IN THE PRESENT
It’s surprisingly easy to make it up to the surface level. There aren’t even guards at the exit when I slip outside. I wonder if the security only seems lax and they've got the whole system automated to save on manpower. I’m sure with a number of bases going dark, they are stretched thin as it is.
The sun is just starting to set; its golden rays shimming over the polished chrome of the surrounding buildings. Everything seems warm, in total contrast to the reality of the Might district.
I step out into the alley and look up toward the nearest street. This whole section of Might is mostly abandoned, so there shouldn’t be anyone around. I’ve almost reached the mouth of the alley when a pair of soldiers walk by. My heart jumps to my throat and I freeze, hoping that they won’t look this way. They keep going and once they’ve passed, I sag against the wall in relief.
After a minute, I peer around the corner and the Might soldiers are nowhere to be seen. I take a step out into the street when a hand grabs a fist full of my hair and yanks me off my feet.
I’m sprawled out on the ground, staring up at two Might soldiers, both wearing face shiels.
“What’s this?” One of them jeers as the other nudges my shoulder with his boot.
“What’s an Officer doing out here, roaming around all alone?” He asks as the toe of his shoe brushes against my collar and the silver stripe there.
The fact that there are Might officers patrolling so close to the base is a huge problem. It also makes me very suspicious that this is one of two things. Either there’s a mole and these people know I’m Resistance, or this is a goddamn test to see if I’m ready. But even if it is, I know I need to keep the mentality that everything could cost me my life. Because if I am wrong and this is real, then goofing off will definitely kill me.
“Get up,” the one in the back, commands. I obey with a groan, rolling first onto my side, then up to my knees, and finally standing.
“You’re not showing me the respect I am owed. You’re not even Officers,” I chide, and brush the dirt off the front of my coat as if it’s not already caked with it.
The closer one scoffs and grabs the sleeve of my jacket. “You’re coming with us. I’m sure there’s an Officer who would love to ask you a few questions.”
I don’t resist as they tow me along. We walk for a few minutes down desolate streets until we reach a standard issue Might truck.
“You know the drill,” one says - and lucky for me I do. I stand at attention with my arms folded smoothly behind my back.
Before getting into the truck, they place a bag over my head and cuff my arms behind me. The EF-cuffs send continuous electrical pulses through my hands, rendering my arms immobile. It’s a pretty nifty way to keep prisoners docile, especially as you beat the shit out of them. I’ve heard they even have collars that do the same thing but for the whole body; I wonder if I am going to experience one of those for myself today.
When I’m finally secured in the back, I can feel the press of two people on either side of me and know there’s at least one sitting across from me from the brush of their knee against mine.
One of the ones on the other side of the truck starts to go through the usual routine. I’m asked a neverending slew of questions and I simply relay the same information over and over, giving them all the right details and accounts of my imprisonment, all the while being transported to some unknown location.
As a Might soldier, my duty is to tell the absolute truth when being interrogated by the Might and I do so with a calmness that surprises even myself. I thought I would feel more afraid but maybe all the lessons and beatings from Killian have actually paid off; I might actually be ready for this.
As they continue to ask me the same questions in the hopes that I will make a mistake or contradict myself, I continue to repeat everything flawlessly. I know each and every word is being recorded for a superior to listen to, so getting this right is paramount. But, at the same time, I need to maintain a certain aloofness because there’s no way anyone I am speaking to in this van has a higher rank than me.
The truck finally rolls to a stop and I am pulled to my feet and pushed out the back. Without being able to see, I have no idea when to step down and end up falling out. I land hard on my shoulder since I can’t catch myself with my hands cuffed behind me. There’s dead silence for a long moment before multiple people burst out laughing.
“Damn, that was funny. And you’re an Officer?” Someone calls. I ignore it and roll on my stomach to get the weight off my aching side.
I feel a boot press between my shoulder blades and take a deep breath. “Why is she still conscious?” Another person asks right before the boot on me lifts up and stomps my face, sending me into oblivion.
