Trees dotted the hillside as it zipped past outside the car window. Quaint Mom & Pop rest stops quickly vanished and were replaced by gas stations that steadily became nicer, though not necessarily cleaner. For a moment the road had shifted from four lanes to two thanks to stalled construction, before opening up to six comfortable marked stretches of asphalt that continued into the horizon. The sun had spent most of the day hanging just behind a curtain of white clouds, peeking out at random intervals and momentarily blinding the inattentive traveler.

Christine Villeneuve’s chin sat firmly planted in her palm, her eyes absentmindedly staring off past the receding hills and rises as they gave way to heavy machinery and billboards declaring expansions and the impending arrival of planned communities. 4 Bedrooms from the low 500s with Lakefront Views. What lake? They were on a highway, the closest city nearly 30 miles away.

“A new lakefront community, this far out?” her father said from the driver’s seat as they passed between two freestanding supports for an unconstructed overpass. “That’ll be great! You and your brother can come out here on the weekends and play in the water.”

Next to Christine, her brother clapped joyfully at the notion of maritime fun, his bouncing spilling the baggie of cereal he had been snacking from. She glanced over at the floor and contemplated for a moment picking up the bag and returning it to him, only to decide to return to her melancholy observations through the cold window.

Her mother turned around in the passenger seat and reached down, smiling at the young boy who had not developed a firm grasp of his peripheral vision and had yet to notice his snack was no longer in his lap. She handed him the bag and turned to her daughter, a soft smile still on her face.

“Chris,” she said warmly though with a hint of concern. Christine remained staring out the window, her expression more empty than annoyed. “Aren’t you going to at least look at me? You haven’t said a word all day.”

“Even through lunch!” her dad chimed. “I have to say, I was skeptical of Alton Brown when he said to check out a biker bar converted from a Sunday school, but that was one of the best bowls of gumbo I’ve ever had. I’m never doubting Food Network again.”

The car remained silent, save for the young boy’s jaws crunching on puffed wheat. Christine’s mother stared at her daughter, looking for any indication of a reaction, no matter how small. She brushed a crop of the girl’s hair aside and behind her ear, the stoic face unchanged.

“I’m not going to pander to you,” she said firmly, still leaning from her seat. Christine didn’t move. “You’re fourteen, Christine. You don’t get to ask to be treated like an adult then go acting like a child.” Still nothing. Her mother turned back and settled into the passenger seat, her gaze fixed straight ahead. “I understand; believe me, I do. I’m going to miss our old house, our old friends, our old city just as much as you do, but this is a big opportunity for us. For me.”

Her husband glanced over at her and smiled. She returned it and took out her phone. As she began to type, she looked in the rearview mirror at her unmoving daughter.

“You can pout all you want, but I’m not going to let you sulk the entire time we’re here. Bourenna is going to be our new home, whether you like it or not. Not that you’ve made your feelings difficult to read.”

On-ramps and off-ramps began to appear more frequently, the sparse highway slowly filling up with more and more cars as semi-trucks transitioned from the norm to scarcity. Neighborhoods and clusters of fast food chains came over the horizon and passed into the rearview, the heights of their signs steadily lowering to reasonable levels. After several minutes the Villeneuve’s found themselves in a measurable amount of traffic, a welcome sight after the hours of sparse country travel.

Phillip Villeneuve leaned forward and tried to catch a glimpse of the sky directly above them. “Do you hear that?” he asked the car. Young James pressed his ear to the window, spilling his cereal yet again. Christine’s eye peeked skyward for an instant before returning to the suburbs and strip malls that now lined the highway. She did hear something, though: a low rumble; several low rumbles, as if from a series of jet engines.

Her father’s eyes lit up as he kept his gaze upward, his wife Marianne quietly taking the wheel for a moment so he could focus. The roars grew closer, until they passed overhead in a burst. Three gargantuan machines flew over them, enormous Vernier thrusters and angular wings protruding from their backs. Giving the appearance of metal men, each nearly twenty meters tall, the machines cut through the air with a degree of almost grace, their limbs outstretched and at ease as if they were people, enjoying their time untethered to the earth.

The lead machine was an industrial gray with warm reds detailing its form, a stark contrast to the blues and blacks accenting its two flanking units. It jumped ahead and barrel-rolled before arcing into a climb, the others struggling to keep up. After it had reached the apex of its ascent, the unit paused and hung in the air, its engines cutting. From above, it looked like the machine was at peace, its arms outstretched, head tilted back.

