Chapter Text
Bullets whizz by. Explosive shells exploding and echoing around her. Red-379645’s fellow Reds exploding and dying and bleeding around her.
Another day, another death.
Another day, another battle.
Another day, same War.
Red-379645 does not want to die. She refuses.
She has seen countless of her reflections fall, and she refuses to join them.
She has been fighting for years, she thinks. She’s not nearly the oldest Red in the battalion, but it feels like it's been multiple forevers since she was brought here with those who looked just like her.
But after so many foreveres, all the other Reds she was brought here with were dead by now.
Shot to pieces, blown up in a blast, bled out in the night. Countless deaths for Reds like her.
Painful, horrible deaths that Red-379645 refuses to follow in.
Despite everything, despite all the War, she is whole. She is scarred and long riddled with bullets, she has dozens of gashes across her face and arms, but she hasn’t lost a limb.
She knows they are waiting for her to die.
She will not disappoint them.
She will never be a failure.
Red-379645 will not die. Because dying means you have failed.
And Red-379645 is not a failure.
But the Enemy is getting closer, and Red-379645 knows she must kill them.
Because they are the Enemy, and the Enemy must die.
Across enemy lines, she sees a gun point at her.
And like an old friend, she knows it will hit.
She’s been shot time and time before.
But in a sudden motion, someone tugs her sideways. Behind the wall they fall, crashing into the hard hard ground.
The contact of the hand is unlike anything she’s ever felt, and the bullet whizzes above her harmlessly.
The one who pushed her stares down at her with an expression Red-379645 does not recognize, has never seen, and Red-379645 is certain she is looking back with it.
The other Red has a scar splashing across her nose, and her hair ends just above her eyes.
A scar like that will be hard to forget.
But bullets are still flying, and Red-379645 knows she needs to Fight.
She didn't have the words to describe what the other Red did. Not a sacrifice, but the opposite.
The other Red had risked herself to stop Red-379645 from dying, and she had no idea what to think of that.
None at all.
Later in the Fight, when they are advancing, she sees an Enemy standing over one of the other Reds, blade poised to slit her throat.
Red-379645 knows better than to interfere. There is no point. Hundreds of her likeness die in every Battle, and this Red is just another who will die.
But there is a scar splashing across that Red’s nose.
The same scar as earlier.
So Red-379645 lifts her gun and sends her last bullet through that Enemy’s skull.
The other Red goes to stand, but can't find traction on the blood-slicked ground.
And somewhere, in a memory Red-379645 can't quite taste, she knows the correct thing to do is offer a hand to help her stand.
So she does. As their hands lock, Red-379645 hardly knows what to do. Because she has never touched another Red, never touched anyone, not like this.
Not at all.
And then they are staring at each other again.
The other Red retrieves her gun.
They walk side by side, forward.
Red-379645 is out of bullets, so she points out every Enemy she sees. While Scar-Nose shoots for both of them.
It is clumsy and unpracticed, but Red-379645 is out of bullets, and Scar-Nose has enough for both of them.
So it seems like the clear thing to do.
The War wraps up.
They leave their dead.
The dead are failures after all, and are not worth the effort of dragging back to bury.
Red-379645 and Scar-Nose march back to where they are to be cleared to return to the barracks, they stand next to each other in line.
The Irons beckon them forward. With harsh jabs and prying eyes as they look for injuries. For defects. For bloody gashes and scars that need to be shut.
Neither of them were shot. Neither were injured beyond bruises and scrapes.
The Irons let them leave. Silence falls as the Rose Reds file into the barracks and into their bunks.
The one with the scarred nose goes to walk away, but in a moment of emotion Red-379645 doesn't recognize, she takes Scar-Nose’s hand.
She goes rigid. Looking at Red-379645 with wide, frantic eyes.
The Red who slept above Red-379645 with two metal legs and a bad eye did not report back. She was either dead, or wished she was.
Red-379645 nods to the bunk above where she sleeps, it's empty, and the bunks over here are significantly more comfortable than the ones towards the front. The more you Enemies you kill, the more you are rewarded.
Red-379645 sits down to rest, taking off her uniform. It was tattered and bloody, and to be replaced in the morning with a new one.
Scar-Nose stares at Red-379645, she’s rigid and stiff, looking all but ready to bolt. But slowly, ever slowly, she climbs up to the bunk.
She makes a sound of almost surprise as she settles in, and Red-379645 feels her heart warm a bit.
Scar-Nose saved her life. It's only fitting she gets a better place to rest. It's not like anyone else is using it anymore.
Silence falls, and Red-379645 lays to rest. Everything is normal. Quiet beyond the sobbing gasps and cries of the Reds around her. The sound of her new bunkmate is also new.
She is breathing in shaking, terrible gasps above her. Hardly cut off sobs of not pain, more fear.
For some reason, Red-379645 desperately wants to climb up. But she doesn't, because she desperately needs to rest, and soon falls asleep.
