War Machines: The Temujin Saga, #2

By Adam J. Whitlatch

TEMUJIN LIVES!

 

The entire world is abuzz with news and speculation about Earth's newest heroes, the Terran Defense Corps, after they saved a rural Midwest high school from an apparent terrorist attack. But who are they? Where do they come from? What are their true intentions? There's only one question on the TDC's minds, however, and that is… where is the mastermind of the attack?

 

Where is Temujin?

 

Humbled by his recent defeat but not broken, Temujin labors in secret to rebuild his forces so that he may strike back against his enemies and deal the finishing blow. Desperate to regain the upper hand, the Horde abducts a brilliant young woman who holds the key to unlocking the full deadly potential of Temujin's war machines.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adam J. Whitlatch
• Release date: Jul 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223662617

Book preview

THE STORY SO FAR

Aided by an alien race called the Seignso, a cult devoted to Genghis Khan’s legacy unearths the ancient warlord’s sarcophagus from their secret resting place beneath the Onon River in Mongolia. The Seignso betray the cult and steal the Khan’s remains for their own sinister purposes.

Eleven years later, the Phaedojian Navy, a branch of the Federation of Allied Systems, raids a Seignso research facility and liberates four human prisoners who exhibit incredible powers of physical regeneration. These humans are transported to the Dreknor Orbital Space Laboratory where they are studied by a brilliant Arqan geneticist named Amaadoss.

Federation spies uncover a Seignso plot to use Genghis Khan’s remains to create the ultimate soldier to conquer the Federation. Working clandestinely to avoid open war between the Seignso and the Federation, Amaadoss and his assistant Jiri set out to create a similar human-Seignso hybrid. When the embryo splits, resulting in twins each with their own unique abilities, Amaadoss appeals to the Federation to supply him with three programmable, shapeshifting Replodian mercenaries to both protect and train the child sent to Earth while the second stays in his care. A Phaedojian Admiral, fearful that Amaadoss’ endeavors will eventually replace conventional military forces, sabotages the Replodian implantation process.

Thirteen years later, a young teen named Alex Walker begins hearing strange voices and notices objects around him moving of their own volition. When an encounter with the town bully results in the Replodian operatives emerging from hybernation to come to Alex’s aid, all is finally revealed to him. One of the Replodians, the engineer Samrai, betrays his brothers and attempts to murder Alex before escaping to defect to the Cult of the Golden Horde, which has been rebuilt under the leadership of Temujin, a powerful human-Seignso hybrid like Alex.

For three years, Alex and the remaining Replodians live in peace, unaware of the evil growing on the other side of the world. Concerned by Samrai’s betrayal, Amaadoss and Jiri dispatch three of the Seignso’s former human captives to Earth to lend their aid. Unbeknownst to them until it is too late, Alex’s twin brother Quintin has stowed away on the ship to join them.

Unfortunately, their arrival gives Temujin a vital clue to Alex’s location, and he plans to attack and abduct the boy at school. Samrai is apprehensive about attacking schoolchildren but is compelled to obey. An accident involving one of the Horde’s weapons erases Samrai’s programming, however, and he rebels against Temujin.

The Horde seizes the school, deploying troops and heavily armed, autonomous combat mechs called Death Walkers from an undetectable flying fortress called Ragnarok. Samrai rejoins Alex and his brothers, turning the tide of the battle with new weapons of his own, prototype suits of battle armor that make short work of Temujin’s forces.

Defeated and humiliated, Temujin returns to his temple in the Gobi Desert and orders his followers to move their entire operation and regroup, vowing to rebuild his forces and crush his enemies.

In the weeks following the battle, Samrai and his brother Moe are pursued by an elite special forces unit, led by United States Air Force General Christopher Brinkmann. The Replodians elude capture, but not before the general experiences the power of their advanced combat armor for himself.

And now, the Temujin Saga continues.

PART ONE

UNITED WE STAND

ONE

Chert, Anatoly Kushnirov swore.

He wiped his brow with an already soaked paisley handkerchief, then tossed the cloth onto his cluttered workstation and squinted at the monitor. Strange, orange glyphs scrolled steadily past. With a chewed pencil between his trembling fingers, he consulted his notebook, comparing his notes to the symbols.

