Ivie

Thick haze bounded the surroundings and piercing screams rang out throughout the air. A teenage girl of not more than sixteen was flogged by the chief of an illegal organisation which dealt with cosmetic and aesthetic surgery but required payment that cost simply nothing but a bomb. She keeled over from the pain and cried out in despair as yet another punch landed on her knees. Tears and blood flowed down at the same time, forming crimson pools on the ground and seemed to seep through the cold, lifeless floor. Ivie searched imploringly as she moaned in agony for a face with a hint of sympathy, but none was found. There, she was trapped, with no way of escape and left to die on her own. But no one cared.

“Ask us for another surgery without paying?” a dark looming shadow taunted as he ordered a pause in the beating. “Fifteen month’s of installments you owe us, and fifty years you take to return the money!” hollered the chief. “We do not tolerate this, my dear girl. You will pay back, girl, because you will. I give you three days’ time.” the chief hissed in a deadly whisper. “Go!” the chief gestured before his gang followed him out of the dilapidated shed.

Ivie crawled away into the darkness, quite forgotten. She crouched behind several wooden boxes and salty tears brimmed in her eyes. She clutched her bleeding wounds as her skin felt as if it had seared open.

Cosmetic surgery was part of Ivie’s life, or rather the onus of Ivie’s life. Ivie was not born a gorgeous and stunning girl; she was in fact born a plain and ugly. Ivie had no parents (they perished in a car crash), no confidante; she was wretched and depressed, but nothing could be of help at all. She could not afford to purchase cosmetics, much less trendy and stylish clothes to doll herself up. Gradually, she got to hear about cosmetic surgery and it had appeared as a wondrous phenomenon to her. Resolved and determined to find a source that offered such services, she eventually stumbled on one, but it occurred in black markets.

Nobody was mocking her now, nobody scorned her now, and Ivie grew more radiantly each day. But a tint of suspicion remained— was she addicted?

She decided not.

Yet Ivie had not realised her folly, until her fifteenth surgery, the one which failed so severely and also the one which had scarred Ivie emotionally and physically for life. Ivie’s face-lift operation was unsuccessful, and surgical knife used to cut open her skin had sliced the wrong area, right at the left side of her chin, and blood gushed out at a rapid pace. When the bloody wound had been successfully clotted, the bandage was removed, and Ivie shrieked when she saw her reflection in the mirror. Down at the left bottom of her chin was a harsh, five-inch long gash that puckered in a red, angry line and showed evidences of intention in etching on the skin for eternity. Incensed, Ivie refused her bill and was reported to the chief. Negotiation turned into a fury spar between Ivie and the chief but she was no match against him. She was then beaten up by the triad members and left to whimper in anguish, to writher in excruciating pain and torment. Intense hatred built up in her mind as her fingers felt for the deep and hideous blemish which had disfigured her. Fits of near-exploding fury spurted in her as she thought about it even more and she felt her blood boiling.

Sirens wailed in the air and towering uniformed people armed with guns surrounded the area. Ivie, hiding on her own behind the empty boxes peered out timidly to see what was happening. She saw the silhouettes of several men who resembled unmistakably the chief and his gang triad being apprehended and pushed into the police cars. Ivie was stunned, but before she could react, someone tugged at her sleeves of her shirt. Ivie was appalled and slowly, she whirled her head round, and saw a police-officer smiling gently and beckoning for Ivie to approach her.

“Miss Ivie, there is a report for you.” a metallic voice interrupted abruptly Ivie who was engrossed in her own her trail of thoughts.

“Oh, it’s you Gradar. Leave it on the table, thank you.” Ivie directed, jerked to her own senses quite hastily. With a great clanking sound, the robot dropped the folder on the organised desktop before it shuffled out. Ivie shook her head a little, as if to help jolt her concentration back, before she opened the file to read the report.

This was 25 years later, in year 2035, the modern world of technology advancements. Ivie was the director of a large-scale organisation named DetectForce in short. She was the director of this company which dealt mostly in the apprehension of any illegal organizations and her department specialized in illegal body enhancement parties.

Knock. Knock. Ivie slammed the file closed in exasperation and called out irritably, “Enter.”

“In a dreadful mood?” Ivie’s colleague, Bryan chuckles as he enters the room and handed a thick proposal to Ivie. “Report from VitalTech, demands more robots to be recruited. Really, what do we need those metallic humans in investigations for?”

