The river shimmered beneath her boots, the water barely kissing her ankles as she stood there, silhouetted by the twilight. The delicate ripples spread out from where she kept her footing. Above her head, the cool late-summer breeze whispered under the old iron bridge that spanned the small stream, casting long, crimson shadows on her streamlined figure.
Ellara adjusted her headset, tugging a loose strand of sandy hair out from under the sleek, gleaming piece of tech. The suit that encased her body clung to every sculpted muscle, glistening in cool tones of blue and black, mixed with splashes of neon pink at the edges. It wasn’t just a costume—or rather, to Ellara, it wasn’t just roleplay. This suit was her shield and her identity all wrapped up in one. Her impassive expression bore the physical strain of her long mission, though inside, there was always a dangerous tug of excitement bubbling beneath the surface.
Her bodysuit was custom-fit, molding her slender but athletic form, accentuating every limber curve of her thighs, waist, and arms. The reflective fabric sparkled as though the very stars were woven within it, shifting hues from navy twilight to electrifying cerulean in the right light. Pink lines snaked around her forearms and down her back in intricate, futuristic patterns that made her look more like a digital deity than a woman standing near an abandoned bridge in rural New Zealand.
A low beeping sound came from her left wrist. She lifted her arm slightly, eyes narrowing at the sleek, floating digital interface that blinked to life. Numbers, coordinates—another raid. Another opportunity to tip the balance between life and death. Or, more realistically, good versus evil. Who could tell the difference these days?
In the distance, the first hum of a nearby car engine rose and faded throughout the valley like a distant memory. She felt her heart quicken, not from fear but adrenaline. Alone, yet immensely powerful in her suit, danger was rarely a source of concern. According to protocol, she should stay hidden, but Ellara was never one to follow the rules. Not since she lost Everett.
Two Years Ago
Everett had been assigned to protect her—that was it. Training missions, retrievals, repairs. He was comfortable in the background, a wall of muscle for when things turned rough. But somewhere along the trail of broken skyline and shattered hearts, something had changed. Ellara would never forget that look in his eyes that one fateful evening before the battle at Glenbridge. He had stood just as she did now, head held high, bracing himself against the cold river, making pledges not just to the mission—but something deeper.
Had he been in love with her? It seemed impossible. They were soldiers, protectors of a dying world that never learned how to be saved. Words like ‘love’ tasted bitter in times of cyber cold wars, viral outbreaks, and rogue AI invasions. Yet, perhaps it was love that had given him the strength to stand in front of that bullet—to freeze frame what could have been the start of something eternal.
But he hadn’t stood long. The steel bullet had ripped through his chest. And all Ellara had left of him now was a name inscribed on her holopistol—etched in crude pink lines, turning a weapon into a monument of her grief. She glanced down at the sturdy grip still fastened in leather holsters along her hips. The personalized D.Va-inspired pistol, with its signature game-themed pink accents glowing softly in the dark, wasn’t just a toy. It was an extension of herself—a gun that kept her protected in memories and in battle.
A chill ran through her spine as engines roared closer. The raiders had arrived on the ridge beyond the bridge, a group wearing mismatched tactical gear, all oversized rifles and hungry eyes. They laughed and chatted to one another, as though what they did next were just a performance, a rehearsal of power.
Present Tensions
Ellara closed her eyes, took a breath, and time slowed around her. She knew this focus, the grace of battle masking the brutality inside. Each muscle controlled by her suit shifted as smoothly as the water around her, primed for the coming confrontation. One tap on her wrist, and her defensive shield snapped charismatically into place around her, pale pink and blue holograms flaring to life.
She lifted her head just as the first raider stepped forward, the bridge casting jagged shadows over the scene as dusk began to bleed into night. The man in front shouted something unintelligible, a demand for surrender laced with arrogance. Ellara stayed silent. Resistance was a language she had spoken for years, and she wasn’t about to translate her next move for them.
With practiced precision, she raised her holopistol and took her first shot—a clean, controlled flash of neon blinding the sky for a second. The man fell before his words ever finished touching the air. But she didn’t stop there. She danced between incoming bullets, her slim, steel-clad body graceful despite her breakneck speed. Each gunshot echoed sharply through the valley, but they never hit their target. Ellara wasn’t made of flesh and bone anymore. She was electric, synapses burning faster than bullets could travel.
The Echo
When it was over, she stood alone once more, the weight of reality settling over her as dusk fully blanketed the world. Her untouched form—fit and powerful in the suit—spoke volumes of the strength she carried inside. Breaths came in slow, controlled waves; the battle had created a temporary quiet within the chaos of her life.
But as Ellara gazed toward the emerging constellations in the night sky, she felt the familiar sting of loneliness creep back. She ran a hand across the pink lines etched in her holster, smiling faintly to herself. Victory, once again, was hers, but at what cost? She wondered if Everett could have appreciated her skills, or if the man who gave his life so long ago would have preferred the comfort of her vulnerability—the softness behind the suit of armor she now wore.
As the last rays of light dipped beneath the edges of the iron bridge, Ellara turned away from the wreckage and headed back into the water, leaving only ripples in her wake. The river would eventually wash away the blood, both metaphorical and literal, but her memories of the fight—and Everett—would always linger. They were echoes of a future never lived, and she carried them with her, enshrined in a suit meant for battle, but fitting for the heart of a survivor.
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