Four days later, a visitor arrived at their doorstep. 

Jazelle had watched the days and nights pass by like the long-shifting hand on a clock. Jazelle kept herself alert and awake by focusing on the shadows shifting in the desert. She let her imagination keep her active. Jazelle stared off into the distance, wondering what shapes she could make out with her eyes. 

Dinosaurs? Coyotes?

Just as she was trying to make out the shapes, a wave of exhaustion washed over her. Jazelle’s vision faded to black, and she fell to the ground. 

-

Jazelle had passed out for some time before she heard footsteps approaching. They were heavy and weighted. Against the numbing force of her body, she pushed herself up. She had barely managed to pull herself to a stand when she noticed a figure in a green cloak approaching them. Jazelle looked at her. She looked considerably older than her. Her face was half-covered by a metallic mask. The masked figure didn’t enter the compound and tossed a sack at Jazelle’s feet.

The sack unravelled, revealing a series of goods, water in canisters, snacks, and various other things. The metallic tubes rolled on the floor. Jazelle smelled lingering traces of steam and other corrosive artifacts. She knew it must have taken a lot of effort to transfer them here. She lifted one of the containers to her lips, screwed the cap off, then drank it down like a life-stream. 

As the figure was about to leave, she realized they wouldn’t have arrived unintentionally without a statement.

She spat out her words like trickling water; the trickling turned into an explosive scream.
“Wait!”

Spectre lifted her head towards Jazelle’s voice. 

Jazelle was right by the entrance. Her arms buckled around the opening of the compound.
She panted in and out, muttering under her hoarse breath. 

“At least before you go, have some tea with us!”

Spectre looked at Jazelle amongst the vast expanse of The Scorchlands behind her, took in her expression that pierced like solid glass, and, after pausing for a moment, decided to follow Jazelle into the enclave.

-

Jazelle poured water from the canister for Spectre. The water trickled into a stream into a cup Jazelle had separated from the canister.  She mixed the cup with some desert herbs she had found one evening in the Shelter compound. Jazelle passed the cup to Spectre. Spectre placed the cup to her lips. 

Spectre sipped. The tea had a refreshing aftertaste like mint and lemon.

“What is this?” Spectre asked.

“Desertgrass,” Jazelle answered. “I found it right by some quarry rocks in the compound.”

“You’re rather resourceful,” Spectre said, setting the cup down. “You should’ve used those resources on yourselves.”

Jazelle curled her fingers into her palms and looked at the gap between her crossed legs. Spectre caught a trace of uncertainty; she looked past Jazelle and saw Lior still covered up in her leather coat, still sheltered in the corner of the compound. 

Spectre’s mechanical hand dangled in mid-air as if she were grabbing onto the teacup.

“Lior told me about you.”

Jazelle’s eyes lit up. “Lior did?”

A faint smile appeared on Spectre’s lips. “Yes. She never talked about you much, but when she did, she looked relaxed.”

Jazelle leaned forward. “W-What did she talk about?”

“Basic commands. Jazelle read, Jazelle cooked, Jazelle learnt…That’s all she ever knew.”

At that moment, Jazelle imagined a young Lior. A young Lior who probably didn’t know how to say much, who observed Jazelle like a curious rote-study, nervous when Jazelle toppled over a tower of blocks, or held a book upside-down when she didn’t know how to read. Always looking, always glancing, always observing, like a mirror impenetrable through glass, she always stood by in the background looking after her.

She never knew what Lior did, and now that a person called her by name, she finally had the opportunity to ask all her questions. But for some reason, she stopped. Only a single concern came to mind.

“Will Lior be alright?”

Spectre looked to the ground.

“I’m unsure about that. ShArDs don’t tend to live long.”

Jazelle gasped.

Spectre continued, “She had to go on a lot of life-depleting missions for funds. I haven’t heard from her since. The system only marked her on vacation.”

Jazelle’s jaw stiffened, held back by the weight of present ghosts catching up to her. Her chest tightened; it felt as if Lior’s stiffened hands were clinging onto her, dragging her back, pulling her back to an anchor of safety. Still, she pushed; the plague of an uncertain future was scarier than anything she knew. 

She asked the question.

“What do they tend to do to them? The ShArDs.”

