Chapter 1

 

Skies of vibrant pinks and oranges filtered past high above the amaranthine city. The buildings stood silent; each glowing pure white stone: their shapes following silhouettes of large villas branching off long grid streets. At each intersection stood a monument, surrounded by a multitude of roads flowing endlessly on. The residents of this expansive settlement moved slowly along the paths, heading towards one single building near the centre of the settlement, an amphitheatre, a single black stone building in the sea of light. The entire populous of the metropolis moved onwards towards the dark monolith: all; except one. A girl, in all appearances not much older than thirteen sprinted down the labyrinthine streets away from the slaughter pit. On her back; she carried a sheathed long sword, bound with a multitude of spells and talismans. She stopped in one of the plazas and waited for a minute catching her breath whilst looking at the sky.

“Where is she?” the girl asked herself panting slightly. “She must be around here somewhere.” She looked down one of the streets, something about it just felt right, but she could not tell what. She began to set off again breathing two words to herself, “Found her.”

 

She slept quietly under the arcane sky. The warm sunlight on her face made her stir for a second and she opened her eyes. The white stone buildings shone around her amplifying the light which surrounded her as a bed of energy. Before her stretched a long garden dominated by neat blades of grass, each swaying lightly in the breeze. She brushed her long locks of ash black hair; out of her melancholy ice blue eyes. The girl breathed deeply in a sigh; a feeling of serenity washed over her. A though briefly occurred to her: how long had she been here? A day: a week: a month? Three months? She could not tell. In fact who was she? What was her name? This disturbed her for a minute before she shrugged it off. It would come back to her soon. But she could not shake the uncomfortable feeling she had. The girl could not remember why she was in this city or when she got there or even how. She sat up to look further at her surroundings, the lines of the building burned in the light. A strange; warmth burned her arms: yet she took no notice of it. She rested her head on the hard stone steps of the villa, looking up towards the sky where small birds flew rings around each other. The woman looked up as a shadow fell across her. She tilted her head; her ash black hair fell; shifting with the movement.

Crouching over her was a girl in her early teens wearing an ornate black dress which flowed over her knees in such a way that her legs were entirely hidden. Thick silver tresses of hair flowed over the girl’s shoulders and down her back. The woman gazed into her honey-gold eyes. She knew this girl. Known her: for a long time.

“Aoi?” she ventured remembering the girl’s name. The girl smiled mournfully.

“You remembered my name at least, Pica.” Replied Aoi

A memory suddenly appeared in Pica’s mind. Aoi was not this girl’s real name: it was an alias. And despite her appearance she wasn’t human. What was she? Kami, Oni: Angelus, Impious: Devil, Jinn: Ancient, Ethereal? She decided upon Ethereal, but had the feeling that all of them applied to this girl.

“I feel as if I am going to lose it again, memory is such a transient thing.”

“That may be so Pica. But you must remember. The past: present and future. Things change and right now you are in danger. A danger you cannot yet perceive.”

Pica looked at her with a puzzled expression on her face.

“What exactly do you mean?”

 “Look at your arms:” Replied, the girl: a gentle darkness of concern hovering in her voice.

Pica looked slowly down her body towards her arms, her neck stiff as if paralysed or restrained. A flock of birds were pulling at her flesh, tearing apart muscle and sinew as she lay helpless at the sight of her body being ripped apart. The young woman breathed in slowly, her breath choking in her throat. Pica screamed as she opened her open eyes. Machines stabbed her exposed muscles, lacing them with a network of electrical connections. Pica looked around her, but her movement was limited. From what she could gather, she was in some kind of remote medical operating room, with the surgeons acting away from her body. The room itself was about fifteen to twenty foot square, with a ceiling of another fifteen foot in height. Pica found the sound of her pulse pounding in her ears like the incessant beat of a drum to war. She glanced around at the machinery surrounding her: on both her right and left arms moving in parallel, were machines threading the metal along the sinews and fibres of Pica’s arms. Surprisingly these medical sewing machines caused no pain to her, only discomfort, as they silently moved along her limbs. There was some equipment monitoring her vital signs, of which several were sending some form of distress signal: notifying whoever was performing this operation that their subject was now awake.

“No point in moving just yet.” Pica thought to herself looking at her arms; flayed open in the operation. She looked further down to see the work continuing onto her legs. On her back Pica could feel a feed-line of some sort, possibly supplying her body with the blood required to survive the operation, not that she was bleeding. She could defiantly feel the blood pulsing through her now skinless arms. Pica closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. Despite the initial surprise of her predicament she was able to calm herself relatively quickly. As the machine moved away, she wondered what was going to happen next. Her arms and legs were still open with the muscle clearly visible.

“I wonder if anyone has noticed that I am awake at this moment in time?” she thought aloud to herself.

At that point a group of three people entered the room to Pica’s left.

“Now this is interesting, if only I could see them better.” Pica thought to herself quietly, wishing that she could have been wearing her glasses.

