Cold Red Fury

“Harls--Harls--Harley!” Kaida pushed through the crowd on the dance floor to a girl at the center of the dark room. Colored lights flashed from the ceiling, momentarily blinding anyone who happened to look up. Kaida could feel the pounding of the music in her chest, though the noise of the partygoers drowned out the lyrics that were blasting from gigantic speakers. Kaida scanned the crowd for the coffee-colored form of Harley Ghutana, whom she found dancing amidst a group of friends with a drink in her hand. Harley finally heard Kaida’s calls and turned, laughing. Kaida caught her breath, gesturing madly toward the door on the far side of the huge room.

“He--They let him--He came--” she stammered. Her face was flushed, and her eyes said her brain was moving too fast for her mouth to keep up. 

“What?” said Harley, putting her conversation on hold.

“He’s here!” Kaida burst out, finding her voice.

“Who?”

“Roman!”

Harley’s blood went cold at the sound of his name, a name she had not heard in two years, a name she had intended never to hear again. She looked toward the door, then back at Kaida, almost refusing to believe it. 

“What?” she said. “No. No, he can’t--He wasn’t--Who let him in?” 

Kaida made a helpless gesture and said, “He let himself in!” Harley’s face hardened, and she shoved her drink into the hands of a surprised passer-by. 

“He is not ruining this…” she growled, pushing her way toward the door. Kaida followed, making pardons to people left stumbling in Harley’s wake. Harley stopped abruptly at the snack table. Leaning casually against the wall nearby was a man with close-cut blond hair. His sharp, hazel eyes shimmered under his dark grey mask. 

“There you are,” Roman said, looking up at her. There was a drink in his hand. Harley gave him a death stare.

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here.” she hissed through her teeth.

“Nice to see you too, Persian,” said Roman, unfazed.

Harley glanced around, a panicked look in her eyes. Kaida had left them alone. She stepped closer, even though no one could possibly hear them over the blare of the music.

“I’m not Persian anymore,” she said. “I’m done with that. I thought I made it clear that I didn’t want any part of that life.”

“Right. I remember now. It’s all about your life. Not anyone else’s.” Roman’s voice lost its cool tone. “You’re just like I remember you! Always looking out for yourself, putting your own made-up morals before the good of everyone!” 

Harley clenched her fist, and Roman’s drink started to boil. “We’re done having this conversation,” she growled. “You need to leave. Now.”

“Wait,” Roman said, “Please, I’m sorry. I just can’t understand… It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because some things are forever,” Roman said, with a mischievous gleam in his eye. Without warning, he stepped forward, close to her, too close, and kissed her. 

For a moment, Harley was stunned by the warmth of his lips, the suddenness of it all. Then, reality came back to her, and she remembered that she hated Roman, that she wanted nothing to do with him, and that he had never had feelings for her, at least not as far as she could tell. Instinct took over, and she bent back, hooked her leg around, and twisted downward, tripping him up with her other leg. It was all over in a split second, and Roman was on the ground, half groaning, half laughing. 

They had been noticed by now, and the group of spectators was steadily growing. Roman looked up at Harley’s furious expression and laughed harder.

“You see now?” he wheezed, “You see why we need you?” Harley just glared.

“Why did you kiss me?” Harley was still nettled as they stood outside. The white light on the side of the building flickered almost in time with the throbbing bass that seeped through the walls of the building. Roman shook his head.

“What you should be asking is ‘how much did it hurt when I threw you on the ground?’”

“I don’t care if I tapped you or broke you, I want to know--”

“Geez, you don’t get it?” Roman interrupted. “I was showing you your own skill! You were the best agent on our team! We need you!”

“And you’re only realizing this now? After two years?”

“You’re not exactly easy to find, you know.”

“Well apparently it’s too easy, if you can--” Harley stopped. “Wait… how long have you been looking for me?” Roman looked to the side, casting his face into shadow.

“Have you been hunting me down since I left?” she demanded. “Well, Roman?” Roman gave a hesitant nod.

“WHAT THE--” 

“Hey, hey, shhhh!” Roman looked around, nervous.

