Chapter Nine: Zero Minutes to Midnight

“'Einstein's Monsters,' by the way, refers to nuclear weapons, but also to ourselves. We are Einstein's monsters, not fully human, not for now.” ― Martin Amis,

"As we expected," Mr. C. begins, his mouth pressed to his folded hands, elbows propped against his desk. "Your score is significantly higher than that of the others. You’re aware of what this means."

"Yes, sir." I answer.

"Tomorrow, at the graduation ceremony, you will stand in front of the compound to accept your role as captain. You will give a speech to honor your comrades, the program and show us that you are ready to lead. You are to then give the oath to be captain. It seems doable, yes?" He asks. I nod in response. "I want you to fully understand the oath you would be pledging." He reaches to the drawers in his desk, and I hear the turning of keys. He pulls out a folder and runs his fingers along the top right corners, flipping for a certain page. He slides out a single piece elegantly and fluidly. He clears his throat.

"I will put the lives of my comrades first. I will do whatever I must to keep my team alive. I will do what is right for the greater good. I will make the necessary sacrifices. I will accept responsibility of my team." It seems like no time at all passes before I’m standing on a stage, wearing Ty’s suit instead of the dress they picked out for me�" we had switched outfits on account that I hate dresses and Ty’s used to wearing women’s clothing�" listening to Mr. C. recite the oath and repeating it after each sentence. "I will serve my team above myself."

"I will serve my team above myself." I echo. I hold my right hand on my heart, my left hand held at around the height of my nose.

"I will not rest until my team is safe."

"I will not rest until my team is safe."

"I will serve my team and everyone I lead."

"I will serve my team and everyone I lead." I’m more agreeing to being a superhero than a leader. I can sign my soul to this cause.

"I recognize that my team’s safety is now my top priority."

"I recognize that my team’s safety is now my top priority." My team’s safety has always been my top priority.

"Above all else."

"Above all else."

Mr. C. almost looks proud. Content. Satisfied for once. I know he’s not. He never is. He probably just doesn’t want to ruin this ceremony they’ve been planning for years. He offers me the slightest of smiles before turning to the crowd. "I would like to present, before man and before God, Captain Ashler, the leader of the strongest team in history." I face the crowd, dropping my hands, oddly disappointed. I guess that somewhere beyond the rational part of my mind, I’d hoped Mr. C. would yell triumphantly, raise a fist in the air. The crowd would jump to their feet and cheer instead of politely and lamely clapping.

I plaster a smile on my face and thank the audience for even responding at all.

I guess the cheering crowd, the roaring fans jumping up and holding their hands high in the air will have to wait for when we complete our missions. We’ll stop a plane from crashing into the white house, and then I’ll get the applause I have in mind.

The other four join me on stage, Ty looking stunning in his beautiful dress, ripping at the waist. He smiles at me, the first genuine smile I’ve seen all night. I will have no problem dying for him or Andrew or Kelli. I guess I’d die for Cody. No, I would. For Kelli’s sake.

I’ll never hear that applause. No one will respond to my presence that way. That’s how people respond to beloved celebrities. I should have known better.

When someone pulls out a gun, no one cheers for it. They scream, bolt from the scene or hide for their very lives. No one adores weapons. No one celebrates killing machines. I don’t know why I thought they would.

You’ve lied to yourself enough already, I snap. You know exactly why you thought they would. You were too ignorant to realize you weren’t made to be a "beloved celebrity."

I was made to be a weapon.

I was made to protect my team.

I promised I would.

I failed.

"So, hon, we forget about San Diego and go straight to Tijuana."

"We’re not skipping San Fran and San Diego." Dawson responds to K.B.

Thank God they’re alive. Thank God their association with me didn’t get them killed. "For the love of God," I say, sitting up and opening my eyes. "Stop calling the city ‘San Fran.’" I sit up, looking around. I’m in the back of their truck, the back hanging open. I move to the edge, hang my legs over and spring to my shaky, trembling legs.

"She’s alive!" K.B. yells, throwing her hands in the air. I look to them, all slightly injured but alive and well. I start�"

Someone crashes into me, nearly knocking me off my feet. They wrap their arms around me, pinning mine to my chest. Their chin is resting on my shoulder. They tighten their grip, and I’m absorbed in their warmth and embrace. I’m pinned against them, their arms underneath my elbows and around my waist. What. What is happening? What is this? How do I react? What’s Mav doing?

"You ever been hugged before, hon?" K.B. asks. I shake my head.

"Calm down. It’s a sign of affection." Dawson says, her hand around Ardo’s hips. Physical contact. Like high-fives, fist bumps, handshakes and even kisses. Could I have lived my life without experiencing any of them? I slide my arms beneath his and clasp around his back, my hands moving up his shoulder blades. I press my face into his clavicle, and I can smell fading cologne. I like this.

Mav lets go, slowly, and I pry my arms off. He steps a mere foot away from me and looks down at his feet. He rests his right hand on my left shoulder. "You need a hug before you die." He says.

I’m still paralyzed and stiff. I loosen my shoulders, "Well," I say, as I move my limbs like I’m chipping away ice. "I’m not going to question your logic," I put my hands on my hips, "But what makes you think I’m going to die any time soon?"

"Uh, hello?" He asks with far too much sass. "You nearly did."

I scoff. "That’s not what dying is like to me. That’s my job."

"They better pay for your insurance." Dawson jokes.

I look around. We’re on the side of a pretty empty street, no signs to tell me where exactly. "What happened?" I ask.

"We saw someone get hit by a car and thought, ‘Hey, that looks like Amber.’ We got closer and realized, ‘Hey, that is Amber.’ We picked you up, and you’ve been unconscious for about fifteen minutes, hon." K.B. says.

"Where are we? What happened to Santa Cruz?" I ask.

"They ordered an evacuation." Ardo chimes in.

"Why?" I ask, frantically looking from person to person. "What happened?"

"We don’t know. We thought you would." Mav admits.

I shake my head, pressing the palms of my hands to my temples. "We lost. They won. They destroyed the boardwalk and they shot me again and again and they hurt my team." I talk faster with each word, the spaces between slim and shrinking. "They shot my team they could have killed them. They could be dead." I start panting, my arms shaking.