Hours later, Red-379645 is woken by the blaring alarms set to rouse everyone, and it's off to be fed again.
There are always hushed conversations in the lines for the nutrient ration bars, and Red-379645 and Scar-Nose happen to be next to each other in line.
Red-379645 finds this odd, because what are the odds of running into the same Red thrice in unrelated things?
Not that she minds, of course, she’s never had a familiar face before, and somehow it's nice.
Maybe she’ll even start a conversation.
They creep closer to the front of the line, and Red-379645 is getting rather bored of just standing here.
So why not talk?
“Hello.” Red-379645 says, turning around to meet Scar-Nose’s eyes.
Scar-Nose is tense as a wire after being addressed, her hands wring together and her mouth is open a bit.
Red-379645 can’t think of a time she’s spoken to one of the other Reds since very early into being dropped off.
There was never a point. After all, they all just died anyway.
“Hi.” Says Scar-Nose. “...Thank you for shooting that Enemy.” Her voice is soft, hardly above a whisper. She shrinks under Red-379645’s gaze.
That confuses Red-379645. Because Scar-Nose saved her first. “You pushed me out of gunfire.” Red-379645 replies. Frowning.
Scar-Nose goes a tad still at that, and a sharp sound that neither of them recognize pushes out of her mouth.
Red-379645 thinks it was a laugh. They stare at each other for a moment, baffled by interaction.
“No, I..” She starts, messing with the hem of her uniform, before righting it quickly. “I stumbled. I bumped into you. I thought you were going to shoot me.”
That was almost funny and Red-379645 can't help but to smile, and she can't remember the last time she’s done that.
Or if she ever has.
“Well… I was about to be shot. So we’re even.” Red-379645 smiles.
Scar-Nose nods. Then pauses. “I am Red-702202” An introduction.
..When was the last time she introduced herself?
When she came here.
Years ago.
“I am Red-379645” Red-379645 says softly.
But by then they are close enough to the front of the line that it's not worth risking talking.
They are sent to War again.
They find each other as they March onward, and stay close.
Because they saved each other's lives, and worked as something that wasn't not a team before.
Why not do that again?
Red-702202 and Red-379645 walk on the battlefield next to each other, and as they walk, they spot for enemies, they point out gunners, they share their cover.
And in this War, they become what Red-379645 thinks would be called a team.
And in the downtime between fronts, after a victory, there is quiet.
And in this quiet, they dare to talk.
Most of their sisters sit on the ground, eyes shut, breathing ragged as they either bleed or desperately seek any sort of rest before they are next ordered to march onward. To spread the flames of war further.
The Commanders and Colonels, any otherwise Superiors are not out here in these moments, neither are the Irons. No one but them, the non-red soldiers.
No one is watching.
So they sit. Feet apart, but close.
“...702202?” Red-379645 starts, but pauses. “That is.. Rather lengthy to say.”
“Red-379645 isn't much better.” Red-702202 mumbles.
“..will 702 do?”
“..Yes, I think it will, may I call you 379?”
“I would like that.”
They stare at each other again, and they're both smiling.
379 knows that she doesn't want to give this up. That this is new. She likes this.
She likes 702, and she’s never liked anything before.
This isn’t pain and death.
This is something else entirely.
702 and 379 walk side by side in battle, marching on to fight.
The Enemy is using far more explosive shells today than usual, and 379 has seen dozens and dozens of her reflections fall today.
Arms and legs drenched in red and gore litter the battlefield. Heads and corpses of those just like her.
379 will not end up like them.
379 will not fall.
379 will not be a failure. She will fight. And she will win.
She aims her gun, and pulls the trigger.
379 will not die here.
Then 702 gasps, a low, choking whine. 379 jumps. Her attention shifted from the War to her.. Her what?
The word sister pops into her mind. That fits.
She doesn't know why it does, but 702 is her sister.
She turns to her sister. 702’s doubled over, hand pressed to her side. She makes another pathetic, keening whine as she sinks a bit lower. 379 turns her head back to the Enemy, only to see an explosive hurtling directly towards them.
379 will not let either of them die here. She won't.
So she throws herself at 702, knocking them both to the ground. 702 keens in pain. A sound 379 has heard thousands of times from thousands of Reds.
The shell hits the ground, it skitters and skids backward and away, 15, 20, feet back.
379 keeps 702 below her.
She doesn't know why she’s doing this.
Behind them, it explodes, the sound jars through them. 702 sobs. Shrapnel goes flying.
The explosion takes the leg and arm off another Red, she’s dead before she’s fallen to the ground.
Fragments of metal shoot outward, and 379 hadn’t gotten her head down fast enough.
Her face is sliced from cheekbone to ear as her uniform is cut to ribbons.
Pain erupts from the cuts, but she’s alive, and below her, 702 is too.
They lay there a few moments, bleeding, but very much alive.
Pain isn’t new, far from it. But as she rolls off 702, she feels her eyes water.
