Operation Digidestined
Renamon found herself sitting behind a Grand Design Oak Desk. Just her and it and nothing else, no walls or pictures; nor friendly carpets or fashioned lamps fixed in the ceiling, absent since no ceiling existed. White clouds engulfed her perimeter but stayed at arms length. They coiled in groups and rubbed against the same slack dome that helped her see, morphing into slivers as they rushed around and overhead. She leaned in the high-backed chair for a moment, taking in the noiseless ambience. The desk felt real, convincing her venturesome fingers to grasp its brass drawer knobs, to pull each drawer until the tracks ended. Third drawer to her left revealed a sheet of paper. Another held a fountain pen with veining marble all over its face.
She took them. Then her mind disappeared—well not completely gone per se, but somehow misplaced as the pen stood ready in her paw. In its place was a voice. With a cocked ear the vixen heard some words, some things inaudible, but in spite of these short comings, she took pen to paper and pieced together what she heard. She wrote, scribbled, and scrawled. After minutes the voice receded. Left in the wake appeared a letter, written and signed by none other than her. Again Renamon leaned in her chair, airing out the letter to let the ink dry, but in doing so, she read every word.
Dear Mother and Father,
How long has it been since you watched me
disappear over the hills, out of your den hugged in the forests of
You can’t imagine the things that I’ve seen!
Did you know that Gotsumon live in little colonies called Gotsu Camps, or that
Floramon give off the best perfumes in the latter of spring, or that
Flamedramon dance when it rains (although they deny it). The digital world is a
vast place with so many mysterious things. It’s too much for a Renamon to
explore in her lifetime. How’d you every saw every inch of this place is beyond
me,
Despite those bed time stories father told me, you know, the ones where the human’s hunt little kits for their fur to sell them for money, the Human world is an interesting place. Don’t worry about me though, I’ve met many friends on my adventures and even become a partner to a special little girl. Her name’s Rika. She acts tough in front of her friends, like I do, but deep down she cares for them. We trained my skills further, become a much better fighter, and even learned how to digivolve! Oh father, you should see me all grown up into Taomon, you would be proud. One day I’ll come back to the den to show you how powerful I really am.
There are a few more humans that I’ve gotten to know. There’s Takato, a courageous young boy with a digimon partner of his own, and I must admit it’s a pretty strong one too. He’s a bit shy around girls though, almost panicking when one speaks to him. Henry and his digimon come around to visit once in a while when Rika’s grandmother is away from the house. He really cares for Rika. I can see it in his eyes, tenderness, love, affection. Maybe they will become mates when they grow older and mature, I know I would.
Then there’s Myrand. I met him one summer night and we’ve been friends ever since, he even gave me shelter for this winter, isn’t that sweet? He’s older than the other friends I have. Keeps to himself too, just watching television or getting ready for another patrol around town. It’s sad really; he looks so attractive for a suitable female. I’m starting to worry about him. His eyes are earthen brown, hair like fine strands of Wormmon silk, and his smile shows strong cement-white teeth. Yesterday, I woke up to see him in his boxers. Oh Heavens! As a male, he certainly held a body to match that face. It wasn’t too bulky nor too thin, just enough muscle to outline his abs and those wide pectorals.
Thinking of both of you makes me miss my youth, still a little kit in loving protection of my parent’s den. I miss you so much. Right now I feel so empty, alone without anyone to give me a hug. That’s all I want, a hug. Rika won’t give me one because she thinks it’s a sign of weakness. Takato and Henry have their own partners to take care of. Myrand would never give me a hug because… because he’s not comfortable with me. But I’ll be brave and keep on track.
Love you with all my heart,
Kiyra
Renamon placed it on the desk face and searched the latter drawers for an envelope or at least one postage stamp. Through the fourth level to the fifth, she found only their shallow bottoms, packets of glycerin absorbent gel crowded into the corners. She picked up an antique odor of treated wood, several cleaning supplies, coupled with the already stale air trapped inside. The smell reminded her of home. She savored the tastes before turning all intentions into finding the envelope. First two drawers mimicked the others she opened. When she reached the last one; however, and pulled it open, a vanilla flavored envelope stared face up, already addressed and stamped.
