Novels by Bia F A

Chapter 6: A Very Tactical DisguiseThe lingering warmth of Svara’s fingers was still tingled on Jevan’s palm when Elangga ruined the moment by shoving a dusty burlap sack into his chest."Put this on," Elangga whispered, his voice vibrating with a grave, tactical solemnity. "Our lives depend on it."Jevan stared at the rough, scratchy fabric in his hands. It was a giant, oversized potato sack, dyed a highly questionable shade of swamp-green, with dozens of rusted plastic forks pushed through the weave so they jutted out like jagged teeth. On top of the head-hole, Elangga had wired a bright yellow, highly synthetic duster flower."Elangga," Jevan said, his voice flat. "What is this?""It is the pinnacle of desert camouflage," Elangga said, proudly gesturing to his own sack, which he had already pulled over his tactical vest. The plastic forks crinkled against his armor as he puffed out his chest. "We are going to dress as giant saguaro cacti. We will slowly shuffle down the dune in a

The blinding, white-hot magnesium glare of the homemade flashbomb burned straight through Jevan’s closed eyelids. He let out a strangled yelp, his vision instantly dissolving into a chaotic sea of dancing purple spots and screaming static. But years of dodging snapping drive-belts and exploding steam lines had trained his body to react before his brain could catch up. Hearing the frantic, heavy rustle of a stiff canvas trench coat rushing toward the exit, Jevan threw himself forward in a blind, desperate tackle."I got her!" he roared, his hands locking onto a bundle of crackling plastic and thick fabric. They collided with a heavy, air-leaving oof. The impact sent them both skidding across the dusty concrete floor, initiating a spectacular, highly wet catastrophe. Dozens of plastic intravenous saline bags, shoved hastily into the thief’s oversized pockets, surrendered to the pressure. They burst one after another in a rapid-fire chorus of wet pops, spraying cold, sterile saltwater

The silence in the dim, dusty lobby of the hospital was so thick you could have sliced it with a rusted hacksaw. Dr. Tisya Renjani stood with her feet planted wide, her aluminum clipboard resting against her hip, looking like a disappointed general who had just discovered her elite troops had traded their rifles for kazoo-horns. "Well?" Tisya repeated, her eyes narrowing as they flicked from Elangga’s pristine floral shirt to the flattened cardboard boxes littered around his boots. "I’m waiting."Elangga cleared his throat, snapping to attention and executing a crisp, albeit incredibly dusty, military salute. "Doctor. I was simply executing a high-velocity, low-impact perimeter defense. The cardboard, as I’m sure a medical professional of your caliber can appreciate, was a structural upgrade to absorb the kinetic energy of my tactical descent.""You fell off a balcony because you tried to use a ten-year-old rubber hose as a zipline," Jevan said, sitting up on the concrete floor and r

Jevan lay in the dirt, covered in soot, steam, and sand. The scooter’s engine let out one final, pathetic hiss of death, and then was silent. "Well," Jevan muttered to the sky, his voice raspy and thin. "We made it.""Define 'made it,'" Svara said, her voice dripping with dry, unadulterated venom. She was already on her feet, furiously brushing gray dust and bits of dried horseweed off her cargo pants. "Because if 'made it' means crashing a motorized trash can into a pile of dirt, ruining my only good pair of pants, and trapping us in a courtyard with a locked gate, then yes, Jevan. We absolutely nailed it."Jevan groaned, slowly rolling onto his side. Every muscle in his body felt like it had been run over by a steamroller, and then put through a blender. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, spitting out a mouthful of gritty sand. "Look, the gates are locked. Those raiders outside can’t get to us. Technically, this is a strategic victory.""Oh, really?" Svara pointed a finger towar

The screech of the escaping steam didn't just hurt Jevan’s ears; it vibrated his very teeth, rattling his jaw until his skull ached. It was a high-frequency, metallic shriek that sounded like a giant iron beast having its throat cut. He didn't even have time to cover his face before the main manifold of the filtration pump gave up on life entirely. With a deafening BOOM, the copper bypass line tore itself from the wall mounts. A blinding wall of white, superheated steam and scalding water erupted outward, hitting Jevan like a physical fist. The force of the blast lifted his boots off the ground and threw him backward. He flew through the air, flailing wildly, before crashing hard into a pile of empty plastic crates. The crates shattered under his weight in a spectacular chorus of snaps and pops, burying him in a heap of sharp, dusty blue plastic.Jevan lay there for a second, staring up at the corrugated iron ceiling, completely dazed. The room was rapidly filling with white fog, ma

"If you leak one more drop of rusty gray water on my boots, I swear to God I will personally melt you down into a frying pan," Jevan hissed, wiping a mixture of grease and stinging sweat from his eyes. The copper pipe of Sector 4’s primary filtration pump didn't care about his empty threats. It gave a wet, mocking splat, sending a jet of lukewarm, metallic-tasting water directly into his left cheek. "Unbelievable," Jevan muttered, spitting out a stray droplet that had landed on his lip. His throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper, and his tongue was practically glued to the roof of his mouth. He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing past loose screws and copper wire, until he found what he was looking for: a heavily crushed, slightly lint-covered piece of synthetic mint bubblegum. He popped it into his mouth and chewed furiously. It was stale, hard as a pebble, and tasted vaguely like industrial detergent, but it was his only hope. As his jaw worked the gum into a sticky,