We continue taking Ops, succeeding with each one, making a name for ourselves. But on one Op it all goes wrong.
It's supposed to be a standard in and out to retrieve intel, Vida, me, Cate, and two other agents on it.
Getting inside was easy enough, there were some PSFs on the outside of our target building but they were easy to dispose of. But we didn't get pay close enough attention. PSFs. They shouldn't be here.
Inside we were looking for a computer, to plant a bug that would cripple their database, the league is trying to put some agents in the camps.
We covered the agent putting in the bug. As he's doing it, the door bursts open, more soldiers. Wait- not soldiers. PSFs. I'd recognize that uniform anywhere.
"We got PSFs converging on our position!" I yell. Vida turns, gun raised.
I raise my hands, commanding fire. I thrust my hands toward the PSFs, lighting the closest ones up.
"Out the backdoor! Let's go! Phoenix, cover the trail with fire," Cate commands through the coms. The rest of our team turns toward the exit while I set the computers alight, covering our tracks.
Before I can completely follow, a deafening noise enters my ears.
I crumple to the ground, unable to move, to think. Pain. It feels like someone is driving razor blades through my brain.
My body convulses as the noise continues, I can't do anything to shield myself from it.
It finally turns off but I'm dazed, my body motionless.
"Jia! Jia!" A voice screams in my ear. Cate's.
Once I finally come out of my daze and gain control back, my hands are being forced together by metal. My mask ripped off and replaced with a leather muzzle. And I can't do a damn thing about it.
At least they made it out. They're gone.
They left me.
But their voices are still buzzing in my ear, my com hasn't been disabled yet.
"Jia! You asshole! You can't leave me like this! Come on!" It's Vida's furious voice coming through the coms. But I know this means she's hurt.
"Jia, I love you so much. Please don't forget. I will find you again. I-" Cate's voice is cut off as one of the PSFs rip the device out of my ear and makes in me watch as they stomp on it.
The PSFs drag me back out of the building and into their van, handcuffing me to the bench. How did they know we'd be here?
"We're going to have a nice, long, ride to Thurmond. Since we have so much time together, you're going to tell us what you and your little friends were doing here," the one immediately in front of me says.
Oh fuck.
—
Cate and Vida exit the elevator, both of their eyes red.
They lost her. Jia.
After Cate promised she'd never leave the girl, she'd lost her.
But the worst part would be explaining to Jude that they'd lost her. That Jia wasn't walking back into HQ.
It was common knowledge among all recruits that when you were captured, no one was coming to get you.
And there he is, the one-man welcoming committee. Jude has a huge smile plastered on his face, elated that they're back. He doesn't even notice she's missing.
But as they get closer, he realizes they've been crying. And that someone's missing.
"What happened? Where's Jia?" Jude asks as Cate approaches.
"The PSFs somehow knew we were there, we didn't anticipate their arrival so early. I told Jia to cause a distraction, I slowed her down. They..." Cate trails off, a fresh wave of sadness at losing a kid washing over her.
"Those motherfuckers took her! There was this deafening noise, it felt like razors were going through my brain. I had to be dragged out. But we're gonna find her, right? We can check the camp networks and see which one they've sent her to?" Vida asks, deep down knowing that it won't happen.
"Vida... you know that's not how it works," Cate explains.
"No. It has to be. She can't just be gone! She can't..." Vida says, truly sobbing for the first time, crumbling to the floor.
—
I have no idea where Thurmond is but the drive takes about twelve hours from where our Op was in Arkansas.
The PSFs try to get information out of me but I will not budge. No matter how hard they hit me or how long they turn on what they call "Calm Control", a frequency only our brains can hear, apparently.
Now we're pulling into a camp, through a motorized gate. And I'm terrified.
Once the van stops, the PSF in the back with me begins speaking.
"You are to follow orders whenever they are given. That noise you heard earlier will be played if you disobey. No talking to, or looking at PSFs. You are not to speak if not spoken to. Lights out means no talking. There will be no talking during work hours, though I doubt you'll be able to do that anyway," he laughs at his own joke while I scowl at him. This is a prison.