Like the letter she took it, analyzed the print, and looked at the sending address with a thick stare. Mr./Ms. Renamon, Richbush Den. That’s her parent’s address all right. Interesting enough it’s her handwriting as well, though she was seeing the letter for the first time. Thoughts aside, she folded the letter four times then slid it inside without grazing the envelope’s lip. She licked the ragged adhesive, sealing it closed with her fore and thumb finger letting it drop onto the desk. She gagged a bit on tasting the petrified glue. When it passed, she placed the envelope back into a drawer, and closed it shut with a hallowed clunk.
“Renamon…”
Her eyes jerked upward. She saw only white bubbling clouds drift past. The voice sounded familiar, it sounded like Myrand’s. “Myrand?” She called out.
“Renamon…” His voice faded, echoing out into the vastness of fog.
“What?”
“Renamon.”
The ground underneath her chair buckled. She felt vibrations course underfoot, through her body, shivering her teeth. Another surge bucked the chair out from under her. She landed front first on the floor. Stinging waves joined an already constant flow of billowing energy, tip to tail she couldn’t stop it, nor shift onto her back. Fear seized her mind. Things began to slide, first the desk, then the chair, and soon her own limbs moved to an unstoppable beat, and numbness, oh god she couldn’t feel her heart beat.
Renamon bolted upright.
Cold sweat trickled down her scalp, dripped off the tips onto the sheets that covered her. She slid one hand over her chest, eyes wide, feeling rabid heart beats thunder so fast, it seemed permanently inflated to the point of bursting. But after a minute the feeling receded and rationale calmed her mind. Two hands pulled away from the corner of her left eye, giving her fluid motion in the same arm. She saw Myrand standing at bedside with worry clouding his face, lips thinned and pursed. He dressed clad in emerald armor, hair tucked underneath his domed helmet. A pistol donned his belt strap. Three clips fastened on the other side.
“Myrand?”
He exhaled the air trapped in his chest. “Jesus you scared me. Mutterin’ in your sleep and all, sounded like you were talking to some one else.”
“It was a dream?”
“I don’t care what it was just glad that it’s over.” He plopped on the bed’s edge and pressed the flat of his palm against her forehead. “You’re breaking out in a cold sweat and shivering too, must’ve been a hell of a dream.”
“I feel fine.” She lied. “What time is it?”
“It’s around eight in the evening. You were tossing and turning a little bit before six. I wanted to wake you then but then you clamed right down as soon as I opened the door. Waited a good hour before heading back downstairs, but then I hear talking up in the bedroom, sounded like you were reading something. So back upstairs I went, opened the door, and heard you mumbled: something, something, hugs. Then you go back into sleeping seizures, rocking so violently you knocked my clock off the nightstand.”
She peeled back her covers. Down her legs, belly, and neck, she sensed a grained layer of sweat swishing through a network of roots. The salty solution brewed on the paintbrush tip of her tail then saturated into the mattress in gumball globs. Cool sensations settled where sweat passed, building her skin into ascending Goosebumps. She shivered. Ironic, fluffed fur turned stiff cold, once a warm body now covered in moisture, a temperature she never experienced before. Her teeth clattered. Something heavy draped over her shoulders, she turned finding Myrand kneeling behind her, handling a fat comforter. Already she felt both sweat and cold drift away. Soon she buried her entire body within the comforter, absorbed in renewed body heat drying lingering sweat beads.
“I see we’re enjoying this.” Her head emerged, tongue jutting stiff out of those lips. “You’re such a ham.” He teased.
“So warm,” Renamon purred, “It feels like my own den.”
“Glad you like it.”
“So where are you off to this early?” She mentioned, pointing out his attire.
“Something’s gone wrong in some laboratory out near the coast. Appears Mr. Yamaki lost a score of technicians and soldiers while trying to get the place up and running again, he cried foul play, I’m the lucky one playing referee.”
“Just you?”
“Well not exactly. We’re going to be searching for ten technicians and twenty marines. Could get pretty crowded if we’re not careful, since you’re probably the reason for their disappearance, and I don’t want to explain to all of them that a yellow fox is on our side.” He inferred to digimon in general. “So I’m going to have to hide you when we find them.”
“We?” Renamon stared at him. “Since when am I invited to your little patrols?”
“You need some fresh air and some exercise into that flabby body of yours.”
“Flabby?” She squeaked. “I’ll have you know I’m in pristine shape.”
