Galatea's War

One.

 Zoubek knew her feet would keep her moving more assuredly than she knew the blistering sand rashes that often razed her legs. Her blood-soaked boots sunk beneath a dip in the dunes and she scoffed, the motion pulling a rasping cough from her chest. 

She untied a damp cloth from around her neck and took a moment to chew on it, savoring the last dregs of deionized water before she pushed forward through the heat and toward The Slats.

The shambling city loomed above her as though it were a living thing- arid wind howling through a multitude of broken windows. 

She spotted agents in Aegir gear on a worn balcony, their tactical armor spotted with rust from the simple task of living in a near-airless doldrum. The only breezes that broke through the heat were strong ones, and as surely as there was another gust, that balcony was bound to fall.

"Stop!" One of them called gruffly, face obscured by a tinted helmet.

 It was dehumanizing, Zoubek thought. She said nothing but stood in place- letting her own blood mix with the shoddy lime brickwork that paved the path to The Slats.

"Where's your proof of residence?" The second agent shouted, voice winded and hoarse from evident overuse. "Are you from a sequestered zone or are you a grifter?"

"The former!" Zoubek hollered in return.

She held her left arm up toward the guards, gesturing to the scarification tattoos evident on it. Two interlocking half-circles with a hooked line on the inner circle signifying required vaccinations.

 It was the same symbol everyone she had ever known had bore, and if the guards could see how she had tried to marr it, they said nothing.

"What happened to your fingers?" The first man asked, pulling his helmet off in curiosity. The second guard slapped him upside the head with a micro-needled glove. Zoubek winced.

"We're not supposed to show our faces-" The second guard groaned. 

They dropped their weapons, clambered one leg over the railing and then another until they were standing just on the edge of the precipice. 

Zoubek's face pulled down into a frown. What kind of suicidal ideation was that, hanging off the balcony in heavy armor? 

Her confusion turned to fear when they jumped from nearly a story up, their partner yelping in fright as they hit the ground... on their feet.

"What?" Zoubek breathed, looking at the figure. She was dumbstruck in a way she had never been before.

"Hi." The figure croaked, holding out a glove they quickly removed when Zoubek eyed it with distaste. The visage of their hand may have been more of a gnarly sight than the sting of needles, however.

Their hand was dark and calloused, the expanse of their knuckles bruised and littered with scabs in various states of healing. What stood out the most though was the necrosis of their thumb and forefinger, and the bone that comprised their middle finger. Zoubek shook their hand tentatively, her own stinging from the pain of having recently lost two fingers. They both rubbed their palms off on their pant legs and stood staring at each other for a moment.

"So..." Zoubek began cautiously. Aegir agents don't typically shake hands with civilians. Especially not on duty. Care to explain what your deal is?"

The figure chuckled. "You're not the one in a position to be asking questions."

"Well," Zoubek tacked on sourly, "Being quiet gets you killed where I'm from. So elaborate or I skin you."

The figure laughed louder until the air made it turn to sputtering. "I'm X. and you look like you need your hand taken care of."

"That's not much of an answer. You don't have any self-preservation, do you? Do you have any idea how long I fucking walked just to get here?!"

"Oh, you're certainly what we're looking for. Let's take you to Nero."

"I am not going anywhere until I get answers."

"Alright." The figure assented. "I'm X, you're nameless girl, that one up there-" they pointed to the man leaning curiously over the railing, "is Lune. He's an idiot, but he's a better talker than me. We killed some guards, stole some uniforms- and we have probably fifteen more minutes til' the Aegir gets wind that two of their patrolmen haven't checked in for more than an hour. We're with the Ironsides. Do you know what that is?"

Zoubek shook her head. "You sound like a bunch of suicidal idiots. How do you know I won't turn you in?"

"Because," X nodded in Lune's direction. "We're your only shot at getting inside The Slats. The Aegir has put a ban on refugees as of late. Anyone else would have killed you on sight. And I'm a bit of a bleeding heart for stray dogs."

Zoubek snarled. "You get me inside, fix my fingers, and then let me leave. I don't work with groups."

"We'll discuss your requests later- after Cyprus gets you fitted with prosthetics and you talk with Nero."

"Fine," she grit out. "I will discuss your proposition with your leader. Now move your asses. You said you only had fifteen minutes to get out of here."