Here lies {%NAME%}, soldier of the ARC. May he dine with the LORD.
Rank: {%RANK%}
Squadron: {%SQUADRON%}
Dates of Service: {%DATERANGE%}
He will be remembered for {%COMMEMORATIONS%}.
ARC Form 42-C, Headstone Processing Form
GETHSEMANE Complex interior, Corpus Christi, Texas, Axis Mundi, Earth, UCF 05/20/454, 1426 hours
FUCK.
Trinity Hopeland runs through the dark, cathedral corridors of the GETHSEMANE Complex. Her whimpers of pain echo through the halls. THAUMIEL is fried — gone, abandoned her as well, leaving her to contend with the barrage of malfunctioning nerve information herself. Trinity Hopeland looks at the control panel of her body. Every light is blaring red. Every readout is “FATAL ERROR: PAIN”. The forcible disconnection from the ISCARIOT’s delicate nervous interface was enough to overload every nerve ending in her body at once. Once more, she is burdened with the proprioceptopath’s curse.
I need a weapon— I need something. Something to protect myself. It is an alien sensation, to be unable to rely on her own body for its exquisite, lethal perfection. She fears it may be one of the last sensations she will experience.
But right now, she is a convergent Egregore Engine, fueled by grief, pain, hatred, rage. So she continues on. Finishing the mission.
Through the mess of signals firing through her nerves, Trinity Hopeland hears the tack-tack-tack of rushing footsteps behind her. Flechette. Of course. It was always going to be this, wasn’t it? It always had to be this.
Trinity listens carefully. Calculating proximity, angle, velocity using her perfect bodysense. No weapons. Have to do this the old fashioned way. But if Flechette were armed, she would have shot her by now, at this range. I have a chance.
Trinity whirls around as Flechette lunges for her, barely dodging a hard right-hook. Flechette and Trinity’s eyes meet as they sail past each other, painfully slowly. Trinity brings up a fist herself, aimed at Flechette’s ribs. Flechette pulls herself back just in time.
“TRIN!”
So it will be games as well, Trinity thinks. Trinity kicks out a leg, sweeping low, knocking Flechette to the ground. Flechette gasps.
“—Trin, we don’t have to do this.”
“SHUT UP!” Trinity brings down a foot, hard, where Flechette’s head was just a moment before, as Flechette defensively rolls away. No longer the combat of angelic bodies, heavenly god-machines shattering the earth in their struggle. Just two women, boxing for the destiny of history.
Trinity’s vision goes white as Flechette launches off the ground and kicks her in the back of the head. Trinity snarls in pain, whips around and slams a fist against Flechette’s temple.
The two women separate, clutching their heads, groaning, dazed.
Trinity recovers first, suppressing the blaring alarms in her body as much as she possibly can. Slams Flechette’s head against a nearby piece of pipe. Flechette goes down. Trinity places a foot on top of her chest, presses down. Mask fallen away. Face splattered with tears and blood.
“You did this to me.”
“Trin…” Flechette strains out.
“YOU LEFT ME BEHIND. YOU PROMISED.” She pushes down harder.
“You… Don’t… Understand…”
“I don’t understand? I don’t understand? No, YOU don’t understand. You betrayed me. You betrayed all of us!” Rage flares through Trinity’s body, granting her strength. She kicks Flechette in the head, hard. Flechette rolls onto her side, groaning. A tooth skitters across the perfect lithosteel flooring.
“You will die here.” It is a statement of fact. Trinity is convicted. She is a mathematical vector whose direction is aimed only at death.
“I will. But so will you. Together.” Flechette reaches up, grabs the front of Trinity’s tunic, and pulls, hard, slamming Trinity into the ground next to her.
The control room of her body goes dark. Trinity looks around, horrified, as her body loses all power. The lights flicker back on. Trinity opens her eyes. She’s being held down by Flechette, with her ex-lover sitting on top of her, pinning her while she winds back a fist.
“Flechette—”
“Don’t.”
The first blow lands. Power in Trinity’s internal control room flickers again. Then the next blow. Again and again. The lights dim. In the midst of the barrage, Trinity feels something warm and wet fall on her face. Opens her eyes. Flechette is weeping.
Darkness.
Fight. Live. Win. In the midst of the dark, unpowered control room of her body, the whispered voice slowly rises in volume. FIGHT. LIVE. WIN.
Trinity opens her eyes, and as Flechette winds back for another blow, Trinity slams her head forward, catching Flechette on the nose. She feels the bone give way beneath. Blood streams freely. Trinity has a moment of hope. I can win this! I can—
Then Flechette comes back down.
Her fingers close around Trinity’s throat.