ICE MELTS 

The midwest city was frozen by January's indifference. The death-white roads were jammed with protestors straining their voices for the Agents of Division to hear. The spit of their vitriol froze in the air. Their collective breath left low-hanging clouds over the crowd. The protestors moved as one. Every creed, colour and cosmic entity united to defend their community against an oppressive force.

The Agents of Division covered their faces, protected their bodies with teflon and weapons, and kept their pompous eyes on the swarming mob. They searched the sea of sneering faces, looking for anyone or anything that looked out of the ordinary.

Everything hurts more, in the cold.

Through the screaming, an Agent spotted an alien. It broke off from the group and ran. The Agents of Divison moved quick. They grabbed it by the neck and hurled it to the icy pavement. The alien's head hit the ground with a frigid thud, scraping its cheek open; green pus poured from the wound. While the crowd accused the Agents of wrongful arrest, the masked Agents ripped the alien's arms behind its back and strapped its wrists together. Some of the protestors tried to tear the Agents off the alien, but they were pulled back, slugged with frozen batons, and left bleeding on the ice.

Across the city, a garage door opened. What stepped out shattered the permafrost and crushed the pavement with each step. It went down the driveway and turned toward the urban battlefield.

Few saw the beast approach. The ferocious stimulus was too grand. The cold smoke was too thick. But once it was close enough, the Agents of Division all turned to look. What they saw left them confused and full of fear that they dared not show.

Twelve-feet tall, the metallic behemoth towered above the protestors' signs and inverted flags. Every step felt like an earthquake tremor. Its feet were solid and thick, shining like chrome. Its arms were two oscillating black cylinders. The head was a thick glass enclosure, fogged and impenetrable. The chest was a pure, unknown metal of the coolest blue hue.

The Agents of Division looked at the beast with confusion. One of them, an ambitious one, lifted his gun up and shot a bean bag at the metal mostrosity. It boinked off the suit with no effect. The beast raised its right arm. The oscillation quickened and the black cylinder's end started to glow green. The glow grew stronger and stronger until it shot forth a piercing laser. The Agent who had shot first was split into one hundred and one pieces. His blood made the ground look like a cherry snowcone. The other Agents shielded their eyes from the horror.

A vicious uproar of screams from the Agents shook the area. The protestors cheered their deliverer. The Agents of Divison lifted their heavy-metal guns and started to blast. Every bullet ricocheted off the suit, emitting green, blue, yellow sparks. The bullets flew in a million different directions. The beast absorbed them all, indifferent and unmoving. The crowds of protestors, as the machine-gun fire rang out, ran for their lives, screaming and looking back at the beast. Some of the Agents tried to flee themselves, but slipped on the ice and lay on their back, arms and legs flailing in fear like an overturned turtle.

Moving against the fleeing Agents was the chief, in his long green trenchcoat and gel-spiked hair. He walked toward the beast and brought with him a bazooka-carrying Agent. The chief ordered the Agent to fire the bazooka at will. The Agent steadied the launcher on his shoulder, locked the metal beast in his sight, and fired. A napalm torpedo shot through the frozen sky and struck the beast in the chest. The explosion clouded the metal monster in ash and debris. But as the dust settled, it was clear that it was still standing, even as the napalm stuck to the metal and burned like a hellish inferno.

The Agents, feeling a second wind of assurance by the arrival of their chief, emptied their ammo into the enflamed monster.

When the ineffective onslaught of Agents slowed, the metal destroyer raised both of its arms. The right arm shot a ray of continuous lasers that eviserated every Agent it hit. The left arm shot a beam of fire that melted the Agents' skin to pudding. The beast's right arm transformed into nine metal balls on chains. The beast wielded this metallurgic cat o' nine tails on the Agents. It pulverized skulls. It separated limbs from bodies. Again looking to retreat, some of the Agents slipped and split on the ice and were left exposed. The metal monster cordially squashed them with its 10-tonne shoe.

His green trenchcoat blowing in the cold wind, the chief faced the machine. The chief showed no fear on his white, wrinkled, withered face. The few Agents who were still alive stood behind their fearless leader. Though the beast had no discernable facial features, everyone could feel that whoever was operating that monster was looking right back at the chief. Neither had plans of backing down. As the chief levelled his platinum Desert Eagle at the beast, the beast's left hand transformed into a gargantuan harpoon. The chief unloaded the Desert Eagle directly at the glass head of the beast. The shots rang off the glass, and a couple left some small shatters and cracks. But nothing penetrated.

The beast raised its left hand. The sparkling point of the harpoon shot through the frigid air and ripped through the chief's stomach, through his intestines and out through his spine. The chief did not break his gaze. The beast retracted the harpoon and the spike recoiled, bringing the chief with it. The beast lowered its hand and the near-dead, paralyzed chief slowly slid off the harpoon and splattered onto the roof of a snow-covered car, setting off its alarm.

The eyes of the Agents, which were once filled with pompous focus, now looked at their dead leader with confused horror. Calls for retreat echoed through the tundra cityscape. With careful and quick steps, the Agents of Division fled. The protestors returned to the streets, surrounding the beast and cheering. The cold no longer seemed to matter. Joy had conquered the moment. Until they heard the thud thud thud of a chopper.

Everyone looked up. Descending from the pale blue sky was a charcol black helicopter. It was a fully loaded Black Hawk, piloted by the President, in his trademark long red tie and outrageously coiffed hair. It descended on the warzone with its machine guns already whirling. With everything in his index fingers, the President unloaded on the beast. The protestors once again jumped for cover as the metal killer absorbed blow after blow.

While the onslaught persisted, the beast raised its right arm and aimed it at the chopper. The arm had retransformed into a cannon and it was gathering power. The deep red light turned green then blue before finding final form in a violent yellow. The blast sent a shockwave through the city. A fireball erupted out of the beast's suit and screamed through the sky. It connected directly with the chopper, splitting the death machine in two and sending it plummeting to the frozen earth where it shattered into thousands of fiery pieces.

The protestors pulled the corpse out of the burning helicopter and started to mock it. Despite him being all sorts of dead, they still shouted indecencies, threw snow-covered rocks, and spat on his rotund body. The beast began its walk back to where it came from. Few noticed its departure.

Inside the suit, Melanie clicked the garage door button. The groaning mechanism slowly lifted. She thudded her way back into her home. She was sweating, despite being totally naked, and was ready to get out of the beast.

The cold garage floor felt satisfying on her bare feet. Steam rose from her naked skin in heavy, dense waves. She found her cigarettes on the workbench, pulled one out and lit it with accomplished pride. She took a drag then headed inside for a much-needed shower.