He paused to take a drink of tepid coffee from a dented paper cup. A single bare bulb above his head flickered, and he looked up as the wire hanging from the steel beams above swayed to the left. A long, mournful groan reverberated throughout the ship. The seas were choppy today. Anatoly hoped it wouldn’t get as rough as it had on the day he’d arrived; he’d puked his guts out until there was nothing left to bring up, but that hadn’t stopped his body from trying.

How long had they kept him here? With no windows, who could tell? He slept when they permitted him, ate when they remembered to feed him. Time had no meaning anymore, and yet, Anatoly couldn’t shake the feeling that his was running out.

Again, he wiped his brow.

U… bas problem… doktor? a voice behind him said in broken Russian.

Anatoly knocked over his cup, spilling the last dregs of the coffee onto his notebook. He hastily swiped the moisture from the top page, turned in his chair, and looked into the scarred, sneering face of a short, barrel-chested Asian man with a thin mustache. The man’s hand rested on the pommel of a curved broadsword hanging from his hip.

Your Russian is atrocious, Captain Sükh, Anatoly said in English.

Sükh frowned. Is there a problem, Dr. Kushnirov?

Of course there is problem, Anatoly said. This code... He waved his hand at the monitor. Is impossible. I have no frame of reference! No way to decipher its meaning. I do not understand—

Your understanding is not required, Sükh said. "You must simply put that into that."

Sükh pointed to a hulking machine standing nearby. The robot stood on two legs which terminated in three-toed, bird-like feet. It was easily as tall as two men, with long arms and clawed hands. As if these weren’t enough, each arm was equipped with a .50 caliber mini gun. The robot’s front panel had been removed, and wires hung from inside the carapace, wires which were connected to Anatoly’s computer.

I do not know how, Anatoly shouted. He stood and took a step toward the captain, but the chain cuffed to his ankle kept him anchored to his workstation.

Sükh smirked.

Anatoly’s shoulders slumped. Your own people could not make it work, he said. What makes you think I can?

Your credentials—

I have never seen anything like this in my life, Anatoly snapped. "This program, this code, this language... Is all unknown."

You’re saying you’re useless to us, Sükh said.

Nyet, Anatoly blurted. He swallowed and took a deep breath before continuing. "I am saying nobody in the world uses program like this, not in government, military, or private sector. This... this is bessmyslennyy!"

A quizzical expression washed over Sükh’s face.

Gibberish, Anatoly said.

Sükh snorted. It has a function—

"Oh, da. Anatoly laughed mirthlessly. Da, it has function!"

His fingers flew across the keyboard. Finally, his index finger stabbed the ENTER key, and he turned toward the lifeless machine.

Suddenly, the robot straightened, rising to its full, imposing height. Sükh scowled and stepped back as its arms jerked and servos whirred. Hydraulic pistons hummed as the machine placed its left hand against its hip, then raised its right arm straight out to its side.

I’m a little tea pot, short and stout, it growled in a tuneless, synthesized voice. Here is my handle. Here is my spout.

The cannon mounted to the right arm spun and fired, emitting a single burst of flame from the barrel. Sükh flinched as a new hole appeared in the hull, identical to a dozen others in a tight cluster nearby. A new beam of sunlight streamed into the cargo hold.

Uh uh, said a voice. Bad monkey!

Anatoly swiveled his chair and looked at the monitor.

Onscreen, a cartoon face smiled. The character was male, blond, and its blue eyes twinkled as it smirked.

You should know better than to play with Daddy’s toys.

A loud sizzle emanated from inside the computer tower, and thick smoke billowed from the vent holes in the casing. The face on the monitor winked, and then the screen flickered and went black. A moment later, the display turned blue and the words NO SIGNAL appeared.

The robot’s arms fell. Its claws clattered against the steel floor grate as it fell back into its neutral, offline position.

Anatoly turned to Sükh and gestured to the smoking tower. You see? Motherboard fried. Just like others.

Sükh scowled and exhaled slowly, ignoring the acrid smoke wafting between the two men.

It would help if I knew where this code came from, Anatoly said, before I waste time destroying twelve more computers.

I’m afraid that would offer no insight, Doctor, another voice said.

Sükh snapped to attention, and Anatoly saw the fear in the captain’s trembling eyes.

