The Inquisition

Chapter Six - Megan

Monday, December 6th, 2021: Seven Years Earlier

Looming over her food tray, stirring her cold coffee out of habit, Diane leaned peered around the mess hall suspicious of everyone around her. The dining facility had become her running of the gauntlet as she imagined her contemporaries scrutinizing her every move, waiting to discover something, anything they could use against her if the opportunity arose. She thought the same of her instructors as they tried to limit her because of her arm. She pushed back from the very beginning, and in the year and a half she'd spent at West Point thus far, her "no bullshit" attitude hadn't made her any friends, coming across too most as too hardnosed, and too hardcore. Many wrote her off as pompous, yet to say she was braggadocio would be incorrect. Rather, she backed up her words on a consistent basis with nary a thought of what that meant for those around her as she outperformed and outflanked them mercilessly at every turn. Learning her limits with her prosthetic long ago, she had turned her injury into an asset, had no qualms using it to achieve mission success, and had no intention of dialing herself back just because her classmates couldn't keep up. Her almost fanatical drive to succeed earned her the ire of both students and staff at the Point.

Choosing to remain alone when possible, Diane had become a singularity in self-exile, shielding herself from others otherwise. The many things she'd heard about herself up to now only served to sharpen her defenses, yet like any guard walking the ramparts day after day, time ebbed away at her spirits like the water does the rock and she began to fold back into depression, feeling low and tired from being on constant watch. She knew at this point whatever her original purpose had been for going to the Academy, she had become mired in a stalemate, and without help, would remain hopelessly lost. Part of her felt willing to go to extremes, craving the crash at end of the rock bottom. Nowhere to go but up, Diane thought, desperately wanting to see the sun shine again. She wanted out of the hole she made for herself. How became the question repeating over again, occupying all of her thoughts and feelings to such a point that she failed to notice a young woman talking directly in front of her.

"Hello," the young woman blurted, snapping Diane out of her trance. The young lady stood three inches shorter than Diane, petite framed with brown hair secured in a bun, dressed in Academy cadet grays.

"Hi. I'm Megan. Mind if I sit?" Diane nodded yes, somewhat shocked, but still mindful of Megan's intentions; she'd had many a person attempt to invite themselves into her world to get close enough to stab the knife and twist. She intended on keeping her guard up.

"Aren't you in my Psych class?" Megan asked, curious about Diane.

"Maybe, I don't know," Diane replied, the uninterested look on her face betraying her lack of interest in having a discussion.

"What did you think about Professor Bemboken's lecture?"

"I didn't," Diane replied, her crass tone making her guest visibly uncomfortable. Megan changed the subject, continuing to try to make conversation.

"I'm a only a yearling, but I am so ready to graduate."

"That's going to be a hard one to pull off, considering that we have two and a half more years here," Diane replied.

"Oh, so you're a sophomore too," Megan said, putting two and two together. Diane cursed herself for revealing something about herself in a conversation she didn't want to be having. Irritated, she narrowed her eyes giving Megan a deep and serious stare down: if looks could kill, Megan would have been ashes.

"Look, I'm not much for small talk."

"I know," Megan replied, shrugging her shoulders. "I just thought you could use someone to talk to."