Capítulo 2: Chapter 2: Home
Olivia pulled into the driveway of her suburban house, the tires of her '69 Shelby crunching softly on the gravel driveway. The house was modest, to say the least... oh, who's kidding! It was fuckin' fancy! It didn't belong to the same tax bracket she was in a lifetime ago.
One of those sleek, contemporary homes with clean roof lines, floor-to-ceiling windows, and cream-colored siding, nestled in a quiet part of the town. A few sheds dotted the land nearby—mostly hers, the benefit of having a real estate entrepreneur for a grandfather and a talented realtor for a wife.
It was a warm evening? Warmer than most, though it was still too cold for skin-dipping. Crisp might be a better adjective.
For a brief, peaceful moment, Olivia rested her head against the steering wheel. Who knew being a mortician was more draining than being a Pathologist?
But there was hope yet, she just needed a clean record, and five years of probationary observation in a teaching hospital would wipe the slate.
'Probably?'
At least she could have her privileges and DEA license back.
She stepped out of the car, shutting the door with a soft *click*, and took a moment to stretch her shoulders again. The creaking in her ears worried her, at this rate, she'd be in an old-age home before she could hit 50.
Her footsteps were oddly muffled on the stone pathway leading to the front door and before long, she was inside, taking off her shoes. Before she was through the living door gate, she was greeted by the familiar sounds of a video game blasting from inside.
Helja was on the couch, in her usual dark green loungewear. Her long, raven-black hair flowed down her back, framing her sharp angular face and pale, almost porcelain skin. She was at it again, another RPG or FPS or MMORPG that she'd finish a couple hundred times before stuffing it in one of the sheds outside.
She dropped her keys in the key bowl and made her way across the living room, perhaps it annoyed her or maybe she noticed something, but Helja's eyes flickered over to Olivia as she passed by her,
"Evening,"
Her voice was low and controlled, some might even say cold, but by the slight tug on her lip, Olivia'd say it was probably her usual poker face.
"Hey,"
Olivia replied, setting her bag on the table, she flopped onto the other end of the couch, sinking into the cushions with a content sigh.
"Anything interesting?"
"Hmm,"
Helja hummed, her attention returning to the screen,
"No. Nothing. With how much money people spend on this crap, you'd think the developers would make the game more interesting. Instead, all they do is shrink the character's clothes until there's nothing left."
Olivia shot her a tired smile.
"That's what makes them more money."
Helja studied her for a moment, not paying attention to her character who was getting a couple hundred bullets pumped into it. It was... an odd sort of sensation.
Even after four long years of marriage, Olivia knew next to nothing about her wife. Helja was... strange. Distant. And her concept of time was completely fucked up.
Helja's lips tugged harder and she let out what might pass as a chuckle,
"Maybe you need a break."
Olivia laughed, though it lacked any real humor in it.
"A break? From what? Dead bodies?"
"No,"
Helja said, returning to the game.
"From corroding your bones with your poor postures. Maybe I'll blow your back out this weekend-"
It was not a hallucination, she was joking around.
"Relax those stiff muscles."
Olivia blinked, then shot her a half-hearted glare,
"You know, you're the only person who could say stuff like that with a straight face."
Helja's face returned to her usual stone-cold expressionless looks,
"Well, it works, doesn't it?"
Olivia considered it for a moment but decided she needed her back to get to work tomorrow,
"I think I just need a shower and some sleep. It's been a long day."
Helja didn't argue, just watched Olivia trudge upstairs. Her wife was a grown woman. When there were matters that needed both their attention, they'd talk. Bothering her now when she wasn't ready would just ruin their moods.
|*_*|*_*|*_*|*_*|*_*|
Olivia stepped into the shower, and the hot water ran down her body, easing some of the tension from her muscles. She closed her eyes, letting out a soft groan as steam wrapped around her.
She didn't resent Helja for not caring if she felt stiff or being more successful in their relationship. Helja had practically taken over their real estate business, which now was five times the size her grandfather had been so proud of. All the while, Olivia spent her time sitting in a cold mortuary, waiting for another patient to die.
If there was anyone to resent, it was her mentor. The old bastard had been diagnosed with Parkinson's a year after her suspension. And what did the medical board offer her? A chance to return to practice after four more years of probation.
So here she was—a thirty-year-old with one more year of probation, hoping to eventually become a thirty-one-year-old aspiring neurologist with half a year's experience as a neurosurgeon.
No, she didn't resent Helja!
Helja excelled in every way, she was beautiful, she was successful, she was... well, compared to her, Olivia felt stuck. Worse, maybe House was right—she was getting insecure about the marriage.
The thought twisted her stomach into knots.
Olivia sighed, turning off the water and stepping out of the shower. As she wrapped herself in a towel, her gaze fell on the wedding photo hanging near the bathroom door. It was simple, nothing fancy—just the two of them standing outside their house on a sunny day. Olivia was smiling, and so was Helja. Not one of those forced expressions, but a real, genuine smile.
But that serious thought disappeared as soon as she saw what was dumped carelessly in the cabinet next to the photo... her army... it was her fukin' army!
"She didn't—"
Olivia started but then paused. Of course, she did. Helja had probably been messing with one of the figurines, knocked over a couple, and stuffed the rest into the cupboard.
There was 'He'stan.'
'Librarian Kal'gar Praetek!'
'Captain Mulbakeok Sagorr'arth!'
