XY Revolution

The back part of the helicopter is surprisingly quiet, though if this is the Resistance’s, then it would need to be for planning and giving commands I suppose. That’s about as luxurious as it gets though.

I didn’t even realise that my heart was beating so fast until I’m handed a bottle of water.

“You’ll be dehydrated after standing so close to that blaze,” a muffled voice says.

“Thanks,” I reply, and then can’t help but ask, “Are you ever going to take that helmet off?”

I can almost hear the eye-roll of the guy beneath, but he then unhooks the clasp under his chin and lifts it off. His shock of hair is bright blue, and his eyes green. There is a scatter of freckles across is nose and cheeks, but his most notable features are his scars. He has three vertical ones across his lips, and a deeper scar running from just above his left eye through to his cheekbone. It’s amazing there isn’t a gash in his eye.

He chuckles humourlessly and says, “I had the eye replaced, if that’s what you’re wondering. A useless eye isn’t an option here.”

My hands immediately fly to my glasses.

“Oh don’t worry, yours is just a quick laser treatment,” he informs me, before touching his right eyebrow.

Suddenly there’s a silver ring through it and I gasp a little. Women aren’t allowed piercings, because it’s believed that they can be used as weapons too easily. It’s still rare to see them on men; they’re all too easy to rip out.

“You’re a country girl,” he says. It’s a statement and I can’t help but want to hit him because he makes it sound like an insult.

“Better than being some poor asshole in a city in North America,” I snap back.

“That’s true.” His tone is very bitter.

“What’s your name anyway?” I ask. “I like to know the names of the people I’m going to hurt at some point in the future.”

He lifts his pierced eye brow and laughs, “Like you could. I’m not sure what I’ve done exactly, but you have no idea who you’re messing with.”

“No, I don’t,” I respond pointedly.

“I’m Travis, Travis Hunt.”

“I don’t like your attitude, Travis Hunt.”

“Oh, you’re going to fit right in.”



Travis is silent from that point on, and I take to sipping from the water. He passes me a packet of crackers that taste like cardboard and with the same consistency, but I force them down anyway.

“Where are we going?” I finally blurt.

“Hong Kong.”

“It’s gonna take a while then, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well Hong Kong’s not just across the border.”

“No.”

I take another sip and drum my fingers on the armrest.

“Will you stop that?” Travis says.

“Is there anything to do?” I complain.

“Shut up and sleep?”

I roll my eyes at him and say, “I couldn’t sleep if I tried.”

“You’re going to need to be well rested for what we’ve got planned,” he says, eyes as bored as I am.

“Can you tell me what the plan is?” I ask and he shakes his head.

I then shift closer and bat my eyelashes. He just raises one unimpressed eyebrow and I groan.

“That usually works,” I admit. “But you seriously can’t tell me?”

“Not yet. Be patient.”

“Fine, can we play twenty-questions?”

“Five,” he says.

“I’ll take what I can get.”

He runs a hand through his hair and waits.

“Where are you from?” I ask.

“Toronto. It’s in Canada.”

The accent suddenly makes sense but I don’t let him know that I’ve been trying to place it since I met him. My mum can pick an accent perfectly from a single sentence. Sadly the talent does not run in the family.

“I know where Toronto is,” I tell him with an eye roll.

“Hey, country girls don’t tend to know these things.” The smirk on his face is something I just want to smack off.

“How many country girls have you actually met?!”

“Just you.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I aim to impress,” he says casually. “You’ve got three questions left.”

I purse my lips when I realise he’s tricked me into asking on of my precious five questions.

“Is North America really as bad as it looks?” I whisper.

“It’s worse.”

His face is unreadable.

“It’s a nuclear wasteland. Only the coastal cities are really ‘civilised’. The middle is a ghost-town. It’s just not worth trying to build a life where it’s too damn hot and tornadoes run through every week. The cities are a joke. You have the UN buildings and Hollywood, a few banks and shit like that, but the slums are the biggest part, and they’re fucking awful. Everybody knows someone who’s been stabbed, shot, or murdered. Everyone gets mugged at some point and has their house broken into, and shit stolen. Don’t even get me started on how much disease there is, and how many die because they haven’t eaten properly in weeks and the rats are all gone.

“The authorities would have you believe it’s all under control of the XY Regime but that’s a load of bull. They just control the perimeter and keep the scum inside. But it’s like a cancer, in every city. It’s destructive and terrifying, and no matter what you do, it just keeps growing. You see why I have trouble with country kids, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do. But I’d be careful, if I were you,” I warn.

“Excuse me?” he spits.

“Everyone’s struggling. Who are you to tell anyone else what’s worth moaning about? It might get you killed, thinking like that. Who knows who will talk nice to face one moment, and then slit your throat for your boots?”

“How old are you, Freya?” he suddenly asks.

“Fifteen.”

“You have a little sister, right?”

“Yes.”

Where the hell is he going with this?

“So do I. Did. I don’t know actually. She’s property of the UN somewhere, just a year younger than you. She could be working a brothel for all I know.”

“That’s awful,” I say. “I couldn’t…I’d rather die than have Jane be taken by them. She’s been through enough.”

“Her and Sierra both then.”

He puts his head in his hands for a moment and I drain the rest of my water.

“How old are you?” I ask.

“I’m eighteen.”

Nothing makes you grow up faster than the XY Regime.

“You’ve got one question left,” Travis then says.

“What are you fighting for?”

“Freedom.”



Sleep eventually comes, some more cardboard-tasting food and water, and then more sleep. Travis doesn’t wake me up kindly though.

“Hey! Country girl!” he yells.

My eyes fly open and my hands curl into fists.

“We’re here,” Travis says.

“Hong Kong?”

“Technically.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Here’s your first test,” he then throws me a shimmery red bit of fabric and my face curls into a look of disgust.

“I’m not wearing this.”

“Yes, you are. That’s an order. Go change while I take a piss.”

It’s a good thing he leaves immediately because I’m so infuriated I would’ve attacked him. I’m not sure how well that would’ve worked, but I don’t like taking orders. I didn’t really think that I’d have to do things just because someone else said so, but this is the Resistance and order is necessary.

I hold out the dress at arm’s length and cringe. It’s terribly low-cut and clingy, with a slit up the side, despite the fact that my legs are too short to be worthy of showing off. I shrug off my clothes and pull the fabric over my head.

When Travis returns, he looks me up and down without a change in expression. He just nods and passes me a holster for my thigh, with a thin blade in it.

“What’s it made out of?” I ask, noticing it’s not metal.

“It’s just ceramic. I’m not sure how long it’ll hold so make it a good strike. You probably won’t need to use it but it’d be stupid you going in there with no weapon,” Travis explains as I attach the strap to my leg.

“Alright, listen carefully. We’re going to be taking you to a prison. Your job is to entertain the guards tonight – Natasha says you can sing a little. When you go in, you’ll be meeting with Derek. He’s one of ours and he’ll make sure you look good, prepare the song and get you on the stage. That’s all you need to do. Just listen to him, and follow him out when he says. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Good, because we’re about to land.”