In Times of War

A science fiction story about a woman’s lifelong struggle to find her place in a world she knows she shouldn’t care about. Written in 2017.

Estimated reading time: 30 minutes (~7,000 words)

In Times of War

The year was 3099. Melhalleia Xanan was 15 years old, and she was hungry. She hadn’t been in this city—whatever its name was—long enough yet to know which marks were the safest bets. Her belly rumbled with her attempt to remember what home-cooked meals tasted like. As soon as she realized what she was doing, she slammed the thought out of her head.

Melhalleia wandered the streets, trying to follow some food scents to their far off source. The way was busy. People crowded the street, hurrying from wherever they came to wherever they had to go. Melhalleia tried to pretend she was one of them. The less likely she was to be noticed, the less likely she was to be caught.

The source of those mouthwatering aromas was a street with an outdoor market. Dozens of stands and crates and carts full of fruits and vegetables and meats made for a makeshift bazaar that almost knocked Mel out of her senses. It was the mother lode. It was the jackpot. And it was swarming with people who would see anything she did. Her empty stomach ached. She’d have to take the chance, whatever the consequences.

Near the edge of the market, Melhalleia found a man selling kiwis. She used to love kiwis. She crept up to the man’s cart, hiding behind other people walking by. As she passed the box of kiwis, she casually plucked one from the bottom of the pile. Score! Melhalleia would be eating well tonight.

“Hey kid! You gotta pay for that!” a masculine voice said right behind her. She refused to panic. She’d been in this situation before, and she knew how to keep her cool. She kept on walking, pretending not to notice the man shouting at her. Please don’t point, please don’t point… As long as he didn’t point her out directly, he could be shouting at anyone. “Somebody stop that girl! She’s a thief!” It only took a single pair of eyes darting toward her and then immediately away for her to know. Fuck, he pointed. She took off running.

She ran straight through the crowd out of the market area, pushing people out of the way as she needed to. Before she made it off the street, she heard the sirens. Fuck, not the police. Her hopes for a single good day were shattered, and she dove into an alley to make her escape.

It seemed like no matter where she went, every day there were more police out than the day before. Maybe it was just paranoia, or maybe they were getting better at finding her. Either way, she wouldn’t let herself be afraid. Never that. Fear was weakness, and Melhalleia Xanan was not weak. The fact that she had made it this far on her own was more than enough proof of that.

It had been six years now. Six years since she lost her home, her family, her future. Six years since her good for nothing drunk of a dad took all that away from her. At least he would be rotting behind bars for the rest of his life, right where he belonged. But that didn’t bring Melly’s mother back to life. It didn’t change a goddamn thing.

Melhalleia was alone now. She might have been young, but she already knew the truth of the world: that you could never depend on anyone but yourself. Life was hard, and it was cruel, and you either fought back, or you died. No one else would be helping her—friends and family were a dream, and the police were her enemy. They never cared that she was only doing what she had to in order to stay alive. So, she stopped caring what they thought of her. She’d struggle, she’d fight back, and she’d survive. It was the only option.

Melhalleia kept running until she couldn’t hear the police sirens anymore. Somewhere along the way, she dropped her kiwi.

10 years later

Melhalleia was ecstatic. She never felt more alive than when she was shooting holes into some sons of bitches with her energy pistol. These bad boys particularly deserved it, so the thuds their bodies made when they hit the ground were especially satisfying. She rounded a corner of collapsed rubble, thankful for the momentary respite from returned gunfire. Her own gun was almost out of juice. She needed to recharge. “Cover me!”

“I gotcha,” Meyren shouted, and she leapt straight into the action. She disappeared behind the wall of rubble, firing blindly into the smoky miasma of battle. In the distance, there were groans of death.

Melhalleia rejoined her Sister in the carnage. “Don’t forget the objective,” she said to Meyren between shots. “We only need to scare them out of our territory.” She contorted her mouth into a twisted smile. “Anything beyond that is just extra credit.”