The statement proved nothing, as he reached over and probed her stomach between the comforter, feeling warmth envelope rather than resist, brushing against muscle and fat. “Sure, pristine shape for Porky the Pig.”
“Oh fine, you proved your point.”
“Get up, get ready, and don’t take forever in the bathroom.”
The vixen inched out of bed, followed Myrand out into the hallway, down the stairs, where they departed paths. Instead of mingling in the living room, she hung a left into the kitchen towards a smaller hallway tucked in the furthest wall. Several brisk steps and she closed the bathroom door behind her. She discovered it after spending her first two nights in Myrand’s apartment, drawn to the shower thrums after the Jade Dragoon came home, and to his surprise, she started washing with his washcloth and using his toothbrush the next morning. Reacting to her needs he bought two toothbrushes, two different tubes of toothpaste (spearmint and bubblegum), and one special washcloth manufactured for long-haired dogs.
Renamon applied a pea sized portion on her brush shoving it past her left cheek. She worked around every canine, front, back, and top, then along the gum line, her tongue following suit. The bubblegum flavor added a nice touch to a boring chore. After what seemed like one minute she rinsed it out, placed the brush on the sink’s chrome lip. She soaked her washcloth under running water before adding antibacterial soap, lathered it, and then wrung out any excess water. Starting from her ears she worked down every strand of fur until reaching the ball of her chin.
“Your breakfast is sitting on the living room table. Don’t rush though; I hate to see ya without your makeup on.”
The washcloth made a wet slap on the sink. “That’s not funny Myrand.” She scolded, opening the door in wake of his fading laughter.
She found him strewn along the living room couch sipping a coffee mug. The table held her breakfast, two hot pancakes with a hardboiled egg, one shot glass of syrup and a fingernail wedge of butter sliding around the pancake’s surface. She noticed he spent less time preparing breakfast than dinner and it tasted better too. His dinners weren’t scoffed at; however, making things like artery-clogging ribs to the juiciest steaks, but she loves waking up in the morning to find a nice steaming meal to wake her up. That in mind, she lathered up her pancakes and bit off as much as her mouth allowed.
“Found out where the lab is. It’s on the coast close to Chandelier Island. The train should take us to the Complexis Station, where we’ll get off and walk the rest of the way.” Myrand spoke between sips. “Not even a miles walk.”
“All you’re taking is your pistol?”
“Close quarters, sniper rifle wouldn’t be too handy in tight hallways. If I find a standard rifle I’ll take it.”
In those few words Renamon ate through half her plate. “I don’t fare well in tight spots either you know. My attacks need distance.”
“Did I say anything about your attacks?”
“Well what else do you need me for?”
His hand grazed the flat of her snout. “It’s this great sniffer you got on the end right here.” Seizing the black tip in a playful grip, “I bet this thing can sniff out anything for a good mile; human, digimon, you name it, and you could sniff it.”
“Snot funny.” She mouthed, placing an empty plate back where she found it. The same hand that played with her nose brushed back her head, starting from the crown back past her ears, repeating several times until she purred. “Thank you for breakfast Myrand.”
“No problem. Now let’s get a move on then, we’ve got a long night ahead of us.” He scooted her towards the door and locked it shut behind them.
Myrand wiped the magnetic strip of his I.D. card clean and sliced it through the reader again. It garbled a dying noise. He peered closer at the mechanism, leaning over to let fluorescent light pan across the box. No wonder the gate didn’t open, sand lodged inside cracks along the security lock electronic mechanism, just enough to render it inoperable or faulty. His thick soled index finger brushed off some access. Swipe went the card, nothing. He growled in aggravation shoving it back into a vest pocket.
A shard of light moaned above his head, so close his cheek felt its radiating heat. He lurched forward to avoid another that screeched near his left shoulder. Shards screamed overhead. They flocked into the upper portion of the gate’s rails. Blots of white grew into an ivory glare, tearing through aluminum supports. Metal agonized. A minute of tortured squealing waned. He inhaled. Then the glare imploded, sending metallic shrapnel soaring with smoking tails, clouds billowing where the rail resided. The gate moaned. It fell, eight feet of industrial chain-links, smattered onto the asphalt it once protected.
