Author Games: The Absent Empress

Semifinals: Reason

The base of the Empire. It was the ideal, right? Discovering where the enemy was, figuring out where the Empress was, starting off on a path to finishing everything. Amanda stood back, a lump inside her throat. The urge to rush forward and the screech of her gut to stay there left her in a lock, her knees wobbling and the metal leg clutching up in ways she didn't like. Her hips still ached. Her back was crying. She wasn't even thirty and her body was acting like she was an old woman.

This is stupid.

Amanda took a step, stretching her body through the backways of the building. From the plans that Tim managed to squeeze his hands onto, the passageway would lead her right into the left half of the building, giving her access where where they suspected the Empress was being held. She was low, beneath the ground by about a hundred feet, and no one knew what state they'd find her in. If anything, it was best to assume that, though alive, she'd faced enough torture or mental attack that she wouldn't be the same. Only time with doctors and help would tell.

Until then, the mission was to get in, rescue her, and get out.

From above, King and Maanyo were coming from the skylight. Nora stood guard outside with Truth and Glacier. From the right, The Girl entered alone, the same as Amanda. They were all ready, armed with everything they would require to remain standing. With the amount of deaths looming over their heads, it looked like failure meant the end would come far sooner than Amanda's retirement. A ticking bomb sat under them all, waiting for its time to explode...for the rest of the deaths to come, fulfilling the graveyard of super failures.

Still, she had hope. It lingered in her bones with every step. She made no noise save for her breathing, which whistled like the wind with every gasp from the stuffy nose she'd obtained. Frequent flying, fighting, and little rest couldn't be fixed by a handful of vitamins, apparently. When I get home, I'll see my doctor, get everything fixed up, and god help me if I join another fucking charity mission-squad again. She grit her teeth, breathing in deep as she stepped over nails that hadn't been folded over. The tips glared up, threatening to destroy her fate. At that point, everything was a threat, and what wasn't a threat was dead.

Between Project Phoenix, and most superhero organizations out there, and the Empire was a war. Though she knew not who their leader was, Amanda had heard of them. They were a whisper of hate in the rising sun. A loaded gun staring down all who stood beneath them. And they had the Empress.

Too ironic. The Empire keeping the Empress hostage—god, what a treat is that for them. She knew they had to be smug about it. That was why the attacks had been little recently. They were building up the supplies while the time ticked away, each passing second another towards the final end. There was something coming. A choice to be made and lives to be destroyed. All this, because the world couldn't live without a fight.

At the end of the passage was a room, the building expanding inward and growing like the plans said 'make it big enough to dance in but small enough that it doesn't look stupid'. They failed, but Amanda could appreciate the decor lining the walls. Plain, black and gray designs, along with banners. Like a child, showing off their newest designs. The stupid striped paintings that represented humanity or some bullshit. To Amanda, it was worthless. It wouldn't help anyone. But, for a company--is that even the right name?--like the Empire, worthless was their motto. They existed to destroy the world. To do whatever they wanted.

Then again, what was the true difference between them and that country she so called her on? With a shake of her head, she moved forward, letting the stealth gear maim her ability to go fast as she went through. Each step was quiet and slow, moving at a snail's pace, and the lights glared down at her. Steady now, woman. You got this. You're the best. Who's the best? Amanda Palmer. The savior of the Empress, not the singer. Though damn, she's good too. With a smile, she moved forward.