XY Revolution

“Travis? Freya? How can I help you?” Natasha asks us frowning, clipboard in hand and earpiece on.

I watch has her eyes latch onto my ruined suit.

“We have a few changes we’d like to make to the video. Is Henriette available?” Travis asks.

Natasha sighs and steps away from the door behind her, and it suddenly slides open. Travis struts in like he’s been here a thousand times, but this is my first time in Henriette’s office on one of the floors that have thus far been off limits to me. Not to mention, this is Henriette’s personal office.

It’s the opposite of what I thought it’d be like. For some reason I imagined it to look like the rich interior of the UN building; dark colours and polished wood. Instead the floor is covered in cream carpet, the couches look soft enough to sleep on and the windows have been made to look out onto a desert oasis. Henriette is sitting at a glass desk, pouring herself a cup of tea.

“Travis. Freya,” she acknowledges us. “Tea?”

“We’d love some,” Travis responds before taking a seat on the opposite side of the desk to Henriette.

“How did you know you’d need more cups?” I ask.

She points behind me and I swivel to see a wall of screens – full surveillance of Home Base common areas and high-clearance hallways. She then pours us our tea and I raise my cup to my lips. The liquid warms me all over, like Jane in my arms, tucked up in bed when we’re freezing in winter.

“Now, what are you going to pitch to me, Travis?”

“The video shot was awful. I have some ideas,” he says, sunlight glinting off his blue hair.

Henriette leans forward, folding her hands under her chin, and tells him, “That piece was carefully constructed by specialists.”

“And it was shit.”

To my surprise, she laughs and says, “Very well. Recruit Phil, he knows how to use the tech.”

Travis just smiles and sips from his tea. I can’t help but think that the longer I’m here the weirder things get.



My hair is out, my shoulder bare, and I’m standing in a black tank top with a large portion of the back cut out.

“My name is Freya Belmont. And I am a victim of the XY Revolution,” I say, voice calm and steady. “I was whipped because I refused to just bare my breasts for hundreds of men.”

The screen suddenly flicks to the video from the inspection – that fatal moment where I take my shirt off and everyone sees the ‘FUCK YOU’ on my chest. And then…I’m at my post, the whip cracking as it hits my back, red gashes appearing on my skin, my mother screaming, and otherwise, silence.

“I was fourteen years old. They did this to me,” I turn and reveal the scars on my back.

The camera zooms in and pans down my skin. I visibly shiver.

“And no one helped. No one helps.”

My eyes suddenly grow cruel and my chin defiant.

“That’s all about to change,” I enunciate slowly and clear as a bell. “The attack on the UN was just the beginning. We have broken into one of the most secure buildings in the world. We have killed UN officials. The XY Revolution is no longer safe. Just like I wasn’t safe. Like my little sister isn’t safe. Like all women and any others who stand opposed to the XY are not safe.

“My name is Freya Belmont. I am fifteen. We are the Resistance. And this is war.”

The room goes silent and the video pauses on the big screen, on three red gashes on an otherwise black screen.

“Well, what do you think?” Travis asks, leaning back in his chair at the table.

Phil is the first to put his hand up and say, “Whoever edited that thing is amazing. Just so everyone knows.”

Travis groans and I snicker.

“Agent Schmidt, this is why you are not invited to meetings,” Henriette chastises and Phil goes red. “On the other hand, you are right. This video is exactly what we want.”

There’s a murmur of agreement and Travis nods.

“Was it scripted?” Verity, the assault co-ordinator, asks.

“Just what Freya would cover. The rest was all her,” Travis says.

It’s my turn to go pink.

“Then we made the perfect choice. Let’s run it tonight. All in favour?” Henriette asks, standing.

All the hands in the room go up.

“Get ready, everyone. The Resistance is live.”



Once we’re in the elevator, just Travis and me, he starts to beam.

“You should be proud,” I tell him. “You were right about it all.”

He scratches the back of his head and smiles at me.

“You did great,” he says. “Henriette’s right. You’re perfect.”

I’m speechless till I get back to my room.



To my surprise more than anyone else’s, getting back in the gym is making me happier than I’ve been in so long. I’m currently on the treadmill, Coach wandering around and increasing the speed every so often on mine and the others’ machines. It’s only 0900 hours and I’m drenched in sweat, like I should be. I’m so over all the mental shit I’ve had to deal with.

“Good work today, Belmont. Slow down, rehydrate and then off to Hunt,” Coach says, dialling back the speed.

“Yes sir,” I respond breathlessly.