"Okay, okay, hon." K.B. says, putting her arm on my bicep. "Sit down." She guides me to the edge of the truck. I plop down, heart faster than a hummingbird’s wings. I start rocking back and forth, head bowed down.

"Give her some space." Mav says. I can hear Ardo, Dawson and K.B. walking away. Mav stays and sits next to me. "Just breathe. I need you to breathe." He reaches his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. I don’t care. I don’t care they’ll kill my team. "Think about something else." He suggests. "If we were in Cathedral City, you’d have been arrested for sleeping in the parked car."

"Out of all the crimes I’ve committed," My voice is what an earthquake would sound like if it could talk. "I’d better not get arrested for sleeping in a car."

He laughs, and the sound offers me a little, flimsy life raft in the dark, stormy waters amidst a pitch black ocean. "What’s the worst one?" He asks.

"Murder. I’ve killed people they use me to kill people and I never even question it. I’ve killed people I kill people I’m their weapon. They use me to do their dirty work they lied to me they keep lying me so they can control me." My words get progressively faster, and I wonder if he can even understand me.

"Who’s weapon?" He asks.

"Them. My creators. The ones who made and trained me and sent me on this mission." They’re practically my family. Why would they have to do this? Why did they have to lie?

"What did they do?" He asks.

I need to explain. I can’t expect him to understand. I stop rocking, putting my energy out by tapping my foot. I hold my breath to stop the rapid panting and try to slow it down. I keep my hands on my temples, my eyes closed to remember. "Five years ago, the threat of a third world war emerged. All of a sudden, the doomsday clock was at one minute. When we found out no country would have allies, we knew we had to have something none of the other countries had. Like in World War Two, we needed a weapon of utter and mass destruction. What can’t be replicated and can destroy everything? The first half to that answer is obvious.

"Deoxyribonucleic acid. DNA. Each organism is truly unique. No two organisms will ever have the same genetic pattern. They’d have to turn an organism into a weapon. Which, you may ask? The only one with enough intelligence. Sure, tigers and sharks are the top predators, but could we trust them to not attack their own team? How could we make them intellectually advanced? They needed organisms with enough prior knowledge. That eliminated every organism except humans.

"They developed a serum. Its purpose would be to replace the blood. This would affect each and every cell in the body, as blood carries oxygen, nutrients and water for the cells. What’s in the nucleus of the cell? Deoxyribonucleic acid. They planned for four serums for the four elements: water, earth, wind and fire. However, a new element is theorized to exist. Dark matter. The closest they could get was darkness, or shadows. They plotted a fifth serum for a fifth mutant.

"Now, they had to figure out what to test their serum on. A serum made for a human’s genetic makeup cannot be tested on anything other than the human it was made for. Would people volunteer to get these powers? I’m sure they would. They could easily have held tests to see who was worthy of wielding these powers. To replace blood, it would be handier if their body was already void of blood. For this reason and for secrecy’s sake, they selected five corpses. These corpses were each young adolescents. The brain goes through the most changes during infancy and adolescence. They could better raise an infant and have it spend its whole life in war. However, they didn’t have eighteen years. They couldn’t send a four or five-year-old into war, mutant or not. So they selected five adolescent corpses. They would take advantage of their changing minds, mold them around war. They chose these corpses based on who they were, and, if applicable, how they died. For instance, my body was chosen because she was anorexic. She had a will stronger than anything else, war fiercely determined and extremely competitive. In her life, she was intelligent and a good leader. Everything they wanted me to be. They specialized the serums to each corpse and began.

"Their first success came early. It wasn’t difficult to make a human, a species reliant on water, into a water mutant. This was the second birth of a boy renamed Cody. He retained no memories of who he was before. Not his family, his friends, his home, his death, even his name. He only remembered what he had learned. Algebra, geography, vocabulary, biology, et cetera. They say his body roughly eighty-five percent water, which isn’t that far from ordinary humans.

"He was followed later by a boy of earth. Like Cody, his memories were gone. His name would be Andrew. He was significantly stronger than Cody and less human. Whereas Cody is seventy percent human, Andrew is sixty-two percent. He was more advanced, although it was slight. The gap between water and earth was less than a month.

"It was difficult to get the boy who controlled wind. But they did. Two months and five days after Andrew, the third and final boy was rebirthed. He, unlike the prior two, held to much of his corpse’s personality. Did he remember anything about his corpse? No. He’s called Ty. He is fifty-four percent human, his creation more tedious than the last.

"They eventually succeeded in creating a girl of darkness. She saw the biggest change in appearance. The darkness greatly affected her genotype, unlike the males. Also on the contrary to her successor, her personality was gone. It returned after three weeks for reasons unknown. Her name is Kelli. She’s fifty-one percent human, far more advanced than those before her.

"They faced their biggest challenge with me. Besides dealing with an element completely harmful to the human body, the corpse was in worse shape than the others. The serum was affected by the damage done to the girl’s body, particularly her heart and brain. Her brain had been deprived of what it needed and had shrunk. Her heart was being digested by her body, resulting in cardiac arrest. The bones were weak, the skin was thin, her organs had failed and her muscles were weak. Instead of replacing the blood, the serum had to completely rebuild the body. The fire destroyed the old body, replacing it as it moved from toe to head with flames. It wasn’t planned, but it worked in their favor.

"When I woke, I had no memories at all. My mind had been completely wiped. I was like a newborn. Another fluke in their favor. I was also naked like a newborn. I incinerated my clothes and anything I touched. After two weeks of cramming thirteen years of knowledge into my mind�" which was surprisingly easy and doable�" they had created a fabric that could withstand my temperature. I finally got to meet the others, and I gave three of them third degree burns they still have the scars from.