Leaning back, the machine quickly fell to earth, the other two units moving to intercept it. As the three were about to collide, the red machine’s engines roared to life and it spun between its would-be rescuers, buzzing a cluster of apartments before returning to its original altitude. One of the blue units nudged the red one as if to admonish it, then the three continued forward and out of view.

“Holy Cow! Did you see that?” her father exclaimed, his hands returning to the wheel just as his wife’s left it, the transition seamless and almost second nature, as if that wasn’t the first time the couple had shared driving responsibilities – which it wasn’t. “That was Mechanized Air Regiment! Oh man, I’ve never seen that model before. They must have just rolled it out.”

She didn’t care. She’d seen MAR units before; everyone had. The military used all kinds of powered mobile suits. So what if the newest and strongest were being developed by the best and brightest in what was about to become her back yard.

Traffic slowed as the road reached a wall of earth that rose up from the horizon, grand archways of carved stone embedded into its face, framing the open mouths of multiple transit tunnels. Warning lights flashed, alerting inattentive drivers to turn on their headlights and forbidding lane changes within the tubes. Christine’s dad turned around to his children with a dramatic flair.

“Okay, everyone: what do we do when we go through a tunnel?”

“Hold our breath!” James shouted gleefully.

“Don’t forget that it’s okay if you can’t make it all the way. This is a pretty long one, maybe the longest one we’ve ever been through!” The young boy took several deep breaths to prepare himself. This time for sure, he’d make all the way through without taking a breath. “Ready?”

Mother, father and son each drew breath and puffed their cheeks, smiling as best they could. The car passed through the seemingly ancient but maintained gateway into a dim world tinted in hazard orange. Marianne turned to her son, who was struggling to keep from bursting only seconds into the tunnel. She internalized a chuckled and pivoted to look at her daughter. Still unmoved, Christine sat with her head leaning on the cool glass, her eyes anywhere but there in the car.

After what seemed like an eternity the traffic began to speed up, a literal light at the end of the tunnel coming into view. It grew brighter and brighter, culminating in a flash as the vehicle burst into the daylight. Marianne and her husband let out exaggerated breaths and laughed, followed shortly thereafter by their son. Christine blew a sarcastic puff, temporarily fogging up a spot on the window.

“How’d you, Jamie?” Phillip asked. “You make it this time?”

“I had to take a breath…” he said, sounding a bit defeated.

“Well then,” his mother said comfortingly, “I guess we’ll just have to do it again, won’t we?” The boy’s face lit up, then turned as his father directed him out the window.

“You see that, Jamie? This is where we’re going to live now. Welcome to Bourenna.”

A gleaming, bustling metropolis opened up before them, towering in scope even at a distance. Skyscrapers of the artistic and utilitarian varieties dotted the skyline, the latter contributing to its dynamism rather than detracting from it. Replete with the standard hallmarks of metropolitan areas, scaffolding could be identified on a number of buildings old and new, even in the surrounding communities that passed by as the car continued on its way. Billboards flashed and cranes swung as the oddly enjoyable sounds of car horns and public transit filtered into the family’s ears.

Up above, more mechanized military units soared through the sky leaving contrails in their wake. Their flight units were smaller than the ones that had danced back on the highway, but the overall build was the same. They kept at a safe altitude and banked away before getting close to the city center, veering off towards either the city’s military base or the public R&D facility.

Their car took an off-ramp and exited the highway, winding along side streets that took them away from the city. Apartments and business tenements were replaced with duplexes and smatterings of oak and hemlock trees. Children rode bikes on sidewalks and dogs tugged eagerly at their owners’ leashes, stereotypical tranquility wafting from every direction.

Christine’s brow furrowed at the picturesque neighborhood. Even though that little dog was kind of cute.

Phillip slowed the car as they came up on a mid-sized house, a moving truck parked in the street out front. The family pulled into the drive way and parked, James the first to unbuckle his seat belt and jump out of the car. His parents soon followed, mother chasing after son, father making his way to the moving van. His sister sunk further into her seat, avoiding looking at the light blue house she was being forced to move into. Her mother opened the car door and stepped back inside, taking the passenger seat.

“I’m not going to apologize for us moving here,” Marianne said calmly, her eyes forward. “I shouldn’t have to. I will apologize for you having to leave your friends and our family back home – well, I guess it’s not our home anymore.”

“No thanks to you,” Christine muttered.

“She speaks,” her mother replied with mock surprise. “If you keep this up you’re just going to make the experience even harder than it already is. You’re going to be in a new place, the new kid in school a few weeks into the term, and this attitude really isn’t going to endear you to any potential friends. If you convince yourself you’re going to hate it here, then you will.”

