Lucky Seven
âDoesnât it kinda get you hard?â she asks. Itâs an inappropriate question; she shouldnât be asking it. She knows Iâm insecure that I canât afford surgery. Mercy is carelessly tracing her robotic hand suggestively up and down the shell of the unexploded ordinance weâre here to assess.
âShut the fuck up.â I respond, as jokingly as I can manage. Bitterness still creeps into my voice but Iâm pretty sure that the radio distortion masks it. âYou know how hot this-â I gesture to the bomb, â-is.â
A smile creeps onto Mercyâs face; she spreads her index and middle fingers on the casing. I stop her before she starts. âYou know I mean radioactivity. You suck.â
She pouts and gives the bomb a tap with her plasticized knuckles. I wince, but Iâm positive she canât tell. Her combat cybernetics are perfectly expressive at all times, and the hazard suit Iâm in doesnât let anything out or in.Â
âIâm just saying that if youâd seen one of these go off in person, youâd be tingling down there too. Letâs see.â She drapes herself across the bomb, ass facing towards me. Whatever sheâs checking out on the other side seems to excite her, because she starts to wiggle her hips too. âItâs a lucky seven. 8 kilotons. I bet it was a KN-910 that dropped...â
I tune her out. Mercy presses her thighs together, and Iâm sure sheâs adding more vocal fry to her mixing to describe it. Itâs all intentional, after all. She doesnât need to breathe, so when sheâs breathlessly describing just how many city blocks it could level to me I know itâs on purpose. Everything about her is on purpose. She shifts and straddles the bomb! Her after-market custom silicone thighs squish against the metal.
âDid you get all of that, Ange?â she asks, turning back to me from atop the bomb. I blink a couple times and shake off whatever stupid shit I was thinking about.
âNaw. I kinda spaced out.â I say. She folds her arms under her breasts and pouts again. âCâmon. You recorded all of it. Iâm just here to drag out your black box if something goes wrong.â Mercy slides down the length of the bomb and starts picking her way down off the rubble pile it was resting on. I sheepishly shift back and forth and strain against how stiff my suit is.Â
âBut what if something went wrong, huh? Rogue neutron through the solid state?â Mercy mimes shooting herself in the head with a gun, and then puts a hand on her hip to lean in towards me. I can see her cleavage through her poncho collar. âWhat if the data was irretrievable? Crushed by debris from the ceiling? What would you have told the disposal team? That you were too busy checking out my ass to relay my expert assessment?â
I start to answer. âOkay, well. One, most of the things that coulda gone wrong here would have disintegrated you and me, so itâs kind of moot. Two, I donât know, I coulda looked at it myself. Itâs got a serial number.â
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. âYeah right. No shot in hell you get within three metres of this thing. Especially if Iâm non-responsive.â
âUgh. Whatever. I got that itâs a lucky seven. Thatâs all the other crew needs to take it apart.â I say.
Mercy looms over me by a foot and a half. The look on her face is clearly disappointed. I shrug, making sure to exaggerate the motion so it scans clearly to her. She scoffs and turns to leave the ruins. I follow her out to the jeep where she sits in the back with a huff.
Nothing happens when I turn the key. Mercy sits up when I try it a second time.
âAnge, the battery is dead.â she says, matter-of-fact.
âAre you sure?â I ask, trying the key again.
âYou canât hear it because of your suit, but itâs just clicking. Weâre going to have to jump it.âÂ
My stomach sinks. We donât have a spare battery and thereâs absolutely no power for miles. Our comms are part of the jeep, so theyâre dead too. I donât remember where the last wrecked car I saw was, but it sure wasnât nearby. Not that I want to pick through the ruins for a battery that might be dead! My hands start to hurt, I can feel my heart pounding. When I turn back to look at Mercy, she seems completely unfazed.
âWell?â I ask, panic creeping into my voice, âWhy are you so calm? You got a plan?â
She smiles and leans back. âYeah.â It pisses me off how relaxed she is about this.
âWhatâs the plan? Are you gonna jump it with your battery?â I ask. Sheâs taken aback for a second. Did I take it too far? Then Mercy puts back on her dry face.
