Markram Battles: Omens of Doom (Part II) by M.C. Muhlenkamp Page A

clutch my empty stomach as the memory of Earth before the attack seizes my mind. It had seemed so perfect, so real. He had made my sister appear in front of me, too, and I, like an idiot, lunged my arms forward to wrap them around her. I remember sobbing in what I thought was her shoulder, tightening my embrace around her, until I noticed she wasn’t hugging me back. That’s when I realized it wasn’t really her.
     
    I stepped back, and with a sinister smile she gripped my wrist, transforming into the leader I have come to care for against my better judgment. Seven pulled me into him, and though I fought his grip, he didn’t let me go. His wicked expression dimmed to something resembling curiosity. The depth of expression he usually had was completely gone, but still, his proximity unsteadied me and my heart began pounding even faster, making me forget it was an illusion. Seven’s hand found my neck, pulling me closer in spite of my own resistance. My eyes dropped to his lips. He looked like Seven. He felt like Seven. My body relaxed, about to give in, and Eleven appeared in front of me, grinning in understanding.
     
    I shake my head, dismissing the distressing memory of the man that could change my reality with a single touch, and begin to walk again.
     
    “Where have you been?” Nine’s voice reverberates through the hallway, her tone cold and demanding.
     
    I walk past her without looking up. “It’s none of your business.”
     
    “It’s my business when I have to pay for your negligence.” I know what she means and I can’t blame her. “Thirteen.” Her tone softens and when I look up, I can barely contain my tears. Her forehead wrinkles in confusion and her hand somehow finds its way to my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
     
    Her question rings inside my ears, filling it with resentment and bitter sarcasm. I feel the monster waking up again, clinging to my inner walls with its ferocious claws. It shakes me, tearing through me with all its might. I’m caving. I can feel it coming. My eyes close, in a last attempt to suppress the stinging tears. I manage to get hold of the vicious desperation that is eating me whole and clamp it down, burying it deep inside the core of my tormented soul. I will not give in. Not in front of her. Not in front of anyone. “I’ll be fine.”
     
    Nine tightens her grip as a gesture of reassurance. “Please don’t leave like that again. Seven hasn’t been around to notice, but you know wandering on your own is against regulations.”
     
    I nod.
     
    Nine’s cheeks bulge high and her lips curve upward, flashing perfectly white teeth. Her dark skin, smooth like hot chocolate, seems to shine under the pale lighting. “Let’s go.” She taps my shoulder and begins to make her way back into the living quarters.
     
    The entire unit is up and about. Two out of three adjacent rooms accessible only through self-activated sliding doors, which open in the morning and close at night, swarm with physicians and physical assessors. Unit fighters sit at random, while the medical team evaluates every inch of their bodies in preparation for today’s battle. I take a seat at one of the tables in the third room, the eating lounge as we commonly refer to it, and just stare down at the polished surface, glossy and spotless, like the perfect exterior of a teardrop.
     
    Nine sits across from me, placing a breakfast tablet on the table and sliding it in my direction. I don’t look up. I stare at the cream-looking bar, scoffing. It looks like a deceiving rise crispy treat, because it tastes like nothing—a mixture of bland nutrients, which only serve the purpose of keeping me alive and well nourished. Someone else sits by my side. “What is a dictum?” Five’s voice comes out in a whisper, as if she is ashamed of the words leaving her mouth.
     
    I part my lips to answer, but Nine’s voice cuts me off. “A dictum is a decree, a formal order.”
     
    “So what does Battle by Dictum