Spectre looked up. She spoke about everything with point-blank precision.
“They dispose of them once they outgrow their usefulness. Incinerate their remains, and throw them in the energy reactor.”

“The energy reactor?”

“That’s what we use to power The Scorchlands. We don’t have many resources anymore. ShArDs are boundless with power, and they’re useful to the government even if they die.”

The compound, which once felt comfortable with the presence of another human, vanished into thin air. The vast expanse now seemed dangerous. The wilderness was going to swallow them whole.

“So…what do we do now?” Jazelle asked.

Spectre turned her head to the side and looked at the empty desert that stretched between the two provinces.

“Run and try to exist between the two provinces. Ask anyone you can to provide you with food and shelter…”

“Or?”

Spectre looked at Jazelle. “Join the ShArDs.”

Jazelle’s heart stopped for a moment.
To join them? To become what Lior had become?
Lior used to be a loaded bullet. Now, she was like shrapnel ready to be scrapped. She was unresponsive, and it appeared like she was gone. To become like her, Jazelle would have to become the thing that she detested. Cold, unflinching, unfeeling, bodied in a suit of armour. Heart unexposed, covered up, and a machine.

“You clearly have the ability. I’m sure the government will find you useful.”

Jazelle stilled herself. Useful, like a utility.

“And Lior?” Jazelle asked.

“If you join them, the government will find ways to retain you. Health care and insurance are extended not just to you, but also to your family members.”

Jazelle felt glass shards biting into her soul. Her body would be splintered into bits, weaponized, not hers to control anymore.

Spectre rose. “The choice is up to you. If you’re over at Headquarters, ask for me; this is my token.”

Spectre passed to the digital chip to Jazelle, swept her cloak and left the compound.

Jazelle stood in the emptiness of that building, sinking into the ground. Her lips quivered and trembled. She looked over at Lior, heart still beating, sheltered from the sand and wind coming from the desert. 

She thought about the warmth they both shared when they were younger. Once she did, the trembling stopped. Jazelle smiled, a lonely smile.

Jazelle turned to look at Spectre’s digital chip in her hands. She looked at it like a portal to another world. Jazelle clenched on it tightly, feeling its digital veins and its looming chatter sounding throughout her mind. 

-

After a week and a half, Sun-Downe halted the search for the two fugitives and Jazelle. The investigation had come to a halt. Detective Tru’s subordinates and surveillance drones withdrew. The residents of the area flocked back to the main squares, and soon Sun-Downe was bustling with activity again.

In The Works, everything was the same. The only thing was that Jazelle’s workshop remained closed. The metal shutters tightly guarded the workshop doors, disallowing anyone from seeing all the beautiful intricacies and secrets inside. Lots of Jazelle’s customers were upset, and many in The Works were tempted to open up Jazelle’s workshop, but a man stopped them. 

“She’s young,” He said. “She’ll return.”

He was forty, gruff, with a messy beard. He had thick, muscular arms and wore a thin cotton vest. Everyone looked at his height, arms, and bald head, felt the force of his authority and left.
As they parted ways, the man looked at Jazelle’s lonely workshop. He wanted to inquire where she had been, but in Sun-Downe no one asked about each other’s business, so he dropped it.

He remembered he had been one of the many adults who had taught Jazelle about the mechanics of the world when she was younger. He thought she was a precocious kid. When she was young, she always sat on a slab of stone in the middle of The Works looking at any adult who caught her attention, and once she did, she would wave at them as if they were an old stranger or friend and ask them lots of questions about their work. 

He remembered her enthusiasm and her ability to absorb massive amounts of information without trying. If there were any books in his study (rarely the case), she would always ask for them. He found it odd: a girl who actually loved studying and reading, and asking questions. 

The thought was lonesome, precious and memorable. 

And now, as he looked at the steeled-off workshop, he wondered — where was the girl? 

She was gone. 

-

In that same week and a half, The Iron-Batallion Fortress received some unexpected news. A young sixteen-year-old girl had arrived at the gates of their headquarters. 

It was highly unusual. Usually, ShArDs would leave for their missions in groups or pairs, but this girl came alone; not only that, she was the only one conscious. She carried another girl, sixteen, who was cradled in her arms. The two girls almost looked identical. 

The girl retracted her hoverboard, cradled the other girl to one side and showed a digital token. 

