/ / I am extremely excited about this AU and I can say that it might properly go on to become something I would someday publish. I'm excited for the world, the characters, and the story. So let's delve in!
Just be warned there are some triggering things within this chapter, such as blood, gory descriptions, and death.
The pitter-patter of rain falling from a dark and foreboding sky seemed to toy with the abandoned buildings and overgrowth of foliage, seeping into every surface only to let up then hammer back down once more. Not that it truly seemed to matter much to Michelle. The droplets of water pounded against her as if it were another enemy, the ones trailing behind her in hot pursuit seeming to get closer with each second that passed. Her ears were pounding with the breath bursting from her lungs as she ducked beneath fallen concrete, swerved around a rust-eaten vehicle, and pushed aside a small branch that peeked its growth out of broken concrete.
Michelle Morris had never been to this part of Chicago. It was abandoned, left behind after the Great War ravaged it; there was never any reason to come here anyway. In fact, it was largely against the law to come here. Despite a few misbehaving teens who found it fitting for their mischief. But the Grunts always caught up. They always did.
And they would prove that once more if Michelle didn't think of something quick. The glowing pain in her arm spoke volumes of that. Turning a corner - and nearly slipping in the process - she spotted a sizable building with a multitude of broken windows. Just in front of the main doors was a large concrete block. Too big for her to climb over, but there was a space just beneath that offered refuge for her thin form.
With no choice, she got onto her stomach, having to use her arms to pull her through the narrow opening. Her left arm throbbed in a stinging pain, blood staining the ground where she crawled before it was washed away from the rain. Rain that was beginning to slow. Whether Michelle was blessed or damned because of that was yet to be seen.
She wasted no time before she was on her feet and sprinting into the building and up a small set of stairs. Her lungs felt as though they were going to catch flame and reduce her body to ashes. She might as well have been. It was possibly a better death sentence than the one slowly, but surely, catching up with her.
The door before her was wide open, revealing a long-abandoned office. It was the only thing she could think to do; get inside, slam the door, and try to catch her shaking breath. Tears and sweat mixed along her dirt-streaked face, her long, blonde hair disheveled and some of her clothes tattered. She was a mess, to say the least. But she knew once the Grunts and their dogs were done with her, she'd be grateful to look as she did now.
There wasn't much to this room. She could only see by the dimly setting sun shining in through the broken window. Indiscernible papers and books were strewn at the foot of a simple desk. The wood was rotted on the surface of the desk, but it was what she needed.
Michelle didn't hesitate as she pushed the desk with all her strength, pressing the desk firmly against the door. But that wouldn't help so long as her arm still glowed. The chip deeply embedded within her left forearm would only lead the Grunts right to her. She knew there was only one possible hope, one possible chance of her making it out of this alive. She had to get it out of her.
There's got to be somethin', somethin', anythin'! Michelle thought frantically to herself as she began scouring the floor with her hands in an attempt to find something sharp and durable. She quickly gave up on that, however. There was a latch on the side of the desk; a drawer, what looked like. Praying she'd find what she needed, she rummaged through, producing a set of scissors. They were old, but they were sharp and long enough. They would have to do.
Her fingers trembled as she clutched onto the cold metal of the scissors, her back planting firmly against the desk. The sounds of distant voices and not so distant snarling and barking reminded her of what awaited.
This chip, she thought with shaking hands and shaking shoulders. She reached for her jacket sleeve, pulling it back to reveal where a small wound already existed from her own fingernails. She'd already tried desperately to dig it out the moment it began to glow.
This fucking chip, Michelle cursed loudly within her mind, her teeth clenching. Her breathing didn't become easier, her anxiety skyrocketed. The chip that glowed within her forearm was a death sentence now that she was 28. Her life was forfeit because of a plan some power-hungry men had gone to war over, the solution to a problem of overpopulation, the unfair oppression of those who weren't good enough to be part of the government.
Either she was going to be captured and killed, or she was going to bleed out from her own means. At least the latter she had a choice and she could die, not for the government's own agenda, but for her own reasons.
Tears flowed even more as she mentally prepared herself for what was to come. She was beyond terrified, her whole being shaking and on the brink of losing herself. This was her choice, though. A choice not many people got. A choice to have a chance.
Even through frazzled thoughts, she knew she was going to lose a lot of blood. And judging by the approaching barks and shouts, she knew she didn't have more time to ponder it. It had to happen now.