The video went live last week and the recruiters have gone into overdrive. Some people don’t need much of a push to volunteer for the cause. Some people just didn’t know enough about the Resistance, but Operation Topside has already changed things. The number of individuals committing crimes in their home towns against the UN has quadrupled. Travis says this is just the beginning. These are just the people the Resistance didn’t know to recruit beforehand – the true fighters.

I’m soon mopping up my sweat with a towel and leaving with Phil for close-combat. Travis is in his usual black workout gear, stretching when we reach him. He quickly straightens up and tells us, “Find your sparring partners. We’ll do basic strike and counters to warm up. Go.”

He then waves me over, “Freya, with me.”

I nod and obey, no longer so bothered by the fact that I’m only allowed to practice with Travis till he says so. As strict and annoying as he is, he is a good instructor. I just have to keep reminding myself that he’s just trying to teach me, not be an asshole.

“Show me your stance,” he commands.

I do as I’m told and he suddenly goes to sweep my legs. I resist and he smiles. I grin back and put my fists up, ready for him to start. He follows suit and then throws his first punch, aimed under my ribs. I dart to the side and his hand hits air. I change position to lead with my right side and go for a two-punch combo. He knocks both away easily.

“Good initiative, but be faster. You’re not used to that side so you’re slower; an easier target.”

His next blow hits me square in the gut. I grunt and change sides again, taking his advice and releasing my fist fast. I manage to hit his side.

“Do the rest of the exercise with your left,” he says and I change yet again.

I then do something really stupid when his next punch comes, and grab his wrist with flat palms. I use the surprise to bring my knee up into his gut. The next thing I know, he’s flipped me, there’s a loud pop and then only pain.

I’m screaming. The room fades in and out. Voices are frantic and Travis’ face flashes in front of mine.

I clench my eyelids shut and feel the sobs start to wrack my body. Every slight movement of my torso, and every moment where I don’t move, there’s agony. I can’t feel my foot, and that’s more terrifying than the pain.

“I’m so sorry, Freya. I’m so, so sorry,” he keeps repeating, occasionally stopping to yell, “Where is Walsh?! I can’t pop this in myself, it’s a fucking hip!”

“It’s gonna be okay, Freya, I promise. I’m so sorry,” he says, running his hand through my hair.

“What the hell happened here?” Dr Walsh’s sarcastic voice, for the first time, is displaying emotion, and it’s rage. “Can we not keep Belmont out of the hospital for one damn week?”

“Just fix it, Walsh! Lecture later,” Travis snaps.

There’s then a jab in my leg and immediately the pain starts to fade.

“Freya, can you hear me?” Dr Walsh asks.

“Yes,” I breathe.

“I’ve just given you something to numb the lower half of your body. I need to pop your hip back in. Is that okay?”

“Just do it.”

I open my eyes just a crack and Dr Walsh is positioning Travis to weigh my leg down for when the doctor actually tries putting it back in. He then steps over to my left side, bends my knee up, and pushes.

I can’t tell when it’s back in place, but Dr Walsh calms down after the second push. He keeps bringing my knee up and down; rolling the ball in the socket to make sure it’s in position.

“That seems to have done it,” he observes, then looks up to give Travis a stern look. “Bring her to the hospital. Now.”

The doctor then gets to his feet and strides off quickly. His anger is palpable and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised at this.

“Freya?” Travis asks and I prop myself up on my elbows. “I’m so sorry.”

“Did you do it on purpose?” I ask.

He looks mortified, “Of course not! I went to flip you over my leg. Yours got hooked and yeah.”

“Then it was an accident.”

He nods then slips his arms underneath me, hoisting me up to his chest.

“You’ve got to show me how to do that,” I tell him as he carries me out of the still stunned gym.

“I’ll show you how to block that move,” he suggests with a weak smile.

“That’s probably a better idea,” I admit.



Henriette is already there when Travis brings me to the hospital. I can feel how his muscles tense at the sight of her. Her arms are crossed and she exudes cold fury.

“Put her down here,” Dr Walsh instructs and gently, Travis places me on the bed.

“What happened, Hunt?” Henriette demands.

“A combat move went wrong. It was an accident.”

“You had better hope that there is no permanent damage, Travis. She’s supposed to be sparring with you for a reason. We may have to reconsider that.”

She then nods to Dr Walsh and leaves. Travis visibly relaxes, but his face is hinting a new kind of worry.

“Is there going to be any permanent damage?” he asks the doctor, who sighs and injects my still numb body with a purple serum.

“We won’t know till Freya regains feeling in her legs. Nerve damage is possible, but we can fix that. The real problem is that once a hip has been dislocated, it will happen again. It’s going to be a major risk for Freya in the field, and there is nothing I can do about that.”