A bucket of cold water shocks me awake and I go rigid, gasping for air. My feet are tied to the legs of the chair I’m sitting on. I take a quick survey of my body and notice that my arms are tied behind my back with an additional tie keeping both of my thumbs together so I can’t move my hands at all.
I pitch forward, disoriented, and am lucky, if luck can be used in such a situation, because the chair is bolted down so I don’t fall flat on my face. My head is pulsing to the beat of my heart and I feel someone sticky on the side of my face; it’s probably blood from getting kicked in the face.
“Looks like the bitch has come to, sir.” a Might soldier laughs and a second later I get punched in the stomach. I wheeze, coughing up spittle.
Fuck that hurts.
I’m blindfolded which only makes everything more heightened since I can’t see when or from where the next hit will come. Based on the situation, there must be at least two people in the interrogation room and one of them has to be an Officer; that’s standard operating procedure.
I’m not sure if it’s the same person now, though that hardly matters, as someone slaps me across the face hard enough to make my lip bleed. I lick across it and then spit out the blood onto the floor.
Or I think it was the floor until someone using a voice modulator laughs and says, “Quite the aim for not being able to see. Right on his shoe.”
If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
The person who just slapped me growls and grabs my hair, wrenching my head back. “Yes, pretty fucking impressive.” I’m ready to be slapped again when instead something wet runs up the side of my face. This bastard’s just licked me.
My stomach rolls but I remain still, keeping my expression placid.
The same distorted voice that commented on my aim says, “She’s not that type of prisoner. Don’t get too comfortable.”
I’ve finally gotten my bearings enough to push down the pain that is radiating from almost every part of my body and do my job. I speak in a low, calm voice, “I suppose my station has afforded me some amenities then.”
The man who appears to be in charge laughs and replies, “Something like that Officer Dorne. We just want a clear picture of what’s happened to you.”
“Right, a clear picture. It would help if I knew who I was addressing.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” they rebuke.
The hand in my hair tightens more and I have to stretch my neck in order to keep this asshole from pulling out a chunk.
“Leave it. We’ll come back in a few hours.”
The man releases me with a grunt of disappointment. They leave and I’m sure it’s more than a few hours before they return. I think it’s been more like half a day. I desperately need to use the bathroom but I know they will let me soil myself before they release me. This isn't the place for small acts of kindness.
Right as they enter again, the same person concealing their voice says, “Tell me what really happened, Officer Dorne.”
“I have nothing more to report, sir,” I reply, my voice steady.
“Huh,” is all I hear before the first punch to my temple snaps my head to the side. I barely straighten again when another blow lands in the same spot. My ears are ringing and even without a blindfold, there’s little chance I’d be able to see through my left eye now with the swelling. A third blow lands just below my cheek and the pain turns my vision white; I wonder if they’ve just broken my cheekbone.
I remind myself to keep breathing through the pain even as my chest begins to seize up. “I have no further details to report, sir,” I say again, though my speech is slurred.
“Hmm, that eye doesn’t look good. I hear a click as one side of my blindfold is lift up and then something cold and metallic presses against my face. I bite back a scream as the blade is slowly dragged along my temple.
I try to control my breathing, slowly in, then out. It doesn’t last for more than a few seconds but the release of the pressure on my eye is immediate. As blood trickles down the side of my face and onto the hand holding me still, I smell it again - steel and sweat - and know the gig is up.
I bet he’ll be pissed but cutting into my face to see if I can take it, regardless of whether or not worse things may await me, makes I’m pissed as hell.
I can just barely open my left eye now, as I look up at the blurry figure in front of me and say with a lopsided smile, “It is quite an honor to have a member of the Reydon family as my interrogator.”
The grip on my chin gets tighter before slackening. My blindfold is wrenched off and I’m face to face with Killian. He straightens up and drops the blindfold.
I watch as he removes a small device around his neck - the voice modulator. He clears his throat and drops the collar on the floor as well.
“I get the feeling you knew from the start, Officer Dorne.” Killian says as he wipes his hands across his shirt. It leaves a smear of blood, my blood.
