Chapter Text
07:44. 8 August 1976. ?? km northeast of Selukwe, Rhodesia.
“Mwana.”
“Mwana.”
With a sharp gasp Emma was jerked from the clutches of her tempestuous sleep, the brisk morning air filling her lungs and choking her as a chill spidered through her body, eradicating the small shred of warmth she had managed to hold onto through the night.
A heavy hand was on her shoulder, and as she began to stir slightly it gave her another forceful shake.
“Mwana, simuka.” Get up.
Emma lifted her face from the cool, damp ground, wet chips of tree bark sticking to her cheek and leaving slight indents in her skin as she slowly reached up and brushed them away. She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, blinking several times as her eyes adjusted to the dim early morning glow that filled the jungle. Something small and light fell onto the crown of her head and she tilted her head back to look up towards the leaves and branches that closed over the clearing.
Several raindrops managed to make it through the canopy of trees above, splashing down onto the large, thick leaves of the bushes and ferns on the forest floor. The sound of the gentle pattering filled the surrounding jungle, joined by the chorus of birds that chirped and squawked in celebration of the unexpected rainfall.
“Rain,” she mumbled in Shona, trying to suppress a shiver as she patted down her pockets for snakes. Suddenly she realized the importance of such a rare meteorological occurrence and she dove for her gear, fumbling desperately with the hook on her empty canteen. It had rusted over and wouldn’t budge.
“Fuck-”
The large hand that had shaken her awake suddenly knocked away the canteen, sending it to the ground with a hollow metallic clatter.
“No time for that.”
Emma looked up at the looming figure that squatted next to her, a broad-shouldered Shona man whose dark skin glistened brilliantly in the gentle rainfall. His fiery amber eyes scanned the depths of the jungle around them with urgency, seeming to be in search of something. Emma swallowed, her throat dry and stale from the thirst that had been nagging at her relentlessly for the past few days.
“The explosion,” the man said, looking back down at her. His brow furrowed as he read her expression of groggy unawareness. “Did you not hear it, too?”
Still in the process of waking up, Emma shook her head, her eyes wandering back down to the canteen in the wet dirt. All of the crisp, sweet rainwater that was going uncollected...
“It came from the bush to the north,” the man continued. “We’re going to have a look. Get up.” He lightly swatted her on the back of the head and rose, heading over to the two other men in the small clearing.
One of them, a lean and fair-skinned Afrikaner with a shock of curly strawberry blond hair, had already begun to strap on his gear and collect his things. The other, a taller and swarthier man, was already geared up and now sat with his back against a sturdy tree, holding his canteen out before him. His eyes were glazed over with a primal yearning as he watched a small drop of rain here and there fall into the mouth of the empty container.
“If it’s ZANLA, do not engage,” the Shona man said to them. He turned his attention to the man with the dark hair. “Am I understood, Marc?”
Marc pursed his lips and nodded distractedly, his attention still entirely claimed by his rainwater-collecting efforts.
Emma picked up her harness from the ground, giving it a slight shake and a brush with the palm of her hand to remove the chunks of wet leaves and dirt. She slid the straps over her shoulders and buckled it securely, stepping over sprawling tree roots to where the others waited. She thrust her hand out towards Marc.
“Marc.” She opened and closed her hand impatiently, but he paid her no attention.
“Marc,” The Shona man boomed. “Give her the damn gun, jou nat naai .”
Marc scoffed, reaching to his side and picking up an old rifle that was pockmarked with an array of small dents and scratches. He hesitated for a moment before finally holding it out to her, refusing to give her even the slightest glance.
“Cunt,” Emma spat quietly, snatching the gun and loading a clip into it.
Marc finally tore his eyes away from the canteen to shoot a burning glare up at her, his deep brown eyes shaded by his dark eyebrows. With a dexterous flick of his long fingers he spun the cap back onto the canteen and rose, brushing past her as he loaded his own rifle and grouped up with the others.
“Stay tight,” the Shona man said, nodding his head towards the jungle ahead of them and setting off. The others fell in behind him, with Marc taking his place ahead of Emma and the Afrikaner bringing up the rear.
Their footsteps were muted by the cushion of wet leaves under their feet as they swept through the foliage, completely silent save for the gentle clank of the empty canteens that bumped against their hips.