Travis’ face falls and my stomach does the same. This will happen again?

“I can speed up the recovery process now, so she’ll be ready to go straight back into training tomorrow, but this will require some altering of her training regime, Agent Hunt. This is a new weakness - one that you caused, and you need to make sure she doesn’t get killed or worse because of it.”

“Yes sir.”

Dr Walsh then turns on a screen and a digitalised version of my leg appears.

“The serum reveals the nerves and how they’re functioning,” he explains and taps to moving lines on the screen. I ignore all logic that says he can’t possibly know what’s going on inside my body from this.

“So how are they?” I try.

He sighs.

“Not good, Freya. I’ll have to give you an overnight treatment.”

“Just overnight? That’s not so bad,” I say.

He shakes his head and tells me, “It’ll be very painful, Freya. Repairing nerve damage, particularly so quickly, is still a relatively new treatment and I can’t give you pain medication through it in case it reacts.”

“I’ll stay with her tonight,” Travis tells the doctor, who raises an eyebrow with that emotionless mask of his on again.

“Yes, you will. If anyone should lose sleep from screaming, it’s you. I don’t know how you could possibly be so reckless, Travis.”

Dr Walsh then turns to me and says, “I’ll be back in an hour or so to start.”

“Uh, Walsh?”

“Yes, Travis?”

“This is probably a good time to remove Freya’s number.”

Dr Walsh goes pale and I shoot Travis a panicked look. He’s concentrated on the doctor though, who just sighs in what sounds like defeat.

“You’re right.”

“What’s going on? Is this about my tattoo? Don’t you just take out the ink?” I ask, confused.

Travis gives me a sympathetic look and says, “Not exactly. The technology is just short of a tracking device in your bloodstream. Just one scan can tell you so much more than just your address – your allergies, heart rate, blood sugar, adrenalin, and even how full your bladder is can all be read on the spot.”

“It’s an extremely painful procedure, Freya.”

“Can’t you just knock me out or something overnight? Actually, why didn’t you do this when we came back from the mission?” I demand. I can feel my heart start to race. This is all just too much in one go.

“A sedative would knock you out, but you’d still feel the pain. It’d be like being a prisoner in your own body. I also had to wait for your psych evaluation after the mission before I could do this – we weren’t sure if you could handle the shock,” Dr Walsh explains.

I swallow hard.

“How long is it going to take?”

“It’ll take four hours to completely flush your system. We start with an injection which separates your blood cells from the technology, and then we have to draw it out.”

“Draw it out?”

Travis grimaces and Dr Walsh says, “We run magnets over your skin and they suck the tech out through your pores. You lose a lot of blood in the process, so about half way through I’ll have to give you a blood transfusion. Then finally, we remove your number.”

I feel bile rise in my throat, and the next thing I know, I’ve thrown up all over myself.

“That’s the idea,” the doctor says with a trace of his usual humour. “You’ll need to do a full digestive cleanse before we can start. I’ll get the nurse in.”



I am red all over and consciousness comes and goes with the intensity of the pain. My foot has been shot up with reparative drugs and it is merely a dull throb in contrast to the constant stabbing sensation in every minute inch of my skin. Travis is on the other side of the curtain, and I can see his shadow flinch every time a sound passes my lips.

The beginning was the worst. I already felt awful after the ‘cleanse,’ but the moment the separating serum was injected into a vein on my wrist, I felt like I’d been punched in the gut by a man ten times the size of me. My breath was gone, and it took all I had to remember that I did in fact have working lungs. It was as if someone had tried to pull another me out of my body in one move. I could feel myself shift internally.

Actually, that whole experience was the worst. The moment the magnet drifted over my hand, I started screaming. The first organ he cleansed was my liver, and that was when I started to fade in and out.

My throat was so raw after ten minutes that from then on, the only sounds I can make are these scratchy gasps.

“Last step, Freya,” Dr Walsh tells me, pulling out what looks like a pen. I nod at him, face slack, and then the tip of the pen glows white and he presses it to my tattoo.

It’s a sharp sting, but after all that, it may as well be a stone in my shoe. It takes him all of one minute to remove. The white looks strange against the redness of my skin.

“And we’re done,” he says. “I’ll just get you to drink something and all that XY crap will be completely gone this time tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” I breathe.

“You did very well, Freya. I’m sorry this had to happen.”

I nod, smile, and feel my lips break and start to bleed again.

“The nurse will clean you up, and then you can get dressed and sleep. You are going to be out of action for a few days at least.”

I nod again, and the doctor leaves.