The Jade Dragoon swallowed. Fixing his helmet with one hand, as his pistol clutched tight in the other, he looked behind him. Renamon stood there, arms crossed with a rather confident glow, tail fanning the incoming dust. She swiped a bit of sand off her gloves and nothing more. Her smile grew as his uniform lifted from the sand, caked in the stuff. It would take weeks to wash it all out. Although amused, she offered her paw in helping him up, and he took it. Soon they stepped into an area surrounded with barbwire, asphalt, and concrete. Myrand gazed at the mesa sands’ behind him, almost forgetting that an ocean sat restless nearby if not for the constant melody of cresting waves.
Renamon strode past him still sporting a goofy smile. “You just couldn’t resist, could you?”
“Nope,” She answered. “Got tired of waiting for you to realize that busted thing would never work. So I tried. Guess there’s more than one reason to let me tag along huh Myrand?”
“What are you getting at?”
“Oh nothing,” They stepped into the glass vestibule and halted just before twin electrical doors, “Just waiting for someone to give me credit for opening our way in.”
Myrand looked around the vestibule. A potted plant sat in one corner. A mat greeted them, neighbored with two doorstops shaped like black rhinos. An acrylic painting adorned the solid wall, Hitler standing over a broken body of Stalin, a quote written in German etched underneath. He glance at the painting again. Uncommon yes, but maybe these types of paintings still existed, even treasured.
“You call this a lab?”
“You know what I mean.”
Playful as ever, he pointed out towards the parking lot. “Yea I can really see what they’ve done to the place, I mean, this must be their main office.”
“I despise you.” She gave him a snooty glare, but he shrugged it off.
Another security lock threatened their advance into the building. Confident in it this time around, Myrand whisked out his I.D. badge, magnetic strip facing front. Before he brought it down; however, Renamon gave a long sigh and idled beside him. He sliced the card through. Nothing happened, no electric noise, not even a squeak from the doors itself. He tried again. In spite of his hope, the doors failed to open. Hope turning into disgust, he peered at his badge, looked up at the lock, and immediately down at the badge again. It wasn’t his. Instead of a ragged two by four index card with a name, serial number like he used to see, something totally different shone under its sleek lamination. A sapphire card, solid like topaz, with its magnetic strip attached to the side unlike Myrand’s, which glued on the back. How did it end up in his vest?
“This some sort of joke?” He lifted it up so Renamon could take a glimpse. “What did you do with my I.D. card?”
“I didn’t do anything Myrand. Are you going to slice that thing through or do I have to prove my way is better?”
“Don’t get your fur in a knot, I’m doing it.” He muttered. In that second he noticed a hologram alphabet flashed on one side, looked like a D being eaten by a pixilated monster.
Without hesitation he pressed the card against the track and guided it downwards. It slid a third of the way before abruptly stopping, jarred against something inside the track itself, no matter how much pressure Myrand exerted. His stomach flip-flopped. Pulse drumming in his ears, Myrand grabbed an edge and forced his strength onto the card. An electrical bolt raced from deep within the machine, edged up the cards spine into his hand. He cried out in surprise, but held on. Bolts followed the same origin as the first, nipping his hand before diffusing, growing in number the longer he grasped it. Through blurred eyes, he watched the card glow a pilot-flame blue. Then in a loud burst of static, his body crumpled to the floor, and the card slid out. There came a click and the security doors groaned open.
Renamon rushed to the downed soldier, worry displayed on her face. “Myrand, Myrand are you all right?”
“What happened?”
“I told you to let go. It was the card Myrand, something inside started to spark when you tried to force it through. Then the thing started to spark and it was electrocuting your hand, you had a glazed look in your eyes that… that…”
He shook away the pins and needles that tickled his body, brushed a backhand on her cheek. “I’m fine. Just let me get some air and I’ll be back up on my feet. Where’s my pistol, I must of dropped it when I fell.”
“Here it is.” She placed it in his open hand. “Now promise me you won’t try to kill yourself over some door.”
“Promise,” He uttered.
Two minutes of rest and with Renamon’s help, he clambered on his feet. Steadying for a moment, the Jade Dragoon gave her a nod then stumbled inside. She turned to follow. Something caught her eyes’ edge, a limited glow from behind the flower pot that, once she recognized its light, lured her attention over to it. An ear picked up a slight beeping chime. Grasping the pot’s base, she pulled it away next to the window and gasped at where this light emitted from. Set face up, a digivice blinked in rapid succession, beeping, clamoring, deafening in noise.