"Because my entire body is fire, I’m zero percent human. I don’t eat. I don’t drink. I don’t sleep. The only human function I have is that I need oxygen. Even more than humans, actually. I can only last about three seconds without it. Sad. I know. I only have two weaknesses: oxygen deprivation and water. To make up for the vulnerability this planet’s largest feature, I trained. Every single night, as everyone slept, I trained. I never got tired, never skipped a session. I trained for at least twenty-two hours a day. They treated me like they were raising an infant. My games were war games. Destruction, death, murder, it’s all I’ve ever known. They told me I was a superhero as I learned to carpet bomb. They fed me the idea of being humanity’s hero so I wouldn’t see that I was humanity’s downfall. They must have worried that my conscience would finally activate after all these years."

I finish my long spiel, giving Mav time to say what I know he’s thinking. I’m not a girl, not even human. I’m a fire made from an anorexic girl’s prison. I have died before, and I was brought back to life against the morals of many people. I was manipulated and made into a murderer. He doesn’t say anything, leaving the words burning in the air. He stares blankly ahead, his brows furrowed and eyes blank.

"Those four mutants are to me what your crew of nomads is to you." I keep my gaze on him, and he eventually meets my eyes. I look down at my palms, turned towards me. "They know what I am. They know I’ve killed people without even pausing to think about it, and that I’ll never shed a tear over it. And they don’t care. They knew I could kill them, and I’ll never break a sweat doing it. And they still provoke me. They know that if they told me to, I would burn them all alive along with the whole world, and I’ll never lose sleep because of it. And they can still look me in the eyes and see something other than the monster I see." I clench my fists and pull them out of my vision. I shut my eyes, unwilling to look at myself. I have to stop before I start hyperventilating again. I need to get stronger to get revenge. "Those people were in the hands of terrorists. God knows what’s being done to them right now. They’re not like me. They can’t take bullet after bullet and not feel a thing. They bleed. They bruise. They break. They’re more human than anyone thought." My voice is quivering. I can’t sob. Not now. I have to be strong. I can’t be weak. I can’t cry.

"Hey." Mav says. I open my eyes and look at him. His lips are slightly curled in a soft smile. Why is he smiling? He pulls me close to him, wrapping both arms around me. I don’t reject it. I return his embrace and reach my arms around his back. I press my left cheek against his chest, and he rests his chin on my head. "They’ll be okay. You can save them."

"What if I can’t?" I ask, my voice muffled. "What if I’m too late?"

"You know, we humans aren’t as weak as you think." He says.

"Yes, you are." My voice is small and difficult to understand. He chuckles. Does he think I'm trying to be funny? "I could break your back right now and paralyze you. I could snap your thoracic vertebrae and endanger your vital organs. I know of every way to kill a human." I have to stop to collect myself. "There’re so many."

"There are. Yet over seven billion people are still alive." He says.

I take a deep breath and receive little oxygen. "How am I going to protect them all?"

"You can’t. It’s impossible. Even for you." He pauses, perhaps in preparation for my rebuttal. I just listen this time. "You don’t have to be strong all the time. You’re allowed to feel bad." His words are the only sounds in my empty mind. "By definition, you’re not human. But you aren’t in any way a monster. Damn anyone who says you are. Someone who feels and cares as much as you do isn’t a monster." He lets go, and I ease away to look him in his eyes. Kelli said her favorite eye color is green. I could not agree more. "I’ve seen who you are. I don’t mean the mutant that runs around, shooting fire everywhere."

"You say that like there’s no order to it." I say with a most obscure hint of my usual self.

"Blowing up California isn’t orderly." He snaps back comically. "That’s not who you are. You aren’t that person. You don’t have to be. No one can ever make you anything other than who you are. I don’t care if Ohio says that women can’t be in public if they haven’t shaved or if Illinois says that if a couple is unmarried, the girl has to call the dude ‘master�"’"

"Those are not real laws."

"Those laws are as real as murder’s illegal. I don’t care what those states say; you have control over your life. You get to choose. I know this is cheesy, and I know it’s a cliché, and you strike me as the kind of person to hate clichés, but don’t let others live your life for you. If you’re going to screw up your life, well at least you did something. At least you made a choice. It’s more than most people do."

His energy suddenly drains. "Who didn’t make a choice?" I ask.

"My parents. They could either have gone into business for themselves or worked for a company. They were too scared to pick, so they didn’t. They stayed in the crappy county and drank their problems away. They didn’t work for either. They’ve been working at a drugstore for nearly thirty years, and they never stop talking about how badly they regret it. I guess that scared me. I don’t want to be like them. I don’t want to be close to fifty, working as a cashier to pay for food. I got so scared about missing choices I rushed into them. Dawson wants to leave? I’ll go, too. Where should we go? Tijuana. Did I make the right call? I don’t know. I won’t know until I’m their age, looking back."

We look ahead, at the single storied buildings with few windows. Far ahead, I can see choppers landing beyond the horizon. "We’re all so messed up." I say.

Mav nods. "Damn straight."

The highway is jammed full of cars in some mass exodus from Santa Cruz. There’s a loud siren blaring behind us because we couldn’t already tell that there’s a problem. It’s less vexatious than the incessant honking from hundreds of cars. Ardo drives in his boxers with no shoes on, Dawson sits next to him. Mav sits in the middle, mushed between K.B.’s wide hips and my wide shoulders.  He puts his hand on my thigh, and I don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t room or… my face heats at the thought. Either way, I don’t want him to move it. "I call it Glacier County torture." K.B. says, leaning inward to crush Mav.

He winces and snaps back, "There’s probably a law against this in some state!"

"Like a patriarchal country would ban a dude being between two girls." I say.

"Beautiful girls, hon." K.B. adds.

"Stunning." I continue.

"Ew, Ardo, your breath." Dawson says, fanning her hand in front of her nose.

"I’m out of gum." He insists.

"You need more. Stat."

Mav turns to me. "You know where ‘stat’ comes from, yeah?" He asks.

I nod. "It’s a medical term derived from the Latin word statim, which means immediately, or right now."

"How many languages can you speak, hon?" K.B. asks.

"Six thousand five hundred." I answer.

They either respond with a gasp or a loud, "Whoa!"

"And you’re fluent?" Dawson asks. I nod.

"How many languages are spoken in the world?" K.B. asks.

"About seven thousand." I answer.

