As Esther approached Trump Tower in New York City she was filled with a sense of morose emptiness. She had always hated this particular location as a headquarters for the Social Justice Army. It was virtually indefensible. The building was just too large. Anyone could target it. There were too many secondary entrances. There was no way to secure it against a concentrated attack. Esther had come up with dozens of alterations to the building's structure to better fortify it, but most hadn't been implemented. The foundations were too flawed.
It was with bitter irony that Esther appreciated how most of these defensive measures would not have been useful in the present situation anyway. Esther had always assumed a generally logical hypothetical assault, where they were under siege by an army. In this case, Esther was attacking the building all by herself. A true test of her abilities. Destroying a whole army with her bare hands. Esther had never been much of a leader. The unwillingness of her subordinates to respect at her attempts to instill martial discipline was proof enough of that. But Esther did have, and always did have, the power to kill. And she was tired of holding back.
Esther's first kill was a security guard whom she had always hated. He was terribly overweight. Same skin color as Esther. Always making sexual advances to her. Esther was never much in the mood to tell him that she was a lesbian, always hoping that her sheer glare alone would be enough to let him get the hint. But it never worked. Esther smirked deviously as she choked his windpipe with her bare hand, as he was mid-sentence in another come on attempt. Esther was pleased at having finally made herself clear.
Naturally all the onlookers were terrified. Some had even been in the midst of greeting Esther themselves, overjoyed to learn that she was still alive, and not dead alongside the rest of the Twelfth Division. Though no one paid much mind to Esther's glares before, now, all of a sudden, they were frightened. Esther could smell the fear. It inflamed her taste buds, further provoking her hunger for blood. Yet Esther was not needlessly cruel. She coldly promised, via the building's public address system, not to kill anyone who didn't fight back and just tried to run. It wouldn't have been any fun to kill people like that anyway.
Yet after all of these years, all they had seen, the Social Justice Army continued to underestimate Esther as she easily killed them all with her bare hands. The Social Justice Army had always prioritized augments and novelty weapons against mastery of physical technique and understanding of personal limits. Esther had accepted that she would never convince them otherwise. So all that was left, was her own pleasure.
It was only after the first floor was cleared that Esther finally got a message from Barack. It was also delivered over the building's public address system.
"It's me you're after, right Esther?" said Barack. "Well, come up and get me. The remaining eleven division heads would also like to have a word with you. I'll be on the thirteenth floor."
How interesting, Esther thought, musing to herself. So they were going to try and fight her one at a time, one for each floor. They were doomed, no matter what they did, but the chaos of mass combat had never been the strong suit of anyone in the Social Justice Army. Everyone trained alone, as if for single combat, though such situations rarely ever came up. But even beyond that, this was their best tactical move as the cameras on each floor would make it possible for them to analyze Esther's technique. As the earliest division leaders died, the later ones might learn something which would make their victory possible.
It was a good plan. Or at least, better than the others that were available. But last minute homework would not be enough to save the Social Justice Army from the wrath of Esther Okerye.
The first division was the grunt army. The ones that were used for the easiest possible situations, for the long haul if necessary. They were under the impression that their weapons were unbreakable. In fact, their weapons were simply designed to be sturdy and to avoid jams. They were quite predictable. Esther killed the division leader within seconds, crushing the gun first for the sole purpose of making it clear to them that their success to date had only been due to their facing inferior opponents who did not know their weaknesses.
The second division was primarily designed for defensive purposes. All members of this unit had a weapon, typically never of the same design, that could easily obliterate anyone within a certain distance in front of them. They were unapproachable, only vulnerable to long range fire. Or at least so they thought. Esther had long observed and warned that none of their weapons appeared to be usable from the immediate area above their heads. All Esther had to do was find an appropriate bounding point, leap above, and that was it for the second division leader.
The third division was colloquially known as the human minefield. Their members would use innocuous, seemingly harmless objects buried in the terrain and grab them at a moment's notice to surprise and confound opponents who thought they had them on the pursuit. Their stratagem was a decent one. But of course, Esther knew how their weapons worked. She could suss out the hiding places and destroy them as necessary. As she closed in on the third division commander, every possible means of self defense for that poor fool had long been destroyed. Their blood splattered across the wall. Esther cracked her knuckles. She was only just warming up.
The fourth division was designed for surgical strikes. Their weapons could attack quickly, and seemingly from nowhere. They were immensely useful for surprise attacks. But any sort of move whatsoever left them completely open.to a devastating counterattack. All Esther had to do was dodge the first move. It was a trivial task, given how often she had seen it performed. Esther wondered if anyone upstairs had noticed the fact that she could easily predict their movements, having been involved so heavily in their training and organization. If they had, they might almost have had a fighting chance. Maybe they could try something Esther couldn't predict.