“Guess I’m running straight out of the gate, then.”

Her mother sighed and hung her head. “You can stay in the car as long as you like until it gets dark; I don’t want you out here alone. Your father and I are going to start bringing in some of the furniture. If you feel like helping, we’d appreciate it. Besides,” she said as she got out of the car, “your brother’s going to pick the best room if you don’t hurry.” Her smile elicited no response from her fuming daughter. The door closed and Marianne made her way to her husband, who was struggling to handle both the heavy rear door of the moving truck and a rambunctious four-year-old running in and out of the street.

Christine finally looked at the house and chewed on the inside of her cheek. She hoped for a minute that her death stare would burn a hole in the home and singe it to ash. Maybe then they could go back home if they couldn’t stay here.

She sighed after the house failed to ignite.

#

“Villeneuve.”

“Veel-ah-noove.”

“Villeneuve.”

“Veal-eh-new-vuh.”

“It’s French; it’s fine. Just Christine is great.”

“Ah, well then. Everyone, please welcome Christine to our class,” her teacher said with a bit too much pep for so early in the day. Christine wondered if the sunny disposition was a rehearsed act or a warning to switch to decaf. The class clapped a halfhearted greeting and she made her way to one of the open desks, which much to her chagrin were surrounded on all sides by other people. She placed her backpack on the floor and assumed the position she had held days earlier in the car.

The morning dragged on in a haze, her mind trying its best to push out any information and maintain her dour mood. She mused for a moment on actually paying attention to the material being taught. After all, class had already been in session for over a month. Maybe her old school had been ahead, though - it had certainly been better. She could already know the material better than anyone else in the room, then she really wouldn’t have had to pay attention.

Maybe her aura of anger would ward off anyone who thought to even try and talk to her. She didn’t want any of it. She hated all of it. So what if her mom had gotten a better job in the city? So what if moving offered more opportunities for her dad? She had to leave everything at the drop of a hat, everyone she had cared about, and what did she get for it? A loud fart echoed in the classroom, jolting her from her stewing. She turned, as did everyone else, to a boy at a corner desk, his mouth planted firmly in his open palms. The class erupted into laughter, the boy beaming. The teacher called for quiet.

This, Christine thought to herself. This is what I get.

#

The day dragged on as she knew it would, the passing periods between classes offering little reprieve. Each class seemed more monotonous than the last, the subject matter dull and dry. Some of it she already knew from the last year at her old school, but the new material seemed just as empty. Even her favorite subjects: math and history seemed hollow. She knew she should have been paying closer attention, but what was the point? This new school was awful. This new place was awful. Everything was awful. How could her mother have done this? Uprooted the entire family just to come to this stupid city. It was infuriating.

People moved, she knew that; they moved all the time. But down the street, or maybe across town. Some of her friends had moved to larger homes or smaller apartments after babies were born or divorces finalized. At least her parents were still together. But why couldn’t her mom have come to stupid Bourenna by herself? The rest of the family could have stayed at home, in their old house with their old friends, and she could have come back on the weekends. Parents did that all the time, didn’t they?

The bell rang signaling lunch. Christine was jolted from her thoughts as the rest of the class hastily grabbed their belongings and bolted for the door, clogging the hallways in a desperate bid to be first in the cafeteria. She placed her notebook in her backpack, slung it over her shoulder and slowly got up from her desk.

She had been dreading lunch all day. While she had brought her lunch from home and didn’t have to wade into the mess that was the lunch line, she had to find a place to sit and actually eat.

Back home she knew where to sit: left-hand side of the lunchroom, third table from the window. Usually she’d be one of the first ones at the table, both to reserve the table for her friends and to make sure she didn’t get one of the seats above the bar holding up the bench seating. Her friends would have joined her and they would have enjoyed jokes about the goings-on in the day’s classes and their plans for the afternoon.

Today there was no standard table to reserve, no coterie to converse with. Just a sea of random faces she wanted nothing to do with.

Christine lowered herself onto the grass and leaned against a tree behind the school. The shade was a welcome escape from the sun overhead, its cheery rays at perpetual odds with the seething frustration she had fed all morning.

The courtyard of sorts at the back of the school had not been planned by its architects, but had been a fortunate accident during construction. Despite the city of Bourenna’s award-winning urban planning, mistakes still occurred. In the case of the courtyard, a substation had been mapped out behind the school to provide it and several surrounding homes with power, with plans to expand it to incorporate a water treatment facility. By the time the foundation had been dug out and the ground levelled, a larger plot of land had opened up a mile away next to a hotel. A few tax credits later, the recess behind the school had been filled in and covered in well-kept grasses, with local families donating to have their names engraved next to a series of benches that dotted the pasture.