"So, basically, you’re superhero and a super genius." Ardo says.

"I don’t count as a superhero." I say. I catch a sound of the music and finally do what I’ve been thinking about. "We need better music." I lean forward and change the radio station to the one I’d train to.

"Better music?" Mav sounds truly confused at my worlds. He wrinkles his nose and looks to K.B., who shrugs.

"Queen?" Dawson asks.

"You guys like rock?" I gesture to the radio. "Classic rock."

"Is this what you meant by alternative?" Mav asks. I try to mimic Kelli’s signature smile, and I’m about ninety percent sure I fail because he starts laughing and pointing.

"Fat bottomed girls? I’m a fat bottomed girl! This is my jam!" K.B. says, bouncing up and down in her seat.  

"Small space. Calm down before you knock me out." Mav says. His grip on my thigh tightens.

I shake my head at him, and he looks at me. "Weak." I scold.

"I’m kinda digging this song." K.B. says, bobbing her head to the music. Mav looks at her and starts laughing.

On the road opposite to us, three military vehicles race down the empty road going one hundred and four miles per hour. I keep my eyes locked on the last one until it’s out of sight. I wonder if I know someone in it. I wonder if they’re a team sent to track down my team.

Suddenly, a ton of military vehicles start shooting down the highway with soldiers holding onto the sides. They have guns larger than their arms strapped across their chest. They have their full combat outfits, helmets and all. They look ready for war.

The cars vanish into the city, and nothing else comes. Minutes pass by with more honking, music and speaking.

The siren yelling at us to leave dies down, quieting the honking with it. "Why’d it stop? Can we go back?" Ardo asks. I notice everyone turning to me, but I keep my gaze locked out the window.  Dawson turns down the music.

"I don’t know." I say. This is odd. Why would they stop the siren? Perhaps to… to make way for another one.

You never forget what this siren sounds like. The fear it brings is indescribable. This isn’t when you run screaming. This is when you hug your loved ones and pray. This means the very ending of life as we know it.

For the first time since World War Two, the air raid siren is going off. It echoes through the silent mountains, booming in the gray sky. No one moves or so much as breathes. The world is completely silent to listen to siren never before played in this state or country. I don’t know if all these people know what it means or what to do.

Fortunately for them, I’m specially trained for things like this. I turn to the four nomads in the car. "Drive on the shoulder or on the wrong side of the road. I don’t care. You get the hell out of here. Other cars should follow you. Get as far as possible." I order. I push open the door and start scrambling onto the concrete, pulling my thigh out from under Mav’s hand.

"What are you doing?" Mav desperately asks, clutching my wrist. I jerk my arm away and burst onto the concrete. "You can’t fight them like this!"

"Go!" I order, slamming the door closed. "Now!" There is no warmth in my voice. I am all hostility and fierceness. This is no joke. Bombs are coming.

I run away from the truck to give them a clear escape route. I hear another slam behind me and whip around. Mav’s sprinting towards me, abandoning the truck.

"Get out of here!" I bark, still dashing away.

"I’m not going to leave you to die!" He yells back, somehow able to keep up with me.

"I’m not going to die! I was made to survive nuclear blasts!" I shout. They specifically altered me so the radiation can’t affect me in any way. The explosions don’t damage me at all, the winds can be overpowered.

"I’m going to help you!"

I don’t have time to argue. I reach the cement dividers between the lanes going in and out of Santa Cruz. No one’s going in at this point. I need to be strong now. I need to have at least enough fire in me to move these things. I lean my left shoulder in them and push with all the strength I have. I lean into it until I’m diagonal to the ground, to no success. No avail. Nothing. Mav joins, pushing next to me. Even with both of us pushing, it barely reacts at all.

"Come on!" I yell, my shout more like a plead. The air raid siren doesn’t play an hour before. It plays minutes before. Moments. It keeps getting louder and everyone’s just sitting in these cramped streets packed bumper to bumper. My heart’s racing and I’m not sparing a second to breathe. Panic is pumping through my system, not blood. These people have to get out of here! They can’t die, trapped in their cars! I already failed my team; I can’t fail the others I’m supposed to protect!

"I thought you had super strength!" Mav shouts.

"Not after I just fight a huge battle!" I retort.

Come on, adrenalin! An air raid siren normally allows four minutes of time to get to safety. Four! There are cars still miles behind!

A man around the age of thirty appears next to Mav. He starts pushing on the divider, pressing his palms against it. I don’t know who he is, and honestly, I don’t care. More people join, all over the age of twenty and below fifty. We press into three dividers, one to my right and one to my left. All of us are struggling, but you would only be able to tell by the way our faces get scrunched up. You can’t hear our feet skidding against the ground, panting or grunts. We guide them to our left, clearing a path for the cars. They scrape against the ground, leaving little crumbling pieces. Once one is out of the way, the people go help the next. We get mine out of the way, and we all sprint for the last. We can practically run for how fast the divider is cleared. That’s all I need. It’s enough. People are driving on the shoulders, the cars are moving!

I step out of the way of the opening, and it’s a madhouse. Suddenly, cars are flooding through, spinning so fast their tires squeak, they skid and they leave black tire marks. They race out of the city, not so much as ten feet between each car.

I turned to the people who helped me move the dividers. My eyes settle on Mav, and I order, "Go! Get out of here!" I have to scream to be heard over the siren.

"We can move more!" A woman says.

"You need to leave now!" I shout. "If you stay any longer, you’ll die!"

"We can get more people out faster!" A man says.

What are they doing? They can’t survive this! They’ll be killed! I was made to survive bombs. I can make it, they can’t! What are they thinking?

"We’re staying!" Mav hollers.

They run to more dividers and start pushing. I guess they don’t care. They’re going to die, and they don’t care. I thought all humans were terrified of dying more than anything else. Yet these people are going to end their lives to help others. Maybe they’re the captains of their own teams, and they’ve taken the solemn oath to lay down their life for them.

I sprint to help them, aiding in my right shoulder. Although it hurts like hell to press on the bullet wound, my left arm is swollen. I try to ignore the pain and push, opening room for three cars to leave at once. The cars are now going fifty miles per hour out of Santa Cruz with ten available lanes, including the shoulders.