Fingers were deft and quick as she removed the leather belt from her jeans, tying the makeshift tourniquet around her upper arm. She didn't know much about the subject of anything medical, but she knew it would be easy to bleed out if she didn't at least try to stop the blood from flowing. Her teeth gripped tightly to the leather as she pulled it taut, already feeling her bloodstream being restrained.
This was it. Now or never. She opened the scissors with a bit of difficulty, placing them against her already bloodied and glowing arm. She pressed the metal deeper into the wounded flesh, attempting to even out her breathing.
"Please rise for the State of Geron Pledge of Obedience."
Michelle nearly jumped at the distant yet still somehow loud sound of a woman's voice. Of course, how could she forget? Every day at dusk and every day at dawn, the Pledge of Obedience was played. The irony didn't escape Michelle.
"I will give my loyalty to the State of Geron."
With one last breath, Michelle shoved the scissors deep, a strained cry of pain clawing its way out of her throat. She couldn't stop, she had to keep going. She shoved the single blade deeper still, feeling her nerves catching on fire and sending her into wave after wave of nausea. She leaned over and gave into the sickness, puking up what little was left in her stomach. The taste of bile only made it worse and the blood flowed to mix with her stomach acid.
"I will respect its rules."
But she couldn't stop now. Spitting out the bad taste, she opened the blades apart, finally angling the scissors just beneath the second layer of skin. Her throat was raw and stinging from the cries and vomit.
"I will adhere to the sacrifice of my life for the greater good of this nation and all within."
The woman's voice seemed to be mocking her now as her own lifeblood flowed from her own wound. Michelle pushed the blades together, attempting to muffle the scream that tore her throat apart. The skin split open like fleshy paper. Opening the scissors again, she drove them closed once more to open more of her arm, the ichor of her sliced skin making her nearly puke once more. But she fought it. Because she had done it.
"I will never disobey."
Disgusted at the tool, Michelle dropped the bloodied scissors to the side, being sure to not place it in the small puddle of bile. With a shaking right hand, she dove her fingers within the open wound, crying out as her nerves sent sharp pain throughout her entire form. She allowed the glowing to guide her fingers, each movement within the open flesh sending a renewed agony along her arm.
Suddenly, there it was. Her fingertips brushed against something she instinctively knew was foreign, not natural, and she clutched onto it and pulled. The pulling was much more difficult than she thought. It took some tugging, causing her to cry out even more, but it finally dislodged itself.
Michelle pulled it out, barely bothering to glance over the yellow glowing tracker. The very thing that Geron's entire society was built around. Just one small chip that destroyed so many lives. All in the sake of "greater good".
With a rage, she tossed the chip aside, the small object still glowing and bringing the Grunts ever closer. They were out there, trying to get into this building. Her only escape had to be the broken window.
Picking up the scissors once more, she cut off a portion of her jacket, although it was lazy, weak. She didn't dare to acknowledge the pool of blood around her, otherwise her body might just give in right there. Instead, she set her mind to focusing on ripping the small portion of cloth from her jacket and wrapping it tightly around the large gash. She winced and more tears streamed, but her body seemed to be pumping much more adrenaline into her system than before, making the pain seem dull and throbbing. Which she was all too grateful for.
Michelle didn't know for sure just how she would survive this. Maybe she wouldn't. A wound like this, it would be nearly impossible to heal on its own without any proper attention. And yet, she felt... Free.
"I've got a chance, Jamie," she mumbled to herself as she made her way to the broken window, scissors still in hand. All she could think of for that split moment was the face of her older sister, the smile she knew the redhead would have. Jamie would be proud.
Looking down, Michelle saw that the drop wouldn't be fatal. But she knew it wasn't going to be easy. Being mindful of the glass surrounding the opening, she took a deep breath and leaped.
The hard thud of her landing sent a chilling wave of stinging nerve endings from her legs to her shoulders. Luckily enough, she was able to fall onto her right side, sparing her left arm from anymore unnecessary pain. She had scarcely noticed that the rain had actually slowed to nothing more than a sprinkling. The barks echoed from behind her, telling her that they had made their way into the building and she needed to distance herself. Quickly.
