Shadows and Stardust: A Tale of Ambition & Quest for Recognition

“Off your ass and on your feet, outta the bed and into the street,” – army wake up greeting

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Bee reached out with her mind but was felt like hitting her fist upon an iron wall. She tried again. Still nothing. Frustrated, she tried to bang her fists on the wall.

“You are prohibited from entry, Sabine Queen,” a metallic voice told her.

“Kazejin? Is that you? What’s going on? Why didn’t Estelle’s wards kick in and protect her, she is a mage right?” Bee asked as she fired off a storm of questions."Kazejin!"

“It's definitely me, Sabine Queen, and all I can tell you is that the BATTLE CITY nano-servitors were deactivated as we jumped,” Kazejin replied.

“Wait…what? How's that even possible, BC has backups for their backups, unless…” Bee said, as her mind searched for a rational reason for failure. “Kazejin, I need to access Little…errr Estelle’s central nervous system. I can repair the damage once I know what's wrong. She’s so lucky she was wearing that Skyfall coat thingie.”

“I can’t allow that,” Kazejin replied.

“Whatever, at least give me access so we can get to a hospital,” Bee pleaded. “Estelle’s vitals are crashing. Look for yourself!”

The deafening silence greeted her mind as Bee waited for a reply. The blood pressure continued to drop. She ran through the list of possible traumas Estelle might have experienced. Followed by all the treatment for each of the injuries.

“Fine, I will allow you limited access,” Kazejin said, interrupting Bee when she reached traumatic brain injury on her possible injury assessment.

With more access Bee opened Estelle's eyes, for the first time since Bee, what seems like forever, she could smell, see, and feel. The light from the room poured into her eyes and Bee felt a pounding headache. She attempted to look at the light as it buzzed in her head.

“Owie,” Bee said placing the hand on the forehead and wincing. “I can hear light.”

Each word she spoke vibrated her head and she was bombarded with sharp spikes of pain for the attempt.

She accessed the Battle City login menu and was prohibited from moving past the user name and password menu. Bee attempted two or three times, but was unable to guess the password.

“What if,” Bee thought since talking hurt too much."What if I access my account?"

To do that, she needed to reboot the nano servitors. She activated the emergency shutdown and startup feature. Bee wanted to close her eyes and curl into the fetal position as the throbbing pain increased.

"Fight though this, you got this, our patient needs you."

The vitals continued to fall, reaching critical levels.

“If someone had turned off the nano-servitors, was the intent to really kill her? Only Upper Management has that kind of access, I need to hurry…shit, hurry up menu,” Bee thought as she waited.

Once the system was back online she switched to the menu login options, and then Battle City graphic user login interface. When the screen popped up, she entered:

USERNAME: Queen Bee

PASSWORD: SubtlePride#1

‘Greetings, Queen Bee’ the system said as it finished loading.

“I thought my access would have been deleted by now, what’s going on here?”

She accessed her character loadout. The screens were opening, but slowly.

“The servitors must have been damaged by the impact, without more access I can’t check the status of the servitors,” Bee thought. “Now...Let’s check my patient.”

Bee initiated the first of several internal scans. When the results were completed she discovered that Estelle had suffered a traumatic brain injury, subdermal hematoma, but Estelle's internal organs were fine.

"Looks like the coat absorbed most of the impact."

She shifted the priority of the microscopic repair-servitors from analysis to recovery. The bots begin the process of filtering the blood and tissue repair.

A notification appeared: DETECTED: CLOT / LOCATION: MCA.

“As if I don’t have enough problems, now I got a clot in the middle cerebral artery,” she thought. “But first things first…let’s fix that TBI.”

Her hands emitted a gentle green glow as she delicately applied pressure to Estelle's forehead, effectively reducing the swelling in her brain.

Bee then scrolled through the pre-established medical treatment plans until she located the specific regimen labeled 'Happy Time Trail Mix', initiating the release of targeted hormones.

A precise blend of endorphins, gamma-aminobutyric acid, dopamine, and serotonin neurotransmitters flooded into the bloodstream.

With a wave of her hand, she located the exact location of the clot, then flicked her hand to smooth out the clot, and attached it to the wall of the artery.

“Temporary fix, the servitors should be able to get that clot once they deal with that hematoma.”

Bee attempted to sit up, but her body resisted.

The coat was heavy and thick. Sections of the coat had expanded and stiffened which absorbed much of the sudden impact. Once she was able to remove the coat, Bee was able to control Estelle enough to allow her to sit up.