We’re working on pushing a fifth one out of the way, and I hear jets coming. The people stop to look at what I’m already familiar with. I move to the front of the crowd, nearest to the city. The jets, faster than me, reach the center. They drop the bomb just as I hold my hands out wide across my chest.

There’s a flash of white that blinds me. There’s a booming louder than any gunshot or anything I’ve ever heard in my life, shattering my eardrums. Something pops, and I only hear white noise. Deaf and blind, I still stand firm, my chest exposed. The light begins to fade, revealing the horror of war. The cloud emerges from the buildings as winds rip through the area. The heat is intense and threatens to broil my skin off. The wind races along the ground as quickly as the cloud rises, coming nearer every second. Cars are blasted off the ground, buildings stripped from the ground. My heart is skipping as it comes rushing at me. I shut my eyes and turn my head to the side, bracing for what’s coming.

The winds hit me hard, barreling at me stronger than any jet or missile. I have to stay standing. I feel the radiation, shockwaves and force hitting me, trying to blow right through me. I have to absorb it. I clench my teeth and try to absorb all the energy into my body. It stings.  I can feel it digging into my skin and zapping through my body, electrifying every cell. I struggle to keep my feet on the ground, arms up. It’s like trying to take a huge breath in. There’s only so much you can take in before you either expel it or fail. I have to absorb it all. My heart picks up in speed like it’s being supercharged, the energy making me buzz. I still inhale the force, feeling packed to the brim and ripe for an explosion. If I do, everything will be expelled from me. The fire, the radiation, the energy.

My spine’s going to break. My neck’s going to snap. My organs are going to explode. Everything’s expanding to take in this ginormous surge of energy at once. I can feel my lungs pressing against my rib cage, my esophagus growing wider than my neck. The bones in my fingers burst out of the skin, growing faster than their coat of flesh. My eyes try to leak out of their sockets. In another second, I’ll completely implode. My body can’t tolerate this sudden stress. I’ll have a heart attack. I’ll have organ failure. I wasn’t made to absorb it. I was made to let it go through me.

I keep absorbing it, because I know the people behind me can’t. I feel the skin on my cheek bubbling, bloated beyond words. My heart is pumping so fast, the beats blend together in one solid beat. My senses are brought back to what they normally are, and improved upon at least tenfold. My ears open to the sound of rushing wind bolting through my ears at the speed of sound. I can smell the burning from buildings far away. I can taste toxins in my mouth, metallic and sick that breaches my lips and lingers on my tongue. The force rips my torn shirt off, but my undergarments remain.

I pay attention to my heartbeat and imagine it growing faster than the rest of my body until it ruptures and fails. Please, make it. It’s not that much longer. I pray that my body can physically stand the power. I wasn’t made to go from little to no energy to more than I’ve ever dealt with. I keep my feet planted, arms trembling, chest exposed and overwhelmed. The energy is foreign to my body, colder and slicker. It crashes into my organs and bones, twisting and mutating them into something more.

The wind passes, and my heart keeps beating at its pace. I hear how fast I’m breathing, and I have no idea how I’m still conscious. I don’t do anything. My arms drop, my eyes roll up. My knees give and I collapse on the ground, cracking the cement with my face. I lie limp in the ground, my mind spewing thoughts and commands like rapid fire. I’m going to choke on oxygen. My heart’s going to burst.

My body tries to adjust, fixing portions and growing to meet their counterparts. My skin recovers any exposed bones like nothing happened. My cuts and injuries are healed, no scars will be left. The only pain I feel is in my chest. I release all the radiation I’m holding in my body, oozing out into the concrete. I feel myself shrinking at least four sizes down.

I pull my head up at the mushroom cloud growing into the sky. How many times have I seen that on video? Maybe two hundred times? I’ve seen more pictures of it than of myself. The effects on the landscape are more familiar than the insides of my eyelids.

Mav runs over and slips his hand under my head. He picks it up from the ground and takes my hand with his. "Hey." He says softly. "You okay?"

I nod. He helps me to my feet, one hand around my waist, my arm around his shoulders. I stand tall, feeling less bony and empty. I don’t look down at my body. I don’t need to. I must look like any other human. Blue eyes, short blonde hair, I’m the Amber Mav knows. I’m short again. I’m also incredibly light headed, and if I didn’t have Mav to lean on, I would likely pass out.

I can hear murmurs behind me. "She must be the champion." One man whispers.

"That explains a lot." Another man replies. Good to know they’re still alive. I didn’t just destroy my organs for recreational purposes.

I turn around to face the survivors. They look shaken up and have suffered some damage. Nothing too concerning.

"Clear out immediately. Seek help for the radiation." I instruct.

They all abide except Mav, and I turn back around to the cloud. I’m pretty much looking in a mirror. No, I’m looking at myself in the past. The old weapon of World War Two meets World War Three’s new weapon. This is the closest to family I’m ever getting.

Mav pulls me against him. I think I like physical touch. Or, at the very least, his physical touch. I’ve been missing out. "Be honest with me. How are you holding up?" He asks, looking down at me.

"I’m fine. I told you. I was made for this." I say. "You, on the other hand, were not. You need medical attention."

"What happens if I don’t? Can I get a second head?" He asks.

"I’d rather not imagine what would happen to you." I say. We look into the obliterated city, waiting for the military to come to the scene. I would suggest going closer to the bomb site to be spotted more easily, but getting closer to the radiation isn’t the best idea I’ve ever had. I eventually tell him, "That explosion should have killed you. By all accounts, it’s a miracle that you’re alive." He stiffens up. "That’s what I don’t understand. I’m supposed to die for the humans of America. Not the other way around. I want to know why."

"Why I chose to stay with you?" He asks.

"Why you weren’t afraid to die a horrible, painful death." I clarify.

"What’s so bad about death?"

"Pardon?"

"Well, if you’re a good person and you had a good life, you go to heaven afterwards. I’m not afraid of heaven."

I shake my head. "I’m not going to heaven. I’m going to continue burning in hell."