"And most importantly, no abilities, ever. Not even accidental. Your cabin mates will explain more," the man finishes. Cabin mates?
He unhooks my cuffs from the bench but they're immediately hooked to my muzzle by another chain.
Once that's complete he bangs on the van wall and the back door opens, revealing two more PSFs.
The one in back shoves me out of the van and sprawling onto the gravel, causing me to land face first with no way to defend myself.
They pull me to my feet and begin dragging me into the unfamiliar camp.
It seems to be an open concept so far. There are rows and rows of brown cabins at the heart of the camp, kids are walking in all directions, every single kid with a different coloured uniform. Red, yellow, blue, green, and orange. I've never seen an orange in person before. For some reason I thought they'd be scary but they're just kids. Like me.
The blues and greens have the liberty to walk freely, their hands swinging at their sides.
The reds, yellows, and oranges are forced to fight through the mud on the trail with handcuffs on their hands and feet, a chain connecting them.
The reds and oranges have the muzzles like mine, like dogs.
But instead of going to a cabin, where I guess we live, they take me to a building by the front gate. A ripped piece of paper labelling it the infirmary.
Apparently, I'm not moving fast enough for the PSFs guiding me, so they push me from behind. I stumble but don't fall, I'm not giving them the satisfaction.
The infirmary is T shaped, with a row of empty beds to the left and a staircase at the end of the hall.
They drag me up the stairs and to the left, a dozen doors litter the upper room, one of them open.
One PSF takes me into the room while the other stands outside.
Inside the room, there's a desk with a large computer on it. A middle-aged man in a white coat sits at the desk.
"This is the registration process for camp Thurmond. Here you'll be sorted and assigned your colour. Name?" The man asks, waiting for my response.
When he doesn't get one he looks at me. I stare at him, my eyes with a are you serious look to them.
"Remove the muzzle. If you try anything, you will severely regret it," the doctor says. I know I have no choice but to tell them but maybe I can have a little fun.
"Name?" The doctor asks again, clearly irritated.
"Let me spell it out for you. Y-O-U-R M-O-M," I say, smiling sweetly with my hands cuffed. He types it in seriously for a second before realizing what I said to him.
The PSF next to me backhands me as I laugh. "I don't have time for your little games. Tell me your name or we will not hesitate to use the calm control and think up a nickname for you," the doctor says.
I sigh. "What? I'm just having fun! Fine, you guys are buzzkills. My name is Jia Thorin, happy? I'll even spell it. J-I-A T-H-O-R-I-N," the man types that into the computer, creating my profile.
"And your colour? Red or orange?" He points to a pyramid on the wall, outlining each colour, their abilities, and their safety levels. Huh. I'm regarded as "highly dangerous," cool.
"I'm a red, the one on the top of the pyramid," I say, pointing to the chart.
He fills that out. "Alright. Stand there so we can take a picture for your profile," the doctor commands, shoving his head at a camera pointed to a white background.
The PSF grabs my arm like I'm a child and pulls me toward the wall, forcing me to stand in front of it.
I give a big, obnoxious, smile to the camera as it clicks.
After my picture, the PSF from outside throws in a red uniform and white slip-on shoes.
"I'm going to take your cuffs off and you're going to change. That's it. No funny business," the PSF tells me, handing me the uniform and shoes. He clicks off my cuffs and I go to the corner of the room, feeling their eyes on my back.
This is the only time I've had without restraints. I take a deep breath as I quickly begin stripping out of the league given clothes, the last memory I'll have of the place that saved me.
I slip on the red shirt and pants that define me as a danger. The last trace of my home is my bright red hair. The only thing that sets me apart from the rest of the kids that have been here for who knows how long.
After I put on the shoes, I hand my clothes over and the PSF cuffs and re-muzzles me, replacing the constraints that keep me trapped.
"Take her to cabin 36. They have an opening there. Enjoy your stay, Jia," the doctor tells me mischievously as I'm dragged back outside.
I'm led through the camp, passing cabin after cabin until we reach mine. It's close to the control tower that sticks out like a sore thumb in the middle of the camp, but not close enough to the fence to make a run for it. Green cabins are there, acting as a buffer.