The mere sound was a constant reminder of the predicament that the Knights of Rhodesia had fallen into a little over three weeks ago when ZANLA had driven them out of their compound in a show of sheer, utterly unexpected force. Starved out and far removed from any water source at the height of the dry season, the small band of mercenaries had begun to fall one by one. Heatstroke, disease, starvation, dehydration. One way or another, death was coming for all of them; if the lack of water didn’t claim them first, something else would soon after.
Due penance for their sins, perhaps.
The shrill, haunting wail of a wild dog suddenly cut through the sound of the gentle rain on the rustling waxy leaves, causing Emma’s heart to skip a beat as she instinctively snapped her aim towards the direction from which the sound had come. A quiet snort came from the Afrikaner behind her and Emma felt her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment as she grit her teeth and continued forward.
That first drop of rain this morning had kindled a new flame of hope in Emma. It was the first rain to fall in months, and she only hoped that the KOR’s makeshift base of operations further south was doing its best to collect as much of it as they could before the sky and ground dried up once more for another several weeks. Perhaps the wet season would come early this year.
Perhaps it was wishful thinking to even hope for as much.
The dull, ambient lighting under the trees began to brighten as the foliage thinned out and a large clearing came into view, the lush greenery of the jungle meeting a large expanse of tall yellow grass. The Shona man held his arm out and the small group stopped at the edge of the clearing, hunkering down behind a large bush.
Just ahead, a thick plume of black smoke rose from the middle of the clearing, filling the air with sooty cinders and the overwhelming smell of burning gasoline. The grass hid their view from the source of the smoke, but there was no doubt that it involved a vehicle of some sort. Emma’s mind raced as she considered the possibility of broken-down transports, ransacked munitions deliveries or, possibly worse, the aftermath of a ZANLA-led attack on a bus full of civilians.
The ZANLA presence in the area had strengthened considerably in the past few weeks, resulting in a rising death toll of civilians and militants alike. After the KOR had been forced out of their compound, they had managed to find a place to hunker down and lay low in the dense jungle. But it was a common, unspoken knowledge that their days were numbered and it was only a matter of time until a patrol stumbled upon their hideout and slaughtered them in a matter of moments. ZANLA had the vast jungle completely surrounded, and there was no way of getting through. The hungry, tired mercenaries had been living their days waiting for the inevitable.
As far as Emma knew, however, there were no roads in the immediate area for another dozen kilometers at least, and even then, the roads were unused and riddled with mines and ambushes. No one in their right mind would be bringing a transport of any kind out into this stretch of bush.
The shared look of perplexion on the faces of the others proved that Emma wasn’t alone in her train of thought. The Shona man turned back to them, clutching his rifle tightly to his chest.
“Marc, Bill, you two scout the perimeter. If ZANLA’s not already here, it won’t be long before they show up. Split up as you like but do it fast.”
There was a brief exchange in Afrikaans between Marc and Bill as they planned their movements, then they rose to a crouch and headed into the grass, instantly swallowed by the swishing stalks.
The Shona man turned to Emma. “Mwana, follow me and stay low.” He held his arm out in front of him and parted the grass, ducking into it and heading towards the smoke. Emma followed closely behind, tightening her grip on her gun and doing her best to remain well below the grassline.
As they neared the smoke the sound of moving water began to overtake the sound of the light rain, and suddenly the grass became more sparse, the soil rockier.
“Careful,” The Shona man said, his hushed voice barely audible over the rush of water as he broke through the last stalks of grass. Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks, causing Emma to bump into him clumsily from behind.
“What is it?” Emma whispered, peering over his shoulder to get a better look. “Maba, what-”
She, too, froze as she took in the sight before them.
The mangled, twisted wreckage of a helicopter sat smoldering in a stream, smoke and steam rising from the hull as the muddy, rain-churned water coursed through the large-caliber bullet holes that had torn through the steel like paper. The rotor had broken free and now jutted upward from the rocks and mud several meters away where it had become embedded in the crash, slicing into the grey sky like a carbon black knife. Fleshy, scattered pieces of what she could only assume to be the remains of the helicopter’s occupants littered the stream’s rocky shore, along with various jagged chunks of shrapnel.
Maba stepped forward tentatively, aiming the barrel of his gun towards the shattered windshield of the cockpit, which was upside-down and nested deeply in the red mud. He started to pick his way along the rocky shore as he followed the trail of debris upstream, in what Emma assumed to be the direction from which the helicopter had come.