702’s hands are bloody, and so is her uniform at her side. But she slowly sits up.
“Are you shot?” 379 starts, her voice is hollow, shaky, and she’s never heard herself like this before.
“Just grazed me.” 702 whispers. She slowly stands, knees shaking only a bit, and offers a hand.
379 takes it.
They win this War.
But 379 knows this does not mean the fighting is over.
The Irons pull the metal from her back. Violent, fast, and she cannot hold back a scream as the wounds are seared shut. Can’t hold back keening whines as the needle is dragged through her face, pulling shut the sides of the wound.
She’s sent on her way as soon as her mind clears, as soon as she can stand.
Walking hurts. Existing hurts.
But she is not dead.
She isn’t dead.
702 is waiting for her at the beginning of the bunks area. Standing off to the side, and she springs forward upon seeing 379. Eyes wide with worry.
“Hey.” 379 says simply, too tired to say much else. To bone-weary to do anything but let 702 lead her back to their bunks.
She isn’t dead today.
She can still walk. Still stand. Still breathe.
That is all that matters.
They walk side by side back to their bunks. 702 watches 379 sit, and 379 is far too tired to think about how 702’s expression went from hesitance to worry as 379 sat down.
Moments later, 702 sits next to her.
379 hadn't expected that. 702 hesitantly takes her hand, and that's even more unexpected.
Neither of them know what to do.
“Rest, okay?” 702’s voice is soft, and 379 wants to. Wants to rest, just for her. Just so she doesn't worry. Just so that scared expression leaves.
Neither of them have ever done anything like this before. It's tense and foreign.
“I will.” 379 replies.
“I.. am going to help you lay down.” 702 states.
379 has no idea what she means by that, but then 702 sets a hand on her shoulder, and guides her into laying down. It's gentle. It's nice . It's good.
But then 702 pulls away and 379 feels disappointment. But 702 she pulls the paper-thin blanket over her, and 379 nearly melts.
702 takes her hand again, and for a few minutes, they sit there, hands intertwined.
But soon 702 pulls back. Still worried, but a smile pulling at her lips. “Now rest.” 702 says, and it's almost an order. “Yes ma’am.” 379 jokes, and 702 laughs. A quiet, sparkling sound. She climbs to the top bunk.
As 379 settles, she finds sleep easier than she ever has before.
Today they aren't marching a War. Today they are burning an Enemy Encampment.
Which means there is no one watching them.
They walk down a burning street. Smoke in the air, hand in hand.
They have been ordered to kill everyone they see.
To burn all buildings in their wake.
The usual orders.
They enter a small building, and 702 shoots the Enemy inside before he can finish his threat.
“I want to look around.” 379 says, because she does. She’s never explored an Enemy Building before. And why not?
No one is watching.
702 goes still. “But 397 we’re not supposed to. What if someone knows?”
“Who exactly is going to see, 702?”
“...I mean.. alright, fine. Quickly though.”
379 walks deeper into the building.
There are no guns. That's unexpected, but she doesn't really mind.
She keeps walking.
There are images of other Enemies on the wall.
They look.. Small.
Odd.
Why would they be small?
702 follows anxiously. Gun out, lips pursed.
379 takes her hand, because why not?
She really likes holding her sister's hand.
She really likes physical contact.
They walk down the hallway. Opening the door to a side room.
A bunk bed set. Surrounded by small objects.
Odd. Still no weapons.
372 walks forward.
She doesn't know what she is looking at.
“372 we should just go.” 702’s voice is high, shaky. “We need to burn this place anyway.”
“I don't think this is a place of weapons storage.” 379 finally says. Picking up one of the small objects.
It's soft and round, and in some way resembles the animals they have shot when clearing land.
“Of course it is.” 702 says. Matter of fact.
“This is a bed.” 372 says slowly. “And this is a.. Toy. I think.”
“What does it matter?” 702 finally snaps. “If someone notices us they will kill us. You know what they do. They will flog us and beat us. We need to go.”
“No one will notice us, 702.” 379 picks up a bundle of papers, somehow attached together. Opens it up to where a marker is placed.
Roses
Rose, (genus Rosa), genus of some 100 species of perennial shrubs in the rose family (Rosaceae). Roses are native primarily to the temperate regions. Many roses are cultivated for their beautiful flowers, which range in colour from white through various tones of yellow and pink to dark crimson and maroon, and most have a delightful fragrance, which varies according to the variety and to climatic conditions.
Roses are erect, climbing, or trailing shrubs, the stems of which are usually copiously armed with prickles of various shapes and sizes, commonly called thorns. The leaves are alternate and pinnately compound (i.e., feather-formed), usually with oval leaflets that are sharply toothed. The flowers of wild roses usually have five petals, whereas the flowers of cultivated roses are often double (i.e., with multiple sets of petals). Rose flowers’ size ranges from tiny miniatures 1.25 cm (0.5 inch) in diameter to hybrid flowers measuring more than 17.5 cm (7 inches) across. The rose plant’s fleshy, sometimes edible, berrylike “fruit” (actually the floral cup) is known as a hip and usually ranges from red to orange in colour.