Anatoly’s host entered the room. Temujin’s impeccable vandyke beard framed his smirk. He wore a dark brown fur cloak over red and gold silk robes. Atop his head, he wore a traditional Mongolian hat made of fox fur, crowned with a black horse tail. His eyes were dark and penetrating; Anatoly didn’t like looking at them.

His captors seemed to revere this Temujin as some kind of living god. The soldiers—if one could call them that, because they seemed little more than unwashed mercenaries—were an odd mix of different races and nationalities. Much of what they said in his presence had been lost on him, but Anatoly had still managed to pick up a few interesting tidbits thanks to the smattering of German and Arabic he knew. One guard had called Temujin der Zauberer—the sorcerer—while another had called him a djinn, although that could have been Anatoly’s ears playing tricks on him. Perhaps the man had simply said his name.

That was something else that bothered Anatoly. That name—Temujin. He’d read it somewhere before. His mind kept going back to history lessons when he’d been a boy in Serov. What was it?

To Temujin’s left stood his ever-present attendant, General Chuluun, a tall brute with a bald head and a permanent scowl. The general wore a sword not unlike Sükh’s, along with a brown, leather patch over his left eye.

Sükh bowed his head.

Besides, Temujin said, ignoring the captain, I doubt you would believe it.

Anatoly began to speak, Look, I—

Chuluun growled at the Russian.

Forgive me, Lord Temujin, Anatoly said, bowing slightly, "but I do not understand how this code is supposed to translate into that!"

He gestured over the warlord’s shoulder, but Temujin didn’t look away. Another of the robots, which these people called Death Walkers, stood at attention beside the door, one of its gun turrets pointed at its disassembled sibling, the other pointed at him. The robot was ready to put down Anatoly’s test subject at a moment’s notice—as well as Anatoly himself—should anything go wrong.

So what you are telling me, Temujin mused, approaching the disassembled Death Walker, is that even though we are able to successfully reproduce the Replodian’s design down to the last formidable detail, copying its operating system is impossible?

Replodian? Anatoly’s brow furrowed. I do not know this word.

Temujin stroked the robot’s carapace. I’d be amazed if you did.

Without knowing language program is written in, I cannot isolate lines of code that control copy-protection protocol, Anatoly said. I am sorry, Lord Temujin.

As am I, Doctor, Temujin said, turning his dark gaze to the Russian. Because I fear your time with us has come to its inevitable end.

Anatoly stared into the warlord’s eyes, unable to resist their pull. His eyelids drooped lazily as he bent to pick up the pencil from his workstation. Slowly, he placed the dull pencil lead to his throat, against his carotid artery.

Temujin smirked. I’m sure you get my point.

Da, moy Khan, Anatoly said.

Anatoly made no sound, nor did he falter in his movements as the pencil pierced his skin. Sükh’s lip curled in disgust as the Russian’s body collapsed onto the floor. Temujin stepped over the body and addressed Sükh for the first time.

For your sake, Captain, he said, switching to Khalkha Mongolian, I hope you have good news to report.

Training continues, my Khan, Sükh said, and the recruits are improving by the day—

However?

Sükh's jaw clenched. There was no lying to Lord Temujin. A gifted telepath of immeasurable power, he could pluck the deepest secret from the recesses of any man’s mind, but he preferred to hear the truth from one’s own lips. He detested using his power to root out deception and half-truths.

However, Sükh said, reaction time is still unsatisfactory. The Death Walker pilots simply are not as fast as their autonomous counterparts.

Temujin frowned. So you’re saying the alien’s robots are superior to your men?

That stung. Sükh tensed. No, my Khan. My men are—

Temujin raised his hand, silencing the captain. Save your excuses, Captain. A solution has already presented itself. Ready a squad of your best men from those remaining. Tomorrow, we make landfall.

Sükh nodded. Yes, my Khan.

As he cleared the threshold with Chuluun on his heels, Temujin called, And have that refuse thrown overboard.

Sükh looked down at the Russian’s body and gritted his teeth. Yes, my Khan.

TWO

Cedar Rapids, Iowa

9-1-1. What is your emergency?

There’s a man here with a gun! a woman’s voice shouted over the line.

Ma’am, what is your location? the dispatcher said with practiced calm.

The caller ignored the question. Instead she said, Kids get behind my desk! Hurry! Get under the desk!