Emma quickly scanned the area before emerging from the grass, walking slowly towards the smoking hull of the helicopter. She rounded the side of it, the side of her face growing hot from the heat that radiated from the metal. She loosened her bandana from around her neck and brought it up over her mouth as the unmistakable smell of burning oil and flesh met her nose, choking her with its heavy stench.
She cautiously ducked her head into the hull and peered into the cockpit, squinting her eyes against the thick smoke that filled it. From what she could tell through the haze, some of the equipment seemed to still be intact, despite the jumble of wires and an unfurled parachute that hid most of the console. She stepped back again and glanced down the length of the helicopter. The tail had broken off almost completely, but a few wires and cables from it were still attached to the hull, serving as the only things that kept it from being swept away completely. Caught against a rock, it bobbed up and down gently as the water pushed against it, causing the tail to tug against the jumbled mass of carnage as if it had a mind of its own. Emma started to turn back towards the direction Maba had headed in when a metallic glint caught her eye back towards the tail.
She carefully leapt from rock to rock towards the rear of the helicopter, careful to tread only on the dry rocks that jutted above the water in an effort to avoid losing her footing on the undoubtedly slippery, mud-covered stones beneath the stream’s surface. Having reached the last dry rock, she leaned out as far as she could to get a better look at the source of the glint.
Emma could just barely make out the shape of an arm tangled in the jumble of cables that surrounded the tail. Upon the arm’s wrist was a shining silver Rolex watch, flashing gaily each time the tail bobbed up and down with the current. Expecting to find the arm disembodied, she was surprised to find that, as her eyes trailed down its length, it was attached to a body that was slumped over and half submerged in the water.
Without hesitation Emma leapt off of the rock and splashed through the stream towards her strange discovery, holding her gun up to her chest as she sunk further and further into the murky water, which was now at the level of her hips. She fought against the surprisingly strong pull of the current, wading over to the motionless body.
It was a man. A soldier, by the look of it. He was dressed in typical Rhodesian brushstroke fatigues that were now covered in blood and oil, torn at the seams. His blonde hair had been pulled back into a low bun at the nape of his neck, but several wet strands had fallen loose and hung in front of his face, which was tilted into his chest. A long cut across his left breast still oozed bright red blood.
He must have died not long before they had reached the wreckage.
Emma used the barrel of her rifle to tilt his head upwards, revealing the name tag on his front chest pocket.
“Miller,” she breathed.
Suddenly the man stirred and Emma jerked backwards instinctively, almost losing her balance on the slippery rocks. Regaining her resolve, she quickly trained her gun on his head, watching as he mustered every ounce of his strength to lift his chin upwards towards her. His eyes fluttered open to reveal pale blue irises that shifted back and forth, trying and failing to focus on her form. Visibly weakened by the effort, he closed his eyes again as a quiet, bubbling groan escaped his lips.
Emma frantically brought a hand to her mouth and made a hasty owl call, hoping somewhat naïvely that Maba would somehow hear it despite the loud churning of the water as it flowed through the holes and gaps in the wreckage. She waded closer towards the soldier, slinging her rifle over her back and fumbling with the cables that were wrapped around his arm. His fingers, which were turning a pale purple from the lack of circulation, were cold and clammy to the touch.
She swore quietly under her breath and tugged hard on the cables, trying to use brute force to free him. Her efforts were futile, however, and she only succeeded in stirring the rocks below the water that she stood upon, causing her to stumble slightly. She looked down at his pale face, cursing repeatedly as she pulled and pulled with growing desperation.
The man opened his eyes again, but this time they locked with Emma’s. She suddenly felt her heart freeze over with an indescribable feeling, her breath catching in her throat. Her muscles seized and she let out a rattling breath.
“You poor, stupid fucking bastard,” she managed to choke out, for lack of a better way to articulate the strange surge of emotion that had just clamped down on her so unexpectedly. “You’re going to wish you had died.”
There was a steady splashing from the other side of the helicopter and Maba appeared at the front towards the nose, his gun raised as he scanned the wreckage. Emma waved her hand in the air and Maba spotted her, drudging through the water towards her.
“This one’s alive,” Emma said in Shona, clutching the man by his hair and tilting his face upwards. She gestured to the rank on his epaulet. “An officer.” The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he spluttered slightly, trying to speak.