Everyone in The Iron-Battalion Fortress noticed it — it was Spectre’s. 

They let her pass through. 

-

That very week, they interviewed her. She said she wanted to join them, but that her sister Lior required immediate treatment. They obliged. 

They assessed her abilities. The way she manipulated and tweaked machines. How she talked to them would prove to be an asset. They entered her ability in the database, and she was the only one of her kind, an S-ranked ability. S-ranked ability users usually could topple down continents. Based upon this, they halted the investigation for the other two fugitives. 

The government had been running out of S-ranked ShArDs for a while, so they had no choice but to scan and recruit them themselves. For one to show up at their doorstep was a rarity. 

They scanned her biometrics and initiated a full-body examination to ensure “Jazelle” was healthy. They ensured her sister would be safe and in full medical care. After giving her a full run-down of the facility, they showed her to her room, a private suite with a full desert view, and told her that her ceremony and her training would start tomorrow. They shut the door behind her. 

-

Days had passed by since Jazelle had first arrived at the facility. For some reason, when she first arrived, she felt a strange sense of familiarity, as if she had seen such a place before. When she stepped in, it felt natural. The air was chillier. The facility was spacious with barely any walls or barricades; everyone's steps and movements could be heard within the commune.

When she first arrived, they inspected her, took her tools, and her hoverboard away. She was sad about that, but once she showed her abilities, they were intrigued. She figured that once she gained their trust, she could ask for her belongings back. 

The facility spanned several floors; interestingly enough, all she saw were scientists in long lab coats. The majority were in their thirties or forties, except one. He was only a few years older than her. His blond hair was combed back, with not a single strand seen in sight. He was holding a clipboard and flicking through the pages. He glanced at Jazelle and turned his back. 

“Follow me,” he said.

He glanced at Jazelle’s hands. There was still dirt lacing the ends of her fingernails and fingertips. She looked like a cat who had been grabbed from the back alley. He turned around and treaded first. Jazelle, uncertain about where to go, followed him without question.
Oddly enough, all she was thinking about was that she hadn’t changed clothes or showered for days. 

They went into one of the examination rooms, and she sat up on the examination table, while he placed some plastic discs around Jazelle’s wrists. He ripped a plastic packet, took out the alcohol prep pad, placed a hand on her shoulder, and wiped a part of her chest that was exposed. 

Jazelle looked at him, doing so delicately. Apparently, this was the last examination. He had a pair of icy-blue eyes, and he did the procedure so carefully that his age almost betrayed his experience. He placed the plastic discs attached to wires on her chest, and he looked at the monitor as it beeped with two lines, red and blue, indicating her heartbeat and vitals. Holding the clipboard, the man quickly jotted down some notes before unhooking the plastic discs from Jazelle.

“You’re free to leave now,” the man said.

Just as he was about to leave, Jazelle rushed over, clinging to the doctor’s sleeve.

“If you don’t mind me asking —” Jazelle said. “How is my sister?”

The man appeared taken aback. 

He looked at Jazelle; her face was dirty, and it was obvious she hadn’t washed in days, but he noticed the freckles scattered on her face. They looked like stars. In a world of perfection, he considered them an anomaly.  

He sighed. “Not so well, between life and death.”

“I see,” Jazelle said.

The man looked over at her, “We’re trying our best. ShArD JZ-21 is stabilized, but we don’t know what will happen to her.”

Jazelle let go of the doctor’s sleeve. Jazelle’s head was downcast, and without saying goodbye to the doctor, she left the room. The door automatically shut behind them, and the doctor remained.

He looked at the sleeve where Jazelle grabbed onto him. Two dirty fingerprints remained there from Jazelle, who toiled through days in The Scorchlands — desperate, not knowing what to do.

-

The room that Jazelle was given wasn’t too bad. It had a wonderful view of The Scorchlands. At least, that was what she wanted to think. She wanted to scream, ruin her perfectly ruined bed and throw a pillow to the wall, but she couldn’t. Sound travelled fast, and in a facility full of strangers, it was best not to make a bad impression.

Jazelle slid open the closet. There were three military suits, all clad in leather, with heavy mesh fastened to the chest. Jazelle analyzed the material; it was bulletproof. She looked at the heavy armour meant to fasten around the heart and chest, and slid the closet closed, turned off the lights and went to sleep.