From what she could make out the group consisted of a bald headed gentleman, flanked by a lady and another gentleman from whose appearance Pica could guess that he was a bodyguard for the two, or maybe just the other Gentleman. The clothing of the three consisted of a standard medical blue suit with a long white lab coat. At least her sight was still good enough to see that. Or maybe not, it might just be the light that engulfed the figures. Or, was she being drugged? Pica did not know at this point, but if she asked she knew she might find out answers to her questions.

“Who are you?” she shouted towards the group.

“That is none of your concern subject FK457. Just know that you have volunteered for cybernetic enhancement and that is why you are here.” Spoke the bald man with careful deliberation in response to Pica’s question.

“You refer to me as a subject with just a code number, yet I am a person with a name and feelings, so tell me these things: where am I and are you drugging me?”

“You are certainly perceptive FK457. We have been using certain chemical substances to allow your body to accept the modifications, keep you anaesthetised as well as making you compliant to our way of thinking. As for where you are, well that I also cannot tell you.”

Pica smiled at that answer. “Yet I do have a name, I am an individual, not a mindless drone.”

The woman spoke this time, moving close to Pica, to a distance in which she could clearly see her face.

“So what is your name? You say that you have a name and that you an individual.”

“My name is Pugnaris, Pica Pugnaris. I am cadet-lieutenant of unit 1304 of Caladri the main military academy of the city of Mecharia Rex. I believe by the city charter it is illegal for you to conduct any form of medical experimentation upon your citizens without their prior consent.” Exclaimed Pica with authoritive anger, knowing full well that although that rule was true; there were exceptions; so these people may call her bluff.

“You know full well who that order covers. Those who are members of Caladri but are neither attached to other organisations nor are employed by Caladri can be forcibly volunteered into scientific experimentation.” The Bald headed gentleman scolded, coming further into view of Pica.

She cursed him under her breath, stopping as her eyes began to focus clearly onto his features.

It was then that she saw his eye sockets: he had no eyes! Instead they had been replaced by what initially looked like large glass jars, yet the metallic rims projected back into the flesh of his face. There were two lights above each eye: which seemed to cause a glow in the lenses housing what Pica presumed were light sensors. The general shape of his face was slim in an almost skeletal way: yet he seemed regal in his bearing with a large; sleek; nobly shaped nose. Pica stared horrified into his eyes as motors audibly whirred within them allowing the gentleman to change the focus of his gaze.

He peered at her limbs as the machines began to suture the skin back into place whilst others continued running along her legs, tacking the wires into her thin yet athletic muscles. By now Pica could see him clearly; and not only that, she could smell him. The odour of an elderly male; masked by the pungent scent of disinfectant, yet both seemed to be covering up something else: a strange inhuman smell, yet one which was familiar to Pica. It was a smell which reminded her of herself, but also of Aoi.

A thought crossed her mind: who or what was he?

Yet strangely that thought seemed redundant now. There were other questions that she needed answering, questions which had already been posed, as well as newer questions.

Pica drew a deep breath before asking: “When can I leave?”

“Leave?” asked the gentleman with a questioning sneer in his voice.

“What I mean is: how long will I be in this room for?”

The woman stepped forwards, her flowing straw-like hair bounced pleasantly in a tightly bound pony-tail. She leant over to the gentleman and whispered in his ear. He turned towards her, a concerned puzzlement; wrote itself across his aged brow and burrowed into infinite cybernetic eyes.

“Very well Saguis. I will leave you here with the girl: for now she is unlikely to be of any harm to us or our operations.” He growled; a bitter distrust of caution in his voice.

The two women watched the gentleman and his shadow leave the operating room under a dark cloud. Pica looked as best she could at the woman who now stood beside her: Saguis. She checked the medical equipment carefully with haste.

“I will answer your questions as soon as I can Pica.” She spoke attempting to reassure the late teenage woman with whom concerns were of great importance at the present time.

Pica nodded at Saguis’s words hoping to gain some reassurance from the tone and timbre of her speech.

The machines continued on: their progress reaching a point where Pica’s feet were being finely cut apart and the metal substructure implanted. Pica cringed in pain as she felt her skin being flayed apart: so far the only part of her body where pain had been an issue during the entire process. She glanced up to where Saguis had been.

Gone. At least that is what it seemed like to Pica in her currently limited field of vision: yet it was not long until footsteps betrayed the fact that Saguis was still close by.

“Sorry about that. I just needed to do a few things and get myself a chair.” Apologised Saguis: as she unfolded a white plastic chair: which presumably was stored somewhere in the room. “So Pica: how do you feel?”

“Quite rubbish actually. I do not enjoy people talking to me in the way that the old gentleman who was with you did. Other than that, I think I am fine. Or as fine as I can be in the situation” Pica responded in a positive manner, yet with some scepticism in her voice.

Saguis smiled knowingly at Pica.

“Must have been a shock: to wake up here in the middle of an operation. I hope you are not too traumatised by it.”

