My eyes quickly flutter open. Immediately I sit up. Slowly, I look around and take in my surroundings. Darkness. I was in a dark cell, water slowly dripping from the concrete ceiling. My clothes were tattered and ripped to shreds barely covering my heavily scarred body. I try to move, but I am soon regretful of my efforts. I wince as pain shoots up my arm and spreads throughout my body. I hesitantly look down to the source of my misery and tears swell in my eyes. There on my forearm was a heavy gash oozing with blood. Immediately, I look around the room to try to find something to cover it up. I realize that I’m sitting on an old blanket. I tear off a piece of the distasteful thing and carefully wrap it around my arm.
“Ssss ouch.” I hiss to myself as the thin cloth covers my wound. I automatically tried to recall what had happened before I had passed out; my training making all these steps standard in my mind. Fire. There was an explosion. I remember looking into his emerald eyes before I told him to go, while I stayed behind and took out the synthetic police. Him being my partner, in crime and in life. I would take a bullet for him, and I knew he would do the same for me. I swear to god if he’s dead-
“HEY!” an armed guard outside my cell bangs on the cell bars. I look up and glare at him, refusing to mutter a single word in response. He takes notice of my stubbornness and slams the cell door open. I am as still as a statue as the bloke strides over to me and pulls me up by the hair so I’m face to face with him. His grip on my head forcing me to look straight onto his eyes. I couldn’t tell if his irises were either dark brown or black, although it didn’t matter, I preferred green eyes anyway. He takes his free hand and grasps my neck cutting off my air supply.
“You will speak when being spoken to bitch. Or else you will face the consequences.” He spits at me before releasing his grip and throwing me down to the ground. I am gasping for air when he speaks again.
“The boss wants to see you.” I nod not making eye contact with his evil eyes. The man grabs both of my arms twisting them behind my back making me whimper in pain. He locks them in heavy iron handcuffs made especially for degree 1 criminals. They are designed to send an electric shock into you if you try to escape. The only way out is with a special key. Little did he know that I was trained to get out of them. I smirked and decided to play along and act like an innocent defenseless girl. These people know how dangerous I am, yet they still underestimate me due to the fact that I’m a woman. I guess I shouldn’t be complaining though, because in the end their ignorance benefits me and leads to their demise.
The guard leads me down a dark empty corridor with steam blowing out of broken pipes. As we near the end he turns to a door and puts his thumb on the keypad. As the heavy metal doors slide apart I shield my face, as I am hit with blinding light.
Again, I take in my surroundings. White. The room was completely white with white florescent walls, white furniture, and white lights. There was a man standing in the middle of the room with his back turned to me.
He was fairly tall with broad shoulders. I estimated him to be in his 40s or 50s. This man, who I assumed to be “the boss,” wore a tailored black suit with a blood red shirt underneath. The guard pushes me in and closes the door behind us. He takes a stance by the door along with 3 other guards, guns in hand. Hesitantly I cough, causing “the boss” take notice towards me. When he turns around my heart stops. I know this man, this evil dictator. After all, I was trained to kill him. He is the leader of the most powerful militia in the world. The one that the resistance is trying to take down. I, being a member of the resistance, was trained to kill him and take down his army. He chuckles at my shocked expression and shakes his head.
“What are we going to do with you darling?” he laughs again. I scoff at him staring right into his empty eyes.
“What do you want from me Monroe?” I ask innocently. He laughs at me again.