Her body picked itself back up, practically running on autopilot as she ran closer toward the goal of leaving the city behind. She was a Disobedient now. The thought hit her like a brick wall, that previous feeling of freedom no longer so freeing. She was running on pure dumb luck to have gotten this far; she knew that much was absolutely true. Sure, she could run well, but how far until the Grunts caught up? Not long, she decided. Not long.
The sun was just barely on the horizon, breaking through the dense clouds at every opportunity it could take. The rubble of the Chicago outskirts was growing less frequent as she begun to exit the city, the sounds of her chasers far, far away. Michelle had just barely noticed her body was still carrying her as her mind wandered uselessly, a cloudy haze beginning to settle itself upon her thoughts. She was running out of energy and adrenaline, her body getting closer to shutting down. The loss of blood, the trauma of it all; it was getting to be far too much.
And then, when she believed she might have been through the worst of it, the very immediate sound of a gnashing snarl caught her ears. Michelle's weary legs halted her progress, widened blue eyes flitting quickly over the surroundings to find the source. But once she did, there was no time to react.
A German Shepherd, with teeth bared, saliva dripping, and legs stalking closer, came into view. It wore the telltale signs of a Geron Police Dog collar on its neck; she must have been close to the city perimeter.
Suddenly, she was paralyzed with intense fear as the dog barked out a vicious sound of attack, rushing at her with legs built for speed and power. Speed and power she did not have, not even without the wound to her arm.
The dog was on her in just seconds, clamping down its sharp teeth into her other arm. It was all she could do to protect herself, the only option she had in guarding her face and throat. This dog wasn't just trained to take her down - which it did, sprawling her body to the ground with a hard thud - it was trained to kill. The strong jaws of the animal sent pain spiraling once more throughout her system, the adrenaline from earlier having subsided in handfuls.
She screamed, cried, feeling unsure what to do as the dog snarled, whipping its head in quick motions, digging its sharp points deeper into the flesh of her right forearm. She had to think, and quick. The German Shepherd would soon grow bored of the ineffectiveness of chomping on her arm and soon go for her neck if she didn't stop it.
The scissors! Of course, she brought the scissors with her from the abandoned office. But they weren't in either of her hands. Her eyes searched around as the dog continued to tug violently at her arm, blood leaking into its mouth. There, her eyes spotted the glint of metal, just a few inches from her reach.
Michelle's free hand reached out, the agony doubling as she began a game of tug of war with the beast. Just a little more, just a tiny bit more. With one last bout of strength, she lunged for the scissors, grasping them as tightly as she could and attempting to swing them into the dog's head. It dodged, shaking her arm once more. But she tried again. Her persistence won.
With a cry escaping her lungs, Michelle drove the blades into the dog's skull, feeling it penetrate through flesh, muscle, and bone. The dog gave a sharp whimper of death that was cut short as Michelle twisted the scissors, effectively causing the dog to go immediately limp. Its jaws loosened, its life force left its body, and Michelle could not be more relieved. Nor more horrified.
She felt numb. So much pain was flowing through her, it was almost as if it were becoming a part of her. She nearly forgot what it was like to not be in pain. As she pushed the dead weight of the dog off of her, small groans and cries of pain ushered itself unbidden from her throat. How much more blood could she lose? How much more pain could she endure?
She was going to die. She was going to die right here.
The barrel of an automatic gun now stared her down just feet away, its owner looking to be a woman Grunt. A City Perimeter Guard, no doubt. And this dog, now dead, was probably hers.
"Don't move!" the woman shouted quite aggressively, finger on the trigger and aim absolute.
Michelle had no intention of moving. She wasn't even sure she could. She was going to die here, she decided. Right here was her end.
Blue eyes filled with tears stared right back at the woman who was clad in black padded armor, a matching helmet strapped to her angered face. Michelle wouldn't dare beg for her life. She wouldn't stoop so low. Not for a Grunt, not for the people that sold their lives to the broken government in which ends justified means.
Jamie would've been proud, she told herself again and again. She would've been proud.
The next second, a gunshot rang through the air, piercing Michelle's eardrums and leaving behind a lasting ring. The woman fell backwards, crashing to the ground with a dull thud. But it wasn't a normal fall. It was wrong, it was grotesque, it was lifeless. Michelle realized a moment later the woman had been shot in the head, blood pooling out beneath her.
Everything was a daze and everything was fading. But something brought her out of that daze for just a moment. It was the sound and presence of someone - a man, judging from the voice. But she couldn't make it out.
