UNTITLED: Book One

DAY 109

I’ve made my stand, made it

So take my hand, take it

Now shake my hand, shake it

“I hope this will not become the norm for me.” The Broker he says out loud as he spits out blood while he sitting up—waking up after passing out, yet again.

He wipes his mouth then turns over to his hands to push himself up onto one knee. Getting ready to stand up, he stares at Aiye’s hand extended towards him. He hesitates and looks at it closely again only to realize it is Solara’s. He takes in the cuts and bruises rising up her arm and neck. She even has signs of bleeding from her mouth just like him. So I did get her at least.

He wonders for a brief moment if this hand is extended for peace or to take him along on another one of their careless adventures. Probably both. The Broker ponders, then scoffs with a smirk as he grabs hold of her hand to stand. Of course it is another dangerous and careless adventure and that is why he is coming with them. All this time he would avoid those of the Sun since they do not know the meaning of peace, but he has since realized that it is up to him to show Aiye and Solara, or at least use them to make peace for his own people.

Who, by the way, were now loud and chatting as they ate and discussed amongst themselves. Still keeping their distance from Aiye and Solara, but their guards are all but down now. Their spirits up as they seem to feast on some of the rations they scavenged.

At the sight of this, The Broker smiles to himself. Let these sky demons think they have got him. He now has his tools, his plan, and his people. That warehouse battle not only served as a wakeup call, but an audition for which side was strong enough to deliver. And who said the audition was over?

“Why do you always look like you’re plotting some shit,” Solara interrupts The Broker’s musing. Solara might be as arrogant as they come, but she is a hunter-killer through and through. Her observation of her prey or enemy do not leave her just because her mouth is moving, he reminds himself.

Solara yanks him up with the same ease as picking up a small object of the table. While still holding him by the arm, she lifts him up to her eye-level and scans his pupils deeply—studying him for a moment. The Broker chooses not to play along with her challenge and instead narrows his eyes, dangling and completely unamused.

Seemingly disappointed, Solara drops him and walks away while Broker brushes himself off and straightens up his clothes. She stops for a moment, and with a slight turn of her head in his direction, acknowledging him, “You should watch who you speak that way to. Our way, I mean. Not every New Wave would be as cool about as I was… But, nice hit.” She mimes a little punch to her own chin then nods her chin up in a direction behind him, then he sees it. A crater about the diameter of small transport vehicle, a hole in the rubble quite a distance away—probably Solara’s landing spot, and two short lines digging through the dirt that were likely where his feet dragged when he was blown back.

“Tch,” The Broker clicks his tongue, then speaks, “About that food storage for the New Wave.”

“What about explaining Sollar to us first?” Aiye interjects, coming out of nowhere. The Broker makes it a point to hide his surprise, but his heart certainly jumped.

“While Sollar is actually a who, it is more so about what they represent,” he replies to Aiye. “But, you kids must remember the structure and etiquette of what we adults call, a deal—“

“—And we can show you the structure of torture and pain. There’s levels to that shit.” Solara interrupts while moving up close to him again.

The Broker, becoming more accustomed to their habits and moods, simply raises his arm between himself and her advance, then gently and slowly pushes her just outside of his personal space. While doing so, he continues speaking to them both as if nothing happened, “We should discuss our terms first and then I can tell you everything you want to know about Sollar and how to defeat the Warden.”

He looks up at Solara, “I imagine, Young Solara, that you would really want to defeat him, correct?”

“If you know something about me then say what you mean and mean what you say. I’m not with all the riddle shit.” She retorts.

“I do not mean in it as an attack Solara, but of course I know. My name. The Broker. Of course I have known this entire time, but I do not mean bad anything by alluding to it. I just wish to remind you of what your focus should be.”

Solara grunts and walks away. “Words, Broker. Always with the words.”

Aiye picks up from there, “So what are your terms exactly? You want us to show you where the food storage is, but I’m willing to bet that as, The Broker, you’ve known its location for a minute now? So what’s really up?”

“This is true. I have known its location for a long time now, but I have always lacked the power to do anything with that information. Until now. That leads me to the terms.”

Broker snaps his fingers at one of his people and says something in their direction. Upon hearing him, they scramble into the crowd for moment before they return with a datapad, handing it to the Broker who then hands it to Aiye.