Meyren chuckled. “You got it, boss. That’ll teach these thugs for messin’ with the Savage Sisters.” She pulled a grenade from her belt and casually tossed it over the wall their opponents were hiding behind. There was only enough time for one of them to scream before the grenade took them all to hell. And just as suddenly as it had begun, the battle was over. “How much extra credit is that worth?” Meyren asked with a wry smile.

“Enough to pass with flying colors,” Mel said. She cracked her neck and her knuckles. Boy, she’d be sleeping well tonight. “Come on, let’s get back to the base before someone else tries picking a fight.” Meyren nodded, and the two of them set out for the building they had dubbed their base of operations.

The last few years had been the best in Melhalleia’s life. Things had been looking up ever since she, Meyren, and the others broke out of that prison and formed the Savage Sisters. And somehow, the gang was still growing. More people were flocking to their banners every day, especially now that the fighting in the city was spreading. Even though it was the capital of Weisland, Vansen City was a dangerous place to live these days. People needed protection, and the Sisters provided it. Well, for the better half of the population at any rate.

Melhalleia finally had a family. After a decade and a half of being a lone wolf against the world, she finally had people she could rely on. People she could even call friends. But like all things, she knew it couldn’t last. Sticking around like this in one place for so long, letting herself get close to anyone… It just wasn’t in her nature. The Sisters were great and all, but Melhalleia knew it was only a matter of time before she had to leave them in the dust.

10 years later

Melhalleia was nervous. The Domencian army was closing in on Weisland too quickly for any of them to be comfortable with. The other generals had been arguing strategy for the last hour. None of them seemed to be making any headway with each other.

Melhalleia was silent throughout the deliberations. Early on, General Schumaker made it abundantly clear what his stance was going to be. The others may have thought they could turn him, but Melhalleia wasn’t interested in fighting losing battles. She laughed to herself when she remembered why she was here.

“Did I say something funny, Miss Xanan?” General Schumaker asked.

The only thing that might have been funny about him was the shape of the stick that must have lived up his ass. Melhalleia kept that thought to herself. “Of course not, General. We all know you’re a very serious person, with a very serious plan.” That got her a couple very stern glares. Maybe I should tone it down, she thought.

“Perhaps, General Melhalleia, you would like to share your opinions on the war strategy we are discussing?” Schumaker asked. His voice dripped with venom.

“It sucks and will get all of us killed and will lose us the war,” Melhalleia said matter-of-factly. So much for toning it down.

Schumaker snorted. “We don’t need to tolerate this drivel. What do you know about war? What right do you even have to sit on this council?”

“Enough, Schumaker,” General Worrace said. “You know why she’s here. Besides, it’s about damn time you heard you were wrong from someone you knew was right.”

Schumaker shut up at that, but he still grumbled under his breath for a bit. Melhalleia knew Worrace expected her to be thankful that he stuck up for her, but she wasn’t. She could have handled that confrontation just fine, if she had been allowed the chance.

What right did she have to be here? More right than at least half of these noble-born asshats had. She wasn’t here because she was born into a military family that knew nothing else, or because she got swept up into war from some cushy do-nothing desk job in the government. She was here because she was the only one good enough for the job. She was here because Weisland was desperate, and the president asked for her directly. Melhalleia had made a name for herself over the years. She could fight, she could lead, she was a citizen of Weisland, and most importantly, she was willing to accept the job.

It had been four years since the war began. The neighboring nation of Domencia had started it, after word got out of the allegedly countless inhumane experiments the Weisland State Scientific Advancement Association was running. That original moral framing faded away after the first few major battles had taken place. After that, no one could deny that it had become—or had always been—a full blown war of conquest.

Melhalleia didn’t care about any of that. She didn’t even care which side won or lost. She was only fighting for Weisland because they hired her to, and it was only them that hired her to because that’s where she happened to live. Winning this war was just a job. She was no patriot at heart. But Weisland needed her. They knew her skills, and so did she.

10 years later

The exo-armor units were advancing. Melhalleia was running out of time. In just a few short minutes, her squad would be cornered. She had to think fast.

