatever-the-fuck-u!”

  “Both! Oh, I am so starving, Rain! Thank you!” She curtsied with a warm, full smile. Rain returned it.

  “Bon appétit, mademoiselle! Perhaps you’d like to wear something?” She violently ripped open the MRE boxes; their invaluable contents spilled on her lap, seat, and some on the floor.

  “I want to eat!” Blood dunked a fistful of crackers in chicken paté and then ravenously stuffed them in her mouth.

  “Oh! Unglaublich! Danke!…” (Thanks! Unbelievable!) She crunched another fistful of crackers, opened all the cans without reading labels, and unloaded their contents into her mouth.

  “You earned it!” He poured coffee powder, added water, and shook it, then snatched a fistful of crackers. She just nodded; her mouth was full.

  Rain picked up the bloody towel from the floor and started rinsing her spine of all the caked blood.

  Each touch felt softer, gentler… she was ashamed to admit that she almost felt like… when she was with Holger. She glanced at Rain and recoiled at the thought. He staggered back, hands in front of him. It hurt when he removed his touch. Holger was long dead; she was here.

  “I am sorry, Rain… I don’t usually… eat… well,” she muttered.

  “All is good!” He handed her the coffee; she did not sip it—she drowned all of it with a single gulp.

  “More, please!” She smiled fully. He nodded and prepared another cup.

  “What are you used to eating? I can procure some when we land,” he beamed.

  The sight of biohazard-suit-clad humanoids invaded her vision. The monsters dumped rotting corpses into her cell as she gnawed at her forearm, her fingers. The taste of maggoty human flesh invaded her mouth, maggots crawling from empty eye sockets. The sound of her teeth crushing bones. The sickening feeling of something deep inside her screaming, “Monster.”

  “NO!” she screamed.

  “All is good. I am here… Ugh, bad cooks deserve summary execution… no shit.” A half-smile. He inched closer. She froze.

  “I got a little friend here! Potent enough stim to undo all the bad taste in the wastes! Indulge well!” He took her hand again. The image of her feasting on corpses crumbled.

  He produced a can depicting an unknown yellow-black insect. The insect was labeled as… honey? Blood opened the pre-war tin can. Yellow goo inside. It smelled unlike anything she had experienced or imagined.

  “Sorry, I do not like insects, Rain, let alone insect paste. I mean no disrespect!” She returned it.

  “It’s sweet! Try before you decline! Trust me—the weirder the food, the better!” He set his palm on her back. Her body inched closer on its own.

  “Insect goo? Can’t be worse than…” She whispered, dunked a cracker in the thick goo, and devoured it. Megatons of sweetness overwhelmed her taste; the phantom taste of rotten meat dissipated.

  Ah, sweet! So sweet! Oh, impossible! What is this? She sighed. The tingling sensation returned, fiercer this time; it felt like a jolt of electricity across her body.

  “Honey. Pre-war humans used it to disinfect wounds and regain their strength. It’s all yours.”

  “Bioengineered insects? How? How can insect paste be so good?” She overturned the can into her mouth and shook it.

  “Not all insects are like cockroaches. Some used to be… useful.” He combed her hair between his fingers.

  “Are there any such insects left alive, Rain?”

  “No.”

  After devouring the second MRE box, she equipped her new attire and lay flat on a row of seats. Rain covered her with a blanket.

  She snatched his hand.

  “Do not let anyone drag me back there, Rain!”

  “Nothing will happen. I am here. Rest well.”

  She dared to close her eyes. She would have rather faced an entire Delta Force platoon unarmed.

  He held her hand tight enough to crush a human’s bones to dust.

  Darkness.

  Monsters…?

  No.

  Peace.