Zeta was brought back in time as she regained her memories. The past few months had been uncomfortable for her, but she managed. Somehow.

***

The first strike was always the hardest, the realization that one was getting beaten inch by inch, not knowing whether or not they would die. That strike always gave the most confusion. But, maybe that was a lie because strikes two and three hurt just as much as the first, and perhaps the anticipation of harm only amplified the pain or at least kept it consistent.

“I didn’t mean to use my powers,” Zeta sobbed. She curled into a fetal position and did her best to wrap her shoulders and hands to protect her head. And yet no amount of shielding would protect her. “It was a mistake.”

The guard laughed, easily amused by Zeta’s attempts to defend herself. He took pleasure in the pain he inflicted. Using his legs, he kicked away her arms and exploited vulnerabilities in her defense. “You know the rules. No powers outside of the field house.” He beat the idea into Zeta, ingraining it deep into the folds of her brain. It was working.

The guards had taunted and pushed her into a hallway that segmented away from the main floor space. Nobody would come by but if someone did, they would surely turn the other direction. The other guards would turn a blind eye, but the other prisoners would pretend to not notice. She would do the same, wouldn’t she? It was none of their business anyway.

Zeta groaned after each hit feeling her life slowly drain away. This was it. They were going to kill her. The movement of each hit, the quickness and power that shook her body, made her mind and her entire being rattle. Surely, the guard must had known he was going a bit too far, but he continued to throw kicks and punches on her body anyway.

He did not care much for using his powers. The guard knew there were no cameras to incriminate him, but her wounds would leave a trail. Did he not care to get caught?

Despite the rage and confusion that roared in Zeta’s brain, she refused to fight back. At least not now. She would have to regain herself first, possibly plan a means for escape, but any sense of revenge would have to come later. Her body ached painfully and even if she used her powers, it would not do much to someone not utilizing their abilities.

The other guard watched intently as the beating continued. He never lifted a finger on Zeta, but watching was just as bad. He was involved, and that was enough grounds to be implicated.

“Alright, enough,” the stationary guard said. “You’re going to kill her.”

“Fine.” The assailant threw one more kick just to be sure.

The guard who stopped the assault snapped his fingers. An ellipses-shaped portal appeared and he waved his arm over it. Out came a health care worker, one wearing blue scrubs. The nurse looked bewildered, yet accustomed to the situation.

“You can’t just summon me whenever,” the nurse pleaded.

“Shut the fuck up. Heal her, but only just enough so she won’t die. It’s no fun if they’re fully healed.”

The nurse frowned, huffed, but obeyed. He avoided eye contact with Zeta as he healed her. His only words were, “Sorry, I have a debt to pay. I can’t be of help to you” before disappearing back into the portal.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Zeta’s wounds were healed only slightly, and her body continued to ache tremendously. She was not sure how her mind would manage or be affected in the long run. It was best not to think about that for now. For all she knew, they could had easily killed her on the spot. Maybe send her away in a portal, discard any evidence of her.

The guards lingered around, and despite the horrible pain, she remained motionless and silent. She did not want to provoke them in any way, to give them an excuse to cave her head in.

The attacker squatted next to her and slapped her on the head one last time.

“Have we learned our lesson?”

“Yes,” Zeta said through gritted teeth. She was unsure whether or not she wanted to scream or cry.

“What did we learn?”

Her chest ached. “I can only use my powers in the fieldhouse. I can’t use my powers anywhere else.”

“Good.” The guard jumped up from his squat and walked away. The other guard followed and they both left without another word.

Zeta did nothing as she waited for the steps to become muffled, then silent, and even when they disappeared, she continued to stare at the wall. Her eyes fixated on it. She craned her neck downwards to look at her body, and her muscles burned as she struggled to move.

She placed her mouth on her arm and screamed. Her goal to dampen the noises failed miserably, but that was not her only goal. She prevented herself from biting down on her skin, from ripping her flesh away.

Time passed by differently when one was in pain. She was unsure whether or not hours had passed by when someone finally came or if only ten minutes had come to pass. Regardless, a person noticed her. That person was Doctor Yorke.

The doctor took notice of Zeta’s injuries and immediately patched her up. One of her assistants used their healing ability to soothe her pain, and it worked remarkably better than the nurse summoned from the portal. When the assistant was done healing, they brought a wheelchair and pushed Zeta to Doctor Yorke’s office.

Once Zeta reached the office, her eyes had puffed up. The assistant had already left, so she would have to ask for aid another time. She closed them to keep some comfort as she talked to Doctor Yorke.

Zeta found it odd that the doctor was not at all bothered by what happened to Zeta. No questions about who had attacked her and why were asked. An animosity started to grow within Zeta. Here she was, sitting in pain and anguish, yet no reparations were being made. She would have been fine with a simple Are you okay? but she did not receive even that. Was this doctor heartless enough to not care about Zeta’s wellbeing? Her mind darkened. If someone like a doctor was of no help, then there was truly nobody she could trust.

The doctor asked, “How would you like to leave this place sooner?”

If Zeta’s eyes could perk up, they would, but she sufficed with an assuring grunt. She slightly forgot Yorke’s disregard for her.

“I have a time-sensitive project. If you’re up for it, I can assign you to it, and based on how you do, we can get you out of here.”

“I’ll do it,” Zeta said.

“No questions?”

“I’ll do it.”

“What if I ask you to kill someone? Would you still be so willing?”

Zeta cringed as she swallowed spit. Perhaps she should not have screamed so aggressively earlier.

She thought about the question, then the proposal. This so-called freedom of leaving sooner did not mean her freedom. It only meant the ability to roam the outside world. Her cage would only increase in size, but she would be in a cage nevertheless. She would still be under their watch, performing whatever jobs and tasks they asked. Killing was not out of the question of the things she would have to do, that made sense, but her powers did not directly harm. They only dampened a person’s abilities. If anything, they would assign her a partner that killed as she weakened a target.

Then a brief thought popped up in her head, one that she did not like. Indirectly being involved with deaths was better than remaining imprisoned, but her mouth said otherwise.

“I refuse to kill,” Zeta said sternly. “If you want to use my abilities for anything else, I’ll agree, but if not, you can let me go back to my room.”

“Very well,” Doctor Yorke said. “There will be no killing. You have my promise.”

Relief crossed Zeta, and she continued the conversation. “How soon does this project happen?”

“In a few days,” Doctor Yorke answered. “Your injuries will persist, but they’ll heal enough to fill your role.”