“Attention fugitives,” an amplified voice echoed into the canyon. “You are under arrest for treason against the Domencian Empire.” It came from somewhere above them. Melhalleia scanned the night sky for any signs of a cloaked aircraft. “You will be taken into custody and judged swiftly.”

Melhalleia spotted a line of blurred stars. “There!” she pointed, and Schumaker swiftly aimed and fired a rocket at the craft. Direct hit. The invisible hovercraft exploded into sight, fell, and crashed onto the plateau above.

Melhalleia barely paused to breath. “Nice shot. Let’s keep moving.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Schumaker said. The rest of the group followed their hurried lead.

Melhalleia knew taking the canyon pass would be a bad idea. She knew it even before she knew they had to do it, and she still knew it. But the Domencian legion left them no choice. They had to take whatever longshot chance they could to meet up with the remaining rebel forces.

The war for Weisland had been lost. Its lands were now part of the Domencian Empire, and its people nothing more than cheap resources to be exploited in Domencia’s continued conquests. As it turned out, Domencia went after Weisland in order to gain access to the technologies the WSSAA was developing. Advanced cybernetics, artificial intelligence, even rumors of a time machine that could send short messages to the past. Whether any of that was true or not, the Domencian army had received some horrific upgrades since the fall of Weisland, and the people of Weisland were suffering because of it. Melhalleia would not accept that while there was still a chance she could stop it.

Melhalleia halted. She signaled for the others to do the same. The sound of steps on stone dissipated, and… rumble. Pebbles bounced about the ground, then fell back into place. Rumble. The tremor went up Melhalleia’s spine, and she forced herself not to be afraid. Rumble. They were coming.

“Take position,” Melhalleia said. The regiment arranged itself seamlessly into a battle formation. “Be ready. For anything.” If the soldiers had any fear of what was about to happen, they didn’t let it show. Good. Melhalleia trained them well.

There was a bright blue flash, and the ground in front of them exploded in a storm of rock and magma. The explosion engulfed the outer edge of the soldiers’ formation. They screamed as fire ate them alive.

The rest of the rebels opened fire into the smoke before them. Their energy shots lit up the shrouded terrain, revealing the silhouettes of three mechanical juggernauts treading toward them. Deflector shields guarded the exo-armor units from the rebels’ shots. One of the units raised an arm toward the rebels.

“Take cover!”

The soldiers scattered in all directions. Melhalleia dove behind a boulder that was overturned by the blast. There was another flash, and another explosion. Burning hot air rushed around the sides of the boulder. Melhalleia closed her eyes and covered her face in her tattered sleeve.

When her ears stopped ringing, she let herself open her eyes. Acidic ash still hung in the air. The smoldering earth was littered with bodies. Melhalleia darted her focus from one to the next, taking in the casualties. There were still a few dozen soldiers on their feet, the lucky few who escaped the blast radius or found cover in time. Some were running away, making themselves into open targets. Idiots.

They needed to regroup. Melhalleia lobbed a smoke bomb over the boulder. It landed near the exo-armor units, and hissed out a stream of infrared-blocking smog. It wouldn’t buy them much time, but if they were lucky, it would be enough. Melhalleia ran to the other side of the canyon, to the largest concentration of surviving soldiers. Others followed her lead.

“Escape plans,” Melhalleia demanded. “Now.”

“Must be only one of the exo’s has those bombs,” Victer said. “Else they’d all have shot by now.”

“If we can disable the exo with the bombs, we might be able to get away,” Ioka said.

“They can still outrun us,” Melhalleia said. “We have to take them all down. What do we have that can do that?”

No one answered. Most of them were running on fumes at this point. It was too much to hope for that one of them had an electromagnetic pulse weapon, or a chromium slicer, or—

“I have a gravity nuke,” Schumaker said.

Tense silence fell over the group. Everyone stared at Schumaker. A few people inched away from him.

“Remote detonation or manual?” Melhalleia asked.

“…Manual,” Schumaker replied.

“Are you sure?”

Schumaker nodded. “The resistance needs to survive. And you need to survive to lead it.”

Melhalleia hesitated only for a second. “Okay. Do it. Everyone else, run as fast as you can.”

