Opus Veda

Kasia made it home, dazed and caked in filth. It was early morning. She crept to the wash corner and doused blood away with freezing water.

Eva fidgeted in her bunk, still sleeping. Guilt struck Kasia. For leaving her daughter alone she had to make amends. Her birthday approached, and now money was better Kasia swore to make it a good one.

Thirteen.

She lay down, too shaken to sleep. Terrorist faces haunted her; being caught red-handed never rang truer.

And terrorists killed for less.

If that happened, how would Varma respond? Would he find her a disposable casualty, or something significant? Would he feel sad? His praise rose above the day's insanity. Kasia remembered every word of it.

Few people alive can say they fought back against Opus Veda. For the third time you've proven yourself under duress Katarzyna.

Kasia would give him a fourth, and as many more as it took. She was advancing, she was handling danger, and she was good at it.

Luca. Shot by a hunter with eyes like knives; vulnerable in a hospital and likely in worse hands. She had messaged Sermon for an update; her message went unread.

She could only think about any of this because a scabby vagrant girl helped her. Who else in those midnight tunnels had?

As if in answer, twisting masks leered. Kasia rubbed her eyes, writhing in a bed without the space to allow it. Eva stirred on the top bunk, daring to wake up. Kasia settled. She wasn't in a mothering frame of mind.

Her phone illuminated her face in a dark room. She caught up with friends, indulging in their concerned messages now she was consistently offline. She spent the rest of her time on 'Vijiwiki', an uncomfortable corner of the dark web collating all that was known on Opus Veda.

Sermon liked an update on Kasia's profile. He must have made it home. Kasia liked his like, and waited for him to invite her over.

"Hey, grab a sofa," Sermon chuckled half-heartedly and motioned indoors.

"Can we go to the roof instead? Actually…" Kasia rubbed her shoulder, "you got a fag on you?"

Sermon nodded without challenging it. After the day they'd been through she had an excuse. Still, when she wasn't looking, he chose a nicotine-free ampoule.

They climbed to the roof and vaped copper tubes. Traffic washed around them as it had every night of their lives, made aware to them only at thoughtful moments. They watched the skyscrapers across the river, the adverts scrolling each tower. But it was hard to understand what they meant. Fog was rolling in, beckoning the rainy season.

"Kurwa how much nicotine is in this?" Kasia spluttered and tried downplaying it. Sermon smirked.

"3 milligrammes. Don't take it down or you'll mess your lungs up," he puffed an effortless ring across the river, "well what a shit day..."

"Yea..." Kasia toyed with her vape and shuffled about, "is Luca fine…"

"Think so. Desk-bitch on the ward said he's stable anyway…" Sermon forced himself to ask a question he didn't want answered, "you reckon he's safe yea?"

Kasia thought about Varma's parting truth. She didn't want the question answered either.

"I reckon he'll be fine but I wonder if the Reds can cover the fees. Ain't gonna have health insurance are they?"

Sermon said nothing. Kasia scraped the floor with her shoe.

"You're close to him…"

"I dunno man... we've been holdin' back a bit and…" he swatted the air, "I'm bein' stupid ain't I!? No such thing as romance anymore; been reminded it enough."

"Yea but he's warmer than most guys, he's probably holding back to be professional. Pierce is above him right?"

"You sure it's just that?"

"For sure! When you're both off duty he'll be hangin' off ya like a baby Kangaroo."

Sermon snickered. Kasia took the chance to brave more intimacy.

"Captain Varma was there."

"Oh yea?" Sermon pinched his chin, "well?"

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

"He asked us to go over what happened-"

"No not that! Him."

Kasia folded her arms.

"You don't 'ave to be ashamed of likin' someone sista."

"I wish you wouldn't tell me who I fancy!"

"Alright alright…." Sermon drew long from his vape, "oh but come on just this once! It's well obvious!"

"Whatever," Kasia folded her arms and sulked, "I'll see if there's revolution porn or something."

"Never as good as the real thing."

"Half of something beats all of nothing-"

"No it doesn't-"

"Yes it does. And besides, there is no real thing."

"Your boss at Riese shags his goons - even pudgy Leah! Why can't Varma?"

"Isn't that exploitation?"

"Any more than a night club?" Sermon shook his fist, "let's 'ave a double date with him and Luca!"

"Spierdalaj, Can you imagine bringing them here? Are we gonna share a magnum with them under Little Kendi?"

"We could go round theirs!"

"What, Kensington Palace?"

They paused, and laughed, amazed by the madness they'd fallen into. Kasia disengaged her vape and tried to give it back, but Sermon waved to say 'keep it'. He sighed.