A curious Solara walks back over to them and looks over Aiye’s shoulder, trying to get a look at the datapad. One of Aiye’s brows raises in curiosity as he takes it and reads it:

DNA Binding Agreement “DNABA”

This agreement is between The Broker, who is the representative of the non-genetically-enhanced people of the land, and Aiye and Solara, who are two genetically-enhanced Children Under the Sun from the caste known as “New Wave”. Both parties agree to the following terms: (1) The Broker and those of his people in which he selects, will be escorted, by Aiye and Solara to the New Wave food storage owned, operated and defended by Solaris, and (2) in addition to their escort duties, additional roles and duties for the duration of this contract include, protection in any capacity, labor in any capacity, and serving as informants upon request. (3) In exchange, Aiye and Solara shall receive any and all of The Broker’s knowledge on the person known as Sollar, as well as The Broker’s personal strategies for defeating The Warden. (4) This contract duration will last from the moment it is formalized with DNA binding, until Aiye and Solara have ensured that ownership and control of the New Wave’s food storage has been undoubtedly secured for The Broker and his non-genetically-enhanced people of the land.

- Please press your thumb to the attached data cache below -

“A DNABA? Hah, wow. Do you really expect us to sign on this? I’m not even sure why we need this? You need us and we need you. It’s simple… And also, there’s nothing stopping us from breaking this if we felt like it.”

“I prefer it this way. I cannot be sure that you will not deceive me and besides, you are on the surface and a DNABA is how we do things here.” The Broker responds.

“Well I never lie,” Solara defends. “So if I say I will do it, then I will do it. I feel like that’s better than your DABA.”

“-DNABA,” Broker corrects.

“DNABA, DABABABA, blah blah, whatever!”

The Broker shakes his head with a smirk.

“It’s true, she never does.” Aiye asserts.

“Well, that is… interesting to know, and nice I suppose. It changes nothing, however. If you cannot sign it, then we cannot continue.”

“Ugh, Aiye gimme that!” Solara snatches the pad from Aiye hands, to his shock, and quickly puts her thumb to the attached data cache. It takes a sample and registers.

“Yo what the fuck, Sol! WHY would do that?” Aiye exclaims, dumbfounded by the impulsiveness and impatience he should have expected when he chose to drag out this conversation with The Broker. Fuck fuck fuck, he mentally beats himself up.

The Broker, momentarily taken aback and confused by Aiye’s loss of cool, takes a mental note before returning back to his original demeanor. He continues to observe though.

“Sol.” Aiye says more calmly. “You’ve said it yourself, the man plays games. He’s playing you! He’s obviously up to something, I mean look at him right now!”

Aiye gestures over to Broker who is standing there silently with an ever-so-slight grin across his face. Aiye pauses and thinks. He planned this. He’s had enough time to understand Sol and how she moves—but also how I move too… How I move.

Solara was obvious. Like a force of nature, you knew when and where she was coming. The challenge was stopping her. But now the Broker has his weakness too. It was way too easy for the Broker to play them like this—he did this on purpose. There was no need to bring out this datapad.

“Chill. We’ll be fine. Let him play his games. Since when does it matter what anyone plots. Annoying as it is, it never matters in the end.” She says while staring down The Broker who simply nods with the same grin.

“Plus, Aiye, if it was so important to protect your DNA, would I not simply just take the plethora of samples you and your fellow New Wave brothers and sisters left in my now decimated warehouse?” The Broker adds.

Aiye ponders for a moment. A true statement, but like the Registrar, this is an obvious setup. He just can’t figure out how yet. Reluctantly, he signs the pad as well, giving over a piece of himself as a bond. What a stupid concept, he thinks to himself. But he understands the need for it when you can’t be your own insurance.

The contrast between Sol and Broker: One moves on a whim, with all the power in the world, and the other tries to move all the power in the world. But is this—?

“—Strength, my dear Solara, is different from power. You move on a whim, but that can only be done with what you have been given—or taken. We move on will, with what we have obtained—worked for. You are so powerful, that power is the only prison that can hold you. For you to maintain this sense of what you perceive to be freedom, you will forever have to exert power on to something. You may never realize that you never grew, and all it takes is the perfect storm to get you,” The Broker interrupts Aiye’s thoughts as if he read his mind.

“What’s your point?” Solara responds dismissively.

“The perfect storm always comes.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No. I do not make threats. It was simply a warning.”

She rolls her eyes, “And what’s the difference?”

“Good question. Well, a threat may or may not happen, but its purpose is always intimidation. Whereas as warning… a warning young Solara, it’s destiny.” With that, The Broker adds his own DNA signature to the attached cache and then hands the pad back to the person who initially retrieved it.

Next, he claps his hands together with a beaming smile, “Well then! Aiye! Solara! Now that we have settled that, where to first?” he says as he turns to walk over to his people.

Aiye places a hand on the chest of the Broker to stop him.

“To the truth. You’ve played your games Broker. Now it’s time to live up to your name. Our signatures and Sol’s word are the best form credit. Something you use down here, right? Right. So I get you not sharing your strategy to defeat the Warden, but at the very least you can tell us what all the fuss is about this Sollar person. The company is called Sol-aris, here’s Sol-ara, and now you tell us there’s someone important named Sol-lar. How are all these related to one another?”

