Impatiently-patient...
The passing of thirteen years…
Hard breaths, panting, and slashing of metal rods through the air filled the atmosphere. Hails, roars, and cheers emanated from the crowd. Shyva was hungry for something she couldn't decipher. Anger was set in her eyes as she repeatedly jabbed her opponent with the blunt end of the rod in her gut.
Shyva loved the pain it caused her opponent while she was at the winning end. She was oblivious to the other students around her and the usual call of warning from her teachers and guides through the speakers.
Her opponent raised a hand, almost surrendering as she crawled on the floor and raised herself to stand. Shyva was fast, appearing behind her opponent. She raised her leg in the air and lowered it as fast as possible, making her opponent sprawl on the ground, almost lifeless.
Her opponent, just like her but less fiery, had her white hair in a tight bun on top of her head. Every girl needed to have their hair tied up during combat. Failure to do so led to the hair clipping, leaving only the scalp as a few had been subjects of examples.
Their body suits were fitting to their various forms with waist belt compartments, which were empty on the dome ground but filled outside the walls when on assignment with knives, grenades, tasers, and poison.
Their boots were constructed to be light on the feet, but a kick from them was detrimental. They were trained to fight lightly with their 'sisters' rather than the real enemy.
With her hand, the opponent raised herself above the ground, crawling away from Shyva. Shyva wasn't finished with her. She shook her head at the pathetic failure. Her opponent raised a hand, almost surrendering. Shyva didn't want her to surrender, she wanted them to finish what they started.
Shyva forcefully stepped on her opponent's back with all her might, almost snapping her spine into two. There was immediate silence, followed by numerous eye contact by the other sisters seated around the arena.
In the Dome, no one cried for help. It was a sign of failure. Pain was harnessed and suffered in silence except during circumstances when it was more than their trained body could bear.
"We need to get the other girl out of there." A tutor who was also a soldier warned the others on the glass platform above the arena. The female commander shot her a distasteful look, which signified that she would be the next in the ring if she didn't keep quiet.
The commander's eye moved closer to the screen, which captured the two fighters in the ring; Shyva's leg still lay on her opponent's back after the near-death hit the previous time. The commander could see Shyva was indecisive about what should happen to the prey before her.
Shyva's jaw clenched, and her eyes bore hate for no one in particular as she looked at her fellow sister like dust. There wasn't the usual cheer at the arena by the other students. They were all amazed, frightened, and tongue-hooked at what was happening to their fellow sister without the intervention of the authority. It was extreme.
The commander had hoped Shyva would do something drastic; she was betting on it. Her fingers bunched into a fist as excitement raced through her body.
"Come on, little girl. Do it," She whispered.
"Ma'am, we need to separate them before something happens that we can't control." The same tutor begged, while others kept mute and avoided eye contact with her.
Nobody dared talk to the commander except when such speech was permitted, but the free will coupled with the tutor's driving force was quite convincing.
The woman, whose form was meant to be slender, had an athletic build. With many years of training, combat, and experience, her legs walked briskly towards the Laschino speaker. Her five feet eight inches were equivalent to her inferior's.
"Latasha." The commander's voice came out as hushed, which was surprising. Latasha had expected a yell, "Isn't that your name?"
"Yes, Ma'am." She stood even straighter, her chin erect and her head nodding in confirmation of her name.
"You know, every fight, I mean real fight, we expect the worst to happen, my dear." She began, her smooth, genetically advanced, and unwrinkled frame hiding her actual age. Latasha's face was expressive, with a part of her pretending not to understand what she had just heard and another part fully understanding the words.
"I do not understand you, commander."
"I see." The commander nodded, leaving the lady to digest the words she was sure she pretended not to understand. Irritation set in her eyes as Shyva still tormented her prey without striking.
"Bring them in," the commander instructed. And as for Shyva, give her the best punishment. I am disappointed in what happened today." Her back was turned against her inferiors. They didn't fail to look at themselves with inquisition at their master's utterance.
That was all she said as she walked away, accompanied by her escorts. A medical practitioner who had been with them on the platform and handy when his duty called took out his digital board and tapped on a button.
Shyva screamed as an electric current seared her organs and the whole of her body. She held her abdomen then lowered herself to the ground, coiling her body in a foetal position, hugging her knees to her chest. Every time she was subjected to the electric treatment, it was like they had read her body signals and knew how much she hated the punishment.
She could feel her body convulse and burn simultaneously. The current hit her from the tip of the strands of her hair to the nails on her toe. Her body was on fire and weary.
Before she passed out, she could see her opponent carried away on a stretcher and tended to then herself lifted above the floor.
She had missed the whole day of sessions and had left the infirmary a little hurt in the bowel. The wellness tutor, who adored meditation and tended his garden within the building with ultraviolet rays, partial rays from Sona, and enzyme-structured water, was responsible for Shyva's punishment.
"I have no idea what punishment I'll be serving, Master Chi." Shyva pouted, expecting the punishment to be less complicated than the rest she had served over time.
"Quick mouth." his lips were turned downwards. "You know ladies like you with violence and a quick mouth are to themselves bombs."
"I wish." She replied, which earned her a smile on the lips of her master.
When they reached the foot of his large field, which stood on hectares of grasses that filled most of the ground, it was one of the beautiful scenes of the Dome. There were his special types of plants, which he had taken decades of research and engineering to produce. Some plants moved, swallowing his genetically created insects to support pollination and other harmful pests.
The field was different in colour and arranged in the order of flowers, shrubs, herbs, and trees. The only session Shyva admired with her master was 'The Magic of Poisons and Toxins.' During the session, every sister produced hazardous mixtures of substances derived from the field from scratch.
"Take off your shoes." He told her with his slitted eyes half closed.
"I'll be hurt in those grasses. I really need them." She pleaded.
He turned to face her, his eyes fully open, which was his usual way of saying, 'You could dare me if you want.'
The first and last student who tried challenging him hadn't recovered from the medical centre in three months. He was the best hand-to-hand combatant.
"Okay. Okay." Shyva lowered her hands gently, taking off both boots.
"Good." He commented when they were off.
"You'll be walking to the place marked. You search for the marking-"
"Okay?"
"Let me finish."
There was silence. "You see those swarms of butterflies; I need you to catch ten with your hands."
"That's not fair, without a net. I can't do that-"
"When you catch them," he interrupted, "then you report to me. Do not harm my butterflies." He lowered his gaze, squinting his eyes in her face, "You catch them gently without hurting them. A box is provided beside you."
Shyva looked beside her and found a medium-sized wooden box.
Why did I not see that earlier?
"If it takes you the whole day, let it be or even more." he left her, whistling away.
I doubt she'll pick two of them. It's just a test of her patience and self-coordination, which she needs to improve.
"She was out of control today." The female commander reported to her Superior.
"She isn't ready."
"She is." She raised her voice, shocking her superior, "There was something she fought with today that prevented her. I believe she will be ready very soon. She has never been sent out since that day. She can't remember."
"She could be collateral damage." Her superior suggested through their video communication.
"What are you insinuating?" Her brows raised in question, expecting an answer.
"We exterminate her."