The Metal Children

05 Contre Elementum Squad

Brenda Jutek's work desk was usually always neat. This morning, it looked rather like someone was rummaging through her papers and documents, and didn't bother to clean up the evidence. It wasn't anyone else, though. She had struggled to flip through her things properly with one hand injured, and it caused her to finally groan in frustration as she sank onto her black, leather office chair.

At least something is pleasantly comfortable in this office, she thought.

Brenda thought of calling someone in to help tidy her work desk, but dismissed it upon seeing another work desk opposite hers across the private office room. It was as messy as hers, and even worse, perhaps. Behind the work desk was another black leather office chair. The layout of the office room was possibly mirrored, except for maybe a shelf containing documents on her side, a set of dark blue dumbbells set on the floor on her office partner's side. The private office room with it's own little pantry in a corner, and a long cabinet against the wall housing odd-looking metal accessories. They were weapons owned by both Brenda and her work partner, and there was an electronic lock on the door indicating the need for fingerprints in order to access to those weapons.

Weapons, Brenda thought. She tossed her straight, glossy hair behind her shoulder with her good arm, and sighed heavily. Through the clear glass doors of the secured cabinet, her eyes examined those weapons, granted permission and provided by her superior, one by one. She hated those metallic wrist cuffs that released blades when activated. They were comfortable to wear, but they were heavy as hell and would make her look like Xena the Warrior Princess lost in a corporate world if worn in public with her usual attire - a high waisted grey pencil skirt with five inches slit at either side, hem falling above her knees, a white button-down shirt tucked into her skirt, sleeves folded up onto her elbow, and a grey blazer, tailored well to her size. She would usually had her blazer on, but today, she would rather not had them on, as the bandage on her arm, which covered her up from her wrist to her elbow, restricted her movement too much that it was hard for her to even put on easy clothing.

There were ten piece of daggers arranged neatly in the same cabinet, two for each sizes with blades ranging from the length of her middle finger to the length of her hand. Those daggers would be her preferable weapon, but it was such a hassle to carry in her handbag. She have one of those dagger holders - the ones that enable you to tie your weapon onto your thighs under your clothing - but she found them very uncomfortable. The only occasion in which she would have worn them would be during undercover, but she hardly have assignments of such.

And then, there were four silver bladed knuckles. Those were her work partner's favourite weapon, and he was also far more skillful than her with those knuckles. They didn't look as new as those daggers though. Obvious scratches and dents littered across the blades of those knuckles, indicating it had been used many times. They had, indeed, taken away several lives, in the past. Brenda wondered he sent them away to be replaced with newer ones, but she thought he would appreciate the sentimental value of those knuckles.

Two sets of bows and arrows set at one end of the metal cabinet, displayed behind the glass. Now those were her ultimate favourite weapon. The bows were beautifully molded, with dark metallic handle and finely weaved high tension cable string. Her amazing skills in aiming and predicting movements of her enemies made her experience in handling bows and arrows far more thrilling. She only wished that it wasn't such ludicrous idea to carry a set of bow and arrows on your back in public. She wouldn't want to look like she's cosplaying Hawkeye or Katniss Everdeen every single day to work.

Brenda's stomach rumbled through the silence of her office room, and that was when she remembered that she had forgotten to take any breakfast. Her wounded arm made it difficult to cook anything this morning, she found instant food too distasteful today with such exhaustion, and she didn't get the chance to stop by to buy any breakfast when she rushed through the metro. She got up on her feet and headed to a corner of the office room, where their pantry was perfectly arranged to fit into the rest of the room. A tall, metal cabinet leaned against the grey-painted wall, and a narrow rectangular metal table with three barstool was placed beside it, in the arrangement of a bar top. The cabinet had a mini fridge on the bottom shelf, a microwave oven and water heater on the middle shelf and dry food on the top shelf. She examined the top shelf for muesli, and reached out for the ziplock bag with her one good hand.