Dreadnoughts. Sternguard Squad. Terminator Squad. Ten-man Tactical Squads. Ten-man Assault Squad. Rhinos and Land Raiders. Five-man Devastator Squad…
Once she could've gone on about their history, but by now her enthusiasm had pretty much disappeared.
'Just some dumb toys.'
These were not all, there were more in the shed. She had spent the better part of her probation spending her paycheck on purchasing these miniatures and painting them. There was no point in studying anymore, she wouldn't be standing over any more surgery tables, not with a stain like that on her record.
Well, no point in crying over spilled milk.
Shaking the thoughts out of her head, Olivia slipped into bed. Helja was probably going to pull another all-nighter, she glanced at the clock. It was late, but not too late... just late enough for her to feel exhausted down to the bones.
As she lay down, staring at the ceiling, something strange happened. At first, it was just a small rippling sensation under her skin, but she dismissed it as the uncomfortably soft mattress. But the feeling grew stronger. Her heart rate spiked, a low hum filled her ears, and she felt a strange sense of disorientation. As though she was being pulled and stretched, expanded beyond her capacity, and deflated just as quickly.
She tried to sit up, but her body felt too heavy. Her vision blurred, and before she could shout for help, the sensation washed over her completely.
And then... nothing.
Just as quickly as it had started, it stopped. Her body went limp and she fell into a dreamless sleep.
|*_*|*_*|*_*|*_*|*_*|
Helja was still in the living room, wasting her time and energy on a game she knew was rigged to fail players at every level half a dozen times before allowing them to proceed. It was a good scam, one that made the game seem more interesting... a unique approach considering most companies usually just add strippers to the tally of playable characters.
Suddenly, she paused mid-game, her fingers hovering over the controller as a sudden surge of energy rippled through the air. It was faint but unmistakable. Instinctively, her hand clenched, and the familiar cold weight of her weapon appeared in her gasp, slicing clean through the armrest as she bolted upright.
The house felt too small, too tight—there wasn't enough space to fight without risking Olivia's safety.
Fear gripped her heart—not for herself, but for her wife. The thought of her father, or anyone from her past coming for Olivia sent a wave of panic surging through her nerves. She wouldn't let them take her away.
Helja didn't waste any more time thinking and pondering. She rushed upstairs, her weapon dissolving back into the void as she burst through the bedroom door. But the sight that met her eyes stopped her cold. Olivia was lying on the bed, breathing heavily, skin flushed with fever.
Helja rushed to her side, pressing a hand to Olivia's forehead. She was burning up. Too hot.
Without hesitation, she grabbed a water bottle from the nightstand, tilting Olivia's head back to let her drink. But Olivia was barely conscious, her lips unmoving.
Helja frowned, then drank from the bottle herself and pressed her lips to Olivia's, transferring the water. She'd seen it in a movie once.
Olivia stirred, barely conscious, but she drank the water. Helja made her take five or six more sips.
Satisfied, Helja tucked her in, pulling the blankets up to her chin. She didn't want to press Olivia for answers yet, but the wave of power she sensed still lingered in her mind. Something had happened, and whatever it was, she'd see Olivia through it—no matter the cost.
Helja lay down beside her, watching Olivia's face. She probably wouldn't sleep tonight; her mind was too alert. But she could at least keep an eye on her wife, protect her from anything else that might come.
And silently, she cursed her inability to protect Olivia from what was growing inside her.
|*_*|*_*|*_*|*_*|*_*|
Everything was quiet; it was an hour past midnight. Helja had made sure to close all the doors and windows. They might be living in the middle of nowhere, and while she was powerful enough to butcher ordinary humans and maybe even some supernatural ones, she wasn't going to take any unnecessary risks.
All the lights were off, except for the soft glow from the shower bulb, which illuminated most of the dressing room, including the cupboard where the cleaning supplies were kept. Inside, an assortment of figurines lay, some standing, others lying on rags or stuffed into a bucket.
Giving new meaning to the insult 'Emperor's little soldiers,' they were tiny. The tallest was a dreadnaught, barely 22-23cm high.
On the topmost shelf stood an important-looking Space Marine. Posed in a stance of triumph, its tiny flamethrower was raised high as his booted feet stamped the wreckage of a Chimera. Olivia had painstakingly painted that one, careful with even the smallest details—the scorch marks on the armor and the singed edges.
Suddenly, a flicker sparked from beneath the Space Marine's boot—almost like a trick of the eye. Then it happened again, followed by a low hum, barely audible at first, emanating from the figure's back.
The tiny Marine's power unit gave a sharp *whir*—as though the machinery inside was materializing into something real. The once-rigid plastic began to harden and bend, reshaping into something... more alive.
The flickering flames from the figure's flamethrower ignited with a strong scent of promethium. The wreckage of the Chimera beneath the Space Marine's feet groaned and creaked, its plastic warping into metal, scarred and battered as if fresh from battle.
Then, the Space Marine's chest heaved upward, his entire body convulsing, as if emerging from deep water after nearly drowning. He gasped loudly, his helmeted head jerking upward as air filled his lungs for the first time.
Heaving and panting, he stood, fully animated. His head turned from side to side, scanning his new surroundings. The flames from his weapon flickered briefly before dying down as he lowered it, staring in awe at the towering monolith before him, which read, 'Mr. Clean Clean Freak.'
Suddenly, a tired voice crackled through the helmet's damaged vox transmitter...
"By the hammer of Vulkan—"
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