Her mother was a cook in the endless war. She never really knew what her father was up to, but she reckoned he was some sort of comforter. When she got off and went on patrol in the morning she left her mother home, alone. She never liked doing it, but she never really had a choice.

​

She could feel something was up. The cicadas had ceased their symphony ten, maybe twenty years ago, ever since the Long Winter. 

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So what the hell was that chirping hum?

 

They couldn't possibly mimic that sound, but it felt too… real. They must’ve finally allied and gotten help from outsiders. 

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A popping sound from not too far away started echoing in the air. It’s them, they’re fighting the all-out battle. 

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Worrying about fallen comrades was futile now, but she knew the best way to honor their ultimate sacrifice was to take a few of those motherfuckers and let them meet their creator. The jungle offered shade and darkness, the blasts covered her paws stepping on branches. It was her time to engage.

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She sprinted. The world blurred as she dashed through the underbrush, every muscle taut with purpose. The chirping hum grew louder, a war cry that spurred her on. She spotted movement—a flicker of gray hair. She pounded the earth in rapid succession. 

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Closer. 

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The enemy darted left, but she anticipated the move, veering to cut it off. 

 

Closer. 

​

She could almost taste victory. With a final leap, she launched herself at the target. A knife outstretched, she collided with him. A tumble. The fucker squeaked in terror, but there was no escape. She pinned it down, her heart pounding in her chest like a war drum.

​

“Godspeed”, she thought. She always wanted to say it, and now she had an actual reason. Too bad no one was around to hear her.

​

Self-celebrations cut short. By the time she started surveying the field for shadow lurkers, a Black Maria screeched past, its tires kicking up dust and debris, flooring it. They didn't see her, but she saw them, heading south – straight towards her home.

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She glided, each step calculated and silent, her senses sharp and alert. The once distant pops and chirps were now replaced by an eerie silence.

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The ground beneath her boots turned softer, marked by fresh, deep tracks in the mud. The silence was broken by muffled sounds coming from the direction of her home. Her heart raced. 

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Intruders. The battle wasn't over yet.

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She inched closer, her breath steady, her mind ready. The closer she got, the clearer the sounds became – the unmistakable noise of a struggle inside the house.

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She slipped inside through the back entrance, her eyes scanning the dimly lit rooms. Shadows flitted across the walls, quick and nimble. She caught sight of two figures darting across the floor.

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"Engage," she thought, her body coiled.

With a burst of speed, she launched herself into the fray. The first enemy turned, eyes wide in surprise, but she was already upon them, delivering a swift, precise strike. The second figure tried to flee, but she blocked its path.

​

She fought with precision and grace, each movement deliberate, each strike decisive. 
The skirmish was over in moments, the intruders subdued and motionless.

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Just as she stood over the fallen enemies, a familiar voice broke through the haze.

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“Ortiga! Oh my god! Did you kill another mouse?” the petulant voice bawled.

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Her sister’s shrill cry shattered the illusion, dragging her back to the reality of the kitchen. The two mice lay still at her feet, their small bodies stark against the cold tile floor.

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Ortiga turned away and started licking her whiskers, indifferent to the outburst. There were always more invaders. The fight would continue. Compassion had no place in war.