Pica smiled a gentle sorrowful, regretful smile. “I am not too bothered by that. I just feel like I have a huge headache: as if several weeks have passed by and I have been of no consequence to anything in that time.”

Saguis’s face took on a pained shocked expression. “That is worrying: I wonder if they used that?”

“Used what?” Pica asked slightly panicked.

“Synlapse: It is a drug used for removing part of a subject’s brain chemically with little Ill effects.”

Aoi looked around Saguis as she typed frantically onto her electronic notepad: trying desperately to locate the files relating to Pica.

“Aoi?” Pica mouthed confused at the girl’s presence.

Aoi looked at Pica placing a finger over her lips as if saying “shush.”

“Sorry? What was that Pica?” Saguis asked slightly confused by the girl who she now considered her patient.

“Nothing: So what happens with this Synlapse drug then? Are there any ways to resist it? Or possibly reverse its effects?” Pica asked concerned.

“There have been cases where individuals have recovered the majority of their memory after undergoing reversal therapy, of the initial thousand in the trial with the drug only; half a per cent were able to recover their memories.” Saguis explained to an increasingly worried and panicked Pica, pausing for a minute before continuing. “And then there were the Elves and other Lunan. It appears that by having the blood of the Ethereals running through their veins they were resistant or even immune to the effects of Synlapse.”

“How so?”

Saguis looked at Pica. “Unfortunately I cannot tell you.”

Saguis glanced at Pica’s feet and she followed her gaze: the machines had finally caught up with the previous group of surgical apparatus and had begun to sew up Pica’s feet.

“Are you sure you are feeling alright?” Saguis asked, with a clear concern in her voice.

“Apart from the possible effects of that Syn… something drug and the pain I know I am finally feeling now then yes. I think I am feeling alright, although it would be nice to have something to eat and drink.”

“I will ask someone to deliver those to you and to have most of the feeds removed.” Saguis answered kindly.

“One thing before you go: I know I have asked this before but how long until I leave, do you think?” Pica asked optimistically.

“That depends on how well you recover: although I expect that you should be up and about by the middle of next week.” Saguis replied, uncertainty evidently clear in her voice.

“Thank you.” Pica replied gratefully.

Saguis bowed her head in acknowledgement, a gentle smile playing upon her face. She then rose from her chair: moving to leave the room.

“Could I also request two more things?”

“Depends what those things are.”

“Can I be allowed to have my glasses? As well as something to read: since I am awake and aware.”

“I will try.” Saguis answered; a mournful regret in her voice.

Pica heard Saguis walk off, the door opened and the room was plunged into near silence. All Pica could sense was the sounds of the monitoring machines whirring away quietly, the movement of the bed beneath her. She breathed slowly: trying to feel her breath enter and fill her lungs: supplying her body with a soothing energy. The girl continued this: closing her eyes for a bit. She could feel the pulsing beating of her heart in her chest. Pica began to drift.

 

“Meike!” shouted the child as she ran towards the young woman.

Meike turned: noticing the shout from the running child. She embraced her, lifting the girl up off the ground.

“Hello Pica!” Meike greeted the child with familial joy “You seem to have got bigger than when I last saw you!”

“You always say that!” Pica responded crossly in the only way that a child could.

Meike glanced towards where Pica had appeared from, seeing a gentleman, shadowed by a young boy.

“So what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Meike asked darkly.

“I need you to do something for me.” The man replied.

 

“Hey.”

A gloved hand gently shaking her shoulder, as well as a soft female voice woke Pica from her sleep.

“What?” she mumbled half coherently.

“I have brought you your dinner.” Replied Saguis.

“Oh! Thank you.” Pica exclaimed: exhaustion evident in her voice.

She tried to move her arms: but quickly found that they were numb from the operation.

“You probably will not be able to move for a day or two.” Saguis explained, lifting a straw to Pica’s lips.

“It would have been better if you had told me that earlier.” Moaned Pica in annoyance: before reaching out to the straw and grasping it comfortably between her lips. She drank the liquefied food. The texture was extremely disgusting; yet the flavour was in contrast pleasant.

She heard a clicking sound next to her.

“I also managed to find these.”

Pica felt the shape of small plastic arms push her hair back off her face, as stylish black framed glasses slipped over her ears and affixed themselves onto her slim attractive face.

“Thank you.” Pica politely acknowledged gratefully.

“You are very welcome.” Saguis replied, returning then straw to Pica’s mouth.

Pica nodded in gratitude before returning to consume the paste-like meal.

“I was lucky to find them: you are the first and possibly the only one to become conscious in this process. You could say that it is a miracle.”

Pica nodded, listening as best she could whilst steadily consuming her meal. It did not take long for the packet of food to be consumed.

Pica let the packet drop as she turned to Saguis.

“So how long have I been here?”

“Only a month: according to the notes on you.” Saguis answered.

 

Lord Sodius observed the room via a series of observational cameras: his cybernetic eyes shifted focus rapidly, creating a silent whirring sound. Doctor Saguis and the girl: FK457, or Pica Pugnaris as she called herself. He continued observing them as they talked and FK457 ate.

