This morning, I walk in the midst of the ongoing festivities with a small patrol of guards behind me. Here in the capital, I typically spend some of my days protecting Constantine during his official duties. Other days, I’ll patrol the city, following leads about unrest or violence, ensuring everyone keeps the peace. My watches follow a pattern: I go through the streets; I check on specific shops; I attend some of the official announcements that happen weekly in the city square in order to observe the public’s reactions. I report anything suspicious or arrest lawbreakers. Anyone stirring up trouble. I go to the National Laboratory at leastonce a week—sometimes to report on how the experiments are going, sometimes to meet with the Chief Architect myself in order to get enhancements for my ongoing transformation.
All it takes on most days is for people to simply see me coming down the street. It is in Constantine’s best interest to show off his most fearsome weapon for his people. Everywhere I go, I can see people parting for me like a tide, followed by hushed murmurs and averted eyes, their heads bowed instinctively in fear. Their gazes linger on my black armor and the two flat stripes of metal along my back.
Skyhunter.I can hear their whispers in my wake.That’s the Skyhunter.
Today, I’m assigned to visit the Laboratory. As we turn in the direction of the complex, my mother’s signed words run repeatedly through my mind.
Someone there is working actively against the Federation.
Did my mother tell me this as instructed by Mayor Elland, or against her wishes? If a lab worker is secretly part of some rebellion, what are their plans? Are they one of the victims currently slated to be transformed into a Ghost—or a Skyhunter? One of the workers or an assistant? And how are they keeping themselves from the ever-watchful eyes of the Chief Architect?
I take in a deep breath. It’s likely my mother would never tell me this directly—but maybe she is a part of the rebellion herself. She knows the slow torture I’m experiencing, doing the Premier’s bidding. She has seen the results of my awful transformation. She is as angry as I am, probably feels the fire churning in her chest just like I do.
If my mother’s in on it, then I am too.
So I turn my attention in the direction of the lab institute. To my guards, I just signal simple commands in Karenese sign language.
“You,” I sign, pointing at one of them, then another. “You. Come withme.” Then, to the others, I gesture to the multiple points around the estate’s gates, indicating for them to take up their typical shifts at the gates while they wait for me.
The guards don’t hesitate at all. They bow and move immediately toward their assigned positions, their obedience to me as unflinching as that of Ghosts.
One of the two guards chosen to stay with me bows her head and gives me a questioning look. “I’m not a scribe, Skyhunter,” she says to me in Karenese. “Is that all right?”
Sometimes the guards are tasked to record the conversations I have with the Chief Architect, or write down notes of interest about how specific victims are doing in the lab institute.
I shake my head. “It’s fine. No notes today.”
The soldiers don’t know Karenese sign language except the handful of commands they’ve been required to learn since I joined the Premier’s side. But it’s enough to convey our messages to each other. I think Constantine is also satisfied with how limited it keeps my control over them. There’s only so much I can say.
The soldier bows her head. “Of course, Skyhunter,” she replies.
During the celebrations, the lab institute’s gates have been draped almost entirely in festive red cloth. Rains from the night before have left them soggy. I stare at the line of water left beneath them as we step through to the front gate, where the institute’s guards bow low to me. Dread has begun a slow churn in the pit of my stomach. It doesn’t matter how many times I set foot in this place. I always hate it.
The Chief Architect is already waiting for me at the entrance, shoulders perpetually tense. A young translator stands by her side.
The Chief Architect lowers her head at the sight of me, then pushes her glasses higher and smiles a smile that never reaches her eyes. “You’reearly this morning, Skyhunter,” she says to me in Karenese. Beside her, the translator signs to me in Maran sign language.
As always, I wonder who this girl used to be. Whether she was once a Striker now taken from her old position and made a translator by Constantine. Where she used to live in Mara and how she ended up here.
Now, though, I have a new suspicion: whether or not she’s actually a spy for a rebellion.
I look at the translator, searching for some clue in her eyes, but she just turns her gaze nervously down and follows the Chief Architect as she leads us inside. As we go, I manage to glance behind the translator’s ears, searching for any telltale scar. But there’s nothing.
My gut gives a nauseating lurch as we head through the entrance and deeper down the hall. It’s the feeling I have every time I step in here. I’d spent months within these corridors, bearing torture as they transformed me. Every corner is full of terrors. I can feel those nightmares crowding in my mind now, threatening to overwhelm me, but I force myself to stay straight and unerring, to put one foot in front of the other. I’ll be damned if I’m going to show weakness to the one who turned me into the weapon that I am.
“The Premier wants an update on how the other Skyhunters are progressing,” I sign to her now, an order she’s used to seeing from me. To my relief, my hands are steady, nothing like the turmoil in my mind.
“Since you’re early, I’m afraid one of them is still resting,” she tells me after the translator explains my words. “One of our Skyhunters-in-progress can’t be disturbed right now. But you’re welcome to see the second one.”
I nod at her. “Show me.”
The Chief Architect turns to the two guards trailing me. “Stay out of the room,” she tells them in Karenese that I understand. “This is only for the Skyhunter to see.”
They don’t hesitate to do her bidding. One of them casts a nervous glance down the hallway, knowing that the vast rooms beyond contain a multitude of monsters.
They stop at the end of the hall while we continue on. The Chief Architect opens one of the doors and ushers me inside.
It’s a dimly lit space, lighting that I remember from my time here, tailored specifically not to injure our new eyes when they’re healing.