She read it.
And reads it again.
She doesn't know what most of these words mean, but she gets the jist.
They’re named after a flower. A beautiful flower that comes in all sorts of colors and protects itself with thorns.
She didn’t know that, and somehow that information felt off.
“Did you know a Rose is a flower?”
“What?” 702’s voice is sharp and reedy and anxious. She's curled over her gun like that would somehow make it easier to shoot.
“We’re named after a flower. Apparently.”
“Give me that.” 702 snatches it, her eyes skimming the paper.
“Why would we be called after a plant?” She asks finally. “Plants die easily. They're not even alive.”
“Don't know. Maybe this is the wrong sort of Rose.”
“Maybe.” 702 admits as 379 takes back the bundle of papers. They stood there in silence a few moments as 379 flipped through it a bit more. Nothing more on Roses.
Then she neatly tears out the page on the Rose.
“What are you doing?” 702 squawks. Trying to snatch the paper.
“We’re burning this place anyway,” 379 explains. Eyes bright. “And I want to keep it.”
“What if someone finds it?”
“No one will.”
702 huffs. “Well.. fine. Keep it then. We need to finish sweeping the place.”
She folds the paper up, and sets it in her holster.
That will do for now.
They continue sweeping. There are three more enemies in the lowest level. Two smaller ones hiding behind the larger.
379 raises her gun, and kills them all with three easy shots.
The building has no more living Enemies in it, and they set it alight as they leave.
It goes up in smoke behind them, and they move on.
Time passes.
379 hides the paper on Roses between her mattress and wall.
More War is fought.
More Reds are brought to the fighting.
The cycle continues.
They stand in a group. In line. All the Reds in this battalion.
In the back, 379 and 702 stand. A bit too close. Shoulders just brushing.
Their Commander stands high. They gaze on the reds with open discontent.
379 hates it. Hates this. Hates how she’s looked at.
“Attention, Reds.” They say, and 378 hates their voice. Hates them.
She’s seen them whip and beat those who are just like her.
She hates them just as much as she fears them.
“We will be meeting soon with a Non-Red battalion. You will fight alongside them.”
379 has no idea what to think of that, because well. Non-Reds can fight? Non-Reds do War?
That doesn't make sense. Because they were made for War. Why would Non-Reds fight?
“None of you are to interact with them beyond the barest minimum. If there is any fraternizing between you, the offending Red will be flogged every night until expiration.”
379 shudders, and 702 winces. Wrapping her arms around herself.
She’d been flogged once. Not the worst beating, but enough that scars litter her back.
Enough that 379 understands why she’s so afraid of it.
“Do all of you understand?”
“Yes, Commander.” They all echo, and their Commander steps aside, they are dismissed.
They are simply crossing land today. Riding in rovers and tanks.
379 and 702 are some of the lucky ones, having to simply sit and be driven to the next location, rather than forced to pull and drag things along, or drive the rovers over the uneven, muddy terrain.
It's not bad. Just to sit and wait. To rest. 379 finds 702 settled neatly against her side, dozing off.
702 deserves it. She deserves to rest.
To be able to close her eyes and not worry about incoming fire.
379 pulls her closer, ignoring the severe and questioning looks of the Reds around them.
She doesn't care. 702 is hers. She deserves to rest. Just this once. Just this once, she deserves to sleep as long as she needs.
702 had gotten so banged up she could hardly walk in the War a few days ago, head spinning and shaking. Every step unsteady. Everyone had looked at her like she was already dead as they Marched.
But 379 kept her safe. Because 702 was hers. And 379 was not letting them die.
The new soldiers were weird.
379 had no idea what to make of them.
They spoke to each other, they laughed. They swung their arms around each other's shoulders.
They walked outside of formation.
It's odd. It's odd and different and 379 hates it.
As the Reds marched, the non-Reds chatted. They spoke of many things 379 didn't understand.
Two Non-Red’s walked beside 379 as she marched. Scanning for any sign of an Enemy.
They were talking.
“Fucking rebels.” One snapped. His grip on his gun was loose. His marching was out of step. She didn't understand how he ever was deemed effective. “Why don't they just give up?”
“Who the hell knows Baker,” The other groaned. Her marching was a bit better, but her grip on her gun was atrocious. “Why do they even bother rebelling? It's loss after loss. They haven't won a single battle. ”
That's a word she hasn’t heard before. Why are they calling the Enemy a ‘rebel’? And what is ‘Rebelling?”
“It's idiotic.” The one called Baker agreed. “They’re walking to their deaths. Why not just be obedient?”
Perhaps rebelling was the opposite of obedience?
..Was that why they destroyed the Enemy?
Were they breaking rules?
When a Red breaks a rule, they are hurt.
It makes sense if the Enemy broke a rule.