He looked carefully at the girl’s notes: acquired under suspect methods by a contact of Sodius, someone willing to do anything asked: for the right price of course. He looked through them, yet things they seemed strange. There were areas of information missing: almost as if Crane had put together this information himself: removing the more sensitive details permanently so that it was a secret that only Crane would know: and possibly FK457. Even at this stage of the procedure nearing completion: it was becoming evident that the Synlapse was having no effect on her. Was this girl an elf? There appeared to be no sign physically of her being from elven bloodstock: but those traits were not just to do with her facial features. Could her build show anything? He brought up notes on the girl from during her capture and transportation. Physically she appeared to have the slight yet athletic build of an elf, but then again not. Things did not seem to add up with this one. If she was an elf or a lunan or even from one of their bloodlines then it would be likely that she would be resistant to the Synlapse drug. It seemed that way, but at the same time, not.

He shook his head: it would be a council meeting at some point next week. Currently the Oracia group held the majority of the power, with Sodius at its head as the city lord.

Yet it could be said that the position of the city lord was an understatement: he was closer to a president or a king than a corporate C.E.O or municipal leader. But as always; he made a point of implementing the group’s plans or conducting an inspection of the facility once a week. It just so happened that today was the day that that girl woke up.

He sat for a while considering his options in regards to FK457. It was then that the thought crossed his mind. There needed to be some sort of combat test for this technology: after all the enhancements were for military application eventually. But: what to do with her after the test?

He shrugged his shoulders: they would cross that bridge when they reached it.

 

Pica had slept badly that night, as she had the night before: the day she had woken up in fear during the operation on her arms and legs. It was yesterday morning that things seemed to have improved: her arms seemed to be healing with the sutures leaving large scars on both of her arms, as well as her slim, supple legs. She could also move them now, which Saguis was surprised by. If anything her recovery was progressing faster than expected. Yet despite resting for the whole two days as well as being immobile for the previous months, Pica felt extremely tired and exhausted. She did not sleep well either of the past two nights.

Her dreams were plagued with thoughts of running across a series of fields whilst something unseen chased her relentlessly for miles and miles, deeper and deeper into unfamiliar territory. Sometimes she glimpsed sight of others; who seemed to fall not rising again as they ran.

Always after these dreams she woke with a cold sweat and a frigid ice cold room. Yet she knew that there were times in the past where this had happened.

“So: Pica. How are you feeling today?” Saguis asked.

“That depends on if you are asking emotionally or physically. But my answer to both is not brilliant.” She replied darkly.

Silence fell between the two.

“Could you explain: in what way are you not feeling brilliant?”

Pica looked up at Saguis so that she could see deep into the woman’s eyes.

“I would like two things: something to read, and exercise. I am sorry if I seem cross or annoyed but I am fed up of sitting in this room all day.” Reasoned Pica: with clear venom and frustration in her voice.

Saguis was taken aback by this outburst. “I am sorry you feel like that. If you want we can begin by testing your muscles now.”

Saguis walked around the bed in which Pica sat so that there was sufficient room, before reaching out her arm towards Pica.

Pica threw back the covers so to reveal a nightdress that had been given to her by Saguis on that first day. She carefully swung her body around so that her feet dangled off the edge of the bed: before reaching out to Saguis and grabbing hold of her shoulder. Tentatively, she slid down off the bed: allowing her feet to touch the cool floor of the room.

She breathed in in shock at the temperature of the floor before slowly putting her weight onto that foot. She began to feel her knee begin to buckle, so she quickly brought her other leg forwards to steady herself. Her foot fell hard onto the floor: not quite steadying herself: if Saguis was not there then she would have probably been on the floor. She breathed heavily from exhaustion and to some extent: fear: she had been in that bed for over a month as far as she knew: possibly longer. She steadied herself and leaned down: resting, placing as much weight on her back leg, whilst Saguis kept her steady. Her thumb brushed against a line of something near the crease of her thigh and her groin: a collection of contact ports. It was something Pica had discovered earlier: the operation on her arms and legs was not the first, neither, if she had not awoken, would it have been the last.

“Are you sure you are fine with this?” Saguis asked with concern for Pica.

“I’m all right.” Responded Pica: righting herself. “I am ready”

She took a slow and careful pace forwards, trying to keep her balance and strength as best as she could. As she shifted her balance securely she felt a clear feeling of relief for just taking that one step. Saguis walked beside her as Pica continued walking onwards.

“Do you want me to let go now?”

“Yes.”

Pica took three steps, stumbled but righted herself. She looked back to Saguis, reading the worry on her face. Pica smiled before striding out confidently around the room. She stopped and began practicing a martial arts routine. Once or twice she lost her balance: her arms pin wheeling in the air until her body righted itself.

Saguis looked on: impressed at the girl’s progress.

“Happy now?” she asked.

“Yes.” Pica replied confidently.

“Do you want me to leave you for a bit?”

