05-15-2014, 08:15 PM
The English passed on, and Torri was left to her own company in the aftermath of hope. Soon, disappointment turned to more practical needs.
Torri hated to admit it.
She was bored.
She'd played every scene leading up to her current situation over and over, but for mindless reasons. She knew exactly what led her to being locked in a cleaning closet.
The first time she met Michael, she'd been afraid of him. The intensity of his youth stared straight to her heart, but Torri was world class at hiding fear and shame. All doctors were to some degree, but for army doctors, the skill was mandatory. So she hadn't allowed herself to buckle beneath the depths of his study.
She came to respect him for the commander the CCD seemed to acknowledge in him. Daydreaming about what events led to his defection from Australia filled some intangible number of minutes, but she knew nothing about his story. I should ask him, someday. She sighed. Assuming he was still alive.
She knew what led them to the hospital in the first place. The creature that Michael hunted. It made no sense to her scientific mind, then again, neither did most of the patients in the Facility until her research elucidated genomic patterns common to each one. Yet she wracked the stretches of her mind to explain how an assassin could hide in fog and pass through walls and men alike. She also had no idea what it had actually done to Michael that weakened him so.
So many questions.
At least she knew the answer to one. Why was she here, handcuffed, and shoved in a closet?
She leaned her head against the pipe and blinked at the indistinguishable shapes on the shelves overhead.
"Because they think I'm a spy.
She said to herself.
It made perfect sense, if she were in their shoes. A woman in a man's thawb, one that covered a Custody uniform underarmor. She had a military grade Wallet on her person and a Custody soldier in her arms. She'd nearly disarmed one of the rifle wielding rebels, and she would have riddled them with rounds had she been successful.
The question was, what were they going to do with her? Did Hasan know she was there? Or was an underling with their own intentions secret the news from him? The waiting the worst, though. Alone in darkness, her head and face ached her mood sour.
"And for shit sakes, can we get this over with?"
Torri hated to admit it.
She was bored.
She'd played every scene leading up to her current situation over and over, but for mindless reasons. She knew exactly what led her to being locked in a cleaning closet.
The first time she met Michael, she'd been afraid of him. The intensity of his youth stared straight to her heart, but Torri was world class at hiding fear and shame. All doctors were to some degree, but for army doctors, the skill was mandatory. So she hadn't allowed herself to buckle beneath the depths of his study.
She came to respect him for the commander the CCD seemed to acknowledge in him. Daydreaming about what events led to his defection from Australia filled some intangible number of minutes, but she knew nothing about his story. I should ask him, someday. She sighed. Assuming he was still alive.
She knew what led them to the hospital in the first place. The creature that Michael hunted. It made no sense to her scientific mind, then again, neither did most of the patients in the Facility until her research elucidated genomic patterns common to each one. Yet she wracked the stretches of her mind to explain how an assassin could hide in fog and pass through walls and men alike. She also had no idea what it had actually done to Michael that weakened him so.
So many questions.
At least she knew the answer to one. Why was she here, handcuffed, and shoved in a closet?
She leaned her head against the pipe and blinked at the indistinguishable shapes on the shelves overhead.
"Because they think I'm a spy.
She said to herself.
It made perfect sense, if she were in their shoes. A woman in a man's thawb, one that covered a Custody uniform underarmor. She had a military grade Wallet on her person and a Custody soldier in her arms. She'd nearly disarmed one of the rifle wielding rebels, and she would have riddled them with rounds had she been successful.
The question was, what were they going to do with her? Did Hasan know she was there? Or was an underling with their own intentions secret the news from him? The waiting the worst, though. Alone in darkness, her head and face ached her mood sour.
"And for shit sakes, can we get this over with?"