The soldiers sprinted down the canyon without waiting for Melhalleia. For a few short seconds, she was alone with Schumaker. His right arm was broken and bleeding. Melhalleia forced herself not to notice whether his hand was still there.

“You should get going,” Schumaker said.

“So should you,” Melhalleia said. The smoke from her bomb was starting to clear.

Schumaker nodded, and he took off running toward the exo-armor units.

Melhalleia took off in the opposite direction. She ran as hard as she could, as fast as she could. Desert dust stung her eyes as she ran, but she didn’t let it slow her down. She didn’t understand why she wanted to cry. She had lost soldiers before. She had lost friends. As the world imploded behind her, as wind rushed in to fill the void, she chided herself for all the things she had left unsaid. But she still didn’t slow down; she still didn’t let herself cry. Tomorrow, she would mourn. Today, she would survive.

10 years later

It was finally over. Last night, the Sapphire Citadel’s final lines of defense had been broken through. While battle waged outside in the city that had once been Weisland’s capital, Melhalleia led a troop of elite soldiers into the palace—into the heart of Domencia’s stranglehold over the land.

The fighting was fierce, but the blood that was shed that night had not been in vain. Melhalleia’s team made it into the Citadel’s throne room. They cornered the court of the Emperor, along with the Emperor himself. And after nearly two and a half decades of war and rebellion, after so many millions of lives lost, families destroyed, and untold other atrocities, Melhalleia enacted Weisland’s vengeance.

It was over. Weisland was free.

Melhalleia now sat in a makeshift council room, among elders who had long ago been cabinet members in the old Weislandic government and young upstarts who had hopes of taking a leading role in the government of Reformed Weisland, as they were calling it now. Sounds of celebration echoed in through every window. Cheering, hollering, laughter—so many things Melhalleia hadn’t heard in so long. The city had been ravaged by battle. People were dead. And yet, the survivors celebrated their regained freedom.

She should have been happy. She was, of course—but she felt like it should have been more. She had spent most of her life fighting for this. She had spent most of her life fighting in general, and she had finally found peace. For herself, for her friends, for Weisland. What more could she want? As she sat at the end of the long table, watching and listening to politicians squabble over how to rebuild an entire country, she didn’t know the answer. But she knew there had to be one.

“Excuse me,” Melhalleia said, and she left the table. Few of them took notice—just the ex-military officers she knew years ago, and a couple people near her. The rest of them hardly stopped to glance as she walked out of the room.

As the door shut behind her, Melhalleia breathed a heavy sigh. She was tired. Her body ached. Years of stress, both physical and mental, had not been kind to her. She walked wearily down the hall, without a destination in mind. She needed to clear her head.

The halls of the palace were mostly empty. Everyone was either hard at work inside, or taking part in the partying outside. It had been a long time since Melhalleia was alone. She almost even missed it, she realized. She used the opportunity to think, to try to sort through all her conflicting thoughts and feelings.

“Hey Mel!” someone said, spotting Melhalleia as she passed through an intersection of corridors. It was Ioka. She was smiling triumphantly, as she had every right to be. “The other Sisters have been looking all over for you. We were gonna head into the city and join in the fun, then see if we can find all our old haunts. Want to join in?”

Melhalleia smiled. “I’d love to, but later. I need to be on my own for a while. I have a lot on my mind that I gotta figure out first.”

Ioka shrugged, but she tried hiding an understanding smile. “Suit yourself, boss.” She gave Melhalleia a playful jab in the arm. “When you’re done being all emotional and shit, we’ll be at the old base. Or whatever’s left of it nowadays.”

Melhalleia nodded. “I’ll see you there. And everyone else too, I hope.”

“You’re damn right you will,” Ioka said, and the two of them parted in different directions.

Melhalleia’s exodus took her outside the palace walls, where she was met with a view of a city in ruins. Her city. Possibly the only place she ever felt at home. The city she took, the city she lost, the city she saved. It had a history. A history to her, and a history to itself. It had a culture. A culture she resisted, and strengthened by resisting. A culture that could be rebuilt now, just like the rest of the city.