High above the bustling streets, atop the tallest building in the city, a lone figure knelt on the edge of the rooftop, his body encased in gleaming blue and gray armor. At the caller’s panicked order, the helmet jerked up, the mid-morning sun glinting off the black visor stretching across the faceplate. Strong, gloved fingers gripped the masonry, sending crushed fragments raining down from the eavesdropper’s roost.

He heard loud popping over the line, three shots in quick succession. Small arms fire. Children screamed, their shrill voices temporarily distorting the audio.

Ma’am, the dispatcher repeated with more urgency. What is your location?

Before the caller could answer, numbers and letters crawled across the inside of the visor.

>317 SHECKLEY STREET SW

A green map of the city flashed across the display, which quickly zoomed in on the call’s source. A moment later, a full-color photo confirmed what the eavesdropper had already guessed.

Bradbury Elementary School, the caller said, followed by another shot, this one much louder than the last. The woman’s voice dropped to a whisper. Oh, God! He’s right outside!

The police are on their way, the dispatcher said. "Please stay on the line."

They won’t get there in time, the man in the suit said in a synthesized voice. He stood and pushed off the building. Jets of flame exploded from his ankles and back, blackening the rooftop and sending pulverized masonry tumbling down as he surged to the south.

Command, the man said, this one’s mine.

The response was immediate. A male voice said, Acknowledged. Unit 003 is inbound.

Another voice, young with a hint of a French accent cut in, Try to take ‘em alive this time.

No promises, kid.

The operator was saying something, but Kelsey Bowden didn’t hear her. Somewhere in the building, someone had pulled the fire alarm, and the bell’s constant ringing assailed her ears. The children huddling in the dark behind her whimpered and wailed as the door handle jiggled. Something heavy slammed against the door, and their cries became screams.

Kelsey looked over her shoulder at the terrified, sobbing faces. Her desk offered little protection, but it would at least shield some of her kids. The door thumped again, and she jumped, feeling fresh tears burning her own eyes. The phone fell from her fingers, and she bent to retrieve it.

A work boot kicked through the narrow window alongside the door, sending hundreds of tiny glass shards into the room. The phone forgotten, Kelsey stared as an arm snaked through the rough hole in the glass and felt for the lock. She wanted to run over and grab the arm, strike it with a chair, push against the door—anything—but no matter how much she willed them, her limbs were frozen and heavy. All she could do was watch as pale fingers turned the lock.

The arm retreated back into the hall, and Kelsey watched the handle turn. The door swung open and banged against the adjacent wall, letting light spill in from the hallway.

The gunman stepped inside, a black semi-automatic pistol in his trembling right hand. He was short, pudgy, and balding; only a few thin strands of black hair clung to his glistening forehead. Kelsey felt a startling pang in her chest as she recognized the sweating assailant.

It was Donny Willadsen. The janitor.

His dark eyes swept the room and locked onto her.

Oh, god, she said, shaking her head. Fresh tears welled in her eyes.

"It’s all your fault," Donny snarled.

Kelsey held up her hands, Donny, listen—

"No, you listen!"

The shout coaxed renewed whimpers from behind the desk.

Donny pointed his gun at the desk. Shut up! he roared.

Kelsey choked back a sob, not daring to take her eyes off him. It’s okay, kids.

The rage melted from Donny’s face, and he blinked away tears. Why?

Kelsey swallowed. She knew she had to keep him talking. Why, what?

You got me fired, Donny said, pointing with the gun. Why?

She opened her mouth, but he didn’t wait for her answer.

I was nice to you, he said, taking a step toward her. I sent you flowers. Didn’t you like the flowers?

She nodded. They were very nice flowers, Donny.

"Then why?"

She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "We work—worked together. It wouldn’t be appropriate."

"Oh, that’s crap!" he shouted, thrusting the gun at her.

Kelsey cringed.

Sirens wailed, and Kelsey saw the red and blue flashes in her peripheral vision through the window. Donny’s eyes widened, and he shoved tiny desks aside as he crossed the room to look out. He watched for a moment as another police car pulled into the parking lot, and then closed the vertical blinds, plunging the classroom into near total darkness. Kelsey slowly repositioned herself between him and the students.

They came to my house, you know, he said.

She nodded. I know.

Because you called them, he said. "Told them I was stalking you. Stalking you? They questioned me. They questioned my mother! Told her I wouldn’t stop calling you. She yelled at me!"

