Coval

Part the First

I

January, 2016. Present Day Czechoslovakia. 409 Feet below Sea Level

They faced each other in the studio. It was like any other dance studio, the varnished wood, the mirror. A single, bare bulb lit the ceiling. Two people stood. A man, with dark brown eyes, longish black hair, and gloves. And a girl, with hair the color of fire and eyes the color of the sky. She rolled her shoulders. He balled his fists. She took one step to the right. He took two to the left. Her eyes darted not to where a gun might be hidden, but to his hands. He caught her eye. She glared. He did not smile. He pulled off his gloves slowly, as if it were a strip tease. Underneath one, was human skin, underneath another, was a hand of metal. The metal hand flexed, as if was happy to finally be free. Her eyes darted toward it, and with sudden precision, she sidestepped four to the right, and yanked off her gloves. He saw her, and with a quick spin, he sent his heel flying toward the side of her face. She ducked and tried to sweep out one of his legs. He jumped up, and landed as silently as a cat. “Focus.” He spoke in a mix of Czech and English, his gravelly voice scraping across her ears. “What are you looking for?” She didn’t respond, her blue eyes hard. She crept forward like a cat. One of her curly red hairs slipped down from her bun. It dangled in her eyes. She acted as if it wasn’t there. He didn’t move, but she saw his muscles tense. Then she saw it. He stepped back, and the ball of his foot missed its mark. She darted forward, and slammed the heel of her palm into his stomach. He wheezed and she used her powerful legs to sweep out his left leg. In a half second she had him on his stomach, his arm twisted behind him, her bare foot resting in between her shoulder blades. He smiled a little, and then, with sudden force, he twisted the arm away from her, throwing her against the mirror. She cried out a little as she hit, and he stood up, rolling his shoulders. He reached with his flesh hand and ripped off the sleeve of his other arm. It wasn’t just a metal hand. It reached all the way up to his shoulder, and beyond. “Come on. You can do better than that.” She leapt to her feet again, her wide feet splayed, her blue eyes focused. There were more hairs in front of her eyes now. She ignored them. She darted forward, making another attempt to sweep him out, but this time, the metal hand stopped her. It closed with crushing force around her neck, and she gasped. He stared into her blue eyes without feeling. Then, with powerful force, he lifted her off the ground, his grip tightening. She kicked her legs helplessly. Only small gasps escaped her swelling lips. He raised her high above his head, until his arm extended, and then, with a careless fling, he threw her. She skidded across the room and slammed into the wall. She did not get up, hacking and coughing, gasping for air. He walked toward her, and she shirked against the wall. He crouched before her, his dark hair dangling in his face. She looked up, and was met with unsympathetic brown eyes. He did not help her up, but he spoke only one word as he stood. “Again.”

From behind the triple locked, soviet steel door, a Man in White was watching. Down the hall, in another cell, a boy, also with hair the color of fire, was weeping. The Man in White shot an angry glare at the guard before the cell. “Good god, will you shut him up?” Moments later, there were sounds of a struggle, and the weeping stopped. In the room, the girl and the man fought again. The Man in White watched, and took notes. Further down the hall, the weeping began once more.

II

January, 2016. Present Day Czechoslovakia. 409 Feet below Sea Level

“What is your name?” The redheaded girl glared at the Man in White. She was strapped to a chair, wires and electrodes protruding from her head. The Man in White was holding the button. The Instructor was standing in the corner. She looked at the Man in White with contempt. “My name is Ella.” He sighed. “Wrong.” He pushed the button, and her body convulsed with electricity. He let her contract for a moment and scream, and then he stopped it. “What is your name?” She glared harder, blood dripping out of her mouth where she had bitten it. “My name, is Ella.” He shook his head angrily. “Wrong.” He pressed the button again and she screamed, her body contracting and convulsing. He did not stop this time. “WHAT IS YOUR NAME!?” She screamed it out back to him. “MY NAME IS ELLA!” He amped it up until her eyes rolled back into her head. Then when he stopped, there was a sickening silence. The final echoes of her screaming still reverberated in his skull. She stirred finally, staring blankly at the floor. He asked her again, monotone, controlled. “What is your name?” She didn’t even look up. An emotionless tear dripped to the floor. “I have no name.” The Man in White smiled. “Right. You don’t.” She looked at him expressionlessly. He unstrapped her from the chair and a nurse appeared to escort her out. He nodded to The Instructor. “Bring me the boy.”

