Lose 10 Pounds of Ugly Fat... Cut Off Your Head

I wrote this back in... January? Since it's wayyyyy out of order and possibly kind of "so what?" without context, I didn't share it at the time. But alien_writings requested a recent thing in Brendan voice, so here it is. Concrit and questions are cool, just be gentle because I'm really weird about sharing my things lately.



There’s a storm coming but I’m the only one who can feel it.

The sky above is clear, blacker than black and filled with stars except for the thin strip where the light from the border lamps washes it out. Nightbirds call out to each other, blissfully unaware. A cool breeze blows, sighing over the sand dunes and filling my nose with the sweet, almost sickening scent of flowers that only open in the dark.

Inside me, though, a wind’s whipping up. Kalen doesn’t notice any more than the birds do, and that only makes me madder. He’s my brother, my best friend as far back as I can remember. It’s always scared the shit out of him, the way the rage takes me. Used to be he could sense it creeping up, smell it on the air like ozone.

Not anymore.

Now it’s like I don’t even exist, like nobody does. The fact that he hasn’t noticed I’m here right now pretty much says it all. He’s only thirteen but he’s already being scouted--practically has been since birth. Kalen’s that good, so good that he skipped a grade and started Academy last fall when I did. He outranks me already, along with everyone else in Year One and half of Year Two. I train twice as hard as him for maybe half the results.

Part of that’s my own fault. I’m always letting my temper get the best of me, rushing into things half-assed just like I did tonight. If I’d been thinking clearly, I never would’ve picked this stupid tumblebrush as a place to hide. It’s prickly and its branches keep poking me through the pajama pants I didn’t have a chance to change out of. My legs itch like crazy and the dry branches rustle loud enough to blow my cover every time I move enough to scratch.

Kalen, though, he always keeps a level head. Which is why he should’ve caught me by now-- why he would’ve, if he weren’t so different these days. No one but me seems to see how he’s changed. He’s quit hanging out with me and the other guys and hides out all the time in his room, building his stupid robots. He’s always been into that junk, but now it’s all he does--except for whatever it is he’s up to when he sneaks out late at night.

Up until now, I was hoping he’d turn out to be meeting one of the girls from school to make out or something. Except girls throw themselves at his feet all the time and he pretty much ignores them, so I figured maybe it’d be one of the guys from school instead. I was okay with that, really. Some people might look at him funny if they found out, but he’s still my brother either way. Either way, I’d have gone home laughing and I wouldn’t have to worry anymore.

Too bad that’s not going to happen.

Kalen’s waiting for someone, all right, fidgeting and running a hand through his hair every so often. But the way he’s staring at the chainlink fence in front of him, I don’t think it’s anyone from this side of the border, let alone someone from school. The hairs on the back of my neck rise and I’m suddenly too warm despite the breeze. I don’t want to think about what business he’d have with someone from the Other Side, why he’d go against everything we’ve both been raised to believe in--

A figure, tall and freakishly thin, appears on the opposite side of the fence.

“You’re late,” Kalen says.

Dead silence.

“I brought you something.” Kalen pulls a small object from the pocket of his jeans and pokes it through a gap in the fence.

The figure steps forward with a noiseless grace that gives me the creeps. There’s a flash of movement as whoever it is takes whatever Kalen’s offered and pockets it. Half hidden by the pulled-up hood of a bulky black sweatshirt, the stranger’s face looks shadowed and gaunt. It’s hard to make out features, to even tell if it’s a guy or a girl. Not that it matters--male or female, this long-limbed... person obviously isn’t one of us.

My jaw clenches and so do my fists, tight enough to be painful.

“You got anything for me today?” Kalen holds out a cupped hand.

So quick that it’s barely more than a blur, the stranger’s own hand moves. Something about the size and shape of a waveless earpiece glints in the weak lamplight as it slides through the chain links and drops into my brother’s open palm.

My brother.

A pulse beats below my eye as I watch Kalen’s back. It’s what I do, what I’ve been doing since I was old enough to stand, not that he appreciates it. All my life I’ve been a lightning rod for Father’s fury, bearing the brunt of it so Kalen doesn’t have to. Weathering his rages so they won’t so much as ruffle my brother’s golden hair--and for what? So he can sneak out here and trade information with the enemy?

My vision goes funny, like I’m seeing everything through a rounded lens. Blood roars in my ears.

“What’s wrong?” Kalen asks. He sounds far away.