The PSF pulls out an ID card and smacks it against the electronic lock, which beeps at him in response, the door opening.
He pushes me up the stairs. What I see inside is startling.
There two rows of bunks on each side of the cabin, about fifteen girls in the room, each occupying a bed. Their hands are cuffed to a hook on the bed, preventing them from doing much.
"Thorin. Where does that go?" The PSF asks. We must be in alphabetical order.
One of the girls on the left nods her head to the bed beside her.
The PSF drags me in and to the free bed. He pulls the short chain that's attached to the bed and attaches my hands there. He pulls the muzzle off my face and exits without a word.
The girls don't begin asking questions until they're sure he's gone.
They stumble over each other like they haven't seen someone new in forever. Well, maybe they haven't.
"Girls! Quiet. I'm sure it's very overwhelming for her. Here, let's all go around and say our names, a bit about ourselves, and then we all get to ask one question. How does that sound?" One of the girls says, taking charge. She must be the cabin leader.
"Yeah. That's fine with me. The names Jia," I inform them, plopping onto my hard mattress.
"Alright, I'll go first. My name is Cecelia but you can call me CC. I was the first girl in this cabin. How old are you, Jia?" The leader, CC, asks.
"I'm fourteen, about to turn fifteen," I answer. My birthday is in a few days, isn't it?
Then it moves to the next girl. "My name's Mackenzie, I'm originally from Iowa. Where did you come from?" She asks. That's the only question that matters, isn't it?
"I came from the Children's league, they saved me from being put in a camp when the first collections happened," I answer truthfully, I'll be here awhile.
It moves throughout the whole cabin. I get each girl's name and a question, it may be mundane like, "what's your favourite colour?" Or a deeper one like "what was the Children's League like?"
Eventually, CC explains how the days in Thurmond work. We all take meal and exercise rotations, they don't want our colours together. We get about an hour of exercise each day and that's it. Wow.
"Haven't you guys tried escaping?" I ask, wondering how we haven't broken out yet.
They nod. "We've tried five times. But... they aren't afraid to shoot. The ones that try never come back," CC says. Damn.
—
"Could you track her clothes? Where did they take her?" Cate asks, currently in the control room of HQ.
"Yes, we tracked them. It seems they took her somewhere in West Virginia, probably to Thurmond. But Connor you need to move on, you know the policy and even if it wasn't in place, Thurmond is too big of a camp for us to try and infiltrate, at least right now. Maybe in a couple years we'll have the manpower," they tell her, crushing the little hope she has.
She just needs to know she isn't dead. That Jia is still alive and has a fighting chance.
So Cate slides onto one of the vacant computers and uses their backdoor access to the camp database. Typing in the search bar "Jia Thorin,"
A profile pops up. A messed up head of red hair and a huge smile on her face. But the smile doesn't reach her eyes.
Being a social worker for so many years has granted Cate the ability to see past the fake smiles. Jia's eyes hold the look of terror. She's afraid.
—
I follow the stupid routine of Thurmond for three months.
Each colour and gender has a specific time to eat, Reds get up the earliest.
When our door swings open in the morning we're expected to make our bed and stand beside it.
One by one they release us from the bed, only to put us back onto a large chain that connects each and every one of us.
When we step outside the door single file, a muzzle is placed over our mouths, ensuring we can't cause any trouble.
The reds and oranges are the hardest to control, the fire inside of us is bottomless. I can feel the fire inside of me. When I get angry, it gets hotter and hotter, begging to be freed.
Our calling card is the tic each and every one of us possesses. When we start heating up it gets pronounced, so much so that our entire body can jerk.
There's no talking among us as we're shuffled to the mess hall and sat down at the benches, tasteless oatmeal shoved in front of us.
Our muzzles are taken off so we're able to eat in the mess, but our cuffs are not. Just another reason Thurmond is hell.
But the biggest reason this place is hell comes in the form of a PSF. Tildon.
It's like he forgets we're dangerous, or that we have voices. Every single morning, while he walks up and down the rows of us reds, he hovers behind me, stopping completely.
