Kira

Chapter 4. Monster

Sand had found its way into her cuticles, its golden particles clinging to the edges where her black claws met tan skin. Kira picked it free and lay back on the couch with a sigh. The bright LED lights burned into her eyes, prompting her to roll over and curl up to glare at the TV. Netflix droned on, a documentary detailing the life of some long-dead Roman emperor. The narrator's words were a faraway hum as her mind replayed, like a broken record, events from the latest mission.

Torn bodies bloodying the sand. The rush of adrenaline in her veins. Screams of terror echoing in the darkness. Bullets bouncing off of her armor.

Fresh, warm blood staining her hands.

Her gaze slid reluctantly to her hands, searching for the slightest trace of human blood. A hint of what she had done. What she had been trained to do. It was why sand stubbornly clung to the nooks and crannies of her talons, far away from the arid dunes of its origin.

Pain laced through her chest, remembering the terror in the eyes of the men she killed with ease. Their dark eyes wide, and their lips begging for Allah.

"God, help me."

"God have mercy."

It always stung a part of Kira's soul, seeing the fear on their faces when they finally laid eyes on her. They called her many things, too. Demon, monster, abomination, and other words she tried to forget. After a while, she mostly grew numb to the harsh words. When alone, with no one keeping a constant watch on her, she would lie on the couch and remind herself that she wasn't any of these things.

Kira's life wasn't what she wanted, but it was all she had ever known.

She tugged the blanket off the back of the couch to cover herself and trilled in frustration. Being back home in the comfort of the base at least had things to distract her wandering mind. Her eyes locked on the TV show, forcing herself to ignore the emotions that swirled in her chest.

"Stupid heat..." Kira snarled.

Binging Netflix was better than focusing on the bullshit. Her ever-active mind needed to stop for once. Various aches and pains still echoed through her tired body. The latest mission had been especially grueling.

"Kira, Director Benson would like to see you," A voice called behind the couch.

A hiss of annoyance left her mouth, and she quickly glared over the back of the couch at the person who dared interrupt her one moment of relaxation. Heck forbid a woman get some sleep!

"I don't want to see him," Kira huffed, flicking some of her long locs over her shoulder with narrowed eyes.

Her adopted mom stood by the door of Kira's entertainment room with tired eyes and an iPad tucked under her arm. "Honey, I know you're tired, but you know the routine. We can't keep doing this." She sighed, running her hand through her graying black hair.

Kira tapped her tusks together in thought, "I'm almost thirty years old. I don't need to give 'After Action Reports' anymore. They're pointless! All they do is blow smoke up his ass so he can pretend he's someone important."

"Kira, it doesn't matter."

"You're right! It doesn't," Kira chuckled, trilling in amusement. "I can get back to my show now." She turned to focus on the show with more interest this time, listening to the uptight British nerd who was walking the camera through the ruins of an ancient Roman villa being dug up in the Turkish countryside. "You know I hate that asshole."