Dst – Rebirth (2/2)

She passes them, running her fingers along bland, white plastic containers. Each marked with a series of numbers and letters which makes no sense to her. All the same she pauses at one, breath held as she places her palm against it. She stares at the label, feeling a soft chill linger along her spine.

‘DIS-CON1A’

She shakes her head a little as the moment passes, carefully pulling the plastic container from the shelf, kneeling as she sets it down. There is a moment of hesitation before she tears the top off. It clatters to the floor beside her as she stares down at black leather. She reaches in to carefully lift out a well worn jacket, it feels familiar, but not so sharply resonant as the strange motorbike. All the same, she has a deep need to wear it. And the rest of the clothing within.

Feeling a rising sense of urgency, the canine woman seeks out towels to wipe some of the drying blood from her body, face and hands, until she is somewhat presentable. Dressing is a strange experience for her. The clothing within seems to be perfectly suited to her. The short cropped shirt. The close fitting jeans and the jacket, among other accessories.

After pulling on palm gloves, she looks down into the box, picking out personal items. She knows they belonged to her, but there is no more time to explore. She’ll be missed soon. At the bottom of the box is a black covered bundle. Her eyes narrow as she looks at it, feeling another tug. Warily she lifts it out and carefully unwraps it.

Smooth, polished wood meets her eyes. Glinting metal and sparkling gems, all made into the shape of an ornate sword hilt. Her head aches as she feels the vision of this object dig deep into the darkness within her mind, releasing a wellspring of sharp emotion. Deep sadness and near crippling loneliness shakes her, tears coming unbidden. The profound sense of loss only makes her clutch the strange weapon tighter. She knows what it was.. she knows it is important. That she cannot remember who gave it to her only redoubles the loss.

She cannot bring herself to move for far too long. As her emotions slowly level, her pragmatic sense returns in force, her eyes flicking warily toward the entrance to this storage area. She rises, instinctively slipping the sword hilt into her jacket, not even realizing ’til much later that she’d slid it into a specially made pocket without even thinking about it.

She has to leave.

She rises, gathering the last items before rushing toward her bike. At her touch, the attuned device awakens with a comforting whirr. Settling astride the machine provides further comfort, a feeling of control that lets her breathe easier. Relaxation that lets slip a thought from the haze in her mind. As it settles in, she smiled wickedly to herself. She lightly pets the dash of her bike, then flips one of two switches set into it.

With a muffled pop, then rush of sound one of the two mini-missiles built into the machine fires, trailing smoke in its’ wake. The bike kicks into gear and shoots forward after it, the canine woman leaning in. The speedy missile meets the wall first, exploding into a plume of destructive plasma. Which she drives straight into.

The wall of the building explodes outward into the night air, clearing a path for the sleek, black motorbike that emerges from the explosion, plasma rolling over the vehicle and rider, warded from harming either by a field of magical force summoned by the rider. Gone once the bike is clear of the quick dying conflagration behind her. She laughs out loud, feeling the freedom of cool air in her hair as she leaves the rising wail of alarms behind her.

They won’t catch her. No one would ever again.

*****

The alarm klaxon’s sounded softly in the background as a well dressed man gazed into various security monitors. Watching the female flee in one, then shifting to the other to watch pursuit squads scramble to reclaim her. She would escape, he knew. He planned upon it.

But he also knew she would return.

***** Weeks Later *****

The canine woman leans forward against the handlebars of her bike as she looked down upon the city. It isn’t too large.. or too small. Familiar, but she cannot place any one thing in particular.

Kingsdale.

The name is interesting. Or is that just because of the compulsion that pulls her toward it. Never mind that, before yesterday, she’d not even known the name of the place. Some of her haze has gone. She knows what she could do. Her.. talents. But not their source. Maybe it is here.

An hour of staring has offered her no answers, thus she shakes her head slightly and lifts her helmet, slipping it on before she awakens her motorcycle. She’ll find no answers here. But there..

*****

Afterword: Remaking a character and erasing much of her memory. Will she change much before someone clues her in on what her old life was? Will she want to regain it? I’m not sure yet, but we’ll see.