This is a short story I wrote a long time ago that I found on my Dad's computer. I had COMPLETELY forgotten its existence. I cleaned up and edited it for your viewing pleasure. It is trs apropos for SG.
The Hero's Revenge
by
Jordan Scrivner
The girl in the mirror was different from the girl she was. She could tell. She didnt know how, but she knew that something was displaced. Something was out of order. In her brain, something died and was never given a chance. If only she could remember what it was.
***
She didnt quite now what was expected of her. She knew what she was supposed to do, certainly, but after that, then what? She had never killed anyone before. The whole experience was pretty new. Not to say she didnt lack confidence. She was still ranked at the head of the class, and that was all you had to do to graduate, to be the best. The school allowed one student to graduate a year.
Nothing seemed to fit quite right.
Still, she was a rookie. There was no getting around that. First missions tended to bring the worst out in people. Even Brannigan admitted that he screwed up a little on his first mission, and had to improvise by the end. He was lucky that the department didnt have the high standards that they do now, something he reminded the girl and the rest of the students.
The room was dark except for the flicker of the projector, and the dust that danced in the light. The room was quiet except for the snapsnapsnap of the machine.
Brannigan was in front of the projector, part of the image melting onto his olive green fatigues.
This is our man. He said, not even looking at the grey person in glasses that became huge on the white wall. He is a scientist working on Brannigans voice went somewhere far, far away. The girl kept her eyes on the man on the wall. He squinted into him. She took in every detail. The way his eyes seemed to be conspiring, even as she watched him with all the intensity of a tiger. In the dark, she mouthed the words You scum You killed them You killed them all
The girl was looking at her reflection in the mirror. In her mind, she tried to see if she could burrow deep into her own skull just by staring at her forehead long enough. Suprisingly, it began to work. Steam began to rise from her forehead. Then a sizzle and a pop, and the top of her head came off. Her brain grew arms and opened the top of her skull like a man hole cover. It threw the lid of skull behind it and began to stand up on its little brainy legs. Then, the tiny brain rivulets formed into a face. His face. The face of the scientist. It spoke, but in Brannigans voice, it said. TRUST IN ME CUNT!!!
She woke up covered in sweat and did not know why.
She pulled her socks to the middle of her shins. The skirt came down half over her thighs. She wrapped her white blouse over her torso. She hid her gun behind her back, in between the skirt strap and her back, and she hid the knife up her sleeve.
She was thirteen years old
She was face to face with him now. The scientist. The man who killed her mother. The bathroom in the office was unisex, and the girl took full advantage of this fact. She entered the room, covered in cold, green tile. She saw the scientists feet in the second stall. She walked into the middle of the room. To her left was the stall. The scientist. The target. The prey. To her right was a mirror, that stretched across three sinks, all of them state of the art sinks that could turn on just by sticking your hand under the faucet.
She turned to her right. She looked at her pale reflection in the mirror. She seemed fragile. Porcelain. Breakable. A pure geisha.
The worms bored their way out her face. Her eyes melted and her teeth grew long until they almost touched the floor. With a machete, she chopped her own arm off. She saw the vision of the scientist again. The scientist slowly killing her mother again. It was all happening again, right before her eyes again. There was nothing she could do to stop it. Nothing to be done.
In the stall, the toilet flushed. The man pulled up his pants and opened the door. It was HIM.
Good morning, Yuriko. And how is my favorite little student today? The man was all smiles, and even placed his right arm on the girls shoulder. The girl cocked her head like a robot and flicked her wrist.
The knife came out.
She pushed a button and there was the blade.
The steel passed through flesh like air. The Scientist screamed at the shock of having his hand no longer be a part of his body. Of having it be a dead and dying thing on the floor of an office bathroom.
He was on his knees now, holding his spent wrist with his other hand, pathetically trying to stop the blood. An orchestra of sweat formed on his face. He looked up at her.
Yuriko. Its me. Im your friend.
The girl said nothing. She merely reached behind herself, pulled out the gun, and shot the Scientist in the face. It was all she could do to stop the screaming in her head.
A blot of flying blood would have hit Brannigan in the face, but the one way mirror blocked it. Now it made a red and dark stain on the wall that slowly began to make its way down.
Through the audio pick-up, Brannigan and the others could hear Doctor Robbins gasping for air. They could see him look up at his executioner. Yuriko. Its me. Im your friend. Muffled and staticked, the words were amplified through large speakers in the room.
The other side of the wall became stained with the blood and brain matter of Dr. Robbins. Brannigan turned around to face his audience. They were men and women, all wearing suits, all with blank expressions on their faces. They could have been watching anything.
As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, the Heros Revenge program came through in flying colors. The subject thinks she has gone through rigorous testing to get here today. And she has. But the outcome was over before it began. Yuriko Katigani, in her mind, is the lone survivor of a deadly attack on her country. She has been picked up by a philanthropic group of soldiers, us, and is currently living out her fantasy of tracking down the people who killed and tortured her family, and is enacting her revenge. Nothing could possibly stop her, as she is the hero in her own little story. When she grows up, she will become the perfect soldier, both in thought and action. She will be a tremendous asset to both her employer and the world at large.
