Chapter 2: From Puma One to Puma None

  I’m sure that the Australian Army has plenty of ways to help someone to transition to civilian life, but I wasn’t one of the people that could really be helped. My problem was two-fold. Number one was that technically, I wasn’t meant to be a part of the Army: When I first fell into the cockpit, I was actually technically underage (And by that, I mean 13), and I had been outside the typical command structure. Basically, to admit my existence was to admit that the Australian government had technically used a child soldier and no matter how desperate the situation, or how seemingly eager said 13 year old idiot was, that was a big fat no-no. Not that the United Nations would be able to do jack fucking shit about it, but Australia had a reputation to maintain.

  The second problem is that the career progression opportunities for a mech pilot are limited at best. The skillset isn’t exactly very transferrable, and in this day and age, there wasn’t a lot of work for a mech pilot. On my last day of service, the day I graduated high school, I returned to base, was forced to hand over the keys to my beloved mech, Puma One, before it would be taken away, probably picked apart for scrap metal. I would be given my orders to report to Canberra immediately, for formal induction into the Australian Army ASAP. I think the Army got 3 years out of me before I quit.

  At this point in my life, my employment was a lot more sporadic, despite my attempts at entrepreneurialism. Most of it was at least legal, if dubious: bouncing at shitty strip clubs, ripping off the odd casino by counting cards, even a little bit of private investigation. But none of this compares to the sheer sense of satisfaction you get, sitting in the pilot seat of however many tonnes of steel and raw firepower, the type I used to think could only be found in cartoons.

  Today, I’d finished a shift bouncing at a particularly low-rent strip club. As I walked home, listening to a podcast on how to bid for government contracts, my nostrils were assaulted by the stench of rubbish. I heard the crashing of glass bottles, and saw the broken glass all over the footpath. I peeked around the corner, saw a brunette woman fighting what appeared to be a man made out of living rubbish. I adjusted my flat cap, shot my cuffs and cracked my knuckles. The rubbish monster turned around and stared me down as he finished spewing a load of liquid waste.

  “This doesn’t concern you, interloper!”

  Tonight had been a quiet, yet frustrating night, and I needed to blow off some steam. Fortunately, I’d worn my shit-kicking boots. I stepped forward, just as the brunette woman transformed.

  If you’ve never seen a magical girl transform, you’ve missed out. All of a sudden, this beat-down office worker started shining like the birth of a star. A range of psychedelic colours starting pouring out, and suddenly, corporate casual clothes were replaced with what I can only describe as a cross between a Victorian woman’s dress, and her punk daughter’s club outfit, as drawn by a comic book artist. Her hair and eyes had turned a rich purple, like the robes of a Roman emperor, and her dress was the same colour, with black accents. While the rubbish monster was distracted, I took the opportunity to get a cheap shot in with my boots, shattering something, causing the trash monster to howl in pain. I followed up with a nasty kick to where I thought its guts were, before it turned around and started yammering about its name and purpose. My next bright move was to crash-tackle it into a big steel bin. We grappled for a bit, and I got shoved back, before I heard a loud “BANG!”, and a blast of purple energy whipped past my ear, into the monster. The magical girl was holding her umbrella like a musket, and the point was smoking.

  The magical girl and I followed this up by dumping the trash monster in the bin where it belonged, just as the rubbish truck came by to take the bin away. I breathed a sigh of relief, and immediately regretted that decision, as the girl transformed back, and the scent of rubbish filled my nostrils.

  “You alright?” I asked, trying to be polite. This girl looked like she was tweaking, staring at her umbrella with the biggest shit-eating grin on her face. “I did that. Holy shit, that just happened, I just did that, and that was fucking awesome and-.”

  “Yo, Ground Control to Major Tom, can you hear me, Major Tom?”

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  The brunette woman’s expression faded, and she looked up at me desperately. “I mean, you did see that, right? Because I saw you just try and shove Detritus back into the garbage, which was cool and all, but HOLY SHIT, I haven’t done that since I was a teenager, and-“

  “Yeah, I was there. It’s Amy, right?”

  “Wait, how the fuck do you know my name?”

  “Firstly, because using Amethyst as a codename for someone called Amy is about the laziest and stupidest idea I could think of, secondly, I think you might remember my old callsign: Puma One.”

