"Get up Soldier!"

  The Commander’s roar splintered, truncated by a sickening, metallic thud. A malfunctioning shell punched through his midsection. A hole the size of a dinner plate replaced his spine. What followed was the wet, whistling gasp of a man attempting to scream without the use of his lungs.

  "What... what is..."

  The black clouds began to ignite, fire licking through the smoke as if the air itself was catching a fever. Through the burning haze, a figure drifted.

  "You are a deficit," the voice stated. It possessed the melodic lilt of a choirgirl, yet carried the rhythmic, soul-crushing monotony of a career bureaucrat. "Even for a footsoldier, your existence represents a net loss. It is repulsive."

  She appeared as a cherub pulled from a cathedral ceiling, blonde hair catching the dawn light. Her expression was placid. Her eyes were the dead, flat orbs of a salaryman staring at a spreadsheet at midnight. She wore a crisp military uniform. A heavy obsidian box was strapped to her right thigh.

  "I—I'm not useless," the survivor wheezed, clutching the mud. "Just... parameters. I was insufficient for the parameters."

  The figure’s brow remained still. "That is what I said, you worm."

  "Understood. I will move forward. I failed to follow your orders. I see that my failure caused this frustration."

  He began crawling back, his fingers digging into the crimson slush and dragging his weight away from her. His elbows churned through the gore, creating a widening trail of failure in the dirt. Every inch he gained away from her was punctuated by a frantic nod.

  "I will succeed from now on. I will provide results."

  He continued his backward retreat, staring at her with wide, pleading eyes even as he pushed himself deeper into the wreckage of his own unit.

  The girl’s hand moved to the obsidian box. A sharp click echoed through the smoke. Her placid mask remained, but a slight twitch appeared in her right eyebrow.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  "Shut up," she snapped, the bureaucrat’s monotony cracking. "You're annoying me."

  The morning light hit the stone floor in sharp rectangles. Dust drifted through the beams. My head throbbed. Every pulse behind my eyes was a reminder that this body was a cage. My instincts were fraying. I tried to track a shadow in the hallway and my eyes lagged. I reached for a mental map of the city and found a blank space. The body was fighting back.

  Three days left. The fever remained.

  The door creaked. Anna slid in. She moved with a careful gait. Her breath was held tight. In her hands, she cupped a mound of beat-up berries. They were stained and bruised. They smelled of sun-warmed sugar.

  "Are you doing better, Harl?"

  Her voice was a thin thread. She held them out. Her palms were purple.

  "I'm doing better," I said. I sat up. The movement made the room tilt. I took a handful. The juice was sticky on my tongue. "Where did these come from?"

  "I traded for them. In the market."

  Her eyes had a bright spark. I reached out and patted her head. The hair was coarse.

  "Good girl."

  Two days left. The fever broke in the middle of the night. It left me drenched. They let me down to the common room. The fire was an orange growl in the hearth. Garrick and his goons stayed away. I sat on the bench with Anna.

  "Anna," I said. I stared into the embers. "I’ll be going away soon. I won’t be coming back here."

  She gripped the hem of my shirt. Her small fingers dug into the weave of the cloth. Her face went tight. Her lower lip trembled.

  "I want to come with you."

  I looked at her. I saw the way her hand shook. She was a child.

  "It's going to be okay."

  One day left. Iren hadn't come to the infirmary. He hadn't been at the tables. Something was moving in the shadows. I was going to leave before it stepped into the light.

  I moved after breakfast. I had a pouch of coppers in the lining of my boots. I slipped through the side gate while the Sisters were busy.

  The market was a riot of mud. I found a merchant cart headed west. I climbed in. I buried myself under a tarp. The cart lurched. The gate of Saint Odran’s groaned open.

  "Wait!"

  I looked back. Anna was running. She was a small shape against the gray stone. Her breath came in white plumes. She reached the tailboard. She thrust out a heavy pouch.

  "Take it! Take it all!"

  The coins clinked. I reached down. I pulled a single copper from the top. I shoved the rest back into her trembling grip.

  "Take care, Anna."

  The cart put on speed. She stumbled. Her knees hit the wet cobbles. She stayed there. She got smaller. She was a tiny speck of brown in the mouth of the monastery.

  That girl.