The fifth division was the armored division. Their weapons and abilities were slow, but typically could not be easily hurt. Their commander epitomized this philosophical style of combat, armored from head to toe in armor that could not be breached by any weaponry, but only slowed down. Alas, here too Esther had long deduced a possible weakness. Impenetrable as the outside may be, the inside was still vulnerable to shock. After some careful finagling, Esther identified a weak wall and tricked the commander into crashing through it down into the streets below. Esther observed, looking down on this person's corpse, that the armor itself appeared intact. But the crushing impact, several feet into the pavement, to the horrified onlookers, made it obvious to Esther that this commander like the others would not stand up again.
The sixth division was decisively more gimmicky than the others. They all had abilities related to gravity manipulation. This could give the illusion of flight or, more relevantly, the ability to levitate an opponent from their foothold. The commander, not quite so stupid as their compatriots, specialized in the latter technique. They fired at Esther, forcing her to float in midair. But Esther was ready. As she floated, she latched her feet onto the wall and used it for support. She launched herself straight at the commander's throat, breaking it easily. Esther took hold of the gravity gun, fixed her polarity, then crushed the gun with her bare hands, making sure that the security cameras caught her movements. By now, the remaining commanders should be sufficiently frightened into taking her seriously, and not just assuming they were superior to the prior divisions.
The seventh division was known as the zombie division. Their augments altered their fleshy components, making them apparently indestructible even as they could take on massive physical damage. The army was mainly useful for psychological warfare. They were horribly impractical most of the time, but, to Esther's regret, individual members of the Social Justice Army prioritized looking cool to looking competent. But even augmented recovery abilities had their limits. After killing the commander several hundred times, he finally died for good.
The eighth division was robotics. Drones by a different name, really, automatons by remote control, with operators nearby enough to cut down on lag but far away enough to not be easily attacked. As befit the computational nature of this particular club, their commander was simply the robot engineer with the most confirmed kills. But most of the robots had a critical flaw which Esther knew had never been corrected. They could not see a human sidestepping backwards diagonally. Esther had warned of this failure before, but she had never been taken seriously because of the unlikelihood of any opponent taking advantage of it. In this case, Esther had no trouble both dispatching the robot as well as its operator.
The ninth division was diplomacy. Very appropriate, Esther thought, that this one would come close to the end. The commander attempted to persuade Esther to put an end to this rampage. Esther ignored them. In the end, word were just words.
The tenth division was data analysis. No doubt they had spent the entire time furiously analyzing Esther's actions in the hopes that combat data transmitted to later floors would be useful. Evidently this was not the case, though they still held out a naive hope that perhaps Esther could be stopped on the final two opponents. Out of pity, but also recognition for their lack of general arrogance, Esther declined to actually kill this commander. She merely gave them a concussion, confident that they would regain consciousness only after the battle was completed.
The eleventh division was made of martial artists. They had not trained practically, but rather used computer programs to allow them to simulate the proper moves. The Social Justice Army as a military unit and the media at large greatly overestimated the power of this division mainly because they made the most flashy, most impressive looking videos. Esther knew that in practical terms she wasn't really fighting an actual martial artist, but rather the ghost of countless combat monks and the like who had allowed themselves to be videotaped to make the program. All Esther had to do was make a few impractical, unexpected moves, and the programs couldn't function correctly. In this fight, as with all the others, Esther won without so much as leaving a scratch on herself.
It was from this context that Esther approached the thirteenth floor, knowing that Barack Worthington awaited her there. Barack Worthington. Esther's longtime ally, and now? Perhaps inevitable enemy. She opened the door. And as expected, Barack wanted to talk. Although he dared not move past the safety of his desk.
"Why are you doing this Esther?" he asked, sternly. "Fourteen years we've been together now. This isn't you."
"This isn't me," said Esther, smiling as she stood still. "What do you think you know about me Barack?"
"I know that you begged me to let you into the Social Justice Army."
"I take it you forgot the part where I turned you down flat at first."
"You changed your mind," said Barack, more forcefully.
"And didn't you ever wonder why?" asked Esther. "I never talked to any of you about politics. I never believed any of this Social Justice Army crap."
"Then why did you stay?" said Barack. "You could have left at any time. You weren't a prisoner."
"Well," said Esther quietly and thoughtfully. "I never really thought about it. But I have a theory. That was I really after power. Most jobs I could get as a mercenary, I'd be taking the orders. I'd have to pretend like the white man in charge had any idea what he was doing. I didn't get that in the Social Justice Army. You gave me freedom here I could never have experienced anywhere else. And more importantly you gave me control. There's a reason why we became the dominant force in this country after the Great Blackout. Where others were unwilling to adapt, I did. I made the most of our stupid restrictions, like these damn near useless electric firearms. The augments. If I hadn't been around you all would have been slaughtered by a militia in the first year."
"If you hadn't been here," said Barack, "we wouldn't have an army at all."
"Yeah," said Esther. "That too."
Esther and Barack looked across at each other. Neither one dared to blink. Esther could see that Barack was sweating. She grinned.
"So?" she asked. "Ready to go?"
"What happened to you?" asked Barack. "How did he brainwash you into turning against us? What did he offer you?"