Maba studied the man for a moment with narrowed eyes, then looked up to the cables that Emma had been struggling with. He withdrew a large serrated knife from the sheath on his belt, beginning to saw away at the cables. Emma held the soldier’s arm steady as Maba cut, watching him make quick work of them.
“Almost as good as my find,” Maba said, snapping through one of the cables and starting on the next. “Confidential documents, I think. From SAS headquarters.” Another cable was cut through and the rest of them began to loosen. “I can’t believe this luck. First the rain, now intel, and-”
He was interrupted by a spray of bullets that hammered the opposite side of the helicopter. Suddenly the clearing came alive with the sound of automatic gunfire and indistinguishable yelling from the treeline on the opposite side of the stream.
Maba swore, diving behind the hull for cover. Emma ducked behind the tail next to the man, pulling forcefully on his arm with breathless desperation in an attempt to free him as more bullets pinged off of the side of the helicopter.
Suddenly Marc tramped out of the tall grass, taking aim towards the treeline and firing several shots.
“ZANLA!” He yelled to Maba and Emma, giving a hard nod back towards the jungle. “Get the hell out of here! Bill is holding them off at the other end but there are too many of them!”
Maba trudged through the water and ran onto the shore, using the cockpit as cover as he took several shots upstream. He spun back to face Emma.
“Mwana! Did you hear that?!”
“Yeah!” Emma jiggled the cables, finally managing to free the soldier’s arm. “Coming!” She clutched the shoulders of the soldier’s fatigues, pulling him through the water as she waded back towards where Maba now stood. “Go! I’m right behind you!”
She pulled the man ashore, the weight of his body and his waterlogged clothes bringing her to a dead stop. Bullets ricocheted off of the rocks around her, breaking the surface of the water and fracturing bits of stone, sending sharp flecks flying into the air. She dug her heels into the muddy earth, her boots sinking stubbornly into the soft clay as she tried in vain to pull him.
A single bullet ripped through the air, embedding itself in the helicopter’s emptying fuel tank. There was a mere split second of vacuum-like silence before a fiery explosion blossomed in the hull, sending an immediate wave of heat and shrapnel blasting outwards and knocking Emma off her feet.
“Christ!” she yelped, frantically patting her arms and legs to make sure they were still attached. Her ears rang as more bullets whizzed past, each one closer than the last. She quickly clambered back over to the soldier and hooked her arms under his from behind, dragging him backwards towards the grass with all of her strength, a guttural yell rising from her chest as the tendons in her neck flexed from the exertion.
“GruuUUAAAHH!”
She wasn't going to make it.
Suddenly she was pushed aside with a surprising amount of force, sending her to her hands and knees on the rocks as her balance was thrown off. She looked up to see Maba collect the soldier in his arms, throwing him over his shoulders in an effortless fireman’s carry.
“Cover, Mwana! I need cover!” He yelled, spit flying from his mouth.
Emma finally snapped to her senses and unslung her rifle, aiming towards the trees that were lit up with muzzle flashes and smoke. She fired, completely unsure of whether or not she was actually hitting anything at all, and not feeling particularly inclined to care about it, either. She waited for Maba to disappear back into the grass, firing twice more into the fray before backing into the stalks after him and transitioning to a run as she followed him back towards the jungle. She could feel the disturbances in the air as bullets shot past her head, missing by what must have been mere inches.
The soldier hung limply over Maba’s shoulders, the jostling not doing his wounds any favors. A scarlet stream of blood had already begun to soak Maba’s shirt, trailing slowly down the back.
Ahead Emma could hear Bill and Marc’s yells, urging the group to pick up the pace. Finally they crossed back into the safety of the jungle, the gunfire growing quieter and quieter behind them until it was no longer audible. They continued deeper into the wilderness, giving themselves as much of an advantage in distance as they could before letting up their pace even the slightest.
They finally came to a stop not far from where they had camped the previous night, collectively deciding to take a moment to orient themselves. Maba knelt to the ground, sliding the soldier off his shoulders. Panting loudly and struggling to catch their breath, the others gathered around without a word and took the opportunity to get a good look at the man.
His breathing was shallow, but he still seemed to be conscious -- barely . His face was strikingly ghost-white and the bleeding from his chest had yet to subside. His eyes flickered open into narrow slits and his irises flashed to and from the faces of the mercenaries standing above him, his face void of any emotion. Maba reached out to Emma.
“Your bandana.”