Her senses of survival came back to her as the man came into her dimming view, and she began to back away, terrified and wanting no more pain. As she did so, she got a good look at the man that was still attempting to speak to her.
He was thin, his skin a swirl of lightly tanned hues covered by a large jacket and scarf. The stubble along his slender features led up to thick sideburns that complimented his dark brown hair that seemed to be valiant in its effort to stick upwards to the dreary sky. But most importantly was his age. He looked her age. If not, older. Which was impossible.
Somewhere in her mind, she realized this man was just like her; a Disobedient. One that was trying to save her life. But she couldn't go on any longer. The edges around her vision were fading, her energy was being sapped right out of her like the blood from her open wounds.
The darkness threatened to take her over entirely, but she was fighting it. Her mind kept trying to keep her away, kept trying to find some semblance of control over itself and the body it was forcing to stay alive. Why was she still alive? She didn't know. She just didn't know what allowed her to keep living or why.
The sounds of gunshots and the feeling of movement surrounded her. The pain seemed to be leagues away from her, a dull ache that only flared up once she was jolted too hard or felt the coldness of the ground beneath her. But she knew it was still there. And she knew that she was still in danger. But she couldn't move, she didn't want to move. Because facing a dream was much better than ever facing the reality.
A scream echoed throughout the room, too small for a family, too big to live alone. Far too many people crowded it now and the shouts, demands, and cries were far too much. But Michelle's carried out above the rest, begging and sobbing.
"Let my sister go! Let her go!"
Jamie, Michelle's older sister of two years, struggled beneath the hold of men stronger than she could ever hope to be. Even Michelle felt the struggle against hands that were tight and forbidding, holding her back despite her wishes. She saw the gun as Jamie looked over to her younger sibling, eyes catching one another.
Her mouth moved, but she couldn't understand it. And it was too late. A loud shot pierced the air, exploding Jamie's head into a mess of blood and flesh.
She was suddenly gasping for air, her lungs feeling sore from the amount of times she had to do so during the day. Michelle's eyes flew open, her body was thrown into its flight response, trying to get up, move away, anything. Sounds of terror and agony stuck in her throat at the feeling of strong hands on her shoulders. A sensation that deeply reminded her of the futile attempt at saving her sister.
"Jamie! J-Jamie!" Michelle screamed, her voice cracking from the dryness.
Then came that voice from before, the one that belonged to the thin man that saved her life. It was slowly coming back to her disjointed mind. All of it. And she didn't know whether she'd woken up from a nightmare or woken up right back into a nightmare. Perhaps it was both.
Everything began to focus. Slowly and carefully, she could finally make out what the man was trying to say to her as she began to calm down.
"Hey, c'mon, everything's alright," he soothed with as careful a voice as he could. "Look at me, look at me. You're safe. For now. I've stopped the bleeding."
But was that true? Was she really safe now? She took it upon herself to look about where she sat against what felt like a large rock, the surrounding area quite dim. There were trees, so many of them. More than she had ever seen in one place in her life. She'd always seen pictures, but had never been within something like a forest. It just brought the bigger question to mind of where she was. Not to mention, it looked as though the sun was slowly rising. Or perhaps it was still just setting.
Michelle's gaze finally returned to the man's. "Where am I?" she asked quietly, for fear of disturbing the peaceful quiet surrounding them.
"What do you remember last?" he asked without bothering to answer her question first. But Michelle didn't find that as rude as she probably should've.
Given that, she begins to ponder his question, working back through her still-fuzzy memories to recount what could have possibly led them here. Then it started to come back.
"You," she suddenly said. "I remember ya- after the dog. You... Oh my God, ya shot her, didn't ya? But ya saved me..? They aren't after me anymore?"
The man attempted at a reassuring smile, tugging his lips surrounded by stubble up just slightly. But it was a motion that seemed more for her sake than actually being genuine.
"No more Grunts, no more dogs," he promised with the smile still intact and a shake of his head. "We're out of the city. Far enough out, anyway. Burnham woods, safest place given how close it is to the city."
Michelle didn't know what to say. He did save her after all. For what, though? What did he have to gain? Surely he was a Disobedient like her. And if he wasn't before, he surely was now. Aiding and abetting a Disobedient was crime enough to warrant his own life forfeit. But then again, what if he wasn't...?
