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“Come on, Electra,” one of them says. “You’ve had enough fun for one day.”
Electra gives a little shrug and hops down off the bed. The last I see of her is a flash of blonde curls walking between two heavily armed guards almost twice her size.
Escape
Three weeks later…
Electra
I’m getting out of here.
I’ve been working on a plan for months. Ever since they transferred me to this facility where the handlers are smug and slack and don’t really know who I am, I’ve sensed that there is opportunity here for something I’ve never had before: freedom.
I was born in a bottle. Literally. My birth was a breaking of glass and a flash of pain. I remember it, even though they say there’s no way I can. I remember everything. I remember being small and covered in wires and tubes. I remember solitary rooms with gray walls and gray floors. I remember nurses with gloves, insulating themselves from me.
Now I’m in a solitary room with a gray wall and a gray floor. They made me stronger, faster, deadlier than almost anybody, and then they put me in a box. That’s what they do with weapons. Store them until they are needed. But I’m not a weapon. I’m a person. At least, I think I am.
I keep thinking about the doctor. Tom Ares. He seemed worried about me. He also seemed completely out of place, perhaps even out of his depth in this facility. I wonder if they’re running out of doctors in this place. Or maybe it is even softer than I think it is.
Pacing in slow circles keeps me something like sane. That trip to the medical bay was much more useful than I could ever have imagined. Usually they bring the doctor to me and I am seen in controlled circumstances. But they had all sorts of medical supplies out in the open there. Tyko didn’t even notice me taking what I needed. I’ve been working on a surprise for him over the past few days, one I can’t wait to unleash.
The door opens. Heavy metal and iron locks. The slow screeching of un-oiled captivity. Tyko appears. He’s walking straighter now, but not for long.
“Ready, Freak?”
Oh, I’m ready.
Tom
“They let you out of the medical bay?”
My brother starts giving me shit the moment I see him. It’s been busy the past few weeks. Lots of work. Lots of casualties. I’ve spent days and nights elbow deep in blood and guts, but that’s the life of a surgeon and it’s what I trained for. I’ve also trained for taking Ken’s bullshit over the years. I don’t know which I’m better at, taking shit from my baby brother, or saving lives. It’s a pretty close tie.
“I’m on standby, in case your girl hurts anyone.” I say, shaking my medical kit at him.
“Hope you brought enough for all of us,” Ken smirks. “She’s in a rough mood today, I can tell you that much.”
We’re standing on a gangway which leads around the internal training area. The recruits and agents call it ‘the Pit’. It’s aptly named. There’s guttering around the base of the sunken arena where the blood can be washed out after the more feral training sessions are completed.
To outside observers, this facility is a concrete factory, albeit one with very high security. The tall wire fences hide a secret world that the people who pass by on the road below could never guess at. A home for mercenaries, military dropouts, criminals, this is a den of what should be absolute chaos just barely kept in check. This is where the people who do the things that have to be done reside. This is where the best of the best – and the worst of the worst find their home.
Mary’s down in the Pit, apparently. Ken’s keeping a watchful eye. She’s tough enough to take care of herself, but with Ken standing over the whole affair I don’t think she’s going to come to any harm. Some of the less scrupulous agents with personal issues like to train with women and beat the shit out of them. I’ve treated more than one female agent baited into a training session that took more out of her than she bargained for. The people in this facility are, by and large, not good people. Ken’s an exception. I’d like to think I am too. Mary’s a borderline case, but she’s well taken care of by my brother.
“AIEEE!”
A high pitched scream comes from the ring.
“TIME!”
The ring master calls a halt, and an unfortunate young man is helped out by two of the guards and sent up the stairs to me. There’s a red smear on his pants, from the chalk dust where Mary must have tagged him with the one of the chalk markers they’re both wearing. I guess this fight wasn’t full contact. Maybe this place is becoming more civilized.