Without hesitation Emma untied the bandana from around her neck and handed it to Maba, who folded it into the palm of his hand. With his other hand he unbuttoned the top two buttons of the soldier’s fatigues, slowly pulling the lapel back to reveal the gash that sliced across his left pectoral, as well as a new wound in his shoulder that hadn’t been there before. Maba leaned in closer to get a better look at the fresh injury.
“Shrapnel. Not very deep.” He sat back on his heels. “Marc, keep watch. Emma, Bill, hold him down.”
They quietly obliged, each taking hold of one of the soldier’s arms and pinning it down. Maba swung a leg over the soldier and straddled him, picking up a small stick from the forest floor and placing it between the soldier’s teeth. He paused for a moment, swearing under his breath, before pressing his thumbs down hard on either side of the wound.
The soldier bucked against the weight of the three of them, unable to spare the energy to release the yell that Emma could tell was bottled up in his chest. The only sound that emerged from his throat was a strangled whimper that droned on as Maba squeezed the wound harder.
“Naai,” Maba spat in frustration. “It’s almost out. Mwana, come here.” He snapped his fingers at Emma, who let go of the soldier’s arm and crawled around to his side.
“Um-”
“Your fingers are smaller than mine,” Maba said, taking Emma’s place holding down the soldier’s left arm. “You should be able to dig it out.”
Emma swallowed hard, flexing her fingers slightly as she reached out towards the man’s shoulder. In one movement she exhaled and slid her two index fingers into the wound, warm blood swishing around them as she wiggled them slightly, pushing them deeper as she dug around for the shrapnel.
The soldier’s hoarse groans became louder and she could feel him pouring every ounce of his strength into pushing back against Maba and Bill’s hold on his arms. Emma’s fingers suddenly grazed a hard chunk of metal, and she held her breath as she hooked her fingernails into it, gingerly pulling it from the wound.
“Pressure, pressure,” Maba said, handing her the bandana.
Emma took it and pressed it into the man’s shoulder, putting her bodyweight into it as she looked down in awe at the molten chunk of steel that she had just extracted. The man’s chest rose and fell somewhat faster as he grit his teeth against the stick, his energy spent from the resistance he had put up.
“We need to get him back to camp,” Maba said, releasing his hold on the man’s arm and rising to a crouch. He looked into the dense trees with a deep sigh. “He should make it…”
“Why the hell are we bringing him back?” Marc chipped in from his watch by a nearby tree. “We ought to just leave him here. The government wants us dead anyways, he’ll only tell them where we are.”
“That may be,” Maba said. He nodded to Emma and Bill to move back, picking up the soldier once more and sliding him over his shoulders with a grunt. “But we need to keep him alive long enough to give us what we need. After that, he’ll either be dead or we’ll have enough information that it won’t matter.” He looked back at Bill. “The documents?”
“Right here,” Bill said, gesturing to the battered metal briefcase that rested by his feet.
“Let’s get going, then.” Maba turned and started off once more, the two others falling in behind him.
Without thinking, Emma quickly scooped up the shrapnel and shoved it into her pocket, stumbling to her feet and jogging to catch up with them as they headed back in the direction of camp.
Over the course of their hike the rain had gradually slowed to a stop, and the only sound that filled the heavy, humid air other than the drone of the insects and the quiet tramping of their feet on the forest floor was the occasional weak groan from the soldier as Maba shifted him slightly to take the pressure off his back. Maba’s teeth were bared and large beads of sweat streamed down his skin as he carried the man without complaint, his physical strength waning but his sheer determination picking up the slack. Emma couldn’t help but wonder what kind of information he expected to uncover as the result of all of this trouble, but there was no doubt in her mind that it was obviously of great importance not just to him, but to the KOR as a whole.
By the time the cluster of small, crumbling buildings came into view, the midday sun was already breaking through the canopy and casting jagged shadows over the makeshift base of operations. A handful of malnourished, ragtag mercenaries milled around, toting an equally slapdash assortment of outdated weapons as they patrolled the premises and the surrounding jungle. One of them spotted Maba and the others, and he turned back towards the camp to shout an indiscernible phrase in Afrikaans.
Several other men spilled out of the buildings at the call, and a particularly tall native Rhodesian with a lean, sinewy physique brought up the front of the group as he stepped through the small gathering and waited in the middle of the camp, his arms folded against his chest.
