Miss Pink's Happy Birthday

A young woman in a baby pink blouse sat cross legged in the middle of the road, yawning as tanks rolled towards her from over the horizon. She thought of a prank: signal them the wrong password on purpose, and let them fire. The last time they’d shot at her, the drivers had gotten all spooked when the tank shells shattered against her.

The corner of her mouth turned up at the idea and she was tempted, but she was wearing a nice little locket that she didn’t want blown to pieces. So she balled up energy in her palms, waved like she was supposed to, and beamed across her codephrase. The lead convoy driver, with his oxygen mask on, stared at her through the hazy lead-lined windows. She waited for him to salute her. Instead he looked away.

“Happy birthday, Miss Pink.” Her crow announced as it landed. “As always, all of humanity thanks you for your protection.”

She nodded in acknowledgement and levitated herself into the transport, then shut her eyes and leaned her head back against the blast padding. The anti-air radars on the escort cars screeched and banged in an unholy racket. She didn’t know much about how radar worked, but she did know she could hear the sky scream when they pumped radiation into it. She tried to ignore it.

“If you don’t have a briefing,” she murmured, “I’d like to sleep for a bit.”

She shut her eyes and zoomed out of her body. The Bureau hadn't figured that she could astral project her spirit yet, and she wanted to keep something to herself for just a little while longer. She floated up and away, above the rumbling of the tanks, trying to find a quiet patch of the sky. But the crow rapped its beak against the transport’s floor to wake her.

“Miss Pink, if you are feeling tired, we can cancel today’s excursion,” the crow said. “Today is all about you.”

She opened a single eye in annoyance. “Nah, I’ve never flaked on anything. Not going to start now.”

The crow nodded politely. “As you will, Miss Pink. We appreciate your service, and we think you’ll like what we’ve got ready for you. You know we do everything we can to make the war easier on you.”

She sat upright and fixed her gaze on the crow with sudden intensity. “Did you... make someone else like me?”

The crow laughed. “You mustn't worry about being replaced, Miss Pink. We’re like a family here.”

“No, but really —”

The crow chirped with laughter again and turned its head away. The young woman stayed crouched on her knees, staring at the animal, refusing to give in.

“So how hard was it? I didn’t think you could do it.”

The crow stayed silent. She narrowed her eyes.

"I've already heard all about it." She blustered. "I just didn't think you could pull it off."

The disbelief emanating from the crow annoyed her, even though she was lying. She floated up and tried to glower down at it. "I could’ve heard. You don’t know. I have ways.”

The crow preened itself calmly without saying anything. She glared harder. "Tell me what they're like." She demanded.

“They’ll look like how you would expect them to look,” it said vaguely. “That’s all you’re getting.”

She huffed with annoyance. “You never tell me anything properly, and there’s always a nasty surprise. Nobody really understands me and it sucks.”

“We have a full team of organizational psychologists assigned to you,” the crow said mildly. “If you have a problem with our work, which follows industry best practices, I can pass your complaints up to the Bureau chiefs.”

She stuck out her tongue. “Your best practices suck. I wish you’d just treat me like a real human being.”

It clicked its beak, clearly uninterested in further debate. “We’re dismounting now.”

She closed her eyes as per protocol and clambered out of the transport carefully. She wondered what her new partner would look like and how they’d made her. Thousands of children had been sacrificed before Miss Pink was successfully created. How many more had it taken to replicate a miracle?

“We’re here.” The crow announced proudly. She opened her eyes. She wasn’t in a lab at all. Instead, she stood before a stage, sunken into the atrium of some sort of mall. She turned around, waiting for the big reveal.

“So?” Miss Pink found herself shouting. “Where are they?”

The crow pointed at the stage with a single wing. “There.”

“This is —” A few figures appeared on the stage, slumped over like empty puppets. She frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“Shush,” said the crow happily. “It begins.”

The performers on the stage jerked upright. Their hands juttered across their instruments like marionettes pulled by wire. Speakers blared. Their mouths shifted open and shut, and their frozen hands slid across their guitars, but none of their movements quite synced up correctly to the music.

“Crow,” she said flatly. “Everybody in this band died last year. Even I heard the news.”

The crow nodded. It peered up into her face expectantly. “Do you like it?"

Miss Pink gave the crow a long glance, refusing to look at the band again.

"Yeah. Thanks."