If you break a rule, then you become The Enemy. That makes sense.
379 and 702 broke rules about talking often. Were they The Enemy?
No.
Because the enemy were Non-Reds.
But could a Red be an Enemy?
As they march, she ponders this. If a Red was shooting at her, then that Red would be The Enemy. If The Enemy was The Enemy because they broke a rule, then what was stopping her from becoming The Enemy?
Lots to think about.
But perhaps a Rebel is something else entirely. She did not know, and she did not dare ask.
They were burning an Enemy Encampment again. 702 was in another section of the Encampment for this fight.
379 with every step felt sick with worry.
She hoped 702 was okay.
She needed 702 to be okay.
She stepped into one of the buildings, but a thought came to mind.
Days ago now, those Non-Reds spoke of Rebels.
She was going to destroy these Enemies anyway. Why not ask what that means?
They would die, and no one would be alive to tell anyone she had asked.
Perfect.
There is an Enemy waiting for her around a corner, gun to gun they stare at each other. Her eyes are wide open, her mouth pulled into a snarl.
Usually, 379 would just shoot.
But instead she speaks. “What is a rebel?”
The Enemy freezes. “What?”
“I am going to destroy you. But I need to know. What is a rebel?”
“A rebel is a decent person.”
That just puzzled 378 more.
“They want to kill Cole.” She continued. “And destroy your kind.” She spat.
“So they are not obedient?”
“What- No.”
379 pulled the trigger and the Enemy slumped dead.
She figures the first half was incorrect. It contradicts the prior meaning of “not obedient” she had been given.
A rebel is someone who is not obedient, and is against her Creator.
That is why they are the Enemy.
That makes sense.
379 continues sweeping the building. Kills another Enemy, and leaves it burning behind her.
379 was doing the talking, this time.
Well, only on a technicality.
She was stationed for the night watch tonight, and her partner was a Non-Red.
They bounced on their feet. Whistled tunes. General disobedience that would get a Red flogged.
She did not understand why for Non-Reds it was allowed.
They stopped whistling. Then turned to her. “Do you Rosies ever get, I dunno, breaks?”
379 just stared. Unsure of how to respond.
They were under strict orders to answer any question asked to them by a Non-Red.
“I do not understand what you mean.” 379 finally replies. Because she didn't.
“..What do you mean? It's a simple question. You all seem to work around the clock. I was wondering if you ever get breaks.”
“What is a break?” 379 asked, a bit shortly. “We break bones. I do not think you are referring to that though.”
“..Y’know. A time to rest. Chat.”
“We get 5 hours to sleep every night.” She says slowly. “I do not know what chat means?”
“Talk to people. So you only get time to sleep?”
“Yes.” 379 says slowly.
Because aren’t they given the same number of rest hours?
“We get 8 hours sleep, and more hours to do what we please on days without battles.”
She must have looked shocked, because the Non-Red laughed a bit awkwardly. “I mean.. You are all are... born soldiers. Makes sense.”
8 hours rest.
She does not know what to make of that.
8 hours rest.
Huh.
“So I take it you don't talk much then?”
“Very rarely do I speak with others.” A lie. She talks to 702 often enough, but they didn't need to know that.
“Oh. That seems sad.” They trail off, no longer bouncing at all. “You can sit down and rest if you like. 5 hours seems like nothing.”
“I am not allowed.”
“I’m telling you to.”
379 just grimaced. Kept her eyes in the distance.
“Wait.. you're not inside tonight, Does that mean you won’t get any rest tonight?”
“Correct.”
They whistled slowly. “Sit down.”
“I am not allowed.”
“What's the worst they'll do?”
“Flog me until I cannot fight. So The Enemy will be able to shoot me easily. And I will die.”
They went entirely quiet.
“Sounds rough.”
She is quiet. But as the hours tick on, she shuts her eyes and leans back against the wall.
Her partner does not comment.
And she does not get in trouble.
“Do you have any family?” The Non-Red marching beside her asked the other.
“Just a sister.” He replied. “A twin sister.”
A sister.
Huh.
She has one of those.
Is he a clone?
“Oh. Huh. I have a kid waiting at home.” The other, a tall bearded one says.
She wonders what a kid is. Is a kid like a sister?
“Oh?” The one with the sister asks.
“Yeah, little boy. Looks just like me. My wife has a sister for him on the way.”
Oh. Hm. So a sister is a person for a kid.
Well… She has a sister. She has 702. And if a sister comes from a wife, and is for a kid, then the kid is what she is.
She and 702 are sisters. If a kid has a sister, then that is what she is.
She is a kid. A kid is one who has a sister.
“Huh. I don't want kids.” The other says.
Well. That destroys that theory. A kid is something you have.
“They seem like so much work, and once you have them you can't just give them up, you know? Too much of a commitment for me. You’re stuck taking care of them until they’re old enough to get away.”
Oh.
Is a kid how Non-Reds come to exist? They are made and grow into Non-Reds?
That makes sense.