"To business Kash, about our future. I know I pushed you before but, If you don't wanna stick with the Reds I'd get ya. They never said terrorists would be involved-"

"I've already thought about it. I'm staying if they let me."

Another pause, "you sure that's a good idea?"

"Have you ever heard of Opus Veda harming a child? Trust me I checked. Eva's safe, and that's the only thing that'd make me quit."

"I like this fightin' talk sista! Where'd this confidence come from?"

Kasia pondered. There were lots of reasons. Money, skill, recognition. Impressed captains. Probably something political too, but whatever.

There was something else. A win, claimed weeks ago, made clear today.

"I get this recurring nightmare, about my mum. I'm trapped in my room as she leans in from the ceiling, snarling at me. I'm screaming back but I don't understand the words I'm saying. When I look up, all she does is laugh. I can't get out until I wake up.

I haven't seen her in 16 years, but I bet you there hasn't been a week where I haven't had that nightmare," Kasia smiled softly, "until now… I joined that revolution, and all my dreams went away."

She felt along her sleeve, every line she had cut into herself. For all her recent trials none ended with her losing blood. Any blood lost belonged to others.

She stopped herself, fearing she had gone too far. Too intimate. Too taboo. Sermon nodded seriously and went to put his arm around her, but that could be misread, so he backed down.

He lightly punched her arm. She nodded her thanks. They went their separate ways.

* * *

Ali was having a bad month. It showed in her sleep, her posture, the puffiness under her eyes. People were noticing.

She had tried counselling, and reminded herself why she'd abandoned it before, in the wake of a drunk husband's fists. Whilst medical science raced ahead, therapy drowned in the same psychological bullshit factory as ever; a counterfeit science of platitudes, told over and over, until their belief became obligation. Make time for yourself. Notice when thoughts spiral. Pithy quote A. Pithy quote B. This. That.

If the words were empty and ineffectual, Ali had heard them. Live laugh love?

Go get fucked.

None of it worked. And the last therapist - an overacting fop with an overwrought qualification - ended Ali's patience with the emptiest words of all. The apparent answer to every problem in the world.

Practice mindfulness. The mantra that stuck to humanity's problems like a fly on shit.

Mindfulness didn't stitch civilisation together. Women like Ali did.

She loaded the kitchen over her desk and scrolled the drinks cabinet. Anything she wanted had been drank, leaving a sorry selection of liqueurs for cocktails she never made, for parties with friends she never met offline. She could get a delivery but the minimum order would have her finding groceries to add. She couldn't be bothered.

She flopped forward and rested her cheek against the desk, accidentally pressing the menu projected over it.

"I'm sorry, we are out of that. I can instead recommend: Kahlúa-"

"Fuck off kitchen."

The menu panned away with a descending tone. Ali grumbled.

Little footsteps approached. One of her daughters. Monty hopped from his bed and prepared to bark. Ali wound out of her chair.

"Why aren't you in bed, Opal?"

Opal toddled forward, doll in hand, bottom lip sticking out.

"Tiffany keeps scaring me..."

"For goodness sake don't be silly. What's the matter?"

"Tiffany told me, uhm, the people who visited were terrorists," Opal sniffled, "she said they'll come back and... pick my face off..."

Ali grinned and folded her arms. She needed to stop letting Tiffany off, but sometimes you couldn't help having a favourite.

"Your sister's just upset with what happened. That awful woman really hurt her, and all you did was stop and chat!"

"Tiffany made her do it!"

"Do not defend them!" Ali snapped, making Opal jolt. She knelt and held her youngest by the elbows.

"Listen to me: people like that woman envy us no matter how nice they act. If you give them anything it will not be enough until you have nothing left."

Opal pouted, "she was nice until Tiffany bullied her..."

"If you insist. Maybe one day you'll learn the hard way: even the best of them turn on you given the chance…" Ali sighed, and patted Opal's cheeks, "but I'm not going to let any terrorist get you, they'll have to beat me first. Go to bed."

Opal squeezed her doll and left, shooting a glare at Monty. Monty jumped backwards and growled. Ali warned him off.

She returned to her desk and stared into the void. The house read her face and loaded the data she'd gathered - the profiles of Katarzyna Szymanska and Sermon Mkenda. The more she learned of them, the more it angered her they'd dared approach.

The one she wanted most was coy. Imany Eshun. Suspiciously offline, but Ali had enough. The detectives were slow and condescending, but they'd given Ali what she needed.

An excuse.

Time to fix things herself, as always. And she had one man she could call. One with power and connections, who could, if convinced by Ali's support, make insignificant people go away.