I open my mouth instinctively to answer, but he’s not looking at me. His attention is fixed on the stranger, who grips the links of the fence and peers through it with narrowed eyes--eyes that flash an unnatural yellow as they lock onto mine. My bowels turn to water.

We stare each other down for a long moment. All of a sudden, the stranger looks away, stumbling backward jerkily and sneezing twice into one sleeve. I blink. It’s a surprisingly human sound. The figure straightens up quickly. It--he?--looks directly at me.

“Storm’s coming,” he says. “Best be inside when it does.”

A chill races through me even though I’m burning up inside. He feels it, same as I do--the thunderheads gathering, the deadly current thrumming in my veins. Sweat breaks out on my forehead, my throat closes up--

“What?” Kalen glances up at the sky. “But it’s not even overcast.”

The stranger disappears, there one minute and gone the next.

My heart speeds up and a familiar gray haze comes over everything. I’m mad enough to kill but I don’t know why. The memory of how I got here, where “here” even is--they’re just… gone. I don’t recognize the person in front of me, facing the fence, but I know I want to beat the shit out of him.

The wind howls, loud enough to hear over the thudding in my ears. Sand swirls around me, blotting out what’s left of my vision. There’s an ache at the back of my throat, a dull sense that something’s not right. The storm’s supposed to be in me, not out there. I should do some deep breathing, maybe pray or try to calm down. Figure out what’s going on.

I don’t care. I close my eyes and let the storm roll in.

“Brendan.”

I blink, startled by Kalen’s voice. My fingers lose their grip on the glass of milk I’m holding. It shatters on the kitchen floor. I look down at the white puddle spreading over the smooth stone tile, the broken shards sparkling in the morning sun.

“Shit,” I mumble, bending to clean up the mess. My head’s fuzzy and my body doesn’t want to do what I tell it to do.

A gentle hand touches my arm. “Let me do it,” Kalen says.

Numbly, I nod. As I watch him pick up the pieces, moving with his usual grace, the weirdest feeling washes over me. My skin prickles with chill-bumps and my mouth goes dry. Something’s not right, but I can’t place what it is.

Kalen stops suddenly, looking up at me with blameless blue eyes. “You okay, bro?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” I scratch the back of my neck, trying to put my finger on what’s bothering me.

His forehead scrunches up. “You spaced out big-time, right before you dropped your glass.”

“Huh.” I rub my eyes. They’re swollen and heavy. “I just… you ever feel like you’re forgetting something really important?”

Goodbyes have been said, and now it's time for action. As Devin always says, this is gonna be fucking epic.

So far, there's been no trouble. Every door has opened on command, just as Devin promised. CallaBot and I creep through the corridors of the WeaponsDev facility in silence, headed for the building's center. It feels like hours before we finally reach our destination, but patience has never really been my strong suit. Pushing open the door to the men's bathroom, I'm about to enter when I notice CallaBot hanging back.

"You coming?" I ask.

"Well, it's a men's bathroom." Her tone is unusually hesitant.

"Oh, give me a fucking break!" I snicker. "We're about to destroy a major government facility, and that's what you're worried about? Anyway, you're a robot now. According to the law, you're neither male nor female."

"Fine, whatever," she says, and follows me inside.

The door has barely swung shut behind us when there's a humming sound from out in the hall. Cracking the door and peering around the jamb, I see robots approaching. My heart leaps into my throat; there must be at least 20 of them.

"Calla!" I hiss. "SecurityBots, heading right for us!"

"You stay here," CallaBot says. "I'll talk to them and convince them we're no threat."

As she disappears into the hall, I shuck off my InvisiSuit. It's fucking hot in this place, and I breathe a grateful sigh once I'm free of the extra layer of insulation. Just as I'm about to remove my wrinkled explosive suit as well, I hear a commotion outside. I open the door a tiny bit, just in time to hear a sizzling noise and then a loud pop.

"CallaBot, you okay out there?"

No answer.

Stepping out into the hall, I cough as I inhale the acrid odor of fried circuitry. Trying not to breathe too deeply, I survey the scene before me. It's one of utter confusion.

More than half of the security robots are disabled. Most appear to have been beaten or shot down. One or two are standing stock still on the edge of the fracas while another slams itself repeatedly into a wall. The remaining seven SecurityBots encircle Calla, who does nothing to defend herself as they pelt her with metal fists and shoot her with blue lasers. Even with the superior shields Kalen's devised for her, I'm sure she can't withstand much more of this.

"Calla, what the hell?" I shout. "Why the fuck aren't you fighting back?"