The man cleared his throat, continuing after a moment or two of silence, "Anyway, my name is Tenth. I'm a Disobedient, just like you. Except I've been at it a lot longer. Happened to be passing by, heard the commotion, and- well... You know the rest."
And yet, Michelle was still unsure. How could she know he was telling the truth? For all she knew he was some kind of Grunt, undercover and lying to get her to come back to her death. It would be the biggest insult to her already massive injury.
Michelle watched him warily before speaking, "Prove it. Prove ya really are who ya say."
Almost as though he were expecting such an answer, Tenth simply gave a small sigh before leaning back slightly and uncovering the right sleeve of his jacket to reveal a long, very visible scar on the underside of his forearm. It shone in what little light cascaded down through the scarcely covered trees. The scar spoke volumes for him. There wasn't much doubt he was a Disobedient with that.
"I stopped the bleeding on both your arms," Tenth went on as he slid the sleeve back down once more, his expression turning a shade of somber. "But you've lost a lot of blood. You've still got a long way to go before you recover your strength."
That reminded her- that was what the pain was. She looked down to her arms resting at each of her sides, bandages with large red splotches covering the medical fabric. So he wasn't lying. Not even a little bit. She thought the world had run out of honest people.
She shook her head, eyes still remaining on where the glowing chip had once been within her arm. "But why?" Michelle questioned quietly, seeking truth in the blue depths of her eyes as they met his rugged features. "Why would ya bother to save me and put your life in danger?"
Tenth held his silence for a second or two, chewing over her question before answering grimly, "Because I've seen enough senseless death in my life and I'd rather not see another when I can stop it."
Another pause came in which Michelle was about to speak when Tenth cut in once more, seeming to add as an afterthought to his previous statement, "Besides, I was completely sure that I could save your life and mine. And I did. No problem."
Michelle's eyes remained on Tenth's expression, barely even paying any mind to that hint of smug overconfidence that radiated off that statement. But soon her attention turned to the littering of dankly-colored leaves around them.
From the moment her arm had begun to glow, she thought that there were no more people left for her to rely on. No friends, not even allies. Because as a Disobedient, you were nothing to Geron's society. You were less than nothing. She hadn't even stopped to consider the possibility of meeting another Disobedient. It seemed so far fetched, yet here she was with a Disobedient man who had saved her life. A man that seemed, admittedly, as handsome as he was insane.
But maybe that's what these times called for. Insane times had to be equally matched with insane actions.
Moving from a crouched position, Tenth sat himself on his feet as he rested each hand on each of his thighs. "So am I going to get a name out of you?" he asked with the previous somberness of his expression replaced with something akin to teasing. "Or will I just have to make one up?"
His sudden question grabbed her attention, her eyes meeting his expectant features once more. Michelle supposed, at this point, it was the least she could do. After all, she'd be dead right now if it weren't for what he did.
"Michelle," she said carefully, tentative despite having a good feeling about just how truthful Tenth was being.
Tenth smiled, much more properly this time. "Michelle," he repeated. "Good name, that. You should keep it."
Michelle could hardly understand how he could even bring himself to smile at a time like this. Maybe it was just the weight of her tired body that kept her from smiling back. Or maybe it was even the fact that she was still in shock. The whole idea that the life she previously had - the life of a propaganda artist with a home, three meals a day, a comfortable bed, and a cat named Meeko - was all gone and out of her reach. The safety and security before she turned 28 were all washed away in one violent stroke.
But, at the very least, she felt some measure of it return being with perhaps the only man in their Godforsaken world that would save her life.
The sudden sounds of Tenth rummaging through a bag brought her back to the present once more, her eyes watching him as he spoke quite matter-of-factly, "Now that introductions are out of the way, I'm going to have to stitch up those wounds of yours. I didn't want to do that until you were awake. Couldn't have you waking up in the middle of me doing that. Disaster that would've been."
A small hint of panic began to settle over Michelle. It even made her forget about the dull pain for a small time, her thoughts far too preoccupied with just what he meant by "stitch up". But she knew. Of course she knew. She just didn't want to accept it.
"Meanin'?" Michelle asked meekly, hoping for clarification that was different than what she was already expecting.
Tenth looked over to her almost incredulously, like he couldn't believe she didn't understand what he meant the first time. Another second passed before he brought out a small white kit.
"Meaning you'll need stitches or the wounds will fester and never heal right," he answered her as it were obvious. His face attempted to remain encouraging but she could see a certain hardness beneath it that just didn't seem to wash away no matter what.