Ivie shrugged her shoulders. “You didn’t come in here to just give me the appeal. You could’ve just Traxed it straight.” the corners of Ivie’s mouth twitching a little, restraining an obvious smile as she pointed to the metal wired square machine now coughing up documents.

“It’s a little spoilt. The Trax, I mean. Has been in this condition, malfunctioning for the last few days; I suspect there’s a glitch in its wiring but haven’t checked it yet. So, speak. Your motive,” Ivie closed the file and shot him a questioning look, but smiling at the same time.

“Well, you have seen through me,” Bryan shot back a brief smile and continued, this time piecing his words tactfully. “You know, don’t you? Box A: Pod 1 criminals are being released tomorrow. The bill was released as a normative statement yesterday by the Parliament. All opposing parties have been rejected because the government feels they have repented and would not repeat their mistakes. The cases of illegal aesthetic surgery have deteriorated significantly, and they feel the prisoners should get a chance to see the world again.” Bryan sneered, his eyes seething, then something flicked in his eyes, and as if recalling something, he paused tentatively, searching furtively for a look of reaction on Ivie’s face. But Ivie had nothing but a blank stare in stored for him.

“Ivie? Ivie? You look pale. Are you sure you’re all right?” Bryan questioned her with a look of concern as he gently shook Ivie.

“No, I’m fine.” Ivie glanced at her Watcher, a dome like chip the size of a nail, on her wrist and said, “It’s five. Let’s go for dinner.”

Bryan, however, remained doubtful as he accompanied Ivie out of her office.

That night, Ivie returned to her office after dinner. It was a breezy evening, and Ivie sat in her air-conditioned office, twirling around in her chair. Memories of her blemished childhood flashed through her mind once more. Knife-like white hot anger exploded in Ivie’s body, and every part of her desired revenge. She had to avenge herself; being scarred emotionally by her dark past nobody knew of. Yet she had to seek revenge, seek vengeance the “chief” had deserved. She opened her drawer, grabbed her pistol and a small metal chip before she strode out of the office, her heels silenced by the heavily carpeted floor. Her decision was made.

She pressed in the activation code and was granted access. The other prisoners of Box A peered out curiously. Who was that? Who would wander around in the dead of the night? But the woman just continued heading front.

Finally, she stopped at the door of Sector 1. She again pressed in the activation code and opened the heavy security door to a crack. Snores filled the room. Quietly, the woman placed a metal chip with a green blinking light and slowly closed the door again.

Bryan could not sleep, and sleep did not come. He turned and tossed in his bed but the tingling sensation persisted. Bryan sat up suddenly. He reached under his pillow for his cell phone and dialed in Ivie’s number. The line was cut off. Bryan panicked. Without hesitation, he darted out of his apartment and jumped in his TravelTax. The dome shaped like car without wheels was then activated and it sped through the silent night to DetectForce Headquarters.

Bryan had no time for parking lots. He hopped out of his TravelTax, took the speed elevator up and observed the headquarters. There was no movement, until…

“Ivie!” Bryan yelled. Standing near the opened windows of her office was a woman who looked barely twenty-five, with honey-brown curls that framed her pallid face impeccably. Her light pink lips and prominent nose stood out in the dark. She was looking out of the 89-story building, looking tranquilised and her soft curls flying in the windswept darkness. And for a silhouette, she was truly stunning.

“No! Come down!”

But Ivie seemed oblivious to the man calling desperately out to her. In her hands were the cold, hard pistol, and how she longed to embraced death. In her other hand held the activation button. Once pressed, the bomb inserted in Box A – Sector 1 would explode. That was where her enemy laid, sleeping, unknown to the catastrophe that would arrive in no time.

“Ivie!” Bryan pleaded.

“I’m sorry, Bryan. I cannot forget the past. I cannot overlook it. It has caused to deep a scar to heal. I’m sorry.” Ivie raised the pistol to her head.

“Ivie, no!”

“I’m sorry,” whispered Ivie, a tear trickling down her eyes. “I love you.”

The activation button was pressed down hard and the pistol was triggered. Ivie plunged down, out of the 89-story building and Bryan cried out in shock. At the same time, an enormous explosion occurred at the very cell of Box A: Pod 1, and all inside was killed mercilessly…

“Ivie, no…”Bryan kneeled down beside the spot Ivie was seconds before, sobbing hard.