I appreciate him not calling me by my name. I don’t want it in his disgusting mouth. “I had my reservations but I wasn’t going to risk it.”
He laughs coldly and gestures toward my face. "You should put something on that eye. I had to cut it to alleviate the swelling.”
“Bull shit, this isn’t Old World. You did it because you fucking wanted to.”
He shrugs at the accusation. Then says with a callous smile, “Well we did need to make sure you looked the part before you got caught again.”
He unties me and as soon as I'm able, I growl and push past him, leaving the prison cell. I don't want to be anywhere near him if I can help it.
I stumble out into a hallway and find myself on one of the goddamn loop tracks of the Resistance base. Of course, I was still at the base. Where else could they have safely tested me?
I guess it’s for the best they’ve roughed me up; a Might officer held captive without a few wounds would be even less believable than the story I have to tell once I am caught for real.
Reydon comes up behind and says, “Don’t shower. Just go to your room and change. Dorne’s uniform is there, worse for wear, of course. You’ll be going out for real this time, and it won’t be me who finds you now.”
“That interrogation was shit you know. Wasn’t even a day.”
“Well, I’m not worried about you making it through but, others wanted a test. And like I said, we did need to make you look believable and it was an opportunity to do both at once.” He shrugs again, a gesture I am really starting to hate, and saunters away down the hall.
I watch him go and wonder if at some point during this mission, I’ll have the opportunity to strangle him.
I drag myself along the wall and eventually make it back to my room. My ribs scream in protest as I pull my shirt over my head. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see in the mirror that my skin is a muddled mess of purple, green, and yellow; more than half of those are just from training with Killian.
I know there’s dried blood on both sides of my face, but I suppose that just makes it all the more believable that I was held as a prisoner.
It takes me longer than it should to get dressed again in the uniform they’ve left for me. It’s in terrible condition and smells foul but, of course, that’s how it should be. When I finally have everything but the jacket on, I sit on the bed and lace up my black Might-issue boots. Across the room I see my cream-colored ones sitting in the corner. It’s unlikely that I’ll get to wear them again. I wonder if I should just throw them away.
I shrug the jacket on but I can’t make myself look at the mirror even though I know I need to check and make sure that I’m ready. My fingers fumble on the last buttons of my uniform and I sigh deeply, looking up at the ceiling. The bruise under my eye hurts like a bitch and I think again about my hope to pay it back to Killian in the near future.
The bedroom door slides open and someone knocks on the frame. Ander is standing there in a loose white button-down tucked into black trousers. He’s probably just come from work to see me off.
“You didn’t have to come,” I tell him and I resume trying to button up the coat. My fingers slip again and I wonder how I am supposed to maintain my composure when I can’t even do this right. But then again, Dorne would probably be a bit terrified herself; she would know that even after escaping, the Might army would not just welcome her back. But, as a loyal soldier, she would be dutybound to return, even knowing what would await her.
Yes, I bet she’d have trouble buttoning up her jacket, too
Ander pushes mine away as he begins to slowly button up the coat. When he reaches the top button he stops and I watch his throat bob. “Zo,” he begins and then clears his throat as he seems to choke on my name. “Zo, there is no extraction plan.”
“I know,” I reply. I am all too aware that success in this mission means living years as this other woman. And failure is just death.
“No, I know you know. Zo, what I’m saying is that you can’t die, okay?” I feel his hands tremble as he continues to hold onto the front of my jacket.
I put mine over his and hold them, rubbing my thumb along the back of his hands. “Now, now commander. You know I’m made of tough stuff.” I try to bring levity to the situation but Ander’s expression remains grave.
He studies my face or rather the face that’s become mine and murmurs, “I still see you, Zo. Even if no one else in this world can, I promise you. I will always still see you.”
His words are both kind and cruel. I nod because I don’t trust myself to speak. His eyes turn glassy and he pulls me into a tight hug, cradling my head.
“I love you, Zo. You’re my family; the family I choose,” he murmurs against my hair and I can’t stop the sob that escapes. I grip the back of his shirt and bury my face against his chest.
“You too,” I manage to murmur back because he is my family, too.