He points behind himself at Solara.

“No, not directly. Not in the way you are thinking. Your Warden simply just has an obsession with the Sun it seems. I do not actually know why. Perhaps it started with Sollar?” Broker shrugs.

“So Sollar is someone who knows him directly?” Solara asks.

“Yes.” Broker pauses for a moment, then sighs. “Here,” he politely gestures towards his people. “Walk with me while my people clean up this mess and salvage what we can. I imagine we will need any and all surviving morsels of food for the journey, and for incentive.”

They turn to walk back to the crowd of people while The Broker gives them instructions.

—

“ARGH!” Thema roars as she slams her fist against the wall behind her—waking up in the med bay, defeated and pissed off.

She sees herself in the mirror across the room from her. She snarls at the hospital gown. Throwing the sheets off the bed, and in a flurry, stripping this shame off herself.

She begins pacing around in search for her battle skin—or at least a new one. As she moves around the room, her long, black silk hair flows over the hospital bed like a waterfall with each step, before it finally comes to rest—draping down her bare body and across the floor like the back of a lavish gown. She growls in frustration as she continues to look.

No Solara. No Aiye. No Broker. Most importantly, no information on who the hell Sollar is—or how to find out without The Protector learning of her failures and arrogance. He probably already knows, but to have to look him in the eye and speak her failures to him—the shame.

“No.1, you are not worthy,” he would probably say in his own way. And it would burn her inside.

Fuck! I don’t even have all the locations of the stupid fucking Dark State terror cells! She realizes to her horror.

Thema frantically paces around the med bay as all the doctors and nurses remain standing stiff in the corner of the room, hoping to avoid becoming collateral damage. She then catches a glimpse of a doctor trying to subtly press the nurse call button and proceeds to deliver a death stare to the doctor who immediately leaves it alone and looks down at the ground. Thema finally spots a fresh battle skin and gets dressed.

She DEFINITELY can’t return here until she knocks some of this shit off her list. At that, the mental energy she was expending on keeping her internal panic at bay, flows into a new ocean—strategy, and the ideas start to hit in waves.

She quickly leaves out of the med bay and speed walks down the hallway toward the hangar.

Okay okay okay, think girl. What can you control…and what can’t you? CAN’T: (1) The Protector most definitely knows. (2) If The Broker has chosen to move with Aiye and Solara, then so be it… Right. Okay, and CAN: (1) They’ll guide me to this Sollar person anyways if I just patiently observe them long enough. (2) The Broker will likely be aware he’s being tracked, but he can’t do much about it. In fact, he’ll probably think he will lead us into a trap. His arrogance can be used against him, so that’s fine for now. OH, and (3) the lowest hanging fruit would be these terror cells. I need to go on an absolute fucking tear and rip these wannabe-heroes out of their holes.

Lowest hanging fruit, she scoffs at the thought, remembering the condition she was in after facing her first cell. But, perhaps this time she should actually cooperate with the rest of The Five on this crusade. It’ll make it easier for her and she and they can actually improve their chemistry, I guess.

Agh. I didn’t ask to be a leader. I just wanted to be strong so that I could… she winces as a memory of her childhood with Solara passes—the days right before Aiye showed up. The good old days. Why think of that now? I’m not there, I am here, FOCUS. She enters the hangar just to see the rest of The Five waiting on her. Damn. He does know.

Thema instinctively reaches for a weapon before catching herself. She straightens up and waves at them in a professional acknowledgment as she approaches, hand. Her body tensed up, prepared to for fight her way out of here. If they were sent here to stop here, then could take them, even in this condition. All probably would be forgiven as long as she delivers on her promises.

The Five wave back. Then, No.2 speaks up first.

“Woahhh there, you can relax now. Saw you reaching for your weapon and looking all tense, haha. Believe it or not, we knew you’d come here even before we got the call. We’re just here so we can go fuck shit up, together this time, yeah?” He extends his hand out for her to shake.

She stares at them all, taking them all in, burning their faces and eager looks into her brain. They’re either tricking her, or looking for someone in her. Someone she doesn’t want to be. Either way she’s trapped. But perhaps, at least just for this mission, she can pretend. Of course with her guard wayyy up.

She playfully (it was awkward as fuck but she thought it was playful) slaps his hand away and gives him a soft hit to the chest that’s not super hard, but definitely too hard for the mood she intended to set. She internally cringes and curses herself, but follows it up externally with a simple, “Thanks man.”

He grins and replies cooly while mockingly massaging his chest, “You’re welcome. We got you.”