She is clearly not a kid then.
“Well… suit yourself then.” The bearded one shrugs. “A family is a family.”
So a family is yourself and your sister. Or yourself and your kids.
She did not know what a wife is.
Just thinking the word, for some reason, made her deeply uneasy.
She does not want to know what a wife is.
702 and 379 are on watch together.
It's a slow night.
“Do you know what a rebel is?” 379 asked. Voice quiet. Hushed.
“No.” 702 replied, glancing over for all but a moment. “What is it?”
“Someone who is disobedient, and wants to kill King Cole.”
“Huh.”
“It's what makes someone The Enemy.” 279 continued. “The Enemy is a Rebel.”
“That makes sense, I suppose.” 702’s voice is soft, she’s slowly leaning back against the wall. Tired.
“I also learned that the Non-Reds get 8 hours rest. As well as designated time to talk to other Non-Reds.”
702 blinked slowly. “No they don't.” Her voice is mumbled. 379 wants nothing more for her to be able to sit down and sleep.
“One told me! And did you know they also can have sisters? And Non-Reds come from things called ‘kids’ which grow into them.”
“How do you know this, 379? Were you talking to one?”
“They were talking to me. And I was just listening in for most of this.”
“I mean, 379, were you responding.”
“I was responding as resolutely as I could. We have to answer their questions anyway! It's fine, 702.”
“I just worry, alright? You're too reckless!”
“It's fine.”
702 reached over, and took her hand.
“I don't want you to die.” She says, voice shaking. “They’re going to kill you.”
“They won’t.” 379 says.
702 whimpers quietly.
And in the dead of night, with no one watching, 379 pulls her into a one-armed hug.
702 wipes at her eyes, and pulls away.
379 wants nothing more but to hold her.
But 702 pulls away, and they continue standing Watch.
She’s on watch with that talkative Non-Red again.
“Hey!” The Non-Red says, recognizing her. “It's you!”
Not a question. She doesn't respond.
“How have you been?”
That's a question. She has to respond. “I have been alright.”
“That's good!” They grin. “You ever been to a city?”
“I do not know what a city is.”
“Oh.” They say. “Well, a city is a bunch of really tall buildings and a bunch of cars and businesses.”
379 is silent.
“Yay or nay, have you been?”
“I don't think I have.”
“Urgh.” They bemoan. “Well, they're fun. My family lives there. My mom and dad. You wouldn't have any family though, you're a clone, right?”
“All the Reds are my sisters in a way.”
“Oh! Yeah, that makes sense.” They nod to themself. “A city is full of people. A lot of people. I’m sure you could blend right in if you ever went. Even being a Rose Red like you are. There's no fighting there you see. They probably wouldn’t know what you Rosies look like in person.”
Interesting.
“Did I ever introduce myself?” They ask, pondering a moment.
“No.” 379 says. Looking over for half a moment.
“My name is Piper.” They grin.
She has no idea what that means.
So she stays quiet.
Minutes pass, and the Not-Red sighs. “Why don't you talk to me more? It's boring out here alone.”
“I am not allowed to talk to Non-Reds. I am under orders to answer any and all questions asked, but I cannot talk beyond that.”
“Oh.” They go a bit still. “Yeesh. They really don't treat you Rosies well do they?”
“I do not know what to say.”
“You ever thought about rebelling?”
“I do not know what that word means.”
A lie.
She is not revealing that she eavesdrops.
“Oh. Maybe I shouldn't tell you then.”
379 is silent.
“You have any questions?”
“Some.” She answers. Honestly.
“Right! Throw them at me.”
She ponders this a moment. She can get answers. But if ‘Piper’ reports her she’ll be flogged. But Piper wouldn't. 379 had dozed off last time, and nothing had happened.
Why not? She could survive a flogging. She’s survived gunshots, a flogging couldn’t be too much worse.
“What is a rose?” She asks.
“Oh. It's a plant. Also a name. But mostly a plant. A spikey pretty flower. Has these things called thorns all over it. They can draw blood when touched. Other than that they’re really pretty.”
Hm.
Interesting.
So that bundle of papers wasn't lying.
“Any more?”
“What then is a name?”
“Oh! Right. You're a Rosie. You wouldn’t… A name is something you're called. When people see me, they say ‘Hey Piper!’ or ‘How are you Piper’ or so on. Does that clear anything up?”
“Some. So it's like our identification numbers?”
“...Yeah, sure.”
A name.
Her identification number is not a pleasant or easy thing to say like ‘Piper.’
She should think of one.
They are sent out to War again, of course they are. They are Reds, and they exist for War.
But she’s failed.
She’s failed because 702 is on the ground, curled over her arm, sobbing with screaming shrieks.
Her left hand is gone.
Up to the middle of her forearm, there is nothing. Just gore running faster than 379 can understand.
She will live, 379 knows. They were built to survive anything. Her arm will clot in minutes, and she will make her wake to be fitted with a cybernetic by the Irons after the War is done for today.