 “I am fine with that.” She answered; pushing her glasses back onto her nose, “as long as you get me some books to read.”

“Anything in particular books wise.”

Pica thought for a second, getting her breath back after her physical exertion, her muscles burning with energy, blood, adrenalin and lactic acid.

“I would prefer a fiction book at the moment. Crime, mystery, thriller, supernatural horror: not the gory stuff please.”

“I will see what I can do with them.”

Pica watched her leave before returning to rest briefly on the bed. She focused he mind onto the energy flowing through her right arm. She opened her hand so that her palm was out stretched. A flame flickered across her hand for a second and Pica focused on it so it would stay before she closed her hand: killing the flame.

She smiled a knowing smile, as the sensation became familiar to her once again.

“That; is who I am. That; is what I am.” She whispered to herself confidently as knowledge of her past began to flood back to her.

 

“I am surprised at how quickly you have progressed in the last week and a half.” Saguis exclaimed.

Pica slowly let herself down from her handstand, before rising erect, doing a standing jump into a backflip: then another with a mid-air twist before landing in front of Saguis.

A week and a half: that was all it took for Pica to return to full mobility. Every day she had met with Saguis for three meals: each packed with energy and nutrients. Initially as they had been on the first day, the food was liquidised. It was not long until Pica was eating well each day.

“So; what does that mean?” Pica asked, with an enthusiastic smile on her face whilst pushing her glasses back into place.

“It means that I believe you are ready to leave here and live in a different area of the facility.”

“That sounds optimistic.” She commented, “The facilities in this room have been less than satisfactory.”

Pica motioned towards the small side room which had been opened on the second day when Pica had regained some mobility. The place was a small washroom with a toilet. But it seemed that on one or two occasions Pica’s body had rebelled, forcing her to use the toilet in one way or another.

“Indeed.” Agreed Saguis, the only visitor that Pica had during her time here: bar the group that inspected her on that first day.

“Would you like to follow me?” Saguis suggested after a slight pause.

Pica nodded and proceeded to follow Saguis.

‘If I follow her now and do as they say for a while: then I may be able to get out of here in a bit.’ Pica thought to herself as she followed Saguis.

“Be careful Pica: there may be something they aren’t telling you.” Warned the voice of Aoi.

Pica nodded in response: she had wondered where Aoi had been the last few days: then again Aoi was not human so she might as well go and do as she pleased.

The corridor that they paced down was long, with sterile clean white walls. Every now and then they passed pairs of rooms: rooms which Pica presumed were exactly the same as the one she had been in previously. It took about ten minutes for the two of them to walk to a junction of corridors. Pica looked back behind her, down the corridor that they had just walked, yet all she could see was an endless stretch of white walls punctuated by recesses where the rooms were located. The junction itself was a decent sized area about twelve feet square. Each corridor which branched off from this room was sealed by a large metal door. Above each door there was a list of destinations: different wards, floors, meeting rooms, testing rooms, laboratories. Above these signs was a significantly sized logo: that of the Oracia group.

“Oh shit!” exclaimed Pica quietly to herself.

She was in an Oracia facility. Apart from hiring members of security, Caladri and Oracia were on very poor terms. The name given to the Oracia facilities by those in the warrens and other areas of those of ill repute, the warriors of the streets, they called them the death halls.

Indeed that was also a similar sentiment of those cadets in Caladri: unless you wish to work for them, do not go anywhere near Oracia for you will be spirited away and probably killed.

Pica stared as this realisation dawned on her: here she was walking the corridors of one of the death halls: alive. Well at least for now she was.

She watched as Saguis moved to the route on the left: the signs reading that there would be several more wards; like the one Pica was in, as well as a security room, a staff room and a test hall.

Outside the test hall: standing in the middle of the corridor stood what appeared to be a young man in a black security uniform. Yet as Pica looked at him, she could sense something was off: almost as if this man radiated fear.

“Good day to you Doctor Saguis, I read in your notes that you feel the test for FK457 should be brought forwards to today. Unfortunately Lord Sodius is unable to attend, so I will spectate in his place.” The man smiled; a cruel predatory smile that had the hints of a snake about it or something else. Pica could not decide what.

He turned to her, throwing something onto the floor: a bundle of black clothing with the pair of boots that Pica usually wore. He looked towards Pica, bringing his hands up into a martial salute and bowed slightly, Fist in palm.

Pica respectfully returned the salute.

“I was told to bring those for you so you could participate in the test. They are yours now FK457.” He informed Pica: a face and voice of respectfulness towards her.

Pica bowed her head in response, before kneeling to collect the clothes.

“Pica!” Saguis shouted in shock and warning.

Too late: the boot connected squarely onto Pica’s forehead as she turned towards Saguis. She was sent flying backwards: skidding across the floor of the corridor.

The man laughed with a cruel mania. “Good luck in the test girl! I hope you die!”

Pica picked herself up as he walked down the corridor; towards another junction, before being swallowed up by the blast doors.

“I’m sorry about that. I do not know everyone here personally. But that one everyone knows about yet few have met.” Apologised Saguis, anger in her voice.