Brannigan smirked a little as he said those last five words, and several suits smirked along with him.
Now I will start the bidding at one hundred thousand
The Hero's Revenge
by
Jordan Scrivner
The girl in the mirror was different from the girl she was. She could tell. She didnt know how, but she knew that something was displaced. Something was out of order. In her brain, something died and was never given a chance. If only she could remember what it was.
***
She didnt quite now what was expected of her. She knew what she was supposed to do, certainly, but after that, then what? She had never killed anyone before. The whole experience was pretty new. Not to say she didnt lack confidence. She was still ranked at the head of the class, and that was all you had to do to graduate, to be the best. The school allowed one student to graduate a year.
Nothing seemed to fit quite right.
Still, she was a rookie. There was no getting around that. First missions tended to bring the worst out in people. Even Brannigan admitted that he screwed up a little on his first mission, and had to improvise by the end. He was lucky that the department didnt have the high standards that they do now, something he reminded the girl and the rest of the students.
The room was dark except for the flicker of the projector, and the dust that danced in the light. The room was quiet except for the snapsnapsnap of the machine.
Brannigan was in front of the projector, part of the image melting onto his olive green fatigues.
This is our man. He said, not even looking at the grey person in glasses that became huge on the white wall. He is a scientist working on Brannigans voice went somewhere far, far away. The girl kept her eyes on the man on the wall. He squinted into him. She took in every detail. The way his eyes seemed to be conspiring, even as she watched him with all the intensity of a tiger. In the dark, she mouthed the words You scum You killed them You killed them all
The girl was looking at her reflection in the mirror. In her mind, she tried to see if she could burrow deep into her own skull just by staring at her forehead long enough. Suprisingly, it began to work. Steam began to rise from her forehead. Then a sizzle and a pop, and the top of her head came off. Her brain grew arms and opened the top of her skull like a man hole cover. It threw the lid of skull behind it and began to stand up on its little brainy legs. Then, the tiny brain rivulets formed into a face. His face. The face of the scientist. It spoke, but in Brannigans voice, it said. TRUST IN ME CUNT!!!
She woke up covered in sweat and did not know why.
She pulled her socks to the middle of her shins. The skirt came down half over her thighs. She wrapped her white blouse over her torso. She hid her gun behind her back, in between the skirt strap and her back, and she hid the knife up her sleeve.
She was thirteen years old
She was face to face with him now. The scientist. The man who killed her mother. The bathroom in the office was unisex, and the girl took full advantage of this fact. She entered the room, covered in cold, green tile. She saw the scientists feet in the second stall. She walked into the middle of the room. To her left was the stall. The scientist. The target. The prey. To her right was a mirror, that stretched across three sinks, all of them state of the art sinks that could turn on just by sticking your hand under the faucet.
She turned to her right. She looked at her pale reflection in the mirror. She seemed fragile. Porcelain. Breakable. A pure geisha.
The worms bored their way out her face. Her eyes melted and her teeth grew long until they almost touched the floor. With a machete, she chopped her own arm off. She saw the vision of the scientist again. The scientist slowly killing her mother again. It was all happening again, right before her eyes again. There was nothing she could do to stop it. Nothing to be done.
In the stall, the toilet flushed. The man pulled up his pants and opened the door. It was HIM.
Good morning, Yuriko. And how is my favorite little student today? The man was all smiles, and even placed his right arm on the girls shoulder. The girl cocked her head like a robot and flicked her wrist.
The knife came out.
She pushed a button and there was the blade.
The steel passed through flesh like air. The Scientist screamed at the shock of having his hand no longer be a part of his body. Of having it be a dead and dying thing on the floor of an office bathroom.
He was on his knees now, holding his spent wrist with his other hand, pathetically trying to stop the blood. An orchestra of sweat formed on his face. He looked up at her.
Yuriko. Its me. Im your friend.
The girl said nothing. She merely reached behind herself, pulled out the gun, and shot the Scientist in the face. It was all she could do to stop the screaming in her head.
A blot of flying blood would have hit Brannigan in the face, but the one way mirror blocked it. Now it made a red and dark stain on the wall that slowly began to make its way down.
Through the audio pick-up, Brannigan and the others could hear Doctor Robbins gasping for air. They could see him look up at his executioner. Yuriko. Its me. Im your friend. Muffled and staticked, the words were amplified through large speakers in the room.
The other side of the wall became stained with the blood and brain matter of Dr. Robbins. Brannigan turned around to face his audience. They were men and women, all wearing suits, all with blank expressions on their faces. They could have been watching anything.
As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, the Heros Revenge program came through in flying colors. The subject thinks she has gone through rigorous testing to get here today. And she has. But the outcome was over before it began. Yuriko Katigani, in her mind, is the lone survivor of a deadly attack on her country. She has been picked up by a philanthropic group of soldiers, us, and is currently living out her fantasy of tracking down the people who killed and tortured her family, and is enacting her revenge. Nothing could possibly stop her, as she is the hero in her own little story. When she grows up, she will become the perfect soldier, both in thought and action. She will be a tremendous asset to both her employer and the world at large.
Brannigan smirked a little as he said those last five words, and several suits smirked along with him.
Now I will start the bidding at one hundred thousand