"Hey. Good people do bad things. You are not a bad person for defending your country."

"It’s not that simple."

He squeezes my shoulder and tells me, "I also did it because I’ve got the gnarliest crush on you."

Everything joint in my body straightens and locks in place. My heart decides to stop working, and my brain short circuits. My lungs quit to fit in with the others. He did not just say that. I’m delusional. I’m dreaming. I’m unconscious or something. Because I am a weapon. I am not loved by anyone. No one has ever had a crush on me. No one has ever or will ever see me that way. I accepted that truth when I was fifteen. He doesn’t mean it. He can’t mean it. I can’t breathe or think and how in the hell do I respond to something like that? I’m screaming in my mind and electricity buzzes throughout my body. I could drop to the ground right now, curl into a ball, and manically, insanely laugh myself to death. That, or bite my thumb to try and quell my internal screaming.

My heart bursts into hyperdrive. I have to say something. This is going to get incredibly awkward if I don’t. "You know, you could have just opened doors for me or held my hand." I say.

He chuckles. "That’s not extreme enough for us."

I roll my eyes. "We wouldn’t be living if we at least thought of being normal, would we?"

"There are enough normal people." He turns his head and rests it against my temples. I can feel his soft breath on my skin, relaxing me. I try to match his calm, deep breaths. I succeed.

He doesn’t linger, although I wish he did. He pulls me close to him, and I can hear his heart beating against his chest. A heart of blood and a heart of fire.

I do not even worry for the outcome of our physical incompatibility. I used to think love was all kissing and hugging and contact. It’s more than that. I can be a part of it. I don’t have to cut myself off from it because I can’t touch. I can still care about others.

And a human, the most selfish species to ever exist, has helped to show me this.

We wait for twenty-two minutes and thirty-seven seconds before my home nation’s army arrives. Packed to the teeth with tanks, trucks, motorcycles, guns, jets, and helicopters, it looks like war has already begun. I stand, shirtless with only my sports bra, staring at the troops. I wonder if they’re prepared for the hell they’ll endure. God knows I wasn’t.

The first human to reveal themselves is General Kayd. He storms out from the passenger seat of the closest truck and slams the door with enough force to shake the whole vehicle. His eyes are locked stone cold on me. He hurries over to me, stopping less than a foot in front of me. He wears a radiation suit, but even then, he must be noting the heat. He pulls his hand back as if he’s going to slap me. He draws in a sharp breath, all his muscles tensed. He grits his teeth and freezes for a moment, deciding what to do next.

He relaxes and drops his hand. "Only because I’d hurt myself more than I’d hurt you!" He snarls, his voice full of fury and rage. If I hadn’t been exposed to the wrath of a drill sergeant since my awakening, I’d have pissed myself. "You had one job! To protect these citizens! The estimated death count is in the hundreds of thousands!" I’m more ashamed than hurt. He deserves to be as livid as he is. I’m to be treated like every other soldier. I failed my mission. There are repercussions to failure.  "You failed your team! They could all be dead, and that’s all a result of your actions!" I’m not permitted to interrupt or defend myself. Not that I feel I could. What would I say? I tried my hardest? That’s not acceptable here. I have to win. "We put our faith in you, and we’re down billions of dollars in damages! You failed, Ashler! You couldn’t complete the mission! Dealing with the group is now my priority! You were an experiment, and you failed!" Soldiers are swarming out from their method of transportation, full battle attire and armory. A squad forms around me, guns raised and aimed at my head. General Kayd shoots me a final look of disgust before turning around. "Put a stop to this waste."

"No!" Mr. C. scrambles forward, pushing through the crowd. I’ve never really seen him move. Or have emotions. He stands in front of me, arms spread wide. "You can’t hurt her! She’s the greatest advancement humanity’s ever made!" What… who is this? He’s sweating and trembling, eyes wide. He’s not professional. He sounds desperate and concerned. I’m confused. I don’t know this man. His tie is incorrectly fastened, there are stains on his puts, the buttons aren't aligned, this isn't Mr. C. "If we lose her, all the sacrifices made were in vain! We lose the greatest weapon ever made!"

"She’s a failure! We could have gotten the job done with missiles!" Kayd argues.

"Could you? Could any weapon have done all she has? No! She can take out several jets and can be used again. Missiles are used once!" Mr. C. shouts.

I don't know who I side with in this argument. Sure, Mr. C.'s on my side, but he lied to me and used me and turned me into this monster.

"Missiles would have gotten the job done! Ashler herself has caused over two hundred fifty-eight million dollars in damages as well as five hundred thousand four hundred casualties! She hurts her own side! She is a liability that is not worth the whiplash!" Kayd yells.

"Look to the public! They call her the Champion! They hail her as a hero! People protest nuclear weapons! They wish they were never invented! They don’t react that way to her! You have to serve the people, and the people want her!" Mr. C. barks, pointing at me.

"She can’t be a hero!" Kayd roars. "You know you didn’t build her to be a hero! She can’t save our troops! She can’t protect our men! She can’t save a falling aircraft! All she does is destroy and you know it! You made her to be a weapon! That’s what you promised the world! We don’t need a hero and we don’t want one! We need something to win the war!"

His words silence my thoughts. They didn’t build me to be a hero. I was right. I guess that somewhere, in the depths of my mind, I desperately tried to believe I was wrong.

"She will win the war! Think of all she has gone through! No human could have done what she has? And she has done it all completely independently." Mr. C. says.

"It isn’t enough. We gave her a chance. It’s over." Kayd growls. He turns to those around and behind him, arms held behind his back. "Terminate her." The soldiers nearest to me raise their cocked guns, and I loosen my knees into a defensive stance.

"Hey!" Mav snaps, stepping in front of me. I grab at his shirt, trying to pull back. I tell him to stop, which he promptly ignores. "She’s saved a lot of lives!"

Kayd, completely unfazed, looks at me. "Who’s this?" He asks.

"He helped me move the roadblocks to evacuate the citizens." I blandly answer. I shoot Mav a look that warns him not to be stupid. I know he sees it.

"She’s risked her life over and over again for everyone!" Mav yells. He throws his hands up slightly and drops them to his hips. "That’s got to be worth something."