Melhalleia walked along streets filled with debris and the charred remains of buildings burnt the night before. Others walked the streets too. And ran, and skipped and danced and let their mirth be shown in any way they could think to show it. Some saw Melhalleia’s rebel military uniform and thanked her for giving them back their lives, their freedom, their land. Melhalleia told each one she only did what was right, and she kept walking.

She couldn’t tell whether minutes or hours passed in her journey across the city. So much of it had been torn to shreds, it all looked the same to her. So much destruction… How could she have said she was doing the right thing? The people celebrating today could celebrate because they were alive. But how many people didn’t make it that far? How many of them didn’t make it because of choices Melhalleia made, or actions Melhalleia took? How many of them would still be alive if she surrendered alongside the rest of Weisland all those years ago?

Melhalleia came to the outskirts of a large facility that had seen better days. Surrounded by a fence of barbed wire, with black outer walls and no signs in sight to give the place a name, she knew right away what it had to have been. The very source of so much of her suffering—so much of the world’s suffering—these past many years. It was the condemned headquarters of the Weisland State Scientific Advancement Association. There was a hole ripped in the fence not too far from her. She went in.

The building itself showed no signs of damage from the recent fighting, though it was very clear the grounds had not been in use for some time. Whatever fancy high tech material the building was made of, it was resilient. It stood as a monument from a bygone era, a Parthenon more unnerving than humbling. Tracing the technological pillar’s perimeter, Melhalleia found an unlocked door. She entered.

The interior of the WSSAA facility was dead and decaying in a different way than the lifeless land around it. The corridors inside were sterile, plus twenty years of dust. It must have been a pristine environment in its day, but its day had come and gone, and Melhalleia had no intention to bring it back.

She walked deeper into the crypts of scientific heritage, wondering what she hoped to find here. Answers? To what questions? Something to tell her it was all worth it? Something to let her know Weisland wasn’t the evil menace Domencia claimed it was when they started the war? Melhalleia knew how propaganda worked, both receiving it and giving it. She knew Weisland wasn’t employing mad scientists with bad intentions. But she also knew the world was never just black and white. Whatever once happened in these haggard halls, it was enough to send the world to war.

Melhalleia went from room to room, floor to floor, looking for anything and nothing. Surprisingly, a lot of the machines and devices and papers from before the war were still there. Melhalleia didn’t understand most of what she saw, but she quickly made sense of the things she did understand. Domencia had left untouched all the inventions and research that they couldn’t develop military applications for. Melhalleia scorned Domencia’s bloodlust. There was enough fighting in the world without going out and trying to make more of it.

Melhalleia found a locked room on the upper floor, marked with various national security warnings. The electronic lock, along with the hallway’s camera and any other security sensors that were in place, were long dead. She kicked down the door. It did not resist her.

When the dust settled, she walked into a dark room with a large machine in the corner, and hundreds of papers of schematics and documentation strewn about a table. Just enough sunlight filtered in through the window that she could read the papers. She could make out phrases like “paradox resolution” and “Novikov Principle” that meant nothing to her. Then she saw the words that gave a name to the device in this room: “Time Machine.”

She realized what she had to do.

10 years earlier

Melhalleia stared silently at the grave marker. A modest pile of rocks held down the shredded remains of an old jacket, its color long faded away. Some flowers had been placed atop the mound by various people in the camp. It was a simple grave. It wasn’t enough.

The sun was going down. Melhalleia had lost track of the time. Just like she had yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, back to the day they set up camp here a week ago. Back to the day Melhalleia had to bury Meyren.

“Mel,” someone said, and Melhalleia flinched at the touch of a hand on her shoulder. It was Ioka. Melhalleia hadn’t heard her coming. “It’s getting late. You should come back to the tents.”

Melhalleia shrugged. “I’ll be back before it gets too dark.”

Ioka opened her mouth in protest, but she said nothing. Instead she sighed, sat down beside Melhalleia, and joined in the silent mourning. A long time passed before either of them spoke. The sun continued its slow descent.

“She deserved better than this,” Melhalleia said after a while.