“So who is he?” Asked Pica, checking her forehead for damage.

“We know him only as Ashkrell. He only works for Sodius directly, no one else.”

Pica nodded slightly, trying to remember that name.

“Well as you probably heard.”

“I need to pass a possibly deadly test in order to move into new quarter’s right?”

“That is correct.”

“So then I had best get my-self prepared.” Pica concluded. She finally picked up the clothes before asking: “Which room do I need to be in to change?”

Saguis motioned to the guard’s room. “After you are changed head to the test hall.”

“That is fine.” Pica replied as the door opened to the guard’s room.

‘I will get past this test, and then I will see about leaving this place.’ Pica thought to herself.

 

Pica looked around the gigantic arena like area which was the Test Hall. She was dressed in the clothes that had been given to her consisting of shorts-like underwear with a sports bra, along with a two part skin-tight top and leggings. She had checked her glasses for damage following being attacked by that bastard: Ashkrell. She had also tied her long black hair into a ponytail so that it would not get in the way of any physical activity: even though she did prefer her hair down. Above her Pica could see a gallery area where people would watch the test.

Part of her had already planned a rough escape route through what little she knew of the facility. But for now all she had to do was to concentrate on this test.

“Pica? Can you hear me?” Saguis’s voice rang out across the room via some form of intercom speaker system.

Pica waved in response.

“Good. Now this is a combat test. It is not only testing your skills but it is also testing your implants to see if they are working and if this venture is suitable for the company to continue with.”

Pica nodded in response, not sure whether Saguis could hear her or not.

“The test will begin in one minute. May the Ethereals and Guardians; protect your soul.” Concluded Saguis: in warning and in prayer.

A large blast door opened on Pica’s right, through it ran a series of small humanoid robots: suitable for testing but technology which was not yet perfected for battlefield use. They lined up in groups, each increasing in size. Pica quickly studied the size of the force arrayed before her estimating that there well over one hundred of them arrayed before her.

“This may take some time.” She spoke aloud to herself.

Then the klaxon sounded: signifying the beginning of the test, and with it two of the droids charged Pica.

She dispatched them with a quick series of strikes to the head. Then the second wave appeared: she kicked the first, threw and disabled the second, stepped inside the guard of the third: breaking its neck before grabbing the shoulders of the fourth and kicking its legs out with a clean break. By this point the first one seemed to have recovered. Pica turned to it, knelt beside it before hammering its head into the ground.

It was then that she was jumped by the third wave of droids. She dodged their blows easily: tripping them up before finishing them in turn. After that the number of waves increased as did the amount of droids which were set upon her. Pica kept going as best she could; fighting as efficiently as she could. Yet each time she began to feel the energy draining out of her as fatigue slowly crept in. She surveyed the final wave: clearly numbering over fifty.

She moved slowly away: trying to leave some distance between her and the mass of remaining droids.

As they charged: Pica prepared herself for the onslaught facing her, stepping back into stance and readying her guard for the first strike.

 

Ashkrell watched the girl in the arena. She had done well so far, seeming to prove that she was a good choice as a fire knife and that the technology worked. But even so he wished that she would just die now and save him the trouble of actually having to work with her. Ashkrell smiled as he looked on: it seemed as though she was flagging now, that was good: it meant she would not survive the next stage.

He leaned over the console and pressed a small button on the intercom.

“Prepare the next stage of the test.” He purred: his voice like silver and honey spiked with the deepest darkness of the infinite hells.

He licked his tongue over his teeth; feeling the texture of his fangs as they scraped the taste cells from the muscle, causing his blood to flow freely in his mouth.

“I wonder what she will taste like?” he mused to himself as a droid finally managed to get a hit on the girl.

 

Blood poured from Pica’s nose: how could she have missed that block? She sniffed hard: trying to prevent the metallic liquid from bothering her further. Her vision blurred slightly: had her glasses fallen off, or was she just stunned?

She staggered back through the thinning crowd of droids. No time to stop to inspect injuries: she had to keep going, Glasses or not. Movement on her periphery caused her to shift her weight back, as a ceramic fist flew past her face. Pica grabbed it: using her backward momentum to pull it to the ground. She rolled badly: bruising her shoulder as she fell: yet she managed to pull the robot onto the ground. She kicked out and down with her heavy boots: attempting to smash its body apart with the strength of her legs. She felt the shell hit the blade of her feet before the joint of the arm gave way. She looked up as a shadow fell: rolling away a metallic foot smashed down where her head once was.