Then he nods at No.3’s direction with a smile, “Yo, 3! The stuff.”

No.3 nervously steps forward until No.2 gives her an encouraging push, “Come on buddy, we’re all good here. She won’t bite… too much.” He jokes massaging his chest again. Thema’s guard drops just a bit.

No.3 holds some gear forward and stutters, “Tw-twin pl-plasma d-daggers for you Ms. Thema—AH! I mean ONE! Sorry! I’m so sorry!”

Brow raised, Thema studies her for a moment in silence, then looks at No.2 who continues to grin, but with his eyes, he pleas for Thema to be patient with No.3. He seems like he’s enjoying everyone’s collective discomfort and awkwardness.

“Er, uhm, No.3…is it?”

“Yes ma’am!” No.3 salutes.

No.2, No.4, and No.5 all chuckle to themselves. The stop suddenly and look away when Thema shoots them a look.

She continues, “None of that ma’am stuff, and definitely no saluting. We’re all in the same boat. Same age. From the same place. However, this is gonna sound rude, but you’re… ranked?”

“Yes ma-. Yes, Themaaa…? -No.1?”

“-No.1… We all have our new names now.” Thema replies dryly with a hint of regret. Her eyes unfocused for a moment. A moment the others do not miss, especially No.2.

“Buttttttt, if you wish, when it’s just us we can go by our real names? Mine is-!” No.3 begins to say.

“-No.3,” No.2 interrupts No.3 with a comforting, yet assertive warning touch to her shoulder. “Just introduce yourself, No.3.” He follows in a gentle voice.

Thema notices their bond. Their flow. They must all have a lot of chemistry. They must all have grown up together. Fought together. She’s the odd one out, yet again.

“Ah- yeah. Of course.” No.3 nods to No.2, then looks back at Thema who is just finishing up attaching the equipment No.3 gave her. “I’m a weapons specialist, No.1.”

“That’s good and all, but book smarts isn’t enough to get someone ranked. We’re all well-read, after all. If that were the case then there would be more ranks, wouldn’t there? You saw how that wannabe-hero moved. I’m very sorry for how rude I’m sounding, but I’m not trying to have people drop dead on my watch.”

“Well, I’m proficient with ALL weapons, is what I mean by that.” No3. responds with a bit more confidence in her voice.

“She’s a fucking artist with ANY weapon you give her,” No.4 playfully chimes in with a smile, his voice booming. He points to the daggers on each of her legs. “She could teach you a thing or two about twin dagger mastery.

Thema nods in acknowledgment. “Yeah, about that. Why did you bring me daggers anyways?”

No.3 replies, “Well, while we were observing your fight with that Dark State cell, I just noticed some things about your style and personality. I felt this might be the best choice for you—BUT I can get you anything else if you’d like? The sword, perhaps? I could definitely teach you that? It is my absolute best weapon. I’m sorry for assuming!”

“Nah. No. We’re good. It’s an interesting choice. I like it. Thank you.” Thema pats No.3 on the back in a stiff attempt to mimic No.2’s energy. She turns to No.4 and No.5 now.

“And the rest of you, what’s your stories? Since we’re sharing.”

“I am NOT a weapons specialist whatsoever. I hate tools. I just love to fight, any fight—do anything, with my bare hands. I love my fists!” No.4 beams as flexes his massive bicep and kisses his fist.

Thema chuckles, “I see that.” Glad that she decided against mentioning the elephant in the room. No.4 was large, just like an Old Guard. Just, like an Old Guard. But, for her to imply those similarities was similar to a slap in the face. Instead, she’ll let him prove himself, she grins to herself ever-so-slightly, proud of seeing herself improve as this situation progresses.

Then No.5, unlike No.3, speaks quietly yet confident, “Covert. Recon. Reliable.”

Thema’s grin widens, “Nice. I know just the job for you.”

“And she can run for—basically ever! Just, like nonstop!” No.2 chimes in, once again pumping his group up as he playfully mimes No.5’s supposed never-ending running. No.5 nearly blushes while returning to line, with the rest, as they all laugh in agreement.

Thema, smiling now, feeling warmer with this odd bunch she’s been thrown into, decides to take another look at them. Gratitude for the opportunity this group presents her in regards to regaining her respect. But this time, she also looks at them in a newfound respect. She’s all but forgotten the panic she felt earlier. Almost.

“Well, listen up team!” They all line up immediately as fresh, serious looks wipe away their smiles.

“In the words of someone I really don’t fuck with…” Thema looks them over once more. This time with a grin and nod of approval with that newfound respect—appreciative for the opportunity she’s been given. She speaks again after the pause.

“I can fuck with this. So yeah, let’s go fuck shit up, together.”

The thunderous drum strikes once…