Hey Soul Sister (1)

Step, kick, duck, swing. Inhale. Kick, block, crouch, flip. Exhale. Swing, step, punch, duck, block, kick, swing. Deep breath. Jump, swing, duck, fall, get right back up don’t you dare stop for a moment, block, punch, kick—

Dead.

She threw herself backwards as the ugly, cone-shaped head was wrenched off the long, thin neck, closing her eyes as foul-tasting oil splattered across her face. She spat, wiping her face carefully with a metal fist, wrinkling her nose at the putrid gunk. While great for getting out frustration, her line of work wasn’t exactly the cleanest.

She eyed the remains of the Spider-Bot disdainfully, brown gaze falling on the severed head. Spider-Bots were particularly tricky because their heads needed to be completely destroyed in order for them to die. Already she could see feeble signs of life returning to the mangled blades that made up the ‘Bot’s legs. She sighed and smoothed her wildly curling hair back behind her ear. She was really not in the mood to blow up the thing’s head. She’d have to remember to do it later.

She eyed the oil coating her sword with distaste; the Beast’s lifeblood was extremely hard to clean and her poor weapon was damaged enough already. She glanced down at the worn metal blade almost wearily, tracing a faded oil stain with a silver finger. How long had that been there? Five years? Six? After ten years of Hunting, her memories started to blend together, as with any Hunter who lasted as long as she had—and precious few did last as long as she had. She could only name Fox off the top of her head. And speaking of the red-head…

“Lass.” His deep, gruff voice rattled out of the rusty communicator she wore in her ear—pre-War technology, rewired for the wasteland they called home now. “How’d it go?”

“Fine,” she answered, sliding her sword into its holster and sweeping her hair into a ponytail. “It’s dead. I’m not in the mood to blow up the head, but I can pin the body down with something in the meantime.”

“Tha’ll be fine, lass. Sent a Tracker after ye. Can ye send us more specific coordinates?”

Brown eyes flicked around her surroundings. “Er. Loads of rubbish?”

She could almost hear Fox rolling his eyes. “Yeah, tha’ll help lots.”

“I can probably find my way home, if that helps any,” she offered, giving herself a final dusting-off.

“Yer just gonna go home?”

“Why not?” she asked, grinning despite herself at the sound of it. Home was a very underrated word. “I’m tired and hungry and probably need a bath.”

“Yer contract’s close to expirin’, lass. Ah was hopin’ ye could ride into Central and clear things up.”

“What sort of things?” She was stalling now, though for what she didn’t know. She’d gone through the procedure often enough, she knew the drill.

“Whether yer renewin’ it or not, fer one.”

She made a rude sound.

“Ah’ll take that as a yes, then?” Fox sounded amused, if a bit exasperated.

“Of course,” she said haughtily, sticking her nose in the air before giggling softly to herself to break the act. “Look, why don’t I ride into Central in about two weeks? We can go over the contract then. I’ve been wanting to see Lark, anyway.”

“It’s a plan, then. Ah’ll call back the Tracker and—wait, no, he’s close enough to ye anyway. Take the spare horse and git home. Remember to go back for the ‘Bot head. And sweet Maker, remember to pin enough legs down that the thing won’t get free this time!”

She made the rude sound again. “One time. That was one time.”

“Yeah, one time that nearly killed half a dozen people.”

“One bloody time, Fox!”

She could practically hear his smirk over the com. “See ye soon, ye stubborn brat.”

“Stay safe, you cheeky bastard.” She replied easily, grinning as she heard the soft click that signaled the link shutting down. She wasn’t quite sure how the practice of insulting each other at the end of each conversation had started, but it was a welcome habit nonetheless. It was going to be so good to see him again. Not to mention Lark, or David and Mags! She hadn’t seen them in person in nearly five years, and even though they’d all kept in touch, she couldn’t wait to see them and see how life had decided to treat them. It’d be so great to catch up with everyone—

The Beast’s decapitated body began to creak and groan, shuddering back to life. She reached behind her and grabbed a heavy brick from one of the many rubbish piles dotting the abandoned battlefields. She chucked it with all her might; it sailed in a high arc and crashed into one of the Spider-Bot’s bladed legs with a satisfying crunch. It fell to the ground, momentarily stunned. It was still weak and confused from being dead, but that wouldn't last long. She allowed herself five seconds to quickly turn and scan the chaos around her for something long and sharp—too much time, really, but she was feeling generous. She yanked the long metal bar out from under an overturned car, beaming at it as she swung around to face the Beast again. Lady Luck was being kind to her lately, and she was going to get bitten badly for it later, but right now she didn't quite care.

The long, frayed wires that had made up the Beast's neck hung loosely, still sparking faintly as they tried to process where its body's head was. She bit down a groan at the thing's stupidity; what purpose could these Beasts have served during the War?

Well, stupid or not, they must've been used for something, or else the BRAIN wouldn't have made them, she reasoned, using the wires to yank the Beast down. It wasn't as difficult as it sounded—most of Spider-Bots' weight was in the head and legs, and all she needed to do was make it bend its legs. Besides, her prosthetics were stronger than the average human arm, anyway.

The Beast fell with a soft whump against the red-stained dirt, struggling to free itself from her grip. Not sparing a moment, she jumped on the curiously flat body of the Beast. She brought the bar up and drove it into the thing's back, pinning it to the ground. There was a large decoration at the top of the bar that made her think it had once been a flagpole; whatever it was, the decoration made sure the Beast wouldn't be able to wrench itself free without severe damage. She did draw out her sword again and chip away at the legs, though, just to be on the safe side. If the thing tried to stand now, its legs would collapse underneath it.

Well, she thought, sheathing the blade. I may not be able to see the purpose of it back then, but it's pretty useful now. Spider-Bot parts sold well on the black market, not to mention their metal hides could often be melted down. Her own sword was part of a Spider-Bot leg, detached and strengthened in order to kill what it had once protected.

She ran a silver hand down the worn leather strap of her sword holster absent-mindedly. She'd killed the Beast, ensured that it wouldn't escape, and talked to her superiors. She had no major injuries to bandage, just a few scratches here and there, and nothing to clean her sword with. There was nothing to do except sit and wait for the Tracker and the spare horse.

Great.