Now there was no denying those thoughts any longer. They were true and they were exactly what she didn't want to be true. She felt a paralyzing fear overcoming her from head to toe, not even feeling this way when she'd been running for her life or facing down a rabid attack dog.
In fact, she'd rather take another dog bite than have to deal with getting stitches. Which defeated the purpose, but needles were never an option for her. Never.
"Wait," she suddenly called out, stopping Tenth as he had the concise kit nearly halfway open.
Tenth watched her attentively, waiting for her to continue. Michelle swallowed hard. She couldn't do this.
"Does it absolutely have to be now?" Michelle asked with a shaky tone, feeling her anxiety building.
Tenth's gaze was absolute and didn't move even as he nodded. "It needs to be done soon," he answered firmly.
Michelle didn't know what to say or how to say it. She felt trapped. All she could do was keep wary eyes on the kit within his hands. She could feel her body beginning to tremble. She'd been through enough hell for one day, for one lifetime. And now this?
"Are you afraid of needles?" Tenth suddenly asked with an expression holding hints of concern as well as curiosity.
Her attention snapped back up to him, a small sigh mixed with a nervous laugh escaping past her lips, "How did ya know?"
He just chuckled as he continued to prepare, "I used to be a doctor before the big two-eight. I've seen more than my fair share of patients that were terrified of needles."
Almost as if on cue, Michelle spotted the needle as Tenth pulled it out from the kit, some form of medical scissors and thread in the other hand. Michelle's anxiety shot up even more, the nervousness and fear not lessening for even a second. She could barely stand to look at it.
"H-how-" she tried, her eyes focusing solely on Tenth to try and distract herself from the small terror within his grasp. "How did ya deal with those patients?"
"Well," Tenth drew out, focusing on threading the needle as he did so. So calm and practically nonchalant. "Usually I'd numb the area and tell them to look away, think of puppies and kittens. Or dragons, whatever tickles your fancy. But, seeing as we don't have the luxury of spare Lidocaine lying around to numb your arms..." He trailed off a moment before looking back up, "Then the best I can offer is you look away and endure it."
Despite his calm and nearly serious tone, he added, "Maybe I'll scrounge up a lollipop for you once we're done."
Genuinely, Michelle could tell he was trying to make her feel better about it all. But it only made her feel worse. Maybe if she hadn't been on the verge of an anxiety attack, she would have cracked a smile or even laughed. But knowing that he had finished preparing and was now clamping the needle between the medical scissors, she felt her shaking beginning to grow.
Suddenly, she shook her head, tears starting to well within her eyes as Tenth began to situate himself closer. Her head shook more and more, denying him to get closer with the pointed devil.
"Stop, stop, please don't," Michelle begged, tears finally escaping. Her voice began to escalate, the fear tightening her throat, "I won't go through with it, I'd rather die."
Again, Tenth put on the display of a smile of reassurance. This time, it's quite convincing. "Michelle, trust me," he urged. "Everything'll be fine, I'm not going to-"
"No!" Michelle snapped, louder than she'd meant as she began to painfully move away. Blood began seeping visibly beneath the temporary bandages and it hurt like hell. But the needle was her bigger worry. "Don't! Don't touch me!"
Suddenly, the smile that Tenth had given her for an attempt at reassurance, a kind act in a situation where he didn't need to be, fell. It was replaced with a hardness, that same hardness Michelle had seen lurking underneath the whole time. The hardness of a man that had been through more than she could ever possibly realize.
The coldness there, it... Scared her. She'd started to forget that this was a man she'd just barely met. She knew nothing beyond his name and what he used to be. She didn't know what brought him to this point, she didn't know how many more people he might have killed. That woman couldn't have been the first. It was quite swiftly dawning upon her that Tenth would be capable of killing her with little to no effort.
Michelle was terrified. But it wasn't just because of the needle this time.
"If you don't want my help," Tenth began quietly, his voice holding a certain edge to it this time. "Then that's fine. I'll just leave you here to deal with your wounds on your own. I did my part, I saved your life. I don't need to do more than that."
Michelle was... Hurt, to say the least. Beyond anything physical, too. His sudden harshness dropped her back into reality, giving her a sense of just how precarious her situation was. Giving her a dose of realization that in a situation like this she didn't get to choose how things went.