“She went out fighting,” Ioka said. “That’s all she ever wanted.”

“But still. She deserved better.” It made no difference to Melhalleia that Meyren would have approved of her manner of death. Meyren shouldn’t have died. None of them should have. It wasn’t worth it.

Ioka glanced at the horizon, hiding half the sun below its length. “I gotta get back to the camp,” she said. She stood up. “Listen. There aren’t many of us original Savage Sisters left. We gotta stick together. You taught us that.”

Melhalleia heard Ioka walk away. She was alone again. Her eyes were still fixed on Meyren’s grave.

How many people had Melhalleia lost? Meyren, Schumaker, Nina, Griselda—the list went on and on. And for what? The war ended years ago. Weisland was lost. Melhalleia was nothing more than a rebel who was too stubborn to know when to quit. How many people died just because she refused to back down? Was the resistance worth it? Was Weisland worth all this pain and death?

Suddenly, Melhalleia heard a voice inside her head. “It’s worth it to them.” She didn’t know where the words came from, but she was willing to believe them.

10 years earlier

Melhalleia’s wrists ached. Her back was stiff, and she had a screaming headache from being so dehydrated. She knew it would be pointless to ask for any kind of relief. After all, it wasn’t like her captors would be willing to loosen her handcuffs or give her any more water. They made that brutally clear the first time she asked. She didn’t have to ask again.

“Keep walking,” one of the guards behind her snapped. He prodded her along with his baton. The metal was cold, even through her clothing. She quickened her pace. Whether Melhalleia had actually slowed down or not didn’t matter. It was all meant to remind her who was in charge. Melhalleia was a prisoner here. She would get no special privileges.

At least she was finally out of that damn cell.

“Turn here,” a guard said. Melhalleia obeyed and turned down a hallway they had just come to. She wondered where in this dungeon she was being taken. She wondered if her soldiers were also being escorted one by one out of the holding cell they had all been mashed into.

The battle to retake Pandor’s Peak had been a disaster. Weisland’s forces were severely outnumbered. Melhalleia’s entire troop had been surrounded and captured. They were taken to this Domencian outpost, and left to stew in each other’s filth in a single large cell for the last few days. Melhalleia thought it was days; it was hard to tell while locked underground, in the dark, with an irregular feeding schedule.

The catacomb hallway came to an abrupt end with a large wooden door. One of the guards walked past Melhalleia. He grabbed a ring of keys from his belt, found the appropriate key, and unlocked the door. Then he found a second key, grabbed Melhalleia by the wrist, and unlocked her cuffs. “Go in,” he said.

Melhalleia examined her wrists. Chafed like hell, maybe a little swollen, but she’d survive. She hazarded a glance at the guards still behind her. All of them were pointing their energy pistols at her. Still a prisoner, she thought, and she wondered why she even bothered considering differently. Whatever was going on, she’d have to keep playing along. Melhalleia walked through the doorway.

The room was a sharp contrast to the sullen crypts outside. Spacious, well lit, well decorated, even colorful. Compared to the rest of the dungeon, it was a room fit for a king. Or, as Melhalleia quickly realized, a military officer.

Standing before her was none other than the commander of the Domencian army on the western front, the Venerable Garrik Zane. He watched her with interest from across the room as servants attended him—one offering him a chalice full of fragrant wine, another polishing his boots. He took the chalice in one hand and waved the servants away with the other. They bowed and departed through a door on the far wall. It was just Garrik and Melhalleia now.

“Well don’t just stand there like a fool,” Garrik said. “Come in!”

Melhalleia disregarded the slight. She stepped slowly, deeper into the room, scoping it out as she walked. Large tapestries on every wall. A glass cabinet full of sculptures and small statues. A table with what looked like war plans plainly visible on it, which either meant Garrik Zane was an idiot, or he liked playing mind games. Melhalleia didn’t give a shit about mind games.

“We meet at last, General Xanan. It is truly an honor.”