“--IS WRONG WITH YOU--”

“Quiet, someone’s gonna hear--”

“--APPARENTLY EVERYTHING, CUZ YOU--”

“I had to, we need you, and everyone agreed--”

“--EVER EVEN CONSIDER RESPECTING MY--”

“--Aztec’s powers crashed when you left!”

This shut Harley up. Aztec, as in the Aztec? The fearless leader of the Finaregium? How could her powers crash? She was always so bold, so decisive, and she never lost her cool. Never. Harley was speechless. For a moment, it was quiet enough to hear again the muffled sounds of the party. An insect buzzed around the light on the outside of the building.

“It’s true,” Roman said, breaking the silence. “Aztec pined. She’s never lost track of an agent before. Especially not someone like you. You’re special, Persian. Please, please, come back. We need you.”

“You’ve gone two years without me,” Harley said, looking away. Her voice remained hard, but her heart was softening. 

“And those two years were the darkest the Finaregium has seen,” said Roman, his voice soft but probing.

Harley said nothing for a long time, but looked at the stars, acutely aware of his gaze resting on her. 

“So just to be clear,” she said finally, “You just kissed me to get my attention, not because you were ever in love with me?”

Roman’s eye roll broke the tension, and both smiled slightly.

“Yes,” he said, with mock exasperation. “Glad you’re finally getting it. No offense, but I was never in love with you.”

“Good. Same here.”

“Although I can’t say I didn’t enjoy the kiss.”

“I mean, yeah, I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it either,” Harley snorted, “For the two seconds that it lasted, anyway.”

“And I can’t say I wouldn’t enjoy another one.”

“Don’t push it,” she said coolly.

“Persian,” said Aztec, the ghost of a smile dancing across her masked face, “Good to have you back.” 

The Finaregium Headquarters was just like Harley remembered it, from the cold cement walls splattered with who knows what, to the cluttered shelves arranged to form the walls of hallways and rooms, to the bare lightbulbs illuminating the inside of the repurposed warehouse. It seemed like a humble spot for such an important organization, but then, the Finaregium wasn’t big on shiny things. 

“I’d say it’s good to be back, but honestly, I have mixed feelings about this.” Harley looked around. 

“You’ll warm up to it.” Aztec turned and walked back to the table in the center of the warehouse. Her long white hair was caught up in its usual messy bun on the back of her head, and her boots clip-clopped as she walked. 

“Well, look who it is,” a cold, female voice rang across the makeshift room. Harley turned and saw a woman with hair as pink as hers was dark. She was wearing the same dark grey uniform and mask as the rest of them, but it looked different on her. She owned her suit. She was at home in it. She was one with it. 

“Hey, Spanish.” Harley sighed.

“I thought you weren’t coming back?” Spanish stuck her lip out in a mock-pout. “Or did you forget your toothbrush?”

“Nah, she’s just coming back to meet the Ottoman.” Another voice, this time from a man with skin even darker than Harley’s and short, wiry black wair.

“Wha--” Harley’s jaw dropped. “The--”

“The Ottoman, yeah,” said the man.

“We found him while you were gone,” said Spanish, twirling her bubblegum pink hair around her finger. “You’re right, Mongol. She must have come back to meet Ottoman.”

“Content just to shake hands with the man she gave up on finding.” Mongol folded his arms.

“I--I didn’t know--” Harley turned to Roman. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded. Roman just shook his head and looked toward the opposite side of the room, behind Aztec. A young man with unruly brown curls had appeared in the gap between two storage units.

“Hey, Otto, we were just talking about you!” Spanish crossed the room, put her arm around his shoulder, and plopped a kiss on his cheek. He reddened under his mask and seemed to recoil from her. Spanish, not seeming to notice or care, led him back across the room to the others. She was saying something, but Harley had zoned out already.

The Ottoman. The reason for the entire organization. Years ago, when Harley had been recruited and had become Persian, Aztec had told her all about the Finaregium’s endgame. Each agent in the elite group was selected because they shared a certain ability, a certain power. Harley’s was strongest when she was angry. Someday, Aztec always said, there would be a similarly gifted person called the Rubriam. The Rubriam’s powers would be strong, but unstable, and liable at any moment to push him or her into a state of uncontainable rage called Cold Red Fury. Only the Ottoman, the Last Empire, would be strong enough to destroy the Rubriam before Cold Red Fury destroyed the world.