"He offered me what I really wanted," said Esther. "The chance to hear you scream."
Almost before Esther had a chance to react Barack made a swift movement and took out two pistols from his desk. Of course. Traditional firearms. It was almost sweet of him, really. For all that the Social Justice Army was forced to rely on electrical firearms for some convoluted tax reason Esther couldn't remember, Barack tacitly understood that traditional firearms were better in every meaningful way. At least he listened to her about that much.
The tenderness of the moment was, naturally, undercut somewhat by the fact that Barack was shooting at Esther. She had no choice to leap and dodge from random fixtures in the room. Desks, couches, bookcases, lamps. All of them were being torn to pieces by bullets and other shrapnel. Barack was not a great shot but with his time alteration augment he was better than average. He'd also had the sense to stagger the pistols so they could be reloaded at different times one handed. Esther had a plan for that. She started to approach from Barack's right-hand side. As Barack was right-handed, it became impractical for him to shoot the gun in his left-hand. Via careful timing, Esther managed to provoke Barack into having to reload both guns at the same time. That was when she made her move.
With a flying leap, Esther landed right on top of Barack just as he was trapped with no means of fighting back. But once again, thanks to his augment, Barack was able to hop back just quickly enough to avoid suffering a direct hit. His guns were not so lucky. Esther shattered both of them with her bare hands alone as Barack soon found his back up against the wall. But he was soon back in action with two concealed daggers.
Once again Barack showed that he, if no one else, was a good listener to Esther's tactical advice. There really was no improving on the design of a practical knife, even with augments. Knives extended longer. They sliced more reliably. They hurt a lot more than just blunt fist damage. Esther smiled in appreciation for all Barack had learned, forgetting the context of their battle. Unconsciously, she fingered the scar that Jill had left on her cheek. Barack might have thought knives were a weakness for Esther. He wasn't wrong.
"How did you do that?" Barack screamed, turning off his augment just long enough to be able to speak to Esther. "I must have hit you at least a few times! I unloaded over a hundred bullets!"
"Ah," said Esther, wagging her finger. "You did."
And she showed him. Esther was battered and bleeding. But throughout the entire fight, Esther had been careful to protect her vital areas, and had only been hit in the more expendable regions of her body.
"Surprising isn't it?" Esther said. "Never seen me get hurt before right?"
"No," whispered Barack. "But how...? And where's your helmet...?"
"Ah, you noticed?" said Esther, flipping her hair back. "The helmet wasn't to protect me from the enemy. It was to protect me from you. Always having to worry about friendly fire. Now personally, I didn't care much about getting hit. I made a promise to someone, that I'd try to stay safe. But now? Why bother?"
"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" yelled Barack, growing increasingly hysterical.
"Not explicitly," said Esther, shrugging. "But mortal combat is fun. Or at least funner than the regular kind. That's why I'm giving you a sporting chance. Go ahead and use those knives. I'm happy to handicap myself without any."
Barack lunged at Esther. She held her ground. Thanks to his time manipulation augment Barack could easily move at a speed exceeding even that of Esther's reflexes. As they fought back and forth, Barack was making better progress. He was making Esther bleed. But Esther could see in his eyes and throughout his body that Barack was terrified, tired, and all the more prone to making mistakes.
Ironically enough it was actually Esther who made the first mistake. She was so addicted to the rush of adrenaline from her own wounds that Esther completely failed to notice just how much she was bleeding. While doing some basic footwork Esther surprised herself by slipping on some of her own blood.
This was the casual mistake Barack needed to decisively turn the fight to his favor. Esther winced as she expected a possible blow to a vital area that would deliver more than superficial damage. But Esther was saved by, of all things, a silly psychological gimmick. That scar on her cheek. That awful day. Her most horrible mistake. Forcing the only person she loved to attack her. The wound was superficial. Deliberately designed to look worse than it really was.
But to Barack, that scar looked like a weak point, since Esther had already been hit there once so nastily. So with his one opportunity to get in an uncontested hit on Esther, Barack wasted it by attacking Esther's scar. She flinched from the bleeding as the line on her face transformed into an X. But Esther had already regained her momentum. Barack had lost his. He was wide open. By the time he realized his error, it was too late.
Esther rebounded. Truthfully, she was a bit shocked that she actually had a chance to use it. Her ultimate move. Seven hits. The first six all to seemingly irrelevant areas. All of them would provoke a countermove to protect a nearby critical body part. The brain was panicking, thinking it was surviving a near miss. But with each move, Esther attacked a completely different location. Barack's arms, legs, fingers and even toes were all out of alignment to properly counter the finishing blow- practically a tap to the forehead, really. However, it was enough to knock him out.
And just like that, with hardly even a scratch on him, Barack fell to the ground helpless. No permanent damage. Exactly the prisoner Esther had wanted to bring in. There was no one left in the building to give Esther any trouble on the way out as she bound and carried Barack's body. Esther gave a long breath out and stretched her arms. That was quite the workout. Esther was already feeling great about the new direction in her life.