“The honor is mine, General Zane.” Melhalleia made no pretenses of bowing or saluting or curtsying or anything else a man in his position might expect from a woman in hers. But she would show respect where respect was due. Zane was an impressive commander. He did manage to capture her, after all.

“Please, call me Garrik. In this room, with no one else watching, we are equals.”

“Then you can call me Melhalleia.”

“As you say, Melhalleia,” Garrik walked to the table, motioning her to join him. He took a seat right in front of the battle plans. Melhalleia followed and sat in the chair next to him. She made sure not to look at the papers on the table, instead choosing to stare straight into Garrik’s blue eyes.

“I’ve heard many great things about you, Melhalleia,” Garrik said. “Your skill on the battlefield is unmatched. You inspire confidence like no other leader I know. Truly, your expertise has made you a remarkable foe for Domencia.”

“Thanks,” Melhalleia said. “I do what I can.”

“But as I’m sure you know, Weisland is not winning the war.”

“All I know is what I see,” Melhalleia said.

“Then look around you!” Garrik said. “You’re the best Weisland has to offer, and you lost. You may have been a thorn in our side for a long time, but Domencia is always getting stronger. Make no mistake, Weisland will fall eventually. The only question is, where do you want to be when it does?”

“…Go on.”

Garrik continued. “We know why you’re really fighting in this war. We know you’re no patriot.” He rolled his eyes at the word. “You’re just a mercenary. So, I ask you. Why drag out this war by fighting for a lost cause… when you could fight for us instead?”

Melhalleia couldn’t believe her ears. Even worse, she couldn’t believe she was still listening. “What’s your offer?”

“You would be rewarded handsomely in any way you want. Money, power, fame—you name it. All you have to do is swear allegiance to Domencia. That’s it, and you’ll be spared from the execution that’s awaiting the rest of your troop.”

Melhalleia was stunned. Garrik was right; Melhalleia really didn’t care about Weisland any more than she cared about any other random country. It was the place that stole her family, the place that made her teenage years a living hell. She stayed away from politics just like she stayed away from everyone else. Melhalleia was a survivor. And Garrik Zane was offering her survival.

“I’m sure this is a lot to take in,” Garrik said. “If you’d like some time to think on it—”

“Yes,” Melhalleia interrupted. “I need… some time.”

“Very well.” Garrik stood up. He offered his hand to help Melhalleia to her feet. She took it. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be taken back to the cells, until you’ve made up your mind. That should give you plenty to think about.”

Melhalleia barely noticed Garrik escort her back to the door she came in from. Her mind was still reeling. The guards were still waiting outside. “Be gentle with her,” Garrik said. “She is an honored guest.”

“Yes sir,” the guards said in unison, and they pushed Melhalleia along. She followed them, but she paid little attention as they led her back to the cell. Could Melhalleia really let all those people die? They were soldiers, she told herself; they knew what they were getting into. They were her soldiers, she told herself; they were here because of her. But if she accepted Zane’s offer, they would all be killed. But they would all be killed anyway, so what did it matter? Melhalleia could still get out of this alive.

Before she knew it, she had reached the cell again. Guards with guns made sure all the prisoners stayed away from the door while Melhalleia was put back in. The prisoners—Melhalleia’s companions—all stared at her. Some of them were frowning. Some of them seemed afraid of her. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Mel…” Meyren said. “They told us. We know everything.”

“Oh,” Melhalleia said.

“Please tell me you’re not considering it,” Nina said.

Melhalleia said nothing. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything. She didn’t know what she was going to do. Could she really betray her country? Could she really betray her friends?

Suddenly, Melhalleia heard a voice inside her head. “You fight for them.”

Of course she did. Melhalleia didn’t know where the thought came from, but she knew right away that it was true. She expelled all thoughts of treason from her head. She would make Zane pay for those fucking mind games.

“No way,” Melhalleia said. “The Savage Sisters stick together. No matter what.” The anxious expressions of many of the soldiers were replaced with smiles and nods of approval. “Nina, Meyren, everyone, I think it’s about time we find a way out of here.”

