Artificial

Juliet

Operator Evo

"You let him die?" Wraith cries, tears welling up in her eyes.
"We left him to fight," I reply, cringing internally at the odds of his survival. "He's a tough motherfucker, there's a good chance he'll survive."
"You should've brought him home, you bastard!"
"I had no choice, Wraith," I counter, more sternly now. "He wasn't going to leave. He was so full of rage and bloodlust after you fell, nothing was going to change his mind. Velox tried to talk him out of it."
"That's like telling Satan himself to negotiate world peace!"
"You know she has a soft side, you've seen it yourself."
Her lip quivers, then her expression hardens.
"He better be alive, you fucking rustbucket," she threatens, pointing a finger at my chest. "Or you'll have a lot more rage directed your way."
Her sudden anger triggers my combat mode, and I begin threat evaluation.
She's dressed in a plain white tank top, with an IAF logo sitting on the upper right side of her chest. Her shoulders look toned and capable, and every single muscle in her well-defined arms stands out, trained to peak condition by Velox. Paired with the top is a pair of close-fitting yoga pants that trace from her hips down to her ankles, and do nothing to restrict or inhibit her movement. Even through the black fabric, one can tell her legs are powerful and trained. We told her to wear comfortable clothing, but her clothes just so happen to be pretty ideal for fighting. Goddamn, sometimes I wish she took less after us.
"I'm the cutting edge of technology, alright, not a 'rustbucket'," I continue, walking forward to force her back toward the wall. "You'd better find an outlet for your frustrations, or I'll knock you out so you don't have to. It's your choice."
She narrows her eyes at me, then walks past me and through the door.
I let out a heavy sigh.
"Fuck's sake, we were supposed to be invincible."

I remove the magazine from my empty weapon, and place both down on the platform in front of me. Letting out a sigh, my eyes drift to the holographic target readout. 2 hits out of 8 shots, one in each arm.
"This whole 'Wraipex' situation's really got you fucked up, huh?"
Reach.
"'Wraipex'?" I respond, turning but not leaving my lane.
"Yeah, it's a couple name, Ayala used to use them, and it seems Lazarus has inherited the habit. Shock and I are Rave, You and Vel are Vexo, and Apex and Wraith make Wraipex."
"That's weird."
"Shockwave thinks it's cute."
There's an awkward pause, Reach not wanting to pry too deep, and myself not the type to dump my problems on someone else.
Finally, Reach speaks up.
"You wanna grab a beer?"
I let out a sigh of relief and a short laugh.
"Shit man, I thought you'd never ask."