Dynamis | Chapter 17 - Fury (Patreon)

Lilibelle glared at the slop on her breakfast tray that Charley had just plopped down. One scoop of some bean-and-meat mixture. The stuff barely moved with the shake of her tray, and she briefly wondered if it would make for a good throwing weapon. It had the consistency of dog food and smelled overly peppery. She coughed slightly, and Charley seemed to take offense.

“Well, what do you expect? You peppered the shit out of it,” she snapped. Before she could further insult him and bring more attention to herself, she spun around and marched to the salad bar at the other end of the room. Her tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek while she used a pair of tongs hanging off to the side to furiously collect her favorite greens. “Moron,” she hissed under her breath when she was sure no one was close enough to hear.

Her sad salad complete, she plucked a fork and knife out of a pair of utensil cups to the side, then carried her tray to a table away from the other students. Whipping her hair over one shoulder, she used her fork to split the meat-bean monstrosity down the middle, then scooped some of the pieces that fell off and carried it to her mouth.

It tasted like ass. No, retract that, burnt ass. In fact, if the stupid ass ‘chef’ had cooked it for any longer, she’d be eating ash and soot.

Ten out of ten, Lilibelle thought bitterly. It’s a wonder he has a fucking job.

Swallowing the chunk was a task in itself. The sludge passed through her esophagus the same way a ball of rice would, sticking to the sides of her throat and balling up in little clumps. She nearly gagged, spouting swears under her breath for not getting a cup of water. When it finally passed, she rose from her seat and hurried to the other side of the room, snatched one of the metal cups, and filled it with water from the fountain.

Settling back into her seat, she stabbed a piece of her salad next, pausing to watch the tiny tomato on top bleed. She imagined Chovek’s face on the surface of the tomato. She’d barely started chewing when Derrin—a student from her class—slid into the seat across from her with a tray of his own.

“Do you mind?” Lilibelle said between bites, shooing him away with the hand that held the fork. “I’d like to be alone.”

Derrin picked off a chunk of the same disgusting mound of food on his tray and started to eat. Lilibelle glared at him expectantly, elbows on the table while he chewed. At first he was smiling, but his expression faded steadily with every motion of his jaw. By the time he swallowed it, his face had gone through the entire grieving process.

He pressed two of his fingers against the divot at the center of his collarbone, then coughed into his fist as his gaze locked onto the steel cup beside Lilibelle’s tray. Lilibelle rolled her eyes and gently pushed it toward him. Derrin took three swigs, then put it back.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” Lilibelle said.

“What the hell is Charley making back there?” Derrin said, frowning at the rest of the slop on his tray.

“Garbage, that’s what.” Lilibelle tipped her cup toward her to see how much water was left, then stabbed another clump of leaflets on her tray. “So? What do you want?”

“N-Nothing,” Derrin laughed nervously. Lilibelle squinted her eyes. “Just, well, we sit next to each other but we barely ever talk.” He rubbed the back of his neck and averted his eyes.

Derrin was a nervous wreck of a man, and looked the part. His hair was brown, usually slightly damp—like it was right now—and his eyes were a deep marble blue. He was tall, probably a bit over six feet, and dressed in almost all black. Black pants, black T-shirt, even a black jacket on the days the room was especially cold. She wondered if it was to balance out his alabaster skin or make himself look cool. But he wasn’t cool. Not by anyone’s warped sense of imagination was that possible.

“I don’t see the need to,” she said, chomping on her salad.

“Well, since partners are going to get swapped around—”

“Is that what this is about?” Lilibelle had to refrain from snapping. Her thoughts still lingered on the conversation with Karl and Chovek. One good deed and she’d been punished for it. Making nice with a classmate wasn’t exactly sitting at the top of her to-do list. She stabbed another leaflet.

“What do you mean?” Derrin blinked rapidly, like he’d been caught in a spotlight.

“Trying to get on my good side?” Her gaze slowly shifted from her tray to the nervous man. He was practically squirming in his seat. “What’s your angle?”

“N-No,” Derrin said, shaking his hands in front of him. “No angle. We sit next to each other—”

“Yes, I’m aware. You said that.”

He sighed. “What I mean is, I think we should try and be friends. We’re neighbors, protocol is changing, tensions are high…” His voice trailed, and he smiled. Lilibelle thought she detected a hint of fear in that smile. “I think the best thing we can do right now is try to see this from an optimistic standpoint.” He nodded, as if he were trying to convince himself.

“Uh huh. Well, I disagree,” Lilibelle spat. She stacked the last two of her tomatoes under the lettuce on her fork and chewed on them angrily. An idle thought passed through her mind. What would the neurolink look like between her and Karl? Truly look like? The simulations were as accurate as they could get, but there was nothing that could beat the real thing. How long would it be before they were entrusted with a DF? “Besides, we’d never be a good match.”

Derrin’s shoulders slumped. “I may not be Harmonic, but that doesn’t make you a better conductor.”

Lilibelle clenched her teeth, digging her fork into the aluminum tray. “Did you come over here to flaunt your superior moral code?” she snapped. “Can’t you see I want to be alone?” She balled her free hand into a fist and pounded it on the table. The slop that was her food tipped off of her tray and landed in her lap. A squeal escaped her throat as she jumped to her feet and threw her fork at the floor.

