[PREQUEL] (W) ᴜɴᴅᴇʀʟᴀɴᴅ ♗

12| ''Priority over puppet''

Even when Nine was 'in' she couldn't press the trigger—that simple action could have saved me so much distress. But no, she stalled in the same way I did before I had gotten upstairs.

And now I have to struggle with the cognitive repercussions of regret and embarrassment at will.

I ran my hands down my face after one of Corinelli's men wrapped and treated my wound...wounds on our way towards southern headquarters. The sniffle that leaves my nose is one that promises mucus the moment I hit the bathrooms to clear it out.

My eyebrows creased so much, I feel some sort of strain that comes along with it. The corners of my lips frown, but all I could do was switch my gaze from my freshly calloused palms to the sight of familiar building's.

My lips part in the same way my inner corners begin to dampen. There had been only myself to blame for being a pussy.

Highly trained assassin of authority my ass.

How could I have killed Daitan Hamasaki, but couldn't even touch another  silver piece below him?

It all seemed very backwards.... Or was I the only one backwards?

I hold my blink, trying to line my thoughts with reason. Not emotion.

But I couldn't help but feel like I was falling down a rabbit hole and everything would have changed from here on out. Was this what that was?

I let the thought marinate in my head for the few seconds we were still in the car before it parked.

It was then my eyebrows had flatlined. Fuck.

Maybe I didn't know the man I had killed that night was a decoy of the actual him, but there might have been a strong chance that my subconscious, my alter—Nine knew.

But I couldn't have been too sure, my mental capacity to formulate anything that wasn't along the lines of '' You're a disappointment to your father and his legacy'' dissipated just as fast as it appeared.

Doors from all sides had begun to open, the next thing I knew, I was leaning on the side of the car door, refusing to face the many familiar faces that stood in front of the house.

Out of a bundle of dozens, three faces were the only ones highlighted in my view.

Narissa's eyebrows frown.

For someone who is beneath the WEIA witness protection program after her father, a politician from Barbados, was charred by the structure, her freedom to just walk around amongst the agents had me questioning her relevance for a while.

Eventually it didn't matter. But as of the moment, for a woman who would have rather chewed on glass than display her faults; she was stepping into the pretty expressive zone at the moment.

If the younger range of students weren't all standing and looking my way, I knew she wouldn't hesitate to hug me. Or, at least try to.

I felt my face scrunch up, thinking back to the moment I had made a mockery of myself all while holding weapons who were all the more mighty than I was. Still tainted in blood from the tips, secondary holes were made on the top of my backpack.

I couldn't have held them without my hands compulsively shaking. The voice that whispered, Failure, at such loud volumes were only a small fraction of the internal turmoil I was undergoing.

I let out a breath.

My gaze falling to my feet and the cobble stone of the driveway I drove over. The more I had kept on trying to dismiss the cognitive distortion of the past, the more the rumination stuck.