A woman sat on a dark leather seat inside of a military helicopter. She hunched forward, her shiny black boots tapping rhythmically to the tune that was stuck in her head. With the chaos now minutes behind her, she'd had time to think over the mission again and again, replaying it in her head, trying to decide how well they had done. The girl in front of her began stirring, fluttering her eyes with a flash of pain.

"Get me out of here," the girl said, her words slurred and mumbled. The makeshift cast wrapped around her head sported a growing red wave on her left temple, covering her dark-brown hair. The girl's eyes were brown and foggy, dazed from receiving a hit earlier.

The black-booted woman could not understand English but took a guess at what she was trying to say. Instead of relaxing the belt loops that bound the girl down, she tightened them further, constricting the girl's already weakened body. The girl had shown her strength previously, and she wasn't about to let it happen again.

Cigarette smoke puffed out of the black-booted woman's mouth as she stared at the child in front of her. Minus the cast, she wasn't unhealthy looking, considering her... circumstances. Very tall, as well.

"Where are we? Get me out of here!" the girl demanded again, this time attempting to kick free from her restrictions. She made no progress, but even if she could break free, they were in a moving helicopter. They would reach their destination no matter what.

"Presque lá!" the pilot said. "Almost there!"

"Do you guys speak any English!?" the girl yelled, "or are you German speaking Nazis?"

The black-booted woman raised her eyebrows at the girl and laughed. She heard "English," "German," and "Nazi" all in the same sentence and realized why the kid was struggling.

"Nous ne sommes pas Nazis," she replied. The girl, of course, could not understand French. The only language she knew was English, with some Russian swear words to spice it up.

"Nous arrivons à Brass Isle, pour votre sécurité."

What language is this? The girl pondered, her foggy vision slowly returning to normal. More smoke puffed out of the black-booted woman's mouth, the spindly tentacle of gray connecting with the roof.

The loud spinning of the blades slowed down as the pilot started the helicopter's descent, and the metal bird touched down with a thud. Nobody moved until a man boarded. He resembled a character straight out of a movie, with a firm black suit, sunglasses, and a clipboard in hand.

"Greetings, patient 24599," he said. Then, he turned to talk to the black-booted woman, who nodded and left the helicopter, never letting her eyes wander from the girl.

"We here at Brass Isle are deeply sorry about the trouble and chaos you received on the other island," the man promised. "I promise we'll take much better care of you." He released the girl from her restraints and sat down next to her, taking the spot that had been the hostile, black-booted woman's. He stared down at his clipboard for a while, then clicked his pen and cleared his throat.

"I must ask you what your name is," he confessed. "It seems your last doctor left that out on the forms." He seemed disgusted to mention her doctor. To be fair, she couldn't really blame him.

That wouldn't change her mind, though. Who was this man to intrude on her like this? She'd been taken from where she lived and put in a helicopter with a hostile woman, and now she was being interrogated by a man in a suit. The girl would not let this man call her by her normal name. He did not deserve it. She did not deserve this place. She wanted to go back to where she belonged.

"Marie," she lied, surprised at how difficult it was to talk. She felt as if her lungs had been shattered and her voice stolen. With a grunt and heavy breathing, she added, "I want to go back."

"I'm afraid you can't go back," the man replied, "especially considering what just happened back there. We're going to have to request that you cooperate, though, because I've got some questions that could mean life or death for many more people."

For a moment, the man seemed genuinely concerned. He set the clipboard down, took off his sunglasses, and looked into her eyes. "Can you please explain to me what you were doing before the incident?"

She still didn't trust this man. The warden had always told her not to trust strange men in suits, and this man fit the bill perfectly. Not to mention, the people that "rescued" her had knocked her unconscious on the way here. Wherever that was. Despite all that, she felt almost obligated to talk. Above all, they'd gotten her out of that mess and away from the doctor. Something about the man felt genuine, too. Almost as if he had some personal connection to her hardships.

She let out a deep sigh. "Where should I start?"

"The beginning of the day is perfect," he answered.

"I had just woken up that morning. It felt pretty much normal. At least, as normal as it could have been since my roommate had left. She left me a month ago, but I never found out why..."

-=[ ]=-

"Cal, it is time for morning food," the warden said, dragging his baton along the bars of her door. Without checking to see if she got up, he sulked over to the next cell and woke them up a lot less politely. For anyone else, his coarse Russian accent paired with his coarse attitude. He was never coarse with Cal, though.

After putting on her day uniform, she sulked over to the dining hall, grabbed some of the usual low-quality mush, and sat down beside her best friend's vacant chair. So far, it was just another dreary day. To her, these were the best kinds of days. No incidents, no yelling, no lockdowns, and so far, no being tormented.

"Dr. M has me on some new stuff that makes me feel worse than I used to," she overheard one kid say, as if on cue. His name was Blake, and he was quite possibly the most unbearable patient. On the Island, you had to know who to be friends with, so that if you were to get in trouble, you'd have scapegoats to help. He did not make a good scapegoat, nor a good friend.