III

January, 2016. Present Day Czechoslovakia. 409 Feet below Sea Level

Down the hall from the redheads was a man. He too was in a cell. He too spent time with The Instructor. But he had been here longer. He knew more. But truly, he knew less. He knew what the Man in White wanted him to know. He was a giant of a man, with broad, straining shoulders, powerful legs, and height enough to intimidate any person, man or woman. He spent all day pacing his cell. His leg was made of the same metal as The Instructor’s arm. “It is a rite of passage.” He remembered being told. “It is the beginning of a new life.” He could still feel the tearing and ripping and crushing it had taken to remove the limb from his body. The life-giving flood that poured from him. “It is a sacrifice.” He didn’t limp anymore. He had been here long. Too long. Long enough to know that limping only earned him more time with either the Man in White or The Instructor. He knew that wasn’t good either. So he paced his cell in the day. He sparred with The Instructor at night. And in the early morn, when all else was asleep, he scratched tiny things onto the walls. The final memories in his broken mind.

He had taken some interest in the redheaded ones when they arrived. Their hair so bright and vibrant even compared to his golden blonde. His hair fell to his waist, his beard untrimmed. The hair on his arms and legs and groin grew wild. Once a month, he was taken to the Man in White, who trimmed every hair in sight. The blue coveralls provided were the same shade as his eyes. They stretched at the seams. He didn’t bother to wear shoes. None of them would fit anyways.

But those redheaded ones.

They had come in crying. They had evaluated them, weighing, measuring, snipping bits of that hair. The office was right across from his cell. There was no door. So he saw it all. All the hair on their bodies was red like that. The hair on the boy’s arms was red. The hair on the girl’s legs was red. Their underarm hair was red too. Even her eyebrows. It made them an oddity. He watched as the doctor had them strip to nakedness, as they shivered in their freckled bodies. The doctor measured everything. He weighed them twice. Then, he burned their clothes, and gave to the boy, coveralls like the one The Giant wore. To the girl, he gave stretchy, legging-like pants, a green long sleeve shirt, and one, dark, dark blue dress. He gave neither of them shoes. The girl looked at The Giant as she passed. He couldn’t make his face smile at her. And she did not smile in return. He sees the girl often, but he hasn’t seen the boy since that day. He hears him crying still at night. Sometimes, The Giant cries with him.

IV

February, 2016. Present Day Czechoslovakia. 409 Feet below Sea Level

The Giant and The Instructor spar at night. When the redheaded ones sleep like baby birds in a nest, The Giant paces the room. He towers over The Instructor even, but no matter what he does, he never wins. The Instructor is too fast. He darts like a cat, slips between fingers like butter, and never makes a sound. The Giant is graceful. He isn’t as lumbering as one would expect, but when he lands a punch, it only takes one. His pacing has a rhythm. One-two-two-one. Left-right-right-left. He favors his flesh leg. The metal one makes a small thumping noise. The Instructor speaks in broken English. Some words are still Czech. “You cannot pace forever.” The Giant understands him, even though Czech is not his native tongue. He rumbles low in his chest. “Can I not?” He has known The Instructor since boyhood. He has studied under him since he was a child. And though The Giant aged, The Instructor did not. The pacing misses a beat. One-one-two-one. The Instructor takes advantage of it, and sweeps in, a strong uppercut to the solar plexus. The Giant wheezes and grabs futilely at The Instructor’s hair. His monstrous hands grip a fold and pull. He lifts The Instructor off the ground and glares. The Instructor doesn’t miss a beat. Twisting in The Giant’s grip, he spins himself around, no notice to the ripping and tearing of his scalp. His heel connects with The Giant’s cheek, and he slumps to the ground, his grip limp. The Instructor pulls himself out, and with one firm kick to his metal leg, he stirs him awake. He says the next word in Czech, but The Giant stands anyways, rolling his shoulders and rubbing his jaw. “Again.”

V

February, 2016. Present Day Czechoslovakia. 409 Feet below Sea Level

The redheaded boy doesn’t talk much. The food is brought to him on a tray every day at the same time. His sister eats with The Giant, The Instructor, and the Man in White. He eats alone. He may not talk much, but his brain is constantly working. He separates the food on his tray by kinds, and then in his head, by molecules, and even further, by atoms. All bouncing around in his mind when he tastes it. It is often too much, and he spits it out. The less he eats, the less he weighs. The redheaded boy is getting thin. He doesn’t move much either. His sister has regular sessions with The Instructor, but the redheaded boy only sees the guards in his cell and the Man in White. He hears them talking sometimes, The Instructor and the Man in White. They speak about their quest, and the part each one of them plays. The Instructor favors The Giant. The Man in White favors his sister. Nobody favors the redheaded boy. So why is he still alive? One simple reason. He knows what they are looking for.