Her mechanical eyes, staring straight ahead, don't even meet mine.

"Devin," I say, "There's something wrong with CallaBot! How do I fix her?"

Nothing.

Devin's supposed to be able to hear me over his neurovision implant. Maybe whatever's messed up CallaBot has disrupted our communications as well. I guess it doesn't matter; any way you look at it, I'm on my own.

"Fucking hell!" I yell to no one in particular. "Now what am I supposed to do?"

Shoving my way past the SecurityBots, I grab Calla's arm. Searing pains shoot through my arm, the back of my neck, and my lower spine as the robots turn on me. While the explosive suit provides protection against instant death, it's not enough. There's a smell like barbecue; I'm pretty sure it's my own burning flesh.

"Calla," I say, looking into her blank electronic eyes, "if you can hear me, get the fuck out of here now!"

Though her gaze shows no recognition, she says, "Yes, human," and shoots off down the hall. Focused on me, the SecurityBots don't even bother to follow her. My entire body is in agony as their lasers strike me again and again.

"Devin," I try once more. "Can you hear me? I could really use some help in here."

Still no response.

I may not be a genius like my brother Kalen and his dorky pals, but I can think pretty well on my feet. There's no way for me to fight off all these robots on my own. I'm injured pretty badly and way outnumbered. If I can't reach Devin to help me disable them, I'm never getting out of here alive. There's only one good option - hold them off long enough for CallaBot to escape and then detonate my explosive suit.

Even half-dead, I'm no slouch in the fighting department. I manage to take down two of my metal attackers before the other five close in on me. Praying that Calla's made it out by now, I take a deep breath. This is it.

Today is a good day to die, I think.

Closing my eyes, I use the neural interface for the explosive suit to bring it online. My body tingles all over; the strange sensation almost blocks out the pain. Inside my brain, I hear Devin hollering at me through my neurovision chip. Communications must be up and running again.

"Why'd you do it, buddy?" Devin yells. "I could have helped you take down those SecurityBots!"

"BRENDAN!" Kalen screams in the background.

"It's too late now," Devin's voice is distraught. "There's no way to stop the explosion once the suit's warmed up."

I hear my brother sobbing. There's a whoosh, a rush of heat, an enveloping pain. Then everything goes dark.

A terrorist? That's impossible!

They've got my brother all wrong. Sure, I saw the explosion just like everyone else, and I saw him with his finger on that damn button. There's no way he meant to die, though, or to take that girl with him.

You should have seen him mooning around here all summer. With a low draft number like his, any normal kid would've been celebrating. A spot on a fighting squad is hard to come by, after all. We train for war all our lives and celebrate the day we're of age to enlist. Even then, most of us are waitlisted for a year or two. Hell, I'm still waiting.

Not Kalen, though. He was special.

He could run faster and farther than any of the other boys his age. Not only that, but he was smart to boot. Before he was even old enough to start his lessons, he had already taught himself to read and write. When he did reach schooling age, the Bookmasters moved him a year ahead, to the second-year class with me.

They didn't want to separate you, Mother said. Even then, I knew it wasn't the whole truth.

We were close back then, though, almost like twins. On days when the weather was fine, we played soliders, tromping through the woods to the fort we built in a hollow tree. Rainy days meant sprawling on the rug in our room, playing Robot Scrabble and Tank Yahtzee. At night, we huddled together under our blankets, whispering about the future we would share.

You'll be history's most decorated fighter! he breathed. I'll build the most fearsome robots the world has ever seen.

School was hard that first year. The older boys in our class didn't much care for Kalen, the small blonde interloper who outshone them at every lesson. In a fair fight, he could have bested any of them. Problem was, the fights were never fair.

I'll never forget the day Teacher made me stay inside at recess, writing on the electroboard 100 times "I will not make farting noises in class." When I finished and came out to the playground, Kalen was covered in mud. Tears cut tracks down his dirty face; he was crying too hard to tell me what happened. All he could do was snuffle and point.

Teacher sent three boys home that day. Braddock Kingston left sniveling through a broken nose. Mother came to fetch Kalen and me; when we got home, I bloodied his nose too.

That's for not fighting back, I told him. I have to give him credit; he didn't cry that time.

Mother shook her head, but didn't say a word to Father when he came home. He would've whipped my hide clean off, no doubt. Teacher wouldn't have me back for a week, but I never regretted what I did. No one picks on my brother except for me.