Christine unwrapped the sandwich her father had made and closed her eyes, resting her head against the tree as she took a bite. The bread tasted weird. She was sure of it. Her dad had told her it was the same brand, but she knew the taste she was used to, and this wasn’t it. She took another bite. Even the bread here sucks, she thought. This whole place sucks.

Not many students had elected to eat outside, despite the pleasant weather. Evidently the lunch lady was serving chicken fries, spelled with a “Z” for some inane reason, which had kept most everyone inside and clamoring for the thin strips of breaded meat.

The relative solitude gave her peace of mind for the first time since her family had arrived. Time spent in the house was time spent fuming and avoiding eye contact and conversation with her parents, and time in the classroom was self-explanatory. If lunch was to be her only solitude, she might have to take part in some form of extracurricular activity, maybe something that involved hitting. Her hitting. Other people. An outlet.

A familiar low rumble filled her ears. She opened her eyes and peaked through the leaves above her. One of the MAR flying units shot overhead leaving a contrail in its wake. The machines were quickly becoming far too common an occurrence. Even if the military and R&D facilities were so close to the city center – and two of the city’s primary employers – it seemed odd, even to Christine, that they would be flying so close to civilian areas. Especially a school.

Sirens wailed from the school behind her, red warning lights flashing slowly. Christine shot up, her lunch flying to her feet. Around her other students slowly got to their feet, collected their lunches and began walking back to the building as if the siren were no different than the school bell. Was this a drill? Did this happen every Monday?

Another rumble came, louder and deeper than the last, shaking the tree she had been leaning on. She quickly looked up, trying to find the MAR machine. Another one? No, it can’t be this close, she thought to herself.

The rumble grew deeper, jostling gravel on one of the nearby pathways. Other students looked around too, a mild confusion growing among them. Some quickened their pace, others talked amongst themselves, no doubt discussing the very thought racing in Christine’s mind: this was no drill.

One of the staff members unfortunate enough to have pulled the short straw and a subsequent lunch room detail raced out of the school, hurrying the children back in. “Quickly, everyone inside!” he shouted, his voice barely audible under the combination of sirens and approaching rumble.

Christine hastily grabbed her lunchbox and bolted for the building, steadily outpacing several of the other kids. “What’s happening?” she asked in a panic as she reached the door. “What’s going on?” The teacher didn’t answer and quickly ushered her through the door and called for the other kids still outside.

Inside was pandemonium. All of the interior lights had switched to a bold red, turning the hallways and lunchroom into a submersible at DEFCON 1. Distressed staff directed frightened students in a number of directions, following a drill pattern that while no doubt practiced, had not often been implemented under pressure, leading to the present chaos.

While instructions were assuredly well-known to everyone in the school, Christine was not fortunate enough to be privy to the procedure. She began to panic, looking franticly for a teacher or staff member who wasn’t flustered or themselves crying. Just what was going on? Were they under attack?

“Attention students and staff,” a voice trying to be calm and barely succeeding said over the intercom, briefly lowering the siren’s cry, “please move to your assigned bunker positions -”

Bunker!? Christine thought. Why the heck do we need bunkers?

“- in a calm and orderly fashion,” the voice continued. “Follow the lighted markers and proceed in a calm matter and –”

“Brace for impact!” came another voice over the school’s speakers, someone else behind the original crier.

Christine spun around and looked out the window back at the courtyard as other students ducked to the ground and covered their heads, teachers sprawling out to cover as many of their charges as possible.

The rumble that proceeded was deafening, the culmination of the growing swell that had disturbed the lunch period. A shockwave pulsed from the courtyard and shook the surrounding trees, uprooting the younger saplings. Panes of glass along the school’s rear cracked as veins spider-webbed throughout them.

A massive object struck the courtyard, sending a quake throughout the surrounding area, knocking food from tables and cookware from shelves. Screams echoed in the lunchroom and along the attached hallways and fetal positions were drawn tighter and huddled masses denser.

The object outside sprang up as if lifted, and hovered several feet of the ground. Christine stood rooted where she stood, her footing somehow held during the shocks and blasts. Footing. Foot.

It was a foot.

A gargantuan matte foot was hovering in the courtyard over the massive depression it had left in the ground, attached to the bottom of an equally sized leg that continued upward into a grand, metal man. The MAR mobile suit was battered, flak and scars dotting its frame, its left arm torn off at the elbow. The other arm was outstretched, an open palm positioned at the school. Was it telling everyone to stay back? Or was it protecting them?

