Later on
The girl sat at the desk, staring at the pen. Her jet black hair touched the table as she sat hunched over, reaching for the pen to wrap her hand around it. She touched the tip of the pen to the paper and began moving it about. Words formed into sentences as she wrote out the lines she read on the page next to her paper.
“You’re doing good Fyre,” the social worker said as he watched her write, “I’d say you almost fooled me into thinking that you were-”
“A normal person,” the black haired girl said as she stopped writing. Her hands began to shake as she started crumpling her writing paper with her empty hand and pressing the pen firmly into the desk with her writing hand. “You don’t see a person in me,” she said as she glanced up at the worker, “you see a freak.”
As Fyre locked eyes with the social worker, she could see visions of a man holding down a docile and compliant woman that was willing to let him touch her. She could see her own face on that girl's body. She looked through her vision at the man who sat across from her, his face matching that of the man in the vision who held down the girl and made her take it.
“Fyre?” The worker asked as he realized that she was focused on something.
Her hands finally stopped shaking. “You wanna fuck me,” she asked with an almost accusative tone.
“I mean,” the worker tried to figure out where such a question was coming from. While he found Fyre to have an attractive body, he had no idea that the idea in his head was projected as an image in Fyre’s view. Before he could say anything he was interrupted by a scream.
“You wanna hold me down and FUCK me,” she shouted in a screeching voice, no longer having the upward inflection that made it sound like something to be mistaken for a question, “You wanna hear me whimper and beg you to stop while you make me grow life!”
The worker was horrified. Only partly horrified that she was accusing him of being a nasty individual, but also partly because it was so true. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said nervously, “is there something we can do to help you feel better?”
“Yes,” she said through her teeth, “you can FUCKING DIE!” As she screeched loudly, a pair of guards walked into the room and stood on opposite sides of Fyre. “I can see in your fucking head you creep,” she said growling through her teeth, “I just wish I could tickle your intestines with something sharp.”
The social worker got up and left the room in an anxious hurry. He moved hurriedly down the hall and breathed heavily.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The guards stood quietly, looking toward the table so as to keep Fyre in their peripheral view but not make direct eye contact with her.
Meanwhile,
Michael woke up. He looked around to find that he was alone in an empty car. She did that shit again, he thought to himself as he got out and walked into the house. He looked at his watch. I slept thirty minutes, he realized as he saw the time. He started opening doors to look his way around the house, trying to find where the equipment was staged.
“Two more doors down the hall,” Lani said as she came up the stairs, “lots of cool shit down here.”
Michael walked toward the basement, stepping slowly down the padded concrete stairs. As he made his way into the basement, he saw large boxes sitting along the walls. He noticed that the basement was separated up like a traditional two bedroom house with a very small kitchen in a side corner. The boxes were labeled for various kinds of workbenches and cages. He continued to walk through the rooms, finding a reasonably sized bed for one person, and a wardrobe cupboard next to a dresser. “Will,” he said, calling out to him from down the stairs, “you’re sleeping down here.”
John was closest to the stairs, but he was able to make eye contact with William and wave to him, “he’s putting you in the basement,” he said with a shrug.
“Makes sense,” William said understandingly, “I’m here to be hidden, and basements are easier to secure.”
“Oh yeah,” John said, realizing the advantage to hiding him there.
William made his way to his new bedroom, down the stairs and into the basement. Carrying a bag of clothes, he walked into his room and stopped. He looked at the bed, a twin sized mattress on a box frame with a metal frame that had been assembled correctly. Sheets and a comforter sat on the plastic wrapped mattress. He set his bag on the floor and looked around at how nice the furniture was. “I’ve never had this before,” he said softly, “I had a cot I used to carry till it got broken. I slept on floors under a jacket.”
While William had his emotional moment in his room to himself, Michael went into the next room that was across the main area of the basement from Will’s room. He tore open a box with a wall mounting brace in it and began laying out things to assemble.
Arizona, near the border.
Marcus lay in position a little more than halfway up a hill that sloped down toward a smuggling route. He observed through his rangefinding optic as a truck rolled along a dirt road. In front of him, a shooter with a bolt action .50 caliber anti-material rifle.
“Fourteen hundred yards,” Marcus said clearly enough for his shooter to hear through his hearing protection, “wind ain’t shit today, give him a three target form lead.”
“I got fourteen hundred,” the shooter repeated back, “I got a shot.”
“Send that shit,” Marcus said with a chuckle.
The shooter fired his shot. Marcus watched as the round went up and began sailing downward toward the nose of the truck. The rifle had a large silencer built into it, which contained the gas and prevented the large cloud from announcing their position. The round was a Mk211 Raufoss round, an expensive exploding incendiary round. After a few seconds of flight time, the round struck the engine block of the truck.