I have yearly exams tomorrow...and i'm writing fan fictions. Man, my teachers must love me.. ]

Prologue.

It was a generic, CIA holding room. A steal chair, sorry excuse for a bed, a nice private dunny..[if by private you mean in clear view of just about everyone..] surrounded by blinding white walls. She couldn't think straight; she wasn't sure if she wanted to. Because thinking straight would entail realising the veracity of the past 72 hours. People had died. People she knew, worked with. People she cared about. Possibly a little too much.

They blamed her.

It was all her fault.

She heard the large steel doors open, about 75 metres from her cell. She heard the footsteps of several people, heading towards her, the noise bouncing off the stark white walls, racing to her cell. Seeing which one could scare her the most. Trying to break her. It was a vicious game they loved to play. She knew they were coming. She climbed up on the hard, steel bed, pulling her knees to her chest.

Nobody won this round - she was already beyond terrified.

She'd felt every emotion known to man, but fear was beyond the worst. No other emotion made your heart beat like a old windmill on a stormy night. She could control mild fear, that was easy. But when true panic over took her, there was no stopping it. It comes in and breaks every defence you have.

They broke her 36 hours ago.

She hasn't slept since, for when she close's her eyes, the faces of the dieing men are embedded into her eyelids. They continually haunt her.

2 men, 1 woman. They stop outside her cell, awaiting entrance. She pushes herself up against her bed head even more, trying to escape this impending threat.

The glass doors open, and the 3 enter.

Fear drowns her, here eyes show nothing but it. Her whole body is overcome with violent shaking.

They don't care. She is just another criminal. She killed their own. She's the epitome of evil. They never cared.

One spoke, We know what you did. We know whom for. He stoped, to survey her reaction. She barley acknowledges is presence. She is so jaded that she is numb to reality. Maybe it's better that way. To escape from reality into a utopia. A perfect world.

What we want to know is, will they strike again, and where? His words seemed so distant to her, worlds away from herself.

You're doing yourself no favours by withholding evidence.. It was a threat. Any normal person could see this. But she was not even on this planet. She barley heard his words. She just rocked back and forth.

She didn't notice him check the corridors. Nor him disconnect the surveillance camera. She didn't see the other two agents slip out of the room, nor him come towards her.

She barley acknowledged the fact he had thrown her against the stark wall. Or his demands, snarled through a southern voice.

It wasn't until he slammed her head against the cold, steel bed that she was violently brought back to reality. She felt the immense pain of her throbbing head, she felt her arms bruise from his punches. And the blood trickling down her face, forming a crimson pond on the harsh, white floor.

But worst of all, she felt the tenacity of the past 3 days, hit her like a ton of bricks. She could no longer hide in her sub-conscious.

The truth was coming to get her. And it was going to hurt.