But she is hurt. And 379 is furious.
She is going to destroy the Enemy.
She charges.
She kills.
She does not care as a bullet grazes her head, as an Enemy - no a Rebel ’s blade slices her face in half.
She is a Rose Red.
And she is furious.
She is shot one two three times, but still she marches.
She feels pain, so so so much pain.
But the anger washes it all away as she shoots to kill.
The War is soon over, and she is patched together with the red-hot metal and shining needles of the Irons, and she is sent to rest.
702 lays above her, sobbing. Sobbing so hard she can hardly breathe.
379 collapses into the bunk, and is unconscious before she closes her eyes.
In the morning they are marching again. 379’s brain is a fog of drugs as she takes 702’s arm. The twisted metal is grafted to her bone. 379 and stares at it. 702 winces, which turns into a sob of pain.
The fingers twitch. Blood bubbles at the edges where the skin is burnt shut.
She knows Reds are meant to die as they become useless.
She’s seen hundreds of herself fall to enemy guns.
And 702 will as well.
379 does not know what she will do, but she will not let them die here.
The Battalion is resting, for now.
379 doesn't get why. They can still march. If there was an ambush ahead, then they would be sent to War.
She and 702 are sitting next to one of the giant rovers, the non-reds were milling about talking amongst themselves.
702 bit at her lip. “Why did you bring us here?” Her voice is high, edging on fear. “What if someone notices? ”
“Calm down.” 379 smiled, taking 702s hand that's blood and bone and skin. “This is their ‘break’ time. You see. They get hours of time to simply exist. All the rest of us are moving cargo. We won't be noticed. Half of them are part Red anyway. Haven't you noticed that?”
“I mean..”
“We won’t be noticed. Besides, I want to pick a name for myself. You should too.”
“A name? ”
“All the Non-Reds have them! Instead of numbers they have words. There's a non-red who I have been stationed with twice. They told me their name is Piper. ”
“379 this is. This is insane.”
“But just for us. Just between us. You and me. I don't like just being a number, 702. They all are more than numbers. I want a name. I want to see a city.”
“379...”
“Look.” 379 is smiling as she pulls out that paper from so long ago. “Look here. We’re Rose Reds right?”
“Yes.”
“We’re named after that plant. Remember? I’ve been thinking about it, and I am going to call myself Thorns.”
“But..”
“Thorns are sharp. Strong. They protect the plant. I protect you, don't I? I’m calling myself Thorns.”
“I… Okay. Ok.” 702 curled over her knees. Metal hand clicking. “This is dangerous 379.”
“Thorns. I’m Thorns.”
“Then… Thorns. This is dangerous. We- We’re not like the Non-Reds. ”
“What’s stopping that? The commander, and King Cole. ”
“I…”
“I want a name. So I will have one. I am Thorns. You should have one too.”
“..Fine. Alright.” 702’s voice is soft, and she takes the paper. Skimming it. “..Fruit.” She finally whispers. “I like how it sounds.”
“Ok then.” Thorns grinned. Taking Fruit’s hand. “Fruit and Thorns. That's us.”
Fruit smiled softly. Letting her head fall against Thorns’s shoulder. “They’re just for us, right?”
“Course.” Thorns wrapped an arm around Fruit. “I’m not looking to get us killed 7- Fruit. ”
“Well Thorns,” She seized Thorns’s free hand. “We need to get back to our stations. ”
The barracks were dark, and Thorns had just woken up. She didn't know why she had woken, so she laid there stiff.
Then, from above her, she heard Fruit crying. Quiet, muffled.
She sat up.
“Fruit?” She keeps her voice soft, as she slowly stands. Ever so quietly climbing her way up the ladder.
Fruit looks up, eyes wide, teary.
She must have had a nightmare. Thorns’s memory supplied, though where she got that from she does not know.
Thorns crawls into the bunk next to Fruit. This is the closest they’ve ever laid to each other. Fruit sobs again, and it's loud, and acting on sheer instinct Thorns pulls her closer.
Into her arms.
(Pulling a smaller girl, one with dark hair into her arms, she does not know this girl's face or why she is crying, but she knows it is the right thing to do)
Fruit collapses against her. Clinging and crying and Thorns just holds her.
And as Fruit cries, Thorns plans.
There is something called a ‘City’ out there. A place with Non-reds where they would probably blend right in. (Said Piper.) In that city there are families. With sisters and kids. There is no War in the city.
Thorns decides she will get them there. She will get them to a ‘City’ and they will leave War behind. They will leave War and the Commander and the other Reds behind and they will be Rebels.
Fruit slowly stops crying.
“Thorns?” She whispers.
“I’m here.” Thorns mumbles. Ever quiet. Ever a whisper.
“I don't want to do this anymore.” She sobs and Thorns feels something start burning inside her.
They are going to be Rebels.