Pica scrambled to her feet: trying to focus her eyes onto the droids in the room. There were not many left: but now they were all advancing on her. She closed her eyes: breathing in deeply, before opening them onto the metallic mass. Her focus returned as one swung wildly at her. She pirouetted: grabbing its arm and slamming it into the wall beside her. One tried to grab her throat from behind, but she managed to hold its arm off; drop and throw it in front of her. It landed badly, smashing some of the connections in its spine. She ignored its flailing; as a kick flew towards her: she countered it with a crescent kick, flicking in a back-fist as she landed inside the droids guard. It staggered back, allowing Pica to quickly get in a succession of strikes to its head, before finishing it with a kick to the neck. She blocked a fist which flew towards her head, ducking beneath it to get more power as she pushed forwards with an elbow strike. Pica stepped forwards to where the droid lay prone on the ground, trying to rise. She finished it off with a kick to the neck. Pica surveyed the room: the scattered and inactive droids littered the entire hall. There was one or two seemingly active but incapacitated in some way: the rest were damaged from Pica’s efforts.

Pica breathed deeply trying to calm her breathing, wandering about the room slowly in order to prevent her muscles cramping up. She placed one hand on her hip whilst with the other she checked both her nose and her glasses. Both were relatively fine: although she could still feel and, when she checked her fingers, see that blood was still pouring out of her nose. She felt tired and sore; pain and fatigue wracked her body from the exertion.

“But I still need to get out of here at some point.” She said to herself.

The intercom sounded around the hall.

“Well Pica that is,” Saguis began, until she was drowned out by the klaxon.

The blast door on the same side of the hall where Pica stood; began to open: revealing a twenty foot tall sleek machine-like humanoid.

She stood for a second; trying to identify what type of Mech it was. The sleekness of its shell definitely ruled it out from being a Golem or Gargoyle or even a Grotesque class machine. A thought flashed across her mind: was it an Avatar class?

She had hardly registered the thought when it charged her: a voice from within laughing manically.

“Hello bitch! You though Saguis was in charge of this test? No! I am; and I cannot wait to see your broken and bleeding body lie before me: helpless and tasty at your end.” Yelled Ashkrell: bloodthirsty glee: reverberating in his dark; silvery voice.

He lunged toward Pica, trying to grab her with the dexterous hands of the mech. She tried to dodge out of the way; and she would have had her knees not buckled beneath her. She felt in fear as the fingers clamped tightly around her head and she was lifted off the ground.

“Too easy, not going to resist?” Ashkrell quested in a bored voice, whilst he increased the pressure around the woman’s head.

‘This could be it. This could be my death in the death halls.’ Pica thought to herself helplessly. Then she spotted two things: the doors were still open and there seemed to be small weak points on the machines shell: particularly around the joints. ‘If this is a chance to live and escape from here then I must take it.’

Pica slowly brought her hands up towards the fingers of the Mech: and touched the openings in the joints. She focused her own internal energy into the joints before drawing away the ambient heat energy. The servos began to snap like rotten twigs, as ice crystals formed around them.

Ashkrell looked on confused as error messages began to flash up on the control screen.

Pica continued manipulating the energy she had drawn in, condensing it; moulding it so that its compressed form burned within her arms trying to escape. She calmly moved her hands to above her head: she released the accumulating fireball into the frozen hand of the machine. Pica braced herself as she fell towards the floor of the hall: landed well before scrabbling for the door. The Mech turned towards her: Ashkrell determined to tear her limb from limb. He swiped at her: this time Pica managed to evade every attempt to capture or crush her. She focused ahead as the doors began to close: she only just managed to leap through them into the space beyond. She heard the fist of the Mech hit the blast doors; as they closed shut behind her.

Pica wanted to rest: yet she knew she had to keep going. She glanced quickly around the room where she found herself: nothing: or at least nothing without risk. There were exits, yet they were not marked by any signs. She padded over to one far from her to her right: hopefully this might be a way out. She quickly opened the electronic door: the lock seemed less secure than in the corridors: and stepped through.

Ahead of her was a staircase heading skywards, a route with some hope for her, well possibly. Pica mounted the stairs, moving as rapidly as her exhausted body would let her. Ahead she encountered another doorway: this time it opened automatically into the gallery area of the arena. She looked down: the door to the room she was just in was beginning to open again from the stance of the Mech in the arena. Ahead of her stood two guards; wearing the same black uniform as Ashkrell. They turned towards Pica as the door closed.

“Erm, Hello?” responded Pica hesitantly as they moved to draw their weapons.

They moved forwards to strike at Pica, probably the last thing she needed at this point. She rushed forwards to move through them. Their pistols were raised to a good aiming bead on her. Pica pushed against the floor: propelling herself into a series of flips, allowing her to pass of the heads of the two guards. As she sailed through the air she manipulated her internal energy, willing a fireball to appear in her right hand: which she hurled at the guards mid-air, before landing and rolling into a crouch before powering herself towards the room’s exit: where she emerged into a wide open and airy foyer area. The celling was a sheet of windows, suspended above a tall series of office landings, each of which rose majestically three floors above the foyer. Pica took this in before moving into a room on her left, hoping not to be noticed. She stepped through the doorway to be greeted with a group of guards and the alarm. They looked towards the door in surprise as Pica turned tail and kept moving across the worryingly open escape route. The sounds of guns being loaded behind her urged her onwards into cover behind a pillar. She managed to catch her breath before she caught sound of the guards moving into position, watching her hiding place. Pica glanced at the end of the colonnade: hoping that there would be some sign for her escape.