âThatâd kill me, idiot.â she chides, âNo, no. Weâve got a battery nearby thatâll jump the engine, no problem.â
I donât like where any of this is going but I prompt her to continue with a gesture.Â
âThe bomb. Itâs got a heavy-duty battery for the controller and the electronic primers. And youâre going to dig it out, Anger Trinity.â
I donât like how wide her smile is. âIâm not gonna do that.âÂ
âOh yes, you are. I canât. If the pit is damaged or exposed at all itâll shred my sensors to hell.â She sounds so damn pleased with herself. âUnless you wanna walk.â
âŚ
Mercy has found a shitty rolling office chair to direct me from. The plastic is obviously creaking from her weight, from how sheâs reclining in it. Itâs barely wide enough to seat her in the first place. I inhale sharply through my teeth when she spreads her legs.
I am far closer to the bomb than Iâd ever like to be! My extremities tingle and ache. This is psychosomatic. My radiation meter chimes in with occasional excited chirps as I approach, crowbar in hand.
âYou got lucky, Ange! A couple of the access panels are exposed. Try the one on the front.â she says, right into my ear.
Itâs tricky to wedge the crook of the crowbar into the seam, but once it catches I put my whole body weight into it. Thereâs the telltale sound of metal tearing as I rip the plate from the hinges it was welded to. Mercy gasps quietly and I clench my teeth. My radiation meter helpfully lets me know that itâs ever so slightly less safe to stay in this area for an extended period of time.
âWhat now?â I try to sound annoyed, rather than scared out of my mind.
âThe battery we want is at the tail.â Mercy pauses, âMmm. Youâre gonna have to tear her open some more.â
âHer?â I spit quietly, âUrgh, you got it.â
I look at the freshly exposed little switchboard, trying to tease out a point of leverage that will let me crack open the shell. I find it, a corner that wasnât set as tightly as the other three, and drive the crowbar into it. Mercy gets out of her chair to pace around the bomb and I, at a distance. Pressing down with my arms doesnât get me anywhere, so I clamber up the bomb to drive my boot into the lever.
The screech is painful, even through hearing protection. A little bit of steel curling upwards like a flirty smile. My meter is now much more insistent about the danger. Something must be wrong with the bomb. Mercyâs voice is slightly distorted when she chimes in over the radio, but the sultry tone she takes is unmistakable.
âKeep going, Ange. Donât let up.â she giggles. I clench my teeth and move upwards to keep prying.
The metal isnât yielding. All of the welds are shut tight to any minor intrusion. I fucking hate it, so I take my hate out on the bomb. The insulation and shielding slowly comes into view as I spread the casing, inch by inch. Itâs so god damn stuffy in the hazard suit. Iâm getting dizzy, my breathing is short, my arms are killing me.
Each time I slow down Mercy eggs me on. âCan I see a little more?â She plays up the saccharine innocence in her voice. âYouâre getting to the good bits, keep pushing!â
I try to growl at her, but it comes out as a whimper. Iâve opened a gash halfway up the length of the bomb. When I catch my breath I trace a hand idly over some of the braided cables woven throughout its innards. Mercy makes sure to make her breath catch and stifle a moan. I clench my jaw and get back to work.
It starts to settle on me. What if the failure that kept the bomb from detonating corrected itself while Iâm atop it? My stomach sinks and I feel a twitch between my legs. If my head was spinning Iâd have an excuse to stop. I try for help. âMercy, Iâm gonna ralph.â
âOh Ange, baby, you really just need to keep pushing. Youâre almost there!â she giggles. I have to get back to it.
The inner layer of my suit is clinging to my body. I donât know how long it's been, but the work is going faster now that Iâm past the device. My radiation meter is still whining incessantly, though Iâve long since tuned it out. Iâm sure theyâre going to need to bury this suit after what Iâve done in it. Iâve tried to stop paying attention to whatever Mercy is doing to rile me up, but when I look back at her, she has her legs spread and a hand up her poncho. Bitch.
I just need to push a little harder. Iâm almost to the battery. Almost ready to go back and decontaminate. The cables converge here, just before the tail. If I can pull it out. Get it to loosen up. Release. I pull a heavy chunk of electronics out and fall off of the bomb and onto my ass. My left leg hurts. I think I tore my suit. I donât care. I roar as I hoist it above my head! Iâm trembling, I canât make out Mercyâs face through my fogged up visor. Iâm triumphant.
Mercy helps me to my feet and we leave the ruined building together. She turns back to look at the splayed-open bomb and snickers.
âWhatâs-â I have to catch my breath again. âWhatâs so funny?â
âYou must not have been her type.â she says.
Iâm at a loss for words. âWhat?â
âLook at how much effort it took to get her to spread âem for you.â she says, and then pats my head.
âShut the fuck up.â