Opening her eyes, Bee found the room to be empty, say for a few bugs that skittered about the floor. She felt a sharp spike of pain strike her head,then die down. When it spiked again the pain increase in intensity causing her to lose her vision.

“The pain management treatment should have kicked in by now…what the heck is going on? Did her neuron endings shift?” Bee muttered as she placed her hand on her forehead.

Bee released a second dose of the 'Happy Time Trail Mix’. She dragged Estelle’s body to her feet by using the wall for support. Her body ached and her knees were unsteady as she stood up.

She felt the indention along the wall.

“How hard did we hit that wall?” Bee asked. “Must have been about 7-thousand Newtons at least.”

Bee moved her hand toward the location of the blood clot, but she noticed that her movements were restricted by her clothes. Everything on her was tight and felt like it was glued to her body. She reached up and pulled her hair out of a tight bun, then loosened her dress. Bee exhaled deeply now that the clothes no longer restricted her movement.

Metal plates, woven between the fabric of the dress, clinked together as she adjusted the fitting. Bee pounded the plates with the side of her hand testing the strength. Then she loosened up the silk bindings on the corset. Bee let out another sigh of relief. She then noticed the weight from her breasts on her back.

“Huh, so that’s why she wears her corset that tight,” Bee said and promptly tightened the corset back up.

As she adjusted the fitting a thought occurred to her. How long would Kazejin allow her access to Estelle’s body? Was it on a timer?

The pain changed from sharp to a dull throbbing. Through the soreness, she realized that her soul was still trapped in the bracelet. The sensations she was experiencing weren’t truly hers but felt real nonetheless. Her eyes began to well up as she understood that she was now dependent on Estelle. Surprisingly, the dependency didn’t scare her as she had expected; instead, it felt comforting and inviting.

A cornucopia of emotions rushed through her head as she stared at her hands.

“My sole existence is now tied to someone else, I should just let her die, but…” Bee reasoned as she wiped her eyes. “If I do, I go as well, she is relying on me. We are in this together.”

Searching for a justification for these feelings, Bee checked the 'Happy Time Mix' of neurotransmitters.

“Did I accidentally put Oxytocin in the mix? That would explain why I…actually care for my Little One,” she thought as she fought back the tears. “That’s probably why.”

Finding that her neurotransmitter cocktail wasn’t tampered with, she leaned against the wall. Her senses were alive. The air smelt crisp but dusty. Eyes picked up the fine details of the edges of the wall. Even the skittering of the bugs, which appeared to be wandering around in an erratic pattern on the floor, the movement soon became predictable upon her watchful eye.

Bee balled her hand into a fist.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said and checked her map. “First, I need a route. Don’t worry Little One, Queen Bee’s won’t let you down.”

The map, having fallen out of sync by a few years and urgently required an update. Once the cartography navigation system was fully synchronized, she scrutinized it closely while she tapped her foot on the floor.

Bee considered the situation:

The bad news - Bee and Estelle were deep within Gold Territory, no reinforcements or help.

The good news – they were adjacent to the Dutchmen Mine, and were only 2000 meters away.

With a renewed sense of determination, she checked to see which gang was in control of this turf.

“Baseball Furies,” Bee said, hesitantly. "Must be new because I never heard of them."

She moved to the window, and then checked for any available information on the gang. Access to the Red Faction intelligence network was denied.

Outside was quiet.

Not a single resident or combatant wandered the streets. Even the windows were shut and blinds drawn closed.

“Where is everyone?” she whispered, as she kept close to the wall and peeked out.

The door to the apartment swung open, revealing a burly man dressed in a white baseball uniform with golden pinstripes, featuring the number ‘06’ in bold gold letters over his heart. His face was divided, half painted white and half black. Behind him, seven others rushed inside, their presence casting shadows around the room. Outside, ten more figures had appeared and stood silently on the street.

The Furies fanned out across the room and surrounded Bee but stayed within arm’s length.

“It’s game day, all the fans are safely in their seats. Which leaves you against 17 of the Baseball Furies,” Number-06 said.

Bee reached for Lost Battalion tucked under her belt, but the trench dagger refused to budge from its scabbard.

“Damn artifact, it’s soul locked,” Bee thought.

“Your usual arsenal of tricks won’t work, Team Captain Thornewood. The arrival to the field was announced by our manager and…” said someone with a number thirteen on his jersey. “And we were given a full scouting report.”

Number-13 retrieved a manila envelope from a leather satchel and flung it onto the surface in front of her. Within, a collection of photographs, notes, and memos detailing information on Estelle and the Thornewoods spilled out, scattered across the floor.

“This is finals, White Witch of the Tower,” Number-13 said. “Shall we play ball?”

***