“There are places, far from here, called Cities.” Thorns keeps her voice hardly above a whisper. “They are full of Non-Reds. And there is no War there. And those Non-Reds would not know what we are.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Fruit manages between sobs.
“Because,” Thorns places her hand on Fruit’s cheek. “I am going to get us there. We are going to be Rebels.”
“Thorns…”
“I’m going to come up with a plan. Alright? And we’re going to run. And we will never be forced to do War again.”
She can tell Fruit does not believe her. But Fruit nods, and shuts her eyes again.
Soon Fruit is asleep. Thorns lets herself hold her a few more minutes, but pulls away.
She cannot be found in the same bunk as another Red.
Soon, Thorns returns to her bunk.
She has planning to do.
And they will not stay here.
Thorns and Fruit are once again sitting near where the Non-Reds gather.
Hands clasped.
“Do you recall that rover that got stuck several days ago?” Thorns asks. “The one we spent all night trying to unstuck? But we left behind because it was not worth the time?”
“I had to help, Thorns, of course I do.”
“We will go there. Take shelter and find a city once we get there.”
“Are you sure we can get there? How will we get away?”
“The next War. We will pretend we are corpses. Once everyone moves on, we leave. We leave and we find a city.”
“..Alright.” Fruit whispers. “Okay.”
She’s desperate to get away at this point, and Thorns will make sure they can.
They will not die here.
Thorns stood up, then offered Fruit her hand.
Fruit takes it, and Thorns helps her stand.
She loves Fruit so much.
There is a Red being held by her neck in front of everyone.
She is small. Thin. Wide-eyed and scared. She does not kick or scream as the Commander shakes her roughly. She stands there in mute terror.
Thorns has seen this a thousand times.
She had tried to run from the War.
It's only sensical that she is punished.
But Thorns pauses at that.
No.
That's wrong. That's so wrong. That Red was scared. She was scared just how Fruit is scared.
Fruit does not deserve to be hurt.
So obviously, neither does this Red.
The younger Red is tied to the pole, and flogged.
She is sobbing. Sobbing and wheezing with every breath as the whip cracks down.
She mercifully falls unconscious before she is hauled back up by her hair, blood dripping from the lashes covering her back and sides.
It's pitiful. It's horrific. And Thorns knows that Red will be dead by the end of the week.
"Don't ever run." The Commander shouts from where they watch. “Don't ever bow. Weakness gets you this." They drop her, and she falls, like a puppet with its strings cut.
She stays there all night, and when the alarms blare in the morning, she Marches with the rest.
This is it.
This is the War.
This is their final fight.
Fruit and her march out to battle, and they split ways for now.
They will meet up soon.
When all this is over.
And they will run away together.
Thorns mimes getting shot, and lets herself fall in a puddle of blood that belongs to the corpse next to her.
She plays dead.
She lays there, hearing explosions and bullets whizz around. She feels positively giddy.
Soon the sound of bullets fades.
And the War is over.
So she stands. There is not another person standing.
That's fine.
Fruit is probably waiting for her to find her to stand.
She walks past dozens of bodies, all sharing her face. Looking for an intact one.
And then her heart drops to her feet as she sees a still, bloody form, with a twisted metal hand shining through the gore.
No.
She kneels next to the body.
Bullet wounds scatter across her chest.
No no no no.
The scar across her nose confirms Thorns’s worst terror.
She’s dead.
Fruit is dead.
Thorns breaks.
Something shatters as she sobs. Because it was supposed to be the two of them. They were supposed to run together.
But Fruit is dead.
And Thorns is alone. She’s alone. She cradles Fruit against her, her body cold, empty.
Gone.
She’s dead.
Thorns has no idea how long she stays sobbing. How long she sits there breaking over Fruit’s body.
But nearby, she suddenly hears a choking gasp and she goes entirely tense.
There is a Red nearby, curled over herself, trembling.
Trembling but not bleeding.
Trembling and alive.
Fruit is dead.
But this Red is not.
Thorns is shaking as she crawls over to the other Red.
Fruit is dead.
She sets a hand on the shaking Red’s shoulder, and she flinches back, flinches away.
And then Thorns recognizes her.
She was the one who was flogged.
She was alive.
She didn't deserve to be hurt, when they flogged her.
She was only afraid.
She was afraid just as Fruit was, when she ran from the fighting.
She was afraid when they flogged her.
She was afraid.
Fruit is dead, and Thorns feels like she’s burning from the inside out.
But this Red is hurt, is scared, and Thorns is not going to leave her here.
She was going to leave with Fruit, her sister, but Fruit is dead.
So she will leave with this one.
She will leave with this one.
“I am going to pick you up.” She declares, and the other Red slowly opens her eyes.
“My name is Thorns.” She says, voice shaking. “And we’re going to run away together.”
The other Red’s eyes shut. She stops whimpering and sobbing, and Thorns assumes she has fallen unconscious.
So Thorns picks her up. She doesn't know who she is going to have to destroy for killing Fruit.
But she will.
By anything she will.