“Wait…” Harley said. “If you found the Ottoman, does that mean…”

“Yes,” Aztec confirmed from her position at the table. “We’ve identified the Rubriam.” She placed her hand on the map, and it seemed to expand upward into 3-D. She planted a red pin through the top of a tiny barn far from town. “There. That’s our target.”

Harley crouched in the rafters of the creaky old barn, eyes on the slowly shifting body beneath a pile of hay. 

“In position,” she breathed. She felt like she had never left the Finaregium, like just yesterday she was taking missions and silently competing with Spanish.

Roman was right. Some things were forever, and her training was one of them.

“All in position. Begin operation.” Aztec’s voice came through Harley’s earpiece.

“Copy.” she breathed, and dropped from the rafters. She slowed her free fall before landing beside the hay pile, quiet as a shadow. The body beneath the hay belonged to a man in a ratty overcoat smelling strongly of whiskey. Harley stepped quietly closer.

Spanish’s voice came through the earpiece.

“Something’s wrong. Wait. BEHIND YOU!” 

Harley spun on her heel, bracing herself, but there was nothing there. In the same moment, she sensed movement behind her and had just enough time to realize that she had been tricked before the sack was pulled over her head. The drawstrings tightened roughly around her neck, and she felt Spanish and Mongol drop down beside her from their hiding places in the rafters and seize her arms and legs. She struggled, but to no avail. Cold metal clinked around her wrists. There came the sound of something heavy moving, then something was set down, and she was forced into a chair and tied tightly to it.

The sack was pulled up just long enough for Harley to glimpse Spanish’s face. It was at least appropriately serious, but Harley detected a glimmer of triumph behind the mask. She screamed an insult at the vile, pink-haired girl, but a cloth was shoved into her mouth, cutting her off mid-curse. 

The sack was pulled back down, but not before she saw one more thing over Spanish’s shoulder. The barn door was open, and Roman stood in the doorway.

Betrayed. Betrayed with a kiss.

The thought filled Harley with so many feelings, such intense anger, confusion, terror, and regret that she couldn’t contain it all. She saw red, and she suddenly felt as though a doorway had opened up in her powers. All the betrayal, all the emotion building inside her was released through this doorway, and it flowed out of her like an invisible wave in all directions. 

Cold Red Fury.

Her bonds disintegrated, and the chair she had been tied to lurched backward. Harley was levitating on a field of pure anger. Around her, everything slowed down and levitated. Spanish, Mongol, and the ratty-coated man who she now recognized as Russian, appeared paralyzed, floating in midair around her. As she revolved slowly on the spot, she caught sight of Roman, hovering in the doorway. Behind him was Ottoman, both of them paralyzed. 

“You.” she breathed, and if she had any room in her mind, she would be surprised at how calm her voice was. But she had no room. The roiling fury within consumed all else.

Roman’s eyes widened; he choked on his fear as Harley slowly raised her arm, nothing in her mind but to strike her betrayer with all the power she could muster. 

“WAIT! STOP!” 

Harley paused. It took her overpowered and overwhelmed mind a few moments to realize that it was Ottoman who had spoken. She looked at him, her arm still extended. Once again, she would have been surprised, because Ottoman had earlier struck her as shy, not at all self-assertive, yet now he hung defiantly in the air, meeting her eyes. 

“Don’t--Don’t hurt--any of them.” he gasped, no doubt feeling the heat of her gaze.

“They betrayed me.” she breathed, her whisper seeming to fill the whole world. 

“Please. Please, don’t do this.” Ottoman seemed desperate. “I--I can’t defend them, I can’t even defend myself, but I--I can beg.” He struggled for a moment to master his numb body, then managed to rip his mask off. 

Harley’s arm sank down. Ottoman was so much younger than she had realized--more of a boy than a man. 

“Spare them,” he said earnestly, his eyes piercing into hers.

Harley felt her rage subsiding, but it didn’t recede back into her. It cooled and sank and dissolved into the earth, never to threaten the world again. Thus, the Ottoman really did save the world from the Rubriam’s Cold Red Fury.