10 years earlier

Silently, swiftly, Melhalleia stalked through the halls of the Savage Sisters headquarters. All around her, women lay sleeping—some strewn across couches, some on the floor, some snoring loudly, all of them bushed from yesterday’s skirmish. Probably a few of them were hungover, too. Melhalleia was careful not to wake them.

She had her coat, her helmet, and her keys—everything she needed to make a clean getaway. She’d be able to pick up food on the road. Just like old times. After one last look at the unconscious Meyren sprawled out on one of the couches, Melhalleia forced herself out the door.

She went to the garage and hopped onto her motorcycle. She knew this day would have to come eventually, but that didn’t make it any easier. She turned on the engine. It growled and hummed beneath her. The sounds were soothing. She walked the bike to the road, and she took off.

Vansen City flew by as Melhalleia rode. There were memories here, both good and bad, but she was glad she was finally leaving this dump behind. Melhalleia Xanan was no leader, as much as the Sisters looked up to her as one. She was a fighter, a lone wolf against the world. The Savage Sisters would be better off without her. It would be better this way, Melhalleia kept telling herself. This was what she wanted.

As Melhalleia approached the city limits, her enthusiasm faded. Was she doing the right thing? Melhalleia had to laugh at that thought—since when did she ever care about doing the right thing? But still, she had to admit the Sisters were doing a great job of keeping the common people of Vansen City safe from the rampant violence that plagued it. Melhalleia could do a lot of good here if she stayed—no. What was she thinking? She was leaving.

Before her stood a long stretch of narrow highway, with miles of desert on both sides. The entire world was waiting for her. For some reason, it didn’t seem as appealing as it had a few hours earlier. Melhalleia stopped the bike.

The Savage Sisters were Melhalleia’s family. Sure, they weren’t perfect; no family was. But Melhalleia was no family gal. As long as she could remember, she was on her own. That is, until this group of roughnecks rallied around her. Why did it have to be Melhalleia they called their boss? Why did they even stick around her?

Suddenly, Melhalleia heard a voice inside her head. “They believe in you.”

Melhalleia looked back at the city a couple miles in the distance. It looked so small from here. She turned the bike around. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to stick around just a little longer.

10 years earlier

Melhalleia stumbled into an alley, out of breath. She didn’t think the police were following her anymore, but if they were, he didn’t think she would be able to outrun them for long. Her stomach still ached, craving any kind of sustenance at all.

She looked around. The sun had gone down, leaving the street lit by a single dim streetlight, and the alley not lit at all. There were no dumpsters in the alley. So, little hope of finding scraps of food without venturing back into the city, a risk she wasn’t willing to take. But, there was plenty of trash on the ground. No dinner to be found here, but at least there was enough junk and scrap paper to fashion herself a place to sleep. It was a victory. She had to take it. She sat on the cold ground and leaned back against the wall and tried to get some rest.

As the evening progressed, she saw fewer people walking by on the street at the end of the alley. Everyone was going home after a long day, or going to visit their family or friends. They didn’t know how good they had it. Melhalleia wished she were one of them, with a home to go to, with a bed to sleep in. She looked at the pile of junk she would be sleeping next to tonight. At least it didn’t smell that bad.

Melhalleia would have to leave this city as soon as possible. She hadn’t even been here for a week and she already fucked up. The police knew her face now. They knew she was a troublemaker. If they saw her again, they would pursue. It wouldn’t be safe to stay here for much longer. Melhalleia wondered how far away the next big city was. Maybe she’d be able to hitch a ride with an unsuspecting truck driver.

Melhalleia hated it all. She wanted to scream, to punch something as hard as she could, to do something to let out all her rage. She didn’t know how much more she could take of her life and what it had become. She didn’t care how strong or tough it made her; the struggle never ended. No matter how strong she was, she never got a break. The pain would never end.

She wondered if she would ever have a better life, an easier life. She wondered if she would ever find a place in the world. She wondered if there would be anything at the end of this painful existence that would make all the pain worth enduring.

Suddenly, Melhalleia heard a voice inside her head. “Someday.”

She didn’t know whose voice it was, or where it came from, or how it had found her. But she repeated the word to herself, and she began to smile.