The Initiative (A Sleeping Beauty Remix)

Five

Five

"I'm sending the files tomorrow. These four best fit the criteria. Though I would like to point out the risks of putting this type of team together..."

-Dr. Daniella Fairemount, Psy D., Memo to Commander Adrian Leonger.

Dr. Freed signed the final paper and put it in the yellow manila folder at his desk. My name and a patient number were labeled neatly on the side. "That's the final copy," he said, "I'll be faxing these over to Commander Leonger by the end of the day."

Faxing. That was something I knew of. These past two weeks since my "awakening" I'd spent every odd sleepless night in the library, catching up on the things I'd missed. Learning of the changes in the world.

When Dr. Freed heard about it, he encouraged me to go as slow as I could. Information, especially 16 years of it, was a lot to process. With all the changes--technological or otherwise--there was a risk I'd try to take in too much and start going crazy. Not psycho crazy. Just....incredibly overwhelmed.

Most of my time so far had involved catching up with the history of Sarias. There was a stack of newspapers in the library I'd combed through. I'd yet to touch the technology side. I can only imagine what the internet looks like. And those "smart" phones? Touchscreens still blow my mind. Does it sense thermal energy? Was that how the device knew when a spot was tapped? Or was there some type of sensitive grid under the screen?

It made my head throb. Next, someone was going to tell me we have hover cars. Pft.

"What does this mean for my training?"

Dr. Freed peered at me over his silver frames. "You cannot throw yourself straight into it all," he said, stern, "however, I will tell your captain you're ready for beginning training. At least for the first week."

I crossed my arms and dug my fingers into my elbows. If I was just starting beginning training--which was essentially boot camp--I'd be far behind the others. Way far behind--boot camp for the Initiative was a two-month course. Already I had a lot of catching up to do.

16 years of catching up.

How would I ever get back to the level that I was?

I used to be in prime condition. Before I went under, my mornings consisted of a four-mile jog followed by a full muscle workout. I could handle a weapon without my arms shaking and had stamina that lasted. 

Now, I could hardly run ten laps around the track without feeling nauseous.

Eva already thought I was a waste of time. I imagine this wouldn't help my case.

Shaking my head, I bundled up all my self-pity and threw it away. I'd come from worse. I could do this. My freedom, my cottage, depended on this.

"The good news," Dr. Freed said, "is that you show almost no signs of muscle atrophy. The muscle mass is all there. It simply needs a quick build up. Quite peculiar, actually."

My hand came up to my left bicep and pressed over the three-quarter length sleeve there.

My Acemark was in a difficult place. I couldn't wear tank tops, and I stayed away from short sleeve shirts. Instead, most of my wardrobe consisted of long sleeved shirts I "modified" by cutting off the right sleeve. Just because I couldn't show my left shoulder and bicep didn't mean my right had to be the same.