All eyes were on her, suddenly. What few there were. Charley, Derrin, and Daisy made up the ones she recognized immediately. Heat rose to her face, and she brushed what she could off of her shorts.

“H-Here,” Derrin said, standing and retrieving a cloth from his back pocket. “Let me—”

“No! You’ve done enough,” Lilibelle said, pointing at him. “Stay away from me, you got it?” She stepped over the bench and kicked the bar underneath with her steel-toed boot. Murmurs followed her outside as she marched her way to the washroom.

Lilibelle rubbed the bridge of her nose as she sat in her seat, waiting for class to start. There were only a few others in the room, and fortunately they left her alone. She’d prided herself on her image, and was trying not to think about how foolish she appeared in the cafeteria. Even so, her mind kept backtracking to that moment. The more she thought about it the hotter her face grew.

Why couldn’t that have just not happened? Of all the days, why did it have to be today?

There would surely be rumors now. What occurred yesterday between her, Karl and Chovek was confidential, but anyone with half a brain cell would be able to tell from her heightened irritation and her noticeably absent presence within the halls that she’d been suspended.

They’re going to wonder if I’m cut out for this, she thought, the enamel of her teeth squeaking with the clenching of her teeth.

From the moment she’d joined Deadeye, she’d gone in with the intention of wiping out as many Fiends as possible. For that reason, she refrained from making friendships or speaking with her classmates unless absolutely necessary. She kept to the hangar, the recreation rooms, and her quarters for the most part. She’d gained a reputation as a loner, and she’d hoped that reputation would guard her from any suspicions of her suspension.

She bit her thumbnail, wishing she could go back and pound the table a few more times for its transgressions.

The door opened, and Instructor Tarik Boldwin stepped inside, his hands full with papers, his computer, and a cup of coffee. He kicked the doorstop down and hobbled to the desk to set the stack of papers and manila envelopes down on one side of the desk, then awkwardly put the laptop down on the other side, nearly spilling his coffee.

“Good morning, students,” Instructor Boldwin said in a thick Chelbeian accent.

The handful of students who had arrived early repeated the phrase back to the instructor.

Boldwin was the definition of a man who had experienced it all. Six deep scars raked his face at an angle, from just above his left eyebrow down to the right side of his jaw. One of his ears was missing, and the skin on his forearms was starkly white from burns; a disturbing sight compared to his normally dark skin. Despite his appearance, however, he made no attempt to hide his scars, always coming to class in wifebeaters and cargo pants.

Over the next few minutes, the rest of the students poured in. Many of them wore dour expressions and carried lethargic gaits. Perhaps the incident in the cafeteria would be quickly forgotten.

Once the students were seated, Boldwin licked the tip of his middle finger and opened the manila folder on top of the pile of papers. He shuffled through the first few sheets on top, then pulled out a sheet from the middle. Carefully shutting the folder, he rounded the desk and stood at the front of the class, frowning as he scanned over the students.

“Has anyone seen Mister Donovan or Miss Ishima?” the instructor asked.

Lilibelle furrowed her brow. Now that he mentioned it, Karl was nowhere to be seen. That was strange. Karl had never missed a day of class, nor had he ever been late. He was the spitting image of the ideal student, arriving on time, nailing perfect scores, raising his hand every time a question was asked. It was downright annoying at times.

So where the hell was he?

“No one?” the instructor asked. The students shook their heads, shrugged, and murmured, but no one had any idea where the two were. “Guess we’re starting without them.”

The sound of panting turned Lilibelle’s head toward the door. It was coming from down the hall. Leaning to her right, she saw two figures darting down the hall. Her breath caught.

What is that cold-blooded bitch doing with him?

Daidari’s and Karl’s shoes squeaked as they slowed their approach. Boldwin kept his eyes glued to the door, same as Lilibelle, as Karl and Daidari entered the room. Their bodies were soaked in sweat.

“Sorry I’m late, sir,” Karl breathed.

“My sincerest apologies,” Daidari wheezed next, bowing at the waist.

Lilibelle gaped. Hundreds of scenarios played out in her mind the longer she stared at them. Their shirts were white and stained with not just sweat, but water as well from the looks of it. The hints of Daidari’s lacey bra were visible, and Karl’s nipples were bleeding through his shirt. Worse yet, their faces were stark red, their shoulders were touching, and the usual uneasiness that came with Karl’s tone was absent.

Boldwin chuckled. “You can explain your absence at the end of class.” He looked them up and down. “Where are your computers?”

Karl winced. “I, uh, forgot mine.”

“As did I,” said Daidari. “I will return with my computer posthaste.”

The two spun around and left as quickly as they had arrived, leaving the classroom in baffled silence.

Boldwin shook his head and leaned on his good leg. “Miss Katsun?”

“Y-Y-Yes?” she stammered.

“Can you catch them up to speed later?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Thank you. Let’s move on.”

Lilibelle’s heart hammered against her chest. What were they doing? No one sweats that much when they’re working out.

She blanched. Were they… ?