I’m sorry, she said.

What kind of world is this? he said. "Huh? Where a man can’t tell a woman he loves her? I didn’t do anything!"

Donny, please—

No! he shouted. Shut up! I had a job. It was a good job. I liked it. Who’s going to pay my mother’s rent?

Kelsey tried to answer, but her mouth was dry.

The arm holding the gun fell to his side, and he looked at the floor. You never even gave me a chance. All I wanted was one date.

Silence hung heavy between them. Finally, Kelsey found her voice. Alright.

He looked up. What?

She sucked her breath in between her teeth and offered what she hoped was a caring smile. I’ll go out with you.

His face brightened. You will?

She nodded. I promise. Just let the kids go outside and play so we can talk, just us grownups.

Rage washed over his face again. No. No, you’re trying to trick me.

She shook her head. No, I’m not. Just please—

He pointed the gun at her face. Don’t lie to me!

The children screamed, and she fell back against the desk. Kids, stay down!

Donny’s face contorted, anguished, as he stepped forward, leading with the gun, which had finally stopped trembling in his grip.

The ceiling between them exploded inward with a shower of sparks as something heavy tore through a light fixture and struck the floor. Kelsey fell against her desk as dust, insulation, and broken ceiling tiles rained down onto the crouched form of a person encased in a suit of blue and gray armor. Plaster dust swirled in the beam of sunlight shining through the hole. She stared, mouth agape, as the figure stood.

"Put your weapon down," the new arrival said, his voice synthesized but unmistakably male.

Donny stared. I know you.

The suited figure clenched his fists. Oh, I doubt that very much.

I’ve seen you on TV.

The TDC, Kelsey whispered.

Of course she’d seen them too. Who hadn’t heard of the Terran Defense Corps? They’d been all over the news and social media for months.

Maybe you didn’t understand me the first time, the TDC agent said. I’ll try using smaller words. Drop. The. Gun.

The threat seemed to bolster Donny’s confidence, or—at the very least—convinced him he had nothing left to lose. He pointed the gun at the newcomer’s blank, dark visor. Make me.

The man scoffed. I thought you’d never ask.

Donny squeezed the trigger, firing three rounds in quick succession. The bullets rang as they struck the armor. The children screamed, and Kelsey winced. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard three soft impacts. In the sunbeam, she saw three flattened lumps of smoking metal on the carpet between the armored man’s feet.

The TDC agent looked down at the bullets, as did Donny. Slowly, the armored man looked up at the stunned gunman, clicking his tongue behind his faceplate. That’s gonna cost you.

Donny adjusted his aim and fired a wild shot at Kelsey. She screamed and covered her face with her arm, but the same resounding clang rang out as the bullet struck the TDC agent’s outstretched hand. Donny squeezed the trigger again, but the weapon only clicked. He tried again, but the result was the same.

In the blink of an eye, the suited man closed the distance between them. His fist connected with Donny’s face with a muffled crunch as his other hand encircled the spent weapon, crushing the hot metal in a viselike grip. The impact threw Donny off his feet, and he fell against toppled desks, unconscious before he landed.

The man in the suit regarded the hunk of twisted metal in his hand and dropped it. He looked over his shoulder. Are you alright?

Kelsey nodded, unable to find the words.

The rescuer pushed an overturned desk aside with his boot and knelt in front of Donny’s limp body, placing his fingers against his neck.

Kelsey craned her neck for a better look. Is he dead?

No, the man said, wrapping his fingers around Donny’s ankle. But he’ll wish he was.

He stood, dragging Donny behind him by the leg as he walked back to the front of the room. Unit 3 to Command, he said, target has been neutralized. After a moment, he added, Negative. Emergency responders on scene.

He stepped into the sunbeam and looked up, his knees bent slightly.

Kelsey scrambled to her feet and held up a hand. Thank you!

The man paused and regarded her a moment. He nodded.

What’s your name?

He turned away, ignoring the question.

Please, Kelsey said.

The man hesitated. Finally, he said, It’s Sam.

Flames erupted from his boots and back, and the armored hero and his prisoner lifted into the air, disappearing through the hole in the ceiling.

Fresh tears flowed from Kelsey’s eyes as relief washed over her. Behind her, a tiny voice called out, Thank you, Sam! One by one, the other children took up the call.