The massive thruster array on its back was shaking, the displaced air keeping the unit aloft flowing beneath it and through the damaged outdoor space. In an instant its engines roared to life and kicked up more earth, the intense rumble returning. The unit began a slow ascent, its head turned skyward, before it jerked backward, dodging a blast of energy.

Another explosion rocked the school, shelling its backside with debris. Screams filled Christine’s ears one more. The MAR machine reached behind its back as quickly as it could, trying to grasp a pistol mounted above its waist as a human-sized figure descended from above and collided with its chest. The newcomer raised its hand to the unit’s face and unleashed concentrated bursts of firepower, taking out the machine’s onboard cameras. The figure then lifted itself into the air, and flew to the suit’s right. Fingers dug into metal and tore, ripping the unit’s remaining arm clean off.

The appendage was cast aside and fell several stories, landing near the school. It collided with the building’s walls, shattering several of the cracked panes. Shards rained down onto tables and chairs that shielded the frightened children beneath them.

Machinegun fire was heard cleanly through the open windows, the MAR’s standard issue Vulcans spinning at incredible speeds as they chased after the flying menace. In an instant the machine cannons cut out, giving the mystery figure an opening.

Features indistinguishable, the figure shot forward only to be interrupted by another blast of energy. The being doubled back mid-air and hung there as a number of uniformed soldiers descended from the school’s rooftop, armed support remaining up top. One of the forward soldiers was shorter than the others and carried no weapon. He pulled a thin rod from his belt and pointed it at the being making short work of the twenty-meter machine. Sparks erupted from the end of the rod and cascaded towards the figure striking him even as he tried to dodge. Standard ammunition accompanied the sparks, the other soldiers unleashing their own volley of attacks.

The figure swerved and banked mid-air, then did an abrupt about-face and shot off into the distance. A few of the soldiers let off some last minute rounds and stored their weapons, as did the rod-wielder. He pointed in various directions and at corresponding soldiers, handing out orders. After a moment of persuading one uncooperative comrade, he spoke into a radio and ran off around the school, a contingent following him. The armless machine’s engines roared to life, another deafening rumble shaking the area, and shot into the sky after its attacker.

Three of the remaining soldiers ran over to the dismembered limb resting against the school and quickly took their positions around it, weapons at the ready. Two more bolted for the courtyard proper, scouting for anyone who may have been outside during the altercation. With the same speed as their teammates, the rest of the uniforms rushed into the school, some jumping through the broken windows, careful not to kick up any shards as they landed.

Christine had fallen down after the quake but had made her way to her knees during the altercation between gods and titans that had occurred during her first lunch on her first day of school in the stupid new town that she hated. Her face was pale, her knuckles white clenched around her lunchbox. One of the soldiers knelt down in front of her and removed his helmet and goggles. He introduced himself, his voice calm and almost soothing in the midst of the chaos that had unfolded, but she didn’t hear what he was saying. Her ears were ringing, her head a mess of emotion.

What had just happened? Was any of that real? What the heck?

She wanted to scream. She wanted to scream so loud it would break the panes of glass that had remained intact. First the move, then the idiot classmates, then the weird bread, then sirens and shockwaves and explosions and robots and soldiers and superheroes?

Another voice was muffled behind her, but still audible. It was directed at her, she was sure of it. She turned her head slowly, away from the kindly soldier who was calling on his radio that ambulances should hurry to the school, as one of the children appeared to be in shock or was having a traumatic episode.

One of the older students had gotten to his feet and was making his way towards Christine, cuts and anger on his face. A teacher reached for him, trying to hold him back despite the distance between them.

“What are you, crazy?” he shouted. “What kind of idiot are you? You just stood there like an idiot!”

Idiot. Twice in a row. Differentiate next time.

“Are you stupid? When the sirens go off and they say to get down, you get down!”

The words ‘get down’ were never spoken.

“Are you new? Are you dumb? You must be dumb to just stand there like a rock –”

One more inch.

“- and not do anything! Don’t you know how this works?”

One. More.

“Are your parents slow? Did they raise a dipshit? Some dipshit out-of-towner?”

Her eyes widened as she sprang up and drew back an arm. Her fist slammed into the boy’s jaw and sent him reeling. He tumbled backwards onto the floor, landing in the cowering position he had held prior to his outburst. His hands clasped around his mouth as blood pooled underneath his cheek. Christine stood panting, her chest heaving as her knuckles quickly turned red.

Next Chapter: Chapter Two