“Mabasashe,” he said, dragging the last syllable out longer than necessary in a sing-song, chastising manner. “Your patrol was supposed to return over an hour ago.” He raised his eyebrow as he shifted to the side to get a better look at the soldier that was slung over Maba’s back. “What did you get yourself into?”
With a muffled grunt Maba dropped the man to the dirt. He stayed flat on his back, completely motionless except for the slight rise and fall of his chest as he drew in rattled breaths and let them out again with a rasp.
“Commander,” Maba said, giving a limp salute as he struggled to catch his breath. “There was a helicopter crash... SAS. I found a briefcase with confidential files-” he snapped his fingers at Bill, who brought the briefcase forward, “-and Emma found the man to help us open it.” He placed his boot on the chest of the soldier, giving a single shake. The soldier spluttered, a few drops of blood flecking his lips.
The lithe commander stepped forward, circling the quietly wheezing soldier as he looked him over, a wide smile slowly spreading across his gaunt face. He cackled once, splitting the delicate silence that had fallen over the camp. He shook his head and laughed again, louder, before turning his attention to Emma and approaching her slowly.
“Nyoka Mwana…” he said, clicking his tongue. “This is true?”
Emma lifted her chin a little higher. “Yes, Akashinga.”
Akashinga’s smile widened even further, fully revealing a set of pearly-white teeth with a small gap between the front two. He came to a stop in front of Emma, slapping his hand down onto the back of her neck and turning back to the others. He gave her a jarring shake.
“Nyoka Mwana, wrestling down a mighty shumba!” He boomed, barely able to contain the chuckle that chopped the articulation of his words. “Can you believe it?” A collective laugh rose from the other mercenaries, some of them slapping their hands to their knees in genuine entertainment at the thought.
Heat crept into Emma’s cheeks and she glanced sideways at Maba, silently begging him to say something -- anything -- in her defense . Maba, his chest still heaving from the exertion of their hike, shot an authoritative glance back at her, imploring her to accept the light harrassment.
Still lost in his laughter, Akashinga clapped the back of her neck again with enough force to cause her knees to buckle slightly. Emma pressed her lips together and quickly straightened her posture, doing her best to remain tall.
“So she has, so she has,” Akashinga trailed off as the laughter finally began to die down. In a sudden, smooth flurry of movement he reached to the back of his belt and produced a revolver, clicking back the hammer and pointing it at Emma.
An immediate hush fell over the others and Emma bit down on her tongue, staring past the barrel of the gun and straight into the commander’s eyes, doing her best to keep her expression steady and calm. The taste of iron filled her mouth as she bit down harder.
Akashinga tilted his head to the side, raising an eyebrow as his eyes bore straight into hers. His finger rested lightly on the trigger, one miniscule movement away from blowing her head off and ending her right then and there. The moment seemed to last an eternity, and even the birds in the trees seemed to be holding their breath as they watched the scene unfold below. Emma continued to keep her gaze level with his, trying to ignore the urge to swallow, or perhaps to retch, out of sheer panic.
A flash of uncannily white teeth, followed shortly by a chuckle.
The commander lowered the gun and uncocked the hammer, giving the revolver a single spin before holding it out to her. Emma exhaled shakily, glancing over at Maba once more. He raised his eyebrows and subtly tilted his head in the direction of the gun.
With a shaking hand Emma reached forward and slowly wrapped her fingers around the solid wood grip of the revolver, and as the commander let go of it she felt the full weight of it in her hand, her heart dropping into her stomach as she realized the gravity of the moment.
“Still our Nyoka Mwana,” the commander said, opening his palms upwards in a gesture of acceptance, “but now a Knight, too.”
Emma looked down at the gun in her hand, moved not just by the sight of it, but also by the meaning that it carried. Despite her fatigue and lingering thirst, despite her calloused hands and scuffed knees, despite the sting of the still-healing lash wounds across her back...
She felt rejuvenated.
Renewed.
Reinvigorated.
A slight smile played about the corner of her mouth as she passed her other hand over the smooth metal of the gun, her fingers falling into the grooves and coasting over the notches. She basked in the pure strength of the fire within her, the potent feeling of importance that coursed through her veins...
For once in her goddamn life she had felt like she had taken a step upwards towards something. Towards what, exactly, she wasn’t sure. But there was almost an erotic intrigue to the mystery of it, something that stirred a rush of excitement in her.
She could get used to this.