  The woman’s smile dropped. “Oh God, don’t tell me you were part of the Staaldier Initiative, were you?”

  “Yep. Puma One, best pilot in the squadron. I had the panther mech, remember? You can call me Elias, though.”

  “Yeah. I remember some of the shit I used to hear you guys talking about the Crystalline Sisters, over comms. You guys were filthy back in the day.”

  “Always wondered how you managed to hack into our comms. I mean, you really shouldn’t have been able to do so, but that’s a problem for Signals Institute, circa a few years ago now.”

  We both walked out of the alley. I tried to subtly get under the umbrella: the club had requested I return the poncho they provided, the cheap cockroach bastards.

  “Do you want to get something to eat? I’m starving, and work just paid me. Plus, I know a bomb Maltese joint.”

  “Farrugia’s’, right? I mean, if you’re paying, sure. Surprised that it’s still open after all these years.”

  The restaurant wasn’t far in the rain. It was a small family joint, one that had been there since I was a toddler. We grabbed some pastzizzi and Kinnie. Amy’s mind looked like it was a billion miles away before I tried breaking the silence.

  “So, how’s retirement been treating you?”

  She turned to me, and I regretted asking instantly. She looked like someone had kicked a puppy. I shook my head. Back in the day, we mecha pilots had a rivalry with the magical girls, but I couldn’t even bring myself to snark. “That bad, huh?”

  “Yep. That bad.”

  “If it helps, I’ve had my share of humbling too. My whole division got shuttered, would’ve been about the same time yours did. Army got about 3 years out of me before I left. Got sick of all the bullshit and the politics, and now I do this and that.”

  “Cool. I… I work in a call centre, for the government. They made me sign an NDA, so I can’t really elaborate, but it sucks. It really does.”

  “Ouch. Sorry I asked.”

  “Not your fault. I just thought that life would be better, you know? I mean, I’ve put in so much effort that’s gone less than nowhere. Now, I struggle to pay rent on a government wage, the callers are assholes, and until tonight, I hadn’t been able to use my powers since I turned 18.”

  I paused, let the bittersweet taste of the Kinnie wash over my tongue. “I’m surprised you’re struggling. Wasn’t there going to be a movie, or some shit? Or maybe my squadmates were all talking bullshit.”

  “No, but there was going to be. They were looking at casting either Kirsten Stewart, or Jennifer Lawrence to play my character, but I guess the project fell through.”

  “Yeah, no disrespect, but you look nothing like either of them. I’m guessing they were going for name recognition over accuracy.”

  “Look man, I’m Maltese-Australian, and I look like it. Hollywood hasn’t cared about us since the 40’s.”

  We went quiet. I couldn’t think of anything to say, so she broke the silence. “I can’t go back.”

  “Back to what?”

  “You know. Life. Normal life, anyway. When I changed back, I felt… I felt like I was back where I was meant to be. And now that I’ve done that, I can’t go back to spreadsheets, and headsets and customer service. I- I need magic. I need danger and I need to be the Crystal Guardian Amethyst again.”

  “And I need to put some scratch together. You’re givin' me an idea, but I’ll need time to hash it out.”

  I paid for dinner, swapped numbers with her, and went back to the alleyway, leaving Amy alone. Grabbing a plastic bag, I swept some of the broken glass inside before I went back to my apartment. I shook my head. If monsters really were coming back, then so was I, and I still had one bridge I hadn’t burned with the Defence Force. I hadn’t called her in years, but hopefully she hadn’t bothered to change her number. I dialled the number as I looked back at the broken glass. There was that trademark green and purple energy that sparked off the glass, the sparks which had always been found on the monsters we’d faced. The phone picked up, a woman’s voice, with a strong, broad Australian accent, the type that only absolute bogans have.

  “The fuck you want, Beltran?”

  “Dormammu, I’ve come to bargain.”

  “Fuck off, Lance-Corporal. Lose my number, and quit trying to rope me into your schemes.”

  She hung up on me, so I took a photo of the sparks and sent it to her. I only had to wait about 4 minutes before she called me back. “Alright. You’ve piqued my interest. Time and place.”

  I grinned. My luck was turning around.