Anxiety started to build in her hands, mind weak in curiosity, so refusal in ignoring it seemed impossible. In a gelatinous growl she scooped the digivice in one hand. Rika’s looked similar except in this one the border colors were dressed in an army fatigue, forest green, tan, and sandy khaki. How and why it got here remained a mystery. Somehow, she assumed, Myrand triggered its appearance since she could never tame a digimon like herself. Thoughts of the devices origin subsided. New, more curious questions arose, what kind of digimon needed taming. She dwelled upon the thought and shivered—spooky.
“Renamon get your furry butt in here and take a look at this.” Myrand’s echoed shout got her attention. She looked down the hall. Far into its depths he waved her to come. “What are you waiting for an invitation?”
She growled, stuffing the digivice in the inside of one glove. “I’m coming. What is it Myrand?”
“You know any digimon that can shoot a gun?”
“Only one, but he’s with his tamer now.” She called back, running faster than needed. “Why?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at her as she entered the lobby. Copper odors lingered in weighted drifts, on occasions it would waft into her nose causing a gagging reflex, but she restrained herself. From where she stood at the entrance’s lip, it surprised her to see nothing of interest. A teardrop shaped desk rest in the center encircled with various palms and other plants. Another level balconied over half the room, probably surveillance, she surmised. One hallway and one flight of stairs tucked into their own corners. The real investigation lay behind the desk counter where Myrand stood, pistol at his side.
She wandered beside him and looked over, averting her gaze somewhere else. “What happened to him?”
“Shot in both eyes. Poor bastard didn’t get a chance to look either; he was still sitting in his chair. You can still see where the bullets entered the back of his head and exited through the eyes, even a little bit of brain matter on the desk over here.”
“Stop it—“
“What’s wrong?”
“Just stop describing it like something you’d seen on a regular basis.”
He gave her a confused look. “But I see this everyday. Every time a digimon attacks someone there’s something to see everyday, unfortunately it’s something new. One day it might be a soldier, another it could be just an average guy coming home from work. I can even remember seeing kids strewn out in the gutters lifeless and dead. Innocent kids that did nothing to the world, to end up a meal for some wild beast, carcasses tossed like garbage. I’ll never forget that, seeing a little girl lying face down in the shallow ravine. A digimon ate her face and removed her belly, but I guess she braved it, the way she clutched that teddy bear in a death grip. Never caught up with the beast that did it, we searched every square inch, every mile, and found nothing.”
“I’m sorry.” Renamon apologized, the digivice started to itch under her glove. “Digimon don’t have that problem. When we die, our bodies become data and other digimon absorb the data, so in a way we’re apart of a circle of life: we’re born, absorb those who have passed, get old, pass ourselves, and the young absorb us.”
“And you say my works disgusting.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “You just summarized how your whole life in one sentence.”
“I never thought of it that way. Guess all there is to digimon is fighting and breeding.”
The Jade Dragoon smoothed out a copy of what seemed like a map of the facility. “Don’t be silly, there’s plenty for a digimon to do. God you guys probably out live any average human. Someday you’ll find yourself in the arms of a loved one or in an adventure only your dreams could produce.” He looked up at her curious face. “Trust me.”
“All right,” He continued, “Seems that the marines knew what they were doing. They set up a post up in the surveillance room upstairs, watching the technicians and other soldiers amble throughout the facility. This building has three floors including the one upstairs. This level is mapped out, so is the surveillance room, but this bottom level; only half of its complete.”
“Spooky.”
“What I need for you to do Renamon is to go upstairs and look after the surveillance.”
“And let you have all the fun?”
“Based on how our friend died, I don’t think I’m dealing with a digimon. More or less it’s terrorists.
She cocked her head. “Terrorist?”
“Later. But for now, just go up there and don’t come down until I tell you.”
“Fine,” She sauntered past him towards the stairs, catching a glimpse of the corpse’s blue flack jacket in doing so. Those empty eye sockets haunted her the most, gaping holes where the orbits should rest, dribbles of the retinas dripping from his lower eyelid. A cold shiver ran down her spine. “How will I know if you need help?”
He tossed her a headset. “Put those on and you’ll be able to hear anything I say. Now get to it and I’ll see you shortly.”
