Ren

Roles to Play

Ren left without another word, and I watched in stunned silence.

It was unclear as to the reason my body was reacting the way it was. My cheeks felt flushed and my heart pounded. The warm sensations in the bottom of my belly continued to churn while I waited for my breathing to return to normal.

I sat back down, unsure as to what was going to happen to me now. Nothing had even happened with Ren. He never really asked me anything.

Surely, there's more that was supposed to happen...

I turned toward the metal box that had been crushed beneath Ren's fist. He hadn't taken it with him. I pried the lid off and lifted out a velvet pouch, two small plastic baggies and a relatively thin file.

Name: Wyn Sinwah
Sex: Female
Birth: 16.2123.2 – Age: 26
Species: Human/Unknown
Last Known Whereabouts: New York – Former BNY Mellon
Last Known Association: None

Kin: T. Sinwah – Father – Deceased
R. Wills - Sinwah – Mother – Deceased
Ri. Sinwah – Brother – Deceased

N. Jitte - ? – Deceased

Other: Mother killed during third wave of insurgence. Father killed during fourth wave. Brother joined Human Resistance; Wyn left in the care of Nan Jitte (former member of Knight Order/former professor at NYU) at age 8. Brother killed in final wave.

Jitte moved Wyn to Greenwich Village shortly following brother's death. Assumed to have given her instruction. Jitte killed by Resistance 2134.

End.

I read and reread over the same line – former member of Knight Order.

Former member of The Knight Order? Nan was a meta?

Turning the page, I found two photographs. I immediately recognized the one of the young man; it was Nan. The same rigid glint in his dark green eyes and the same crocked grin. But his bald head was covered in dirty blond hair, and instead of a thick dark-grey beard, just the lightest stubble across his strong jaw line. He had been quite handsome. I wondered when this picture had been taken.

Setting it down, I looked at the second photograph and, for a moment, forgot to breath. My memory of them was quite fuzzy. The only time I thought of them was at night, when I had trouble sleeping. A faint memory of her singing me to sleep and him kissing my forehead was all I had left, and even that was beginning to fray and blur on the edges.

But here they stood, side by side in front of a bunker of some sort. The energy of the people moving behind them captured in this candid moment told me it must have been before the first wave. There was no fear, no doubts in their young faces. They were both wearing the light brown uniforms of the human resistance, but her hand rested gently over her swollen belly.

When had this been taken?

Before my mind could spiral any further, I heard heavy footfalls coming quickly. I put the file back in the box but grabbed the velvet pouch, the plastic bags and slipped them in my pockets. I gently curved the worn photos and slid them into the calf of my left boot.

I was smoothing out the raised areas of in my pockets when the metal doors slid apart.

Cara stood there, face still hidden beneath the daunting helmet.

Has anyone ever seen their faces?

Without a word, she turned and began walking away; I assumed I was expected to follow. After another trip down the hall to a separate set of elevators, and a few more twists and turns, we arrived to what appeared to be living quarters.