The 80th year of the true era. Phoenix, the capital of the world. Eastern Siberia.
A black electric bike pulled into the deserted nighttime school parking lot almost silently, its hull playing up the reflections of the yellow perimeter lights of the school grounds. The bike stopped in the parking space closest to the entrance, causing an immediate reaction from the elderly school security guard in the guardhouse. He threw his entertainment magazine on the desk, put the cigarette he was about to light behind his ear, hastily removed his glasses and stared at the CCTV monitors, zooming in on one camera image after another.
In the flickering light of the dim phosphor lamp he could barely see the slim figure of a woman removing her protective motorcycle helmet. She hung the helmet on the handlebars and shook her head, straightening her long black hair. She pulled her streamlined yellow-glasses out of her breast pocket, put them on, and headed toward the glass doors of the main entrance of school number one hundred and twenty-one, as the sign on the front read. She was so close to the security camera lens that she could already make out the details of her appearance: a woman in her forties, about five feet tall, wearing a tight suit of dark gray, almost black, with zippers, various pockets, chains, and rivets all over it. On her feet, tight-fitting latex composite boots emphasized her athletic calves. The woman flonked toward the school doors with an easy and brash gait. Her slightly slanted eyes and black hair gave away her Asian roots. And she was heavily armed. On her hips were two heavy holsters with semi-automatic Berettas. On her belt hung four spare magazines and several grenades of various purposes. A knife handle with a built-in LED display protruded from a special pocket on his right boot. And from behind his back, the black hilt of a Japanese katana was visible. The temples of her glasses ended in miniature headphones.
She stretched her lips into a tube for a moment, and her entire face became covered with shimmering multicolored spots, which immediately began to move in an orderly pattern across the skin of her face and change color, forming curved streaks in the form of arrows. A second later, the pattern stopped moving, and the woman’s face was covered with black curved stripes coming from her eyes and ending with arrows in the form of bent bird claws, reminiscent of ancient cave painting patterns.
Knock… Knock… Knock… Knock… She knocked on the door with the hard knuckles of her compound glove.
– Who lives in the little house? Who in the low one will die?
She waited patiently for the lights to come on in the school lobby. A young guard with a flashlight came to the door from inside and directed its beam directly into the face of the night visitor. Smiling, the woman allowed herself to be examined under the bright light.
– We’re closed,» the guard said. – Did you want something?
The woman, clearly expecting a different reception, turned her head toward the surveillance camera hanging under the building’s canopy.
A few seconds later, the sounds of approaching footsteps of a man running could be heard.
An elderly guard with a cigarette behind his ear ran out of the corridor leading to the right wing of the school building. Rattling loudly with a bunch of numerous keys, he stumbled toward the entrance.
– Excuse us, excuse us,» the man shouted, panting. He sharply pushed the young man away with his hand and, fumbling with his shaking hands over the keys, chose the right one and slipped it into the keyhole.
The woman patiently watched all these actions, not hiding a satisfied smile.
The door opened.
– Please forgive him, he’s very young. He hasn’t finished school yet. He doesn’t know you,» the older man stammered.
– Do you? – The woman asked in a husky, low, velvety voice.
– Of course I do! – replied the man, calming down a little. – Of course I know! You are the witch of Coven.
The woman leaned down to the guard’s cheek and sniffed defiantly.
– You smell of incense, old man,» she whispered, and turned her gaze to the young guard. – What a handsome boy! – she said, removing a black rubberized glove from her right hand, weighted with lead tabs on the knuckles. – How old are you?
– Eighteen turned eighteen,» the boy replied calmly.
A translucent dark cloth covered her hand, like another glove over her skin. Then the guest ran her slender fingers over the guard’s face, stopping at his cheek.
“No stubble yet,” she began to twirl the brush in front of the boy’s eyes, showing the material of the covering with her fingers. – Do you know what this is? – Seeing the negative silent answer, the witch continued. – It’s a spider’s web, a material ninety times stronger than steel and about the same number of times lighter. I’m covered in it, except for my head. It’s my armor. The web doesn’t save me from fractures and bruises, but it protects me perfectly from any penetration of any foreign objects into my body. It stops any bullets and any steel of any blade. What a handsome boy,” she whispered slowly. Her eyes glistened in undisguised anticipation, -By the way, about the penetration, do you want to take all the cobwebs off me? It’ll be amazing, I’ll tell you that. And then you and I…