He knows if I say anything to him I get unhooked from this line and shoved outside, getting tied to a pole. But it doesn't stop me from biting back at him.
So this morning, when he's up to his bullshit again, I try to ignore him. But I'm angry, the fire in my core pouring into my head, my temper short.
My hand gives a sharp jerk as he gets closer and I have to take a deep breath to try and stay calm. The girls beside me sneak glances over, seeing what I'm going to do.
I try to hold back but as soon as he presses up against me, his hand trailing my back, I can't help myself.
"You better get those sausage fingers off of me before you lose them," I growl out, bracing myself for what comes next.
He grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls me up off the bench. Since all of us are connected, the girls beside me spill their meal, their hands being wretched up with mine.
"Did you just talk back to a PSF, Ching Chong?" He retorts, using the racist nickname he has for me.
"Yes. I did. Fat, ugly, pig," he grabs his baton and hits me in the side, this is considered resisting, warranting the use of force, in his words.
I groan but give him no more. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought we were using cute nicknames," he chuckles.
"You're just begging to go outside, aren't you? Fine. A day in the garden, for being so disrespectful," he commands, unhooking me from the chain and replacing my muzzle.
Tildon hooks an arm through mine and pulls me away to the horror of my cabin mates.
We aren't going out through the front.
There's a well-known place out behind the mess. It faces the forest, there's no camera there.
When you really tick off a PSF, they go out there to rough us up a little before actually carrying out the punishment.
Tildon drags me out back and hits me with his baton a few more times before collecting himself. "You'd be so much prettier if you used your mouth for things other than talking,"
I gag at that statement. He brings his hands up my sides, trailing toward my boobs. I'm in a position that I can't move as he has his way. Screaming doesn't help. Yelling doesn't help. I'm competent and utterly helpless as he abuses me.
After he's finished with me behind the mess he brings me over to an open area of land with a couple poles, for kids who misbehave.
It's in full view of all the cabins, to try and deter kids who want to act out.
But as a red, I'm never really cold. The fire inside of me keeps me mostly warm. But it happens to be winter and snowing. They neglect to give the reds jackets because they know we can keep our bodies warm, so we won't get sick, though we still feel the deep cold.
Tildon hooks me to the pole, forcing me to sit on the cold earth. "I'd say learn your lesson, but I know we'll be back here," he mocks, leaving me to sit and shiver.
—
Finally, as the others are getting escorted back from the washrooms and mess, a different PSF comes to collect me. A female.
"You can't keep acting like that it attracts him. I'll get you a bigger uniform. Just stay low profile for once," she says. She knows what he does to everyone, not just the girls. He's past his conscription but he still wants in.
How is it my fault he wants to touch me? Why can't they just remove him? None of us asked to be in this camp, did anything to deserve this.
It started snowing-which is rare for this part of America-, meaning my uniform is wet.
She unhooks my cuffs from the pole and takes me to the washroom before opening the door to our cabin, all of the girls faces low when she walks me in.
The PSF takes off my muzzle and hooks me to the chain by my bed, leaving me to sit on the bed and shiver.
Once she's gone, CC speaks.
"Jia, you have to stop doing that. It's only going to get worse-" I'm annoyed at this statement, my arm jerking. Why am I being punished for his attraction to me?
"Yeah? Well, I'm not going to let him talk to me like that or touch me. He's a fucking sick bastard and I'll talk to him how I want until he leaves me alone," I explode, swearing there's a small spark.
I plop onto my bed and pull the thin sheet over me, trying to get some warmth.
"Alright. Let's start where we left off. The dragon was shackled in the dungeon. Jia?" CC says, trying to continue our story. This is what we do to entertain ourselves, considering we almost never leave this damn cabin.
"The dragon was so, so angry. Smoke was coming out of its nostrils, the fire deep within the dragon burning hotter and hotter. It just had to wait for the right moment," I finish my segment, laying down and ignoring the rest of the story.
At times like these, I miss the league so much. I miss Vida. I miss Jude, his hugs. And I miss Cate. God, she must be killing herself over losing me.
But I'll make it out of here. I'm gonna get out, see them again. I have to.