Kayd is completely indifferent. "How much do you know of Ashler here?"

Say nothing. Protect yourself. Say you don’t know me. Please understand that I lied to you for a reason.

"I know she’s stopped California from being destroyed." He says. I try not to relax so obviously. That’s a good answer. Still. Mav shouldn’t test Kayd. I know his reputation.

Kayd rolls his eyes and scoffs. "Kid, she’s almost caused more deaths than our enemies have. She’s costing us nearly a billion dollars in damages. You should stay out of a conversation you know nothing about."

Mav is stunned into silence by the sass of a middle aged, balding man.

"The two of you. Come with me." Kayd says.

I look from Kayd to Mav. "Why, sir?" I ask. There’s one person I don’t want to tempt, and he’s already angry with me. Kayd could get Mav out of this safely. He has the most authority, I need an ally like him.

"I have to see what he knows of you. Now, come. Before the radiation kills us all." He says. The soldiers start to move out, some staying with guns at the backs of our heads. I want to hold Mav’s hand to make sure we don’t get separated, but that would blow my lie. I instead stand close. The second there’s a crack between us, they’ll pull it open until we’re on opposite sides of a canyon, in different cities, different states.

They push us into a truck and slam the doors behind us. They trap me in a small space without windows. Brilliant.

The car speeds away from Santa Cruz, and I have no idea where we’ll end up. The truck goes through a divot, making almost everyone bump. Mav’s head hits the back wall, and I would have chuckled if I wasn’t occupied with my worrying. Kayd shows no mercy. One cannot use pathos on Kayd. Ethos won’t even make a difference at this point. Whatever power I had is gone.

"You okay?" I ask, keeping my voice low and barely audible over the rumbling and crunching of the tires and the broken concrete debris. I wonder if he could hear me. He stares forward, a scowl set on his face. I repeat a little louder, "Are you okay?"

"Fine." He answers, his serious, drab tone matching his expression. I’m a little startled by his response and straighten up, looking ahead as he does. He’s unhappy. Frustrated, probably. Why am I more worried than he is? I have Mr. C. protecting me. I am not disposable. He is. I am important to them. He is only important to me.

"What’s wrong?" I ask.

He glares at me, cold and unyielding. He could be thinking anything, and judging by his expression, his words are harsh. "You really want to know?" He asks. I nod. He leans closer to my face. "What the hell was that?" I lean back slightly. I can’t say I saw that coming. "I thought you were a badass who doesn’t take s**t from anyone."

One of his words triggers the defensive, stubborn, competitive side to me. "I am." I insist. My military voice is starting to come out.

"So why’d you let that guy walk all over you and insult you?" He asks.

"I’m in the military." I snap back. "You listen, obey and respect your superiors."

"What happens if you don’t? You get yelled at? Because that happens either way."

"If I don’t obey, I’m demoted. I don’t get to be captain of my team. No matter what, I’m the youngest taking orders from inferior beings. I’d rather listen to Kayd, who yells at everyone, than my friends. If I don’t get to boss them around, I have to do what they say. I’ve never done that before."

"I noticed."

"Look, here’s how the world works�""

"Oh, because you know."

I try to give my best, "If looks could kill" expression, but his face doesn’t change, so I doubt it had the effect I hoped. I guess I only intimidate people who don’t know me well. "Damn straight I do. You’re always above someone, and you’re always below someone. Always."

"Not where I’m going."

I roll my eyes. "You’re right, sorry. The rules of everything don’t apply to Tijuana. Please forgive my ignorance."

Before I finish my final sentence, Mav’s leaning his head back and groaning. "Oh my�"" He stops the same time I finish. He pulls his head down. "Why are you so sarcastic?"

"I’m always sarcastic. I don’t know anything else. I never learned to speak normally."

"Of course you didn’t. You’re not normal."

I actually start laughing. "Is that supposed to insult me? I know I’m not. If you want to hurt my feelings or whatever, you should call me something with a negative connotation to a freak like me."

"I’m not trying to hurt your feelings," He sounds more exhausted than passive aggressive. He presses the palms his hands against his eyes, rubbing for a little while before dropping. "I’m just…" He scraps that sentence and starts over. "I thought you’d stand up for yourself. Defend yourself, you know? Instead you just got pushed around, and that pisses me off." He then says two words no one has ever said to me before. "I’m sorry."

I don’t know what to say or how to respond. My team and I never said sorry to each other. We were rarely serious and never really took offense to anything. I’ve apologized to staff members for accidentally hurting them. No one’s ever done anything to me that warranted an apology. He looks like he actually means it, too. Have I ever seen him look guilty? "It’s okay." I assure him. "You’re only human."

He offers up the slightest of smiles. "Why do I feel like that was an insult?"

I return his expression. "Because the human race is the most bizarre species. I can’t decide if I would either die to be you or die if I was you. You people are beyond inconsistent."

His smile spreads and becomes more genuine. "Of course. Inconsistency is the only consistent thing about humanity." I roll my eyes and he leans back, putting his right hand behind his head. Either he’s flexing or showing off his tattoos for everyone in the truck. "Isn’t that great?"

"It’s annoying. I have to make a plan along with like four contingency ones."

"And here I was, thinking you were spontaneous."

"Please. I’m only spontaneous when I’m talking to people I trust.

"Who would those people be?"

"You. My team."

"What’re they like? You know all about my team. I want to hear about yours."

I could talk about those idiots for hours. "Well, we have the oldest. This bookworm named Cody. He’s decent, I guess. Kind of a total nerd. He keeps to himself and only opens up around one person. He’s really serious and frankly, boring. He also wears all blue except for these stupid green sneakers that piss me off beyond belief." I could burn his shoes. I should have.

"There’s Andrew, who deserves a Nobel peace prize and a hug. He’s always calm and never loses his chill. He loves everyone, humans, animals, plants and everything in between. He preaches peace and acceptance and love and believe me, he practices it." I speak so fondly of Andrew. It’s almost adorable. "You can’t help but love him.