Turning his heel, Myrand jogged down the hallway out from her line of sight. She sighed and fixed the headset over one ear while the band tucked snug behind her head, progressing up the stairs until reaching the upper level. She followed the single corridor banking right or left as needed. No doors, not even a picture hung on the walls’ bland surface. Caught in the midst of studying the ceiling tiles, her right glove started vibrating and howling an aggravated noise. Startled, Renamon pulled out the digivice, she pressed several buttons in hopes of turning off such a racket, not for her own sake, but in case anything unfriendly strolled nearby. An arrow, no bigger than a fingernail, appeared on the device’s screen and started to encompass its decorative border. Left, right, north, and south, the arrow swung around like a pendulum until, it slowed pointing north.
Letting this new compass guide her, she picked up Myrand’s voice through her headset. “Well, I’m at the third floor, nothing surprising. There’s an army caisson over here let me see what’s inside.” Several clicks later, there came an impressed whistle. “Jesus, there’s enough ammo in here to re-supply an entire division of soldiers. Fifty mags, a couple grenades, smoke grenade, and,” A pause. “Well I’ll be damned, a Spetsnaz AK47-1 with enough clips to spare, haven’t seen one in years. Guess they wouldn’t mind me taking it either.”
“Boys with toys.”
“Damn straight, I’m greedy as hell too.”
The hallway seemed to continue on forever. Every bend she took led to another stretch, yet she paid no attention, for the opaque arrow knew the way. Where remained an elusive mystery, but would lead her to Myrand’s chosen digimon. Turning the next corner, she stopped in front of two glass doors with Surveillance printed in rough frosted glass. Her trusted arrow died away and the device’s screen blackened out. His digimon lingered behind those doors. Anxiety built up in her shaking paws as she reached for a handle, slow and predictable. She didn’t feel scared or threatened, but her heart—oh how it blistered against her rips making it xylophone down on each bone.
“Holy shit.” Myrand’s voice burst in her ear. She lurched back from the door, bewildered from his sudden outburst. “What the hell have they been doing down here?”
“Would you warn me before you scream into this thing?” Renamon seethed, feeling her heartbeat settle.
“Yamaki is one twisted son-of-a-bitch. He’s got digimon in tubes in some sort of preservative jelly or something. Here’s one; Common Name: Black Wargreymon; Scientific Name: Homo Negra Reptilia; Family: Flamma Reptilia; Order: Pedes Reptilia; Class: Mega Reptilia; Phylum: Cordata; Kingdom: Digital Animilia; Domain: Data Eukrypa. They’ve actually got their own scientific library of this junk. I feel sorry for her; nothing deserves to be preserved.”
“Well I reached the surveillance room. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Sure.”
She wrenched the door open. She stepped inside, sidled against the closest wall. In one of the desk isles, a marine lay on his stomach, his arm covering his face while his rifle rest three feet away from his other hand. Her eyes never left that weapon as she walked over to him. Three steps in she could make out the single bar stitched on his shirt sleeve, stained rusty gold. Four more later she could see multiple gaps in his armor, no bigger than a penny or dime, each highlighted a sticky red. When her claw grazed next to him, she recognized her reflection in the blood pool beside his corpse, trailing into slivers across the floor. Bending low, her fingers picked up his rifle and set it on an adjacent desk. Humans aren’t like digimon. They don’t fall apart into data, but in pieces. She shrugged away her building fear.
“Myrand…?”
Renamon froze.
“Myrand is that you… Are you there?” A gargled sob escaped into the air. “Help me.”
She whirled around. “Hello?”
“Wh-Who are you, you’re not Myrand.” The voice answered. “If you’ve come to take my data, then take it you blood thirsty beast.”
With a careful ear, her feet shuffled to where the voice originated, to an elevated platform overlooking the desks and monitors. Anxiety returned in slow, methodic heartbeats. She recognized a slew of computer terminals inter-connected into one field-sized monitor. Chunks of tissue and muscles stuck on the screen still livid with blood. She glanced down and averted her eyes. Three humans littered the floor before her, one garnished a pistol in one hand, another with nothing at all, and the last held another rifle. Their peephole wounds mirrored those of the technician downstairs, light filling through one end on the carpet under them. She laid their weapons on the table.
