I sat in my bunk watching the recorded camera footage from a previous mission. We were chasing this short, pudgy little green haired kid down the street. The kid turned back to look at us, and behind the pixelated, low-resolution sunglasses there was the glow of bright green eyes, leaving a light trail as he ran. There was a weird energy around him, almost like a double vision, as he ran. An Anomaly.

My hands were gripped tightly around the table screen, shaking. I didn’t notice I was holding my breath until I sighed in relief when a bullet barely missed the Anomaly’s head. I knew the outcome. I knew what happens next, but it still felt like things could be different.

He tripped, tumbled down the grassy hills and into a tree with a loud thud. He scrambled to his feet, but the guns were trained on him, quickly approaching.

“Don’t move!” one muffled voice yelled from behind the mercenary mask. “Don’t move or we’ll shoot.

The Anomaly raised his hands shakily over his head, staring down the barrel of the plasma rifle. He took a deep breath, and with a gentle flick of his wrist, all the guns simultaneously backfired; some guns exploded in the hands of its user, killing them instantly; others left them with holes in their shoulders; most importantly it gave the Anomaly the opportunity to run.

He ran into the distance, scared, terrified, lost.

I never saw him again.

I don’t know if he’s alive anymore. I don’t know where he is, or where he was going. Part of me never wants to see him again.

I put the tablet away, bringing an arm up to my shoulder. He left a hole in me, one that could barely be repaired. Other people weren’t as lucky as I was. They lost their arms or their lives that night.

I lost a brother.

I rewatch that video time and time again, searching for something, anything that could have made this story end differently. Maybe I could have gone with you. Maybe you could have been captured. Maybe one of us would die. Maybe both.

Still, it hurts every time as I watch you run away, Chai. Knowing that that look of fear and terror was the last I ever got to see of you. I wonder if you knew it was me behind the mask. I wonder if you had any idea that you could have killed me. Would you have done anything differently if you knew who I was?

That’s the point of the masks, an old bunkmate told me. Anonymity. Dehumanisation. The same thing they do to Storm Troopers. Take away your identity and you become a pawn to be pushed around, something disposable, something easily replaceable.

Do you ever miss me? I guess that’s asking too much, huh? Why would you miss your stupid sister who joined the enemy team.

You know you were right, Chai. They’re not looking for a cure. They’re looking for a fresh start; an ethnic cleansing. It’s disgusting.

I should have listened to you. But you, you’re just as stubborn. Refusing help, refusing everything, all because you have some insane idea that this power of yours is some sign from God. You think that because you can lift things with your mind and make things explode with a snap of your finger that you are the new messiah, some harbinger of destiny. No.

You and Purity are the same. So wrapped up in your own little ideas that you forget to see the bigger picture. So self-absorbed, so narcissistic.

So inhuman.

They labelled you ‘Aura’ in the files. Extremely hostile, extremely dangerous, extremely volatile. Murderer of dozens of men and women, both Purity agents and civilians. All because you’ve lost control of your God given gift.

They know your mutation is out of control. They know your cells are multiplying and changing at a pace that your own body can’t keep up with. One day you’ll be destroyed by those powers you love, Chai. And I’ll stand here and I’ll know that I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I couldn’t do a fucking thing.

You know what I really want, Chai?

I want to see you again. One last time.

I want to be able to look you in those sickly green eyes for one last time before I shoot you. Before I kill you.

Because that’s what a good sister would do. End your suffering before it’s too late. Let your death be on my hands rather than another nameless face or faceless name. I owe you that much.