Hell is Empty and all the Devils are Here

Dust. All around her was dust.

Anomaly held her eyes shut and stooped on the sand, trying to still the coughing and feebly filter air through her cupped hands. The tempest raged on, and her simple bra and panties did nothing to reduce the sandpaper abrasions on her bare skin.

She drew the deepest breath she could manage and held it, concentrating on calm. Meditation techniques learned at the Facility helped push back the terror and control her coughing.

This dust storm was enormous even by west Texas standards. Oh yes, she could feel the immense power within it, the static potential from all of those countless trillions of wind-driven particulates rubbing against one another.

Anomaly focused and took control of the free electron soup, and she felt the snap of incoming power come leaping at her command. It was a trivial matter to apply an electrostatic charge to her skin surface, and she felt cleaner immediately when the dust and sand was repelled away and fell to earth. A few more coughs cleared her throat and lungs.

She stood, and expanded the charged bubble around her. The field blocked the blown dust at the charge horizon, and she stood watching the sandstorm unfolding from a bubble of clear air inside it.

“Put your hands up. You’re coming back to the Facility with me, freak.”

Anomaly half-raised her hands and turned very slowly, making no sudden moves.

The corporate mercenary stood atop a nearby hillock pointing a large-caliber automatic rifle her direction, its red laser pointer targeting dot dancing across her stomach.

She raised her hands fully, stepping closer.

“Sure officer, I’ll come along quietly.”

She could feel the delicious high-energy electron trails coursing throughout his armor and servos. That combat armor power supply would prove remarkably convenient.

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298 words. For this week’s Cracked Flash Fiction prompt (the first line).