“I’m not here to take your data. I want to help you, if you can give me your name.”
A pause, “You won’t lie to me?” Renamon promised. “Name’s Rix.”
“Mines Kiyra. I’m a Renamon friend of Myrand’s”
“Renamon eh? No shit. So am I.”
The closer her ears got Rix’s voice grew deeper. “Are you a male?” She felt ashamed to ask, but an odd curiosity took hold.
“Yes.”
“So can you show yourself?”
“I… I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’m pinned against the wall, in the corner. When the fighting started the terminal fell over on top of me. My strength is sapped. I haven’t had anything to eat ever since getting here.”
Renamon heard shuffling left of where she stood. Rix’s descriptive cues presented themselves, for in one corner rested a toppled terminal, resting on something other than the floor. Her eyes watched it bob and dip once or twice. She knelt down placing the flat of her cheek against the carpet while her eyes tried to glimpse under the terminal. A few dust bunnies scattered around, but crowding shadow made it impossible to see anything else. Elbows propped, she readied herself to stand. At that moment, twin iridescent pupils winked at her, and in surprise, she collapsed on her belly.
A stale microburst of air greeted her face. “Hello.”
“Hi there.” She answered, tail swaggering behind her. “Seems like your having a hard time with that.”
“You think?”
“No need to get snappy about it, just relax and I’ll get it off soon.”
“Hurry,” he pleaded. “This thing is digging into my leg. I can feel blood.”
Hearing that, Renamon stepped up to the terminal. She paused, judging how much strength she needed, not mentioning which direction she should lift since Rix snared his leg. The six foot terminal weighed at most seventy to a hundred pounds, which explains why their mounted inside special wall cubbies designed for heavy objects. She placed both paws under one side bracing her muscles for the strain. With one push, she started lifting, raising it an inch before hearing a dogs yelp ring out from under it. Her legs gave way. She looked under again seeing his pupil’s burn.
“The other way please. You were pushing it on my leg.”
“Sorry.” It sounded like such a cheap excuse in shriving the guilt of hurting him. “I’ll try rolling it off. If it starts to crush you head tell me.”
“How could I say anything then?”
“I… Oh just shush and let me lift this.”
This time, as she approached the side again, her paws went over and grasped the opposite end. Instead of pushing off she pulled. Rix’s body provided an unstable balance, allowing her use of gravity: if enough weight is applied to one side the terminal should roll over by itself. Theory in mind, she dug her toes in the carpet and pulled with any strength reserved within her body. Unknown to her, the floor underneath them shuddered, her signing heart drowned out stubby machine gun fire. One driving exhale later, the vixen pulled off the terminal. It noisily clattered on the floor. She genuflected, inhaling the stale copper air, feeling a tiring wave in her muscles. Collapse seemed immanent until a paw clasped her shoulder.
“You need a hand?” Rix’s voice sounded solid, like rock.
Renamon took it noting his green gloves unlike her purple ones. Her eyes traveled from the paw upwards, wrist to shoulder, seeing leather brown, white, and black colored fur splotched throughout his entire arm. The brown and black spots dominated the white spots in random patterns. The fur itself held a sleek, near laminated luster, each hair about equal length. Then she looked at Rix’s body. Her mouth gaped that split second before she realized what happened and snapped it shut, but doing that cause her eyes to wander, gazing over his ivory chest tuft. His entire front flowed like a painting. Melodies complementing each other, a white spot accompanied by brown or black, all three swirling in mini-whirlpools, or perhaps her most favorite, each color splattered over a section of his stomach. It reminded her of developing rain, the way water drops would splash upon the pavement. He bore the Renamon white belly, though a bit smaller than hers.
“Yes…” She managed to garble.
He seized her hand. Oh such a strong grip, despite keeping that terminal from crushing him. Standing on her feet, she noticed he tenderized his left leg, blood staining his white ankles pink. He braced against a nearby table. His face growled in pain.
“Your leg, it looks pretty bad.”
“I can’t walk on it.” Rix gasped. “Thank you for getting me out, I owe you my life you know.”
Renamon let out a high-shrilled giggle. “It was nothing. I’d do it for anyone.”