By the end of the year, Kalen was giving as good as he got. There was the time he put Itching Nanites in Farren Allston's lunch. The class was in an uproar as Farren scratched so hard he fell out of his chair. After he reprogrammed Jensen Brady's Science Robot to sass Teacher, the other boys quit tormenting him. As far as they were concerned, he was one of us.

Underneath, though, Kalen's always been different. When the other kids were skirmishing or practicing their gun skills, he'd have his nose in a book. He was always tinkering with those robots, but did he ever make them shoot anything? Not even once. There's something not quite right about that.

Somehow, though, no one seemed to notice. Kalen always got the best grades in everything, be it fighting or fractions. And when we reached sixth year and started to notice girls, he always scored high marks with them, too. I have Father's build, broad and stocky, but Kalen grew tall and lithe. He had Father's eyes, though, a shocking ice blue that made people stop and look. Worst part was, he barely noticed the female attention.

That was when we started to grow apart, but Kalen didn't notice that either.

Ninth year was when our formal combat training began. Our grades were kept in our permanent files, to be assessed by the Military Committee during year twelve. The simplest triumph or mistake could lower or raise the magic number doled out in the draft. As always, Kalen brought home exceptional marks.

Kalen always gives it his all, Mother said, shaking her head. Why can't you be more like him?

Meanwhile, I studied late into the night while he made friends on the Splinternet. He started sneaking out to meet them, but I never told. They put the strangest ideas into his head. He'd come home raving about the Other Side, how maybe they weren't such a bad lot after all.

They're people just like us, he said. Have you ever wondered what we're fighting for?

All the while, no one knew. He knew his role and played it well. Twelfth year, they crowned him King of the Reaping and covered him in flowers. He smiled and waved from the hoverfloat, some vapid golden-haired girl at his side. Afterward, I asked him if he'd kissed her, but he shook his head, blue eyes laughing at the very thought.

Funny how he never had a care for girls until he met her. Twelfth year had just ended and he was in a funk. With a draft number so low, he'd be sent for before the cool breezes came. As boys, we'd made a fort in a hollow tree, but we'd abandoned it years before. He started going back there, calling it his thinking spot.

I followed him to the tree one day. My face grew hotter than his as she batted those lashes and flipped that long black hair. When I confronted him later, he came clean. Her name was Calla, and she was from the Other Side. You should have seen the way his face lit up when he said her name. After that, I was his confidant, his partner in crime. Every conversation, he had to bring her up.

It's hot, I'd say. I think I want some ice cream.

Oh, Calla likes ice cream, too, he'd chime in. Idiot! Who doesn't like ice cream?

Still, I didn't see the signs. Lord knows I should have. One night he came home, flushed as if with fever, eyes burning bright.

Listen to me, Brendan, he pleaded. It's just not worth it - all this death. I have to stop it and I know how.

Shut up, Kalen, I said. That's crazy talk. The War is what brings us life. It's treason to speak against it.

Kalen's always been a dreamer, though. Even then, I didn't take it seriously. How I wish I had. If I couldn't talk sense into him, I could have reported him at the very least. Either way, I could have saved him. I could have saved myself.

Only two days later, I stood at the fence. Bodies pressed into bodies as Kalen stood before us, that girl at his side. He should have been packing his bags, getting ready to fight for his people. Instead, his eyes froze us all in place and his voice sang out words that none should ever speak.

His finger was on the button I never thought he'd press. The explosion was deafening, and the world went up in flames. I never saw him again.

A week later, I sat in my hard metal chair, palms sweating and back straight as a board. Proud young men in uniform grinned at me from posters on the shiny metal walls. The lights were hot against my neck as the recruiter smiled and opened my file. He flipped through the pages and the smile froze on his face.

Is there any chance I can take his place? I'm still on the waiting list.

He looked up, eyes hard and icy like Kalen's on the day he died. My heart sank.

Family members of terrorists are ineligible to serve. Both your draft numbers will be reassigned to new candidates.

Before the words had finished leaving his lips, the Security Robots were at my side. I screamed and thrashed as their cold pincers bit into my flesh. As they turned their metal backs and left me on the pavement, inspiration struck.

Kalen, you bastard. You got me into this mess, and you'll get me out of it too.

It wasn't hard to find the information I needed on the Splinternet. Kalen never bothered to cover his tracks. He knew that no one else would ever suspect, and I'd never tell. I'll never be the genius he was, but he left me all I needed. It didn't take much tinkering to turn his robots into killing machines.

If they won't let me fight, I'll just make my own war.