"Then there’s Ty." My tone drops from admirable to disappointment, like unwrapping a present expecting a new phone from rich grandma and instead getting a pair of hand-me-down socks. "Basically, he’s a little s**t and can’t be trusted. He pranks everyone mercilessly and can’t take anything seriously. He’ll hurt your feelings for comedy’s sake, and it’ll make you nearly pass out from laughter. He’s also my best friend. We’re each other’s co-conspirators. We’re always making stupid bets." Ty’s going to owe me so much money next time I see him. "He’s also the king of nicknames. One mistake around him and you won’t live it down.

"Bringing up the rear is our resident vampire, Kelli. Her nickname makes sense when you see her. I think that deep down, she hates everyone except for Cody. They’ve had boners for each other for years." Mav tries not to laugh, making this snorting sound. I have to choke down a giggle, failing horribly at keeping my smile down. "She only smiles when she looks angry. She’s good company, though. Definitely one of my friends."

"Can I ever meet them?" He asks.

Something in my brain malfunctions and thinks it’s a good idea to replay my memories of them being shot. "I don’t know." I say, focusing on the knot of a soldier’s left boot to keep the panic away. "They were shot, I don’t know if they’re still alive."

"I’m sorry."

"It’s not your fault. It’s mine. If I’d just completed my stupid mission, they’d be safe."

"Hey. That’s not true."

"Excuse me?" The soldier next to me asks. She has a soft, low voice. "I’m sorry for interrupting, but your team was airlifted out nearly an hour ago. They’re probably already at our compound in Bakersfield."

"What?" I ask, perking to life. I face the woman behind her helmet, revealing gray eyes and darkly tanned skin. She’s oddly familiar… I can’t quite understand it. Perhaps I’ve seen her at an earlier location?

"After you crashed the chopper, our forces came in and got them out of there. Last time I heard they’re all still alive." She tells me.

I exhale and slump back against the car wall, closing my eyes. They’re fine. They wouldn’t die in the hands of the military that worships them. Kayd would almost certainly let me die, but he’d protect the others with his life. You’d think I killed him in another life.

"Thank you." I tell the woman.

"I need to meet Ty." Mav tells me.

"You do." I straighten up with more zest in life, thinking of the two meeting. "His last name is the Guy who can Fly. And Doesn’t Have to Try."

He chuckles. "You chose me over a guy like that? The guy rhymes better than Shakespeare."

"Don’t say that to Cody. He’ll pass out and Kelli will kill you."

"You wouldn’t defend me?"

"I took a vow. Sisters before misters."

"Doesn’t sound like she follows that."

"She doesn’t. The only person who doesn’t lie constantly is Cody, and he’s the person we all trust the least."

The compound in Bakersfield is nothing like my compound. There are no grand structures of glass. This building instead looks like a warehouse with thick cement walls and narrow, tightly enforced windows. It’s two stories tall and easily two hundred feet wide, a chain link fence going around the perimeter. It’s probably used to tell angst ridden teens that this is a serious place, not one to dance in when they’re emotionally frustrated.

Mav and I exit the vehicle, surrounded by soldiers. We follow them into the front entrance, and let me tell you, this building is not what the outside lets on. The dirt-stained cement walls house a clean, polished and professional workplace. The tiles on the ground are white and spotless; the walls are expertly painted gray. There are lights everywhere, thoroughly extinguishing every shadow or nook of darkness. Soldiers march through the hallways, directions painted with black ink onto the walls direct scientists or doctors wandering about. People go up and down the staircase, all of which walking quickly. It’d be easy to lose track of someone here.

Well, if that someone was not me.

Mr. C. strolls up to me, carefully navigating through the freeway of people. "Miss Ashler. I have something you would like to see." He tells me, nearly shouting just to be heard.

"No." I answer. I have no sympathy or care for Mr. C. His authority no longer intimidates or sways me. "I’d like to see my team."

"You can see them after. Trust me. You need to see something." He keeps his eyes locked stone cold on me. There’s an unfamiliar emotion in them. Worry? No. Impossible. Mr. C. never worries.

"I’ll only go if he comes with me." I point at Mav.

"Not happening." Kayd announces, strolling up next to me. "We don’t know who he is. I’m not sure if we can trust you with this information, let alone a stranger."

"What do you have planned for him?" I demand.

"Ashler, it seems you care for him." Kayd taunts.

"I didn’t know caring for innocent people was wrong." I snap back.

"I just need a few tests. Nothing painful. We need to know who he is, what he did to end up here, so on." Kayd says. He leans closer to me for no reason other than to flaunt the fact that he can.

"This is how you treat people who help protect your country? He’s a hero, not a beast." I counter.

"We don’t know that." He turns to Mav, and if he didn’t get his face out of mine I would have punched him. "You. Come with me."

"I’ll be okay." Mav insists. He tries to reassure me, and he fails.

"You will be." I snap, shooting my fiercest glare at Kayd. The two walk to my left, quickly emerging into the sea of people. They’re gone before it seems humanly possible.

"Miss Ashler, you do need to see something." Mr. C. reminds me.

"Fine. It’d better be important."

He takes me upstairs and a decent ways right. Inside a windowless, large conference room with a table shaped like a capitalized O and several computer screens all around, Mr. C. darts to the head. There’s a tablet waiting for him, connected to the projector. When it turns on, the screens bolt to life. Mr. C. has to punch in several passcodes before I can see a folder. Inside is a single video. He pulls it up, and the few seconds it takes to buffer are years.

I recognize the man on screen immediately. He’s a part of the group. He stands directly in front of the camera, blocking out the background leaving only corners of darkness. "To the girl they call champion: we have figured out how to kill you." He says in English. I exchange a quick look with Mr. C. Concern. Confusion.  

The man steps away from the camera and�" I gasp. I back up until my tailbone hits a chair and even then, my feet try to take me away from what I see.

There are the citizens that helped me move the dividers, on their knees and arms behind their backs. They’re bleeding and bruised, sweaty and crying. Behind each of them is a member of the group. Guns rise to the back of the citizen’s heads, and I shut my eyes.

I should have covered my ears. I still hear the guns fire and the bodies thump onto the floor.