Outside, she heard a muffled thump. She ran to the window and opened the blinds. A crowd of police, students, and onlookers swarmed one of the police cruisers. Donny writhed on the hood, clutching his face. The man in the blue armor hovered above the car for a moment before disappearing over the trees in a flash of flame.

Thank you, Sam, Kelsey said as she lost sight of him.

Burlington, Iowa

I said, ‘Shut up and get on the ground!’ the man in the blue ski mask shouted.

One by one, the bank patrons complied. An elderly man with a cane struggled to get down to his knees.

You too, Grandpa, Blue said. Move your ass!

A girl no older than five began to cry as her mother coaxed her down onto the floor with her. The woman stroked the child’s hair and shushed her, tears welling in her eyes as the girl’s sobs swelled into terrified wails.

Shut that damn kid up, another man in a red ski mask shouted.

The mother redoubled her efforts to soothe the child, but the girl’s eyes remained fixed on the sawed-off shotguns in the robbers’ hands, and she continued to cry. Red tossed a black drawstring bag onto the counter and gestured with the barrel of his twelve-gauge.

Fill it up, Red said. "Try anything funny and I will blow your head off."

The teller nodded and opened her drawer, scooping bills into the bag. She breathed deeply, keeping her movements slow and deliberate.

C’mon, c’mon, Red said. Pick up the pace.

The teller nodded and moved faster. When the drawer was empty, Red motioned with the gun, and she moved on to the next drawer. When all three drawers had been emptied into the bag, Red held out his hand.

C’mon, gimme, he said, wiggling his fingers impatiently.

The teller placed the bag in his waiting hand and took two steps away from the counter, her hands in the air.

Alright, Red said. Let’s get the hell out of here.

Blue swept the room with his shotgun. Eyes on the floor!

The doors at the front of the building exploded inward, spreading glass shards across the floor, along with the body of a man wearing a dark brown jacket and a black ski mask. The man slid to a halt in the middle of the lobby. The startled bank patrons screamed, and the robbers instinctively trained their guns on the unconscious man.

Holy crap, Blue said. What the hell happened to Nate?

No names, you idiot, Red hissed.

Nate had a little car trouble, a synthesized voice said.

The robbers looked up as a man in gleaming white and gray armor stepped through the ruined door. A bundle of black wires dangled from his fist. The new arrival tossed the wires, which were connected to a chunk of black plastic. They landed at Blue’s feet.

I’m not a mechanic, the armored man said, but I think it’s the distributor cap.

Jesus, Blue said. It’s one of those robots from the news.

The armored man’s shoulders slumped. Why does everyone think we’re robots?

Red dropped the bag and dragged one of the frightened patrons to her feet. The woman protested in Spanish, but the robber grabbed a fistful of her hair and held the shotgun barrel beneath her chin.

Stay back, he said. I’ll kill her!

The man in the white armor took a step forward. ::You’re not going to shoot her.::

A strange buzzing filled Red’s skull. His arm relaxed, and the shotgun dipped slightly. I’m not going to shoot her, he intoned.

::You’re going to let her leave.::

Red released the woman. You can leave.

The woman stared, stunned, for a moment. The armored man nodded, and then she ran for the door, muttering under her breath.

Hey! Blue leveled his shotgun at the fleeing woman. Where do you think you’re—

The man in the armor held up his left hand, palm out, toward Blue, and the robber flipped his shotgun up, pointed at his own chin.

Oh, God! he bellowed. Joe! Joe, help.

Red stared dumbly at the man in the armor, as if he had not heard his partner’s desperate pleas.

I’m afraid, Joe’s not home right now, the man in armor said. Alright, everyone, you’re free to go.

Red—Joe—began to move toward the door, but the man in white held up his other hand.

No, he said. Not you, Joe. I want you to keep your friend covered for me. Can you do that?

Joe turned and trained his gun on Blue, who was straining against the invisible hold on his arms. Slowly, hesitantly, the patrons got to their feet and made their way to the door, each of them glancing at the frozen robbers.

Atta boy, the man in the armor said.

Joe, Blue wailed. What the hell are you doing? Shoot him!

As the mother and little girl walked past, the hero held out his armored hand, palm out. The girl looked at it, uncertain, and then finally slapped her own palm against it.

Ow! The man shook