There was; access to the station and exit. Yet despite this: the next pillar was probably too far to run to. The surfaces around her were shining a brilliant white in the sunlight. Light. For this Pica needed darkness, and soon: otherwise more guards would arrive and she would be surrounded. Pica wiped her nose on her fingers: checking for blood. It seemed to be thickening and hopefully healing.

She turned towards her direction of travel, rocking her weight forwards and backwards several times as the light rippled to darkness from a cloud. She pushed off towards the pillar, running with the shadow of the cloud. Gunfire sounded behind her as she ran forwards. Pica sensed that the shadows would not be favourable as she though: causing her to launch herself into a long jump behind the pillar. The bullets thudded noisily into the walls: piercing the ceramic covering. Pica struggled back to her feet: already the fatigue she gained from the fight was weighing her down. She glanced back towards the sign: another wide open space, this time with several trains waiting on the opposite side of a barrier fence. This time there was nothing to offer cover to Pica: just one long run to the fence and then to the trains. Without checking around her she ran towards the station: shouts went up on the floors above her and the sound of bodies moving into position ready to find and kill the escapee. She pressed onwards still as a hailstorm of bullets began to rain down like a hellish onslaught around her. She saw that the fence was just within sight: its metal and plastic walls obscuring the view of the station. The shots sailed past her glancing into the glass of the fence. The impacts created a pattern of small spider webs spreading out from the impact epicentres: bulletproof. Pica barrelled forwards as a lucky shot grazed her thigh. She collapsed forwards as the shots eased off. Behind her she could hear the first group closing in. Pica reached out to the peppered glass, pulling in the heat from the air around it. Water began to condense on the surface, before resting in the recesses of the panel. She pushed herself forwards through the glass, taking cover on the other side. The sound of renewed firing reverberated around her like a tropical storm. Ahead of her were the trains; lined up ready to be boarded. Pica rose as best as she could: her leg now bleeding profusely, never mind the pain caused by the fatigue from her earlier exertions. She pushed onwards towards the closest of the trains to her; half running half hobbling, each step making her more and more of an easier target to hit and kill.

A clunking sound caused her to turn her head; one of the trains was beginning to set off. That in itself was not a worry since there were a good number of them in the station, but it became more worrying and disconcerting to Pica as the same clunking sound followed by a rising whirring signalled that a trap was being laid: one by one the trains were being removed from the station, allowing any target still on the station to be gunned down with ease.

The sound of the trains setting off became nearer and nearer to where Pica was heading: the last three trains left purposely and tantalisingly close as a false hope to the young woman. The sound of boots hammering down on the hard surface of the facilities atrium, moving increasingly closer to where Pica struggled towards the only chance left for her to escape.

Her hand touched the edge of the vehicle she was aiming for, just as its neighbours began to whirr in preparation to abandon the wounded girl. Pica smashed through the glass of the vehicle and crawled into the space inside.

“Shit!” Pica cursed to herself in realisation: it did not matter if she was inside a train or outside, as long as she was trapped she would be an easier target to gun down. The girl crawled to the interface between the train and the control tower: locked down.

Pica breathed deeply as the footsteps neared to her location.

 

Ashkrell paced through the space of the atrium, following the scent of that oh so tasty snack: the girl that had the cheek to rip apart his beloved Mech: Flavour. There was a small blood trail from where the droid had punched her, causing her nose to run with blood. Ashkar knelt down, extending his fingers to the drops of blood, smearing them onto his pale fingertips before placing them in his mouth to draw in the taste that smelled so good. The sensation of the girl’s blood burned through him with a wave of pleasure and pure supernatural energy. This was delicious! Ashkrell had not tasted any blood as nice as this since his splitting where he killed his brother. He always enjoyed the taste of elf-girls, but this was greater almost heavenly in its taste and texture. He pressed onwards, trying to find the corpse of the girl, whatever she was. The guards had begun to file down the stairwell onto the ground floor: ahead Ashkrell could see a group standing around near the fence which split the station area off from the facility atrium.

Her scent increased as he neared the guards: his excitement rising even more at the larger trail of blood which could just be a sign that her fresh corpse was near.

One of the guards noticed him approaching and turned to address him. “Mister Ashkrell: sir!”

Ashkrell acknowledged him with a nod.

 “So where is she?” he asked with a bloody dark glee of anticipation in his voice.

“She is gone sir.” The guard replied.

“Gone?” He queried; disappointment appearing in his cruel voice.

“Yes sir.” Responded the guard: fear beginning to creep into their voice.

An inhuman scream echoed endlessly around the large open airy foyer.

“You let her escape?” growled Ashkrell, his anger raging.

“I. did…” began the guard quietly as the others began to shift away.

Ashkrell reached forwards: grabbing the guard around the neck and tearing away the cloth surrounding it before feeding.

Another scream flowed hellishly around the now silent space.