Those Amazon-grass eyes locked on hers. Unbelievable eyes, veining colors of jade green moved towards an ambient light source within the irises, they popped out from the rest of his dark colored body. The ear tips remained white, his snout grew more slender—longer in length, his cheeks fat with either fur or skin, and retained his wild color scheme. His paintbrush tipped tail inched towards hers. For a moment they touched in playful silence, tickling each other until one pulled away, blushing.
“So where do you know Myrand from?”
The male vixen smiled. “It’s a long story.”
“That’s okay we’re not doing anything else.”
“What about Myrand?”
“He’ll be coming soon.”
“Well okay,” he shrugged, “Couple years ago I got into a big fight with some Flamedramon near their village. Apparently one of their females had been raped the night before by some unknown assailant, and since I was the outsider, the blame pointed towards me. I remember one of them had a big scar over his snout, an old injury he suffered while facing an Ex-Veemon, and to top it off, he was the victim’s mate too. They beat me so badly I passed out for days, or at least that’s what they told me afterwards. But during that time I had the strangest dream.”
“Renamon I’m coming up to the surveillance room now, using the elevator instead of the stairs.” Myrand’s voice interjected.
She ignored him and listened to Rix’s story. “A human boy standing over a coffin,” He continued, “and inside was an older man, much older. Medals donned the passing man’s lapel, different shapes and sizes. It seemed like an impressive collection. Something about those metals started making the boy cry. I can still see his tears trickling down, and he clutched a plaque in both hands, just below the coffin’s lip, and no matter how many times his mother tried to console him, he kept crying.
“She whispered in his ear, ‘your father is watching Myrand. I know its hard saying good bye to him now honey, but he’ll always be with you in spirit.’
“I guess that single sentence must have worked because Myrand lifted the plaque and settled it next to his father. Then he watched the casket close before him, the clergy ushering back with his mother, and sitting in the pews. It all seemed too real until I woke up, still in the village that threatened to kill me. From those days on, every dream that I’ve had has been of Myrand, watching him grow from a child to a young adult, then from there to an adult like me. Seeing him grow made me feel connected to him, a best friend, I knew everything about him. So that’s why I’m here, to see Myrand face to face.”
Behind them a door slid closed. Renamon snapped from her delusions and glanced back. There stood Myrand, hands empty, pistol holstered, with loss in his eyes. It took her another moment realizing Rix held the same stare towards him, as if both lost something precious. Confusion wracked her mind, anxiety gouged at her heart, on edge about the two meeting for the first time. She felt weak in her stomach. Long moments of silence brushed past all of them, beeps from computers and television screens keeping the ears entertained until the Jade Dragoon spoke.
“That plaque was the first thing I had ever earned. A ROTC commemorative with my name on it with military honors, and I just received it that day, the day my father would be laid to rest forever. I was only ten when I approached his coffin. Being so young I couldn’t fathom not seeing him ever again, or hear his laugh in the house. my mother told me to place it in the coffin and said that he was proud of me. When he would come home from his job we would take about it, just me and him, but of course that never came.”
Renamon hopped
off the table. “Myrand I’m so sorry you had to hear—“
“I never told that to anyone. The only person who saw me place that in the casket was my mother, and she couldn’t watch long enough without tears streaking down her face. But you, you remember it as if it were plain as day. How could you know?”
Hesitant, Rix hobbled to stand next to her. “I watched you grow up Myrand. It was a dream, I don’t understand it either but I was there with you, watching everything.”
“Myrand, Rix is your digimon partner.” Renamon interjected before they spent hours talking. “This may come as a shock but, here is his digivice.” She placed the digivice in his open palm.
“Partner?” The soldier dazed in confusion. “You’ve been waiting for me?” Rix nodded. “I-I need to lie down, we need to sort this out back home where I can think without getting shot at.”
The female vixen gaped in shock. “You were getting shot at?”
“I didn’t know how it happened at first. One minute I was looking at some freakish digimon library and the next I’m dodging a bullet from some soldier behind me. First one then two, and then five came at me at once. Damn I almost got shot if it weren’t for those grenades. We’re getting out of here so I can clear my head.”
“Can Rix come? He needs help with his leg.”
“Sure, but I want to know one thing Rix.”
“Yes?” Replied the Calico Renamon.
“What else did you see that day?”
“A shower of black roses.”
Myrand slid his arm under Rix’s left as Renamon mimicked with his right. Then without further delay, they made their way from the lab, leaving the dead to mingle…