Mercenary. Scrapper. Part 2. Damantha Makarova

to Serena.

      The box crashed, spilling dozens – if not hundreds – of very familiar rounded triangles of Veluthian nano armour. Serena felt shock taking over her, seeing the amount of these pins, which were impossible to remove, unless the wearer was dead. The only other time the pins were removed was when they were stored within special boxes that could open only to the person who wore the armour. This was achieved by imbuing the nanites of the armour with a DNA code of the only person allowed to wear it.

      “I’ve killed more than enough of you to know when you come for me.” the man said, satisfied with the effect his collection had on Serena.

      “I don’t even know who you are, man…” Serena slowly raised her eyes to him. “I was sent to take care of a local renegade mercenary gang, not you.”

      The man stepped up to her, landing a hefty blow to her jaw. Serena winced, feeling blood bursting from her mouth.

      “Fucking hell…” she groaned, not understanding the reason for this man to be certain she came for him, when she really had no idea who he was at all. “You hit like a Veluthian… Who the fuck are you?”

      The man grabbed her hair, forcing her head up to make her look at him.

      “I’m the one asking questions!” he said. “Who are you? Which family do you serve?”

      “I serve no one.” Serena felt his fingers tightening his grip on her hair.

      “Your name, bitch!”

      “Serena…” she groaned. “Serena Dal Thara-Lyss…”

      The man punched her again, drawing blood:

      “Liar!” he hissed, forcing her to look at the pile of armour. “See that? Each and every single one belongs to your friends and comrades from the fucking traitors that massacred the Thara-Lyss!”

      The man let her go and walked off.

      “I…” Serena made an effort to spit the blood from her mouth. “I survived.”

      “No one survived!” the man barked. “I know!”

      “I survived…” the woman looked up, trying to concentrate on his face, but he hit her so hard that she soon gave up, hanging her head.

      The man’s face contorted in pure hatred and he approached her again, grabbing her chin to look into her eyes, but the woman already lost consciousness. Irritated, the man rudely released her face from his tight grip and walked off.

      It took Serena a couple of hours to wake up again – this time she saw the man kneeling in front of her, watching closely with a very dangerous expression on his face.

      “Give me your name.” the man said, emphasising each word, his tone harsh and low.

      “Serena Dal Thara-Lyss.” the woman breathed out.

      She received a number of punches to her face, each one next stronger than the one before, and couldn’t hold her head straight any more, hanging it again.

      “You’re not Serena.” the man grabbed her face, causing more pain. “She’s dead.”

      “I’m alive…” struggling, Serena pushed out, feeling blood tricking from her mouth.

      “Let’s stop this game! Tell me your name!” the man’s fingers shook her head.

      “Serena…”

      Another slap connected with her cheek, and the man stood.

      “Fine then.” he said, pausing for a moment. “Then tell me this… When Serena was a child, her father gifted her a bodyguard. The girl had a pet name for the man. What was it?”

      He watched her closely, as Serena stayed silent for a few long moments, then the man flinched his chin in irritation and turned to leave.

      “Woo… fy…” he heard behind him and froze. “I called him Woofy.”

      The man’s eyes grew wider, and his expression changed from that of anger to confusion. He turned to his prisoner and frowned, seeing the woman still – with her head hanging down, unmoving and silent. Though, she seemed to be breathing – pained, straining against her body.

      “What did you say?” the man took a step towards her.

      “Woofy.” Serena exhaled quietly. “I was too small to say his name… so I called him… Woofy.”

      She fell silent for a bit, but then a faint smile appeared on her bloodied face:

      “He taught me to climb and balance… and scolded me every time he had to get me from the tallest tree in the garden.” Serena took a pause, reminiscing on the past. “He called me his little Scorpi. He said I reminded him of a creature he admired… The Golden Veluthian Scorpifly… When I was seven, my father said I was getting too attached to the man… So when Woofy was transferred… I caught him the bug as a parting gift… and he scolded me for taking such a risk, because the bug is extremely poisonous…”

      The man forced himself to walk up and slowly kneeled in front of the woman, studying her attentively with his eyes. He took her chin – this time relatively softly – and raised her head to look at her face.

      “When he left…” the man’s voice sounded raspy. “He gave you something…”

      The woman smiled:

      “A bracelet. I wore it every day until…” she suddenly fell silent again.

      “Until?”

      “It was destroyed.”

      The man’s eyes darted about her face, showing his shock and confusion. He couldn’t believe what he heard from this woman’s mouth – she recollected the things he knew no one else could have known.

      “How was it destroyed?” the man felt his mind racing. “When?”

      “On the day…” Serena couldn’t make herself take her eyes off his, seeing the deep pitch black. “When my family died… by the Bima-Liss traitors… Tekkern shot my left arm off, vaporising the bracelet with it.”

      The man felt a wave of panic rising, and jolted back, looking at the woman with wide eyes.

      “Scorpi?!” he whispered, fear crawling into his voice.

      But the woman didn’t answer, falling prey to the darkness that took her mind away from the pain he had caused.

      Chapter 3. Scorpifly

      The man unpacked a little bundle, and leaned over the stone, looking at the bug, encased in clear resin. The golden chitin armour of the Veluthian Scorpifly glimmered in the dim fire of the torches around, its see-through wings shimmering with greens and blues, and its venomous tail suspended as if the bug was about to strike. He thought for a moment, then turned to the woman, who was still chained by the rock.

      Realising that every bit of information the woman had said to him was impossible to be known by someone other than Serena, the man felt guilt crawling into his heart. He sighed, collecting himself, and walked over to the woman, beginning to unclasp the chains.

      When her body, no longer held by the bindings, fell to the stone floor, the man froze for a few moments, reaching out to her face and putting her hair behind her ear to get a better look. Even though her skin was dirty from sands and blood, he saw that the bruises he left on her were already healing – her Veluthian body was recovering.

      One fact bothered him, though – the way she was becoming unconscious for these few days meant there was something he never considered happening to her. The man carefully picked her up and carried her over to the sleeping corner, where a flat slab of rock, covered by some thick fur served him as a bed. He laid her down, slowly undoing her jacket and pulling up her shirt. When he saw her sides blackened by bruises, he thought that she must have gotten her ribs broken