Her roommate had been the best friend she would ever find, but now she was gone.

Cal had been here for months, and knew the best ways to get around, both figuratively and literally. If you had to hide from someone, you went to the bathrooms. If you had to grab a guard's attention, you would feign a side effect to one of the drugs. If you wanted to avoid someone, you acted insane.

Sometimes, she caught herself acting insane by accident.

That's exactly what she'd done before she met her roommate, who had arrived about a month later than she had, and they were inseparable. Eventually, she'd stopped faking insanity (and had also stopped actually losing her mind), and Dr. M had congratulated Cal on her rapid recovery. He applauded her roommate for being a great therapeutic tool, as well.

That was the moment she realized they were all just tools to the doctor. Not patients. His words stuck with her and fueled her anger.

"Cal's looking angry again," Blake commented, leaning over the table towards her. "What's wrong Cal? Still missing your best friend?"

Her glare made him grin like a madman.

Now, things were different. She began faking insanity again, longing for the day she could join her roommate in a place where life was better. At least, she hoped her roommate had gone somewhere better.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"You heard what the doc always called her," he continued, with a stop to all the other conversations at the long, rectangular table. "Pretty, lucky, brilliant. Resilient. But he also called her a tool, just like the rest of us. She wasn't special, Cal. She got stuck here too."

One of her roommate's greatest quirks had to be the fact that she was understanding and caring. She wasn't cold and relentless like the rest of them. Whatever the doc had her on didn't warp her personality like everyone else; it made her even better. Better than Blake could ever hope to be, for sure.

A click on the cafeteria's PA silenced any noise. Over the intercom, the dreaded voice of Dr. M appeared. Every time he used the system, everyone assumed he was ready to call one unlucky patient to try out the newest and most dangerous drug he had.

Ready to use another tool.

"Marie, you're required in my office," he said, static crackling in each word. It rattled through the room, but wasn't loud enough to drown out the despair she felt. She stood up and dumped her tray. Blake's sneering voice trailed behind her as she trudged sorrowfully towards Room 84.

She'd walked the corridors to his office probably a few hundred times. The monotone gray walls led her down to a painted wooden door. A plaque proudly stated his name in a bold, sharp font.

Her deep-rooted fear of the doctor was only increased after being left behind, and her condition devolved back to its original state. She was once again introverted and unstable. Staring at the plaque increased her hesitation in opening the door.

The doctor, who had to have been at least eighty, sat in his seat facing the door as Cal walked in. He held an empty syringe in his right hand and a pencil in his left. Behind him, there was an old janitor's closet. The door was slightly ajar. All she could get a glimpse of was a very dark area. There were a couple of lights, but they seemed like they were down a hallway and not in the closet.

"The New Germany officials are going to be here today," the doctor said, snapping her attention away from the suspicious passage. "I need you to be on your best behavior. We cannot afford a repeat of the American visit. Do you understand?"

She nodded, head down. There were still powerful memories from the discipline she'd received, as well as a resentment of physical pain. He dismissed her, allowing her back into the dining hall for the remaining few minutes. At the warden's notice, she waited in her room while New Germany officials arrived and inspected the place.

The rules for an inspection were simple: look happy and don't complain. When they ask for your name, give them your number. Don't make eye contact and don't raise any questions. So many rules, and so many to break.

She glanced back at the dull gray door that encased her. There were metal bars where a window should have been, and the handle was missing from the inside. Outside the door, the building was quiet. She preferred the silence that came from being alone. It was easier to get lost in the fantasies she created that way. Ones where she was free to do whatever she wanted, like laugh, and cry, and eat ice-cream, all without being forced to do what the doc wanted her to do.

The silence was short-lived. Voices dimly wavered through the concrete that separated her cell from the next. She listened closely as one shouted at another, and back and forth. She could make out Dr. M's voice, but the other was totally foreign. A few minutes of conversation later, the neighboring door slammed, and the doctor peered through her own door.

"Grab your clothes, Marie. You are going to New Germany with these people," he said, his face red and frustrated.

"What?" she responded, leaning forward.

"No questions. Move quickly. You don't have time to waste."

She didn't know what to think. Was she supposed to be excited? Since she had been in captivity, the only other person who had left was her roommate. Apparently, it was finally her turn.

She grabbed an extra uniform from her lonely gray dresser. The clothes and a toothbrush were her sole possessions. Life here hadn't warranted anything else. The doc and the warden were waiting with almost threatening features as she approached the door. Three New German officers joined them outside, each draped in all black and equipped with a pistol.

"Schnell," one said, beckoning her over. The four jogged down the hall and turned a corner, straight into an area that was typically off-limits. They were a lot quicker than her, but she did her best to keep up, not knowing where they were heading. She eventually caught up, but only because the three suited officers stopped at a door she had never seen before. A breeze blew in from underneath it.

One of them was fiddling with a key as she approached. The three seemed on edge. A moment later, when an alarm sounded off across the complex, she found out why.

For her, the noise was all too familiar. Every month they had an attack drill, where the alarms would go off and you would have to shield yourself from any attackers. This one, however, hadn't been scheduled. The officers and other patients seemed to understand that, too, but the patients had no intention of shielding themselves or hiding. Anyone trying to "attack" was actually there to rescue them.

"Aider! Aider!" a voice yelled on the opposite side of the door. The three officers paused and turned to face the noise.

"Los! Los!" one of them yelled, quickly rounding the fork. Cal and the other two officers followed suit. Behind them, the door crashed down to the floor, and footsteps marched down the path.

"What is going on?!" Dr. M yelled, standing in the lobby behind them. Instead of answering, the officers remained fixed on the hallway they had just been in. Their pistols were in hand, aiming around the intersection.

"I demand an answer!"

"Obtenez l'enfant!" was the response he got, as intruders filled the foyer in front of them. Cal couldn't understand a word of what was happening, but there were definitely more intruders with pistols than there were officers with pistols. One officer grabbed her wrist and darted the opposite direction.

Gunshots came next. The first cracked against a wall far behind her, and the second pinged nearby. Other patients appeared from their areas, confused and worried by the yelling, alarm, and gunshots. She held onto the officer as much as he held onto her. Faces blurred past her as she ran, but she searched to see if she could recognize any amid the chaos. They were all faces she hated or didn't care for.

Except for one.

Right as they rounded another corner, she saw a particular face stand out in the crowd of faces that congregated in the cafeteria. They had all the same features as her roommate: blonde hair and blue eyes, most notably. The only thing missing was the care and warmth on her face.

Shouting behind her reminded her that there was no time to investigate. The intruders were now down the hallway, blocking off the escape route. She closed her eyes, not sure what was going to happen.

A single gunshot rang out. She was sure it was her.

She kept her eyes squeezed shut, but felt no pain. The officer that held onto her let go, and she heard a smack against the tile floor a moment later. Finally, she opened her eyes. To her left, the officer was lying on the ground, dead. Fear stronger than anything she'd ever felt prior washed over her as she analyzed her surroundings. Two of the intruders closed in, trying to grab her. In retaliation, she flung her elbow into one of their noses.

It wasn't enough to stop them, but it delayed them long enough for her to try to run. She continued down the path, moving faster than she'd ever had in her life. She stopped at the end of the corridor, met with the dreaded Room 84.

How did I end up here? Apparently, she hadn't been paying attention to where she was being dragged to.

She was torn between opening the door and standing up for herself. There wasn't a lot of time for her to debate, because the march of footsteps was getting louder and closer. It was just a matter of seconds until they reached her if she didn't do something.

Reluctantly, she yanked on the door.

It didn't budge.

"Il!" she heard down the corridor. She pulled harder on the door, panic mixing with a fire inside her. The fire erupted through her arms, and she tore the door off of its hinges.

Door in hand, she turned to face her assailants. The intruders slowed down in front of her. It was their turn to be afraid.

One of them crept towards her, arm outstretched. The intruder was saying something in a language she didn't understand. In return, they received a door to the stomach, knocking them over. They laid on the ground in an uncomfortable position and didn't get back up.

Realization and shock kicked in. Did I really just rip a door off of its hinges, throw it down a hallway, and hit somebody? Did I possibly just kill somebody?

In her hesitation, two of the remaining three intruders pulled out gun-like objects and shot them at her. The projectiles, attached to the gun through a cord, connected with her arm and forehead. She ripped them off of her, wincing at the pain. Then, she pulled hard on the cords, throwing the two intruders towards her.

Unfortunately, it wasn't enough to stop the intruders from activating their tasers, shocking her through her fists and temporarily immobilizing her. The three moved quickly to subdue her, the third grabbing a rope and tying it around her arms.

"Cette corde tiendra-t-elle?" one asked. "Will this rope hold?"

"Probablement pas," a second soldier replied. "Probably not."

They moved quickly to move her up the stairs they broke in through. Other intruders were talking to the kids, but it was clear they couldn't understand French. The warden and a couple of New German officials were being handcuffed, and a few bodies were being cleaned up by other French officials. Dr. M was nowhere to be found.

Before they could get her out of the building, she stirred awake again. Upon realizing what was happening, she tore through the rope effortlessly. A shorter female soldier approached, just to be hit by a swinging arm. Another soldier ran up and sedated her with a needle. They loaded her onto the helicopter and started their ascent.

-=[ ]=-

"Very informative, Marie," the man said, his hands moving at lightning speed to record everything she'd recounted. Her account matched almost perfectly all the information he'd been given, so he was sure she wasn't lying.

Which gave him hope.

"There's one last thing I need to know, however." He flipped back to the front page, then concernedly stared at her. "What was your roommate's name?"