She knew she would die out here without help. As much as she didn't want to admit to that, it was the truth and she needed to wake up. Her old life was gone, there was nothing left out there but a harsh world that wanted her dead and already gave it their damnedest shot. Next time she was sure the world's next shot would be all she could take if she tried to brave it alone.
Whether she liked it or not, she needed him. She needed Tenth. But all she could do is sit there, still terrified at the new world she'd been thrust into. No, it wasn't a new world. She was just seeing what was on the other side of the fence. And the grass was not greener.
Tenth clasped his bag closed, hauling it up and onto his back. He was really leaving. He would really leave her here to die all because of her extreme fear of needles.
There came another fear. It was the fear of helplessness, crashing over her in waves as she realized she could hardly even move her body. It was weak and felt as though it would shatter if she moved too quickly. But she tried, she tried as he continued to walk away.
"Wait," Michelle called out, a bit weakly. It didn't work, Tenth kept going. The tears that had formed in her eyes were now spilling over.
"I'll go through with it!" Michelle cried out, a small sob wracking through her body.
Finally, Tenth stopped. Yet still not a word passed his lips as he turned to face her once more. His expression was no longer cold nor as hard, but it was expectant. Perhaps even a touch hopeful.
Michelle paused, wiping the tears from her eyes with her jacket sleeve that her blood hadn't seen to it to soak. "Please," she started again, a bit quieter this time as she tried to harden her own features. "Don't leave me. I'll do it."
The silence that passed between the small distance gave Michelle a lot to think about. There hadn't been another person she'd relied on besides her sister. She had friends, had boyfriends, but never had she relied on anyone but her sister. Even after she watched her sister get shot, there hadn't been anyone to take her place. But it seemed now she had to rely on someone again. Someone she barely knew.
Michelle could now see that it was morning light that was streaming into the woods. She watched his expression with helpless eyes, trying to be so much stronger than they could ever possibly be.
A small moment of consideration crossed Tenth's features, now much more highlighted with the rising sun. Michelle spent an eternity within those moments, trying to find the answer in Tenth's stoic gaze. Finally, he began walking back to her, a slow but sure pace. Once he was close enough, he crouched down to her level, his brown eyes watching her as he placed his bag back down.
"When you're a Disobedient," he began softly and quietly, features solemn in nearly every aspect, "you don't get to beg and choose; there's so little help out there for us now. And when it happens, it's rare. Take what you can get and you have a chance."
There was something so incredibly genuine about what Tenth just said. So sad, so difficult. Truth and grimness were in there. But so was hope. Those last few words, however, stuck out.
You have a chance.
They were the exact thoughts she had running from the Grunts and their dogs. They were the exact thoughts she had when Jamie was being pinned down and Michelle being held away from her. She just wanted a chance and here she was throwing it away.
A deep breath in and a deep breath out, Michelle nodded. "I understand," she responded just as quietly, her voice hoarse but no longer trembling with sobs.
Tenth simply nodded, instructing her with a tone of equal comfort and command; only the kind of voice a doctor could have, "I'm going to need you to lie down flat and extend your left arm out. That's the more urgent one."
Michelle did as he instructed, Tenth beginning to dig through his bag for a second time. She tried not to think about what was about to happen. But his comments on the matter didn't help all that much.
"Your right arm's going to need stitches too," he said as if it were nothing too big, just another day for him. "That dog did some good damage on you."
She shuddered to think of that particular incident that brought her to this exact moment in time. In fact, she shuddered to think of anything in this exact moment. For what seemed like the umpteenth time that day, tears began to form within her eyes. Surely she had to run out of tears at some point. She didn't like to cry. She hated it. So she decided to simply shut her eyes, wanting to see nothing but the backs of her eyelids than the reality staring her in the face.
Instead, Michelle tried to focus on the sounds of the birds overhead, the rustling of the leaves as they were wrestled from their place on the branches, and the steady but present breathing of Tenth beside her. His breathing was somehow different, she noticed. Concise, nothing wasted, and all very practiced. Well, he is a doctor, after all.
Or rather... Was. The tears began to pool more.
"Are you ready?" Michelle heard Tenth ask, the question sudden but somehow not startling her.
Of course she wasn't ready. She'd never be ready. But she was even less ready for death to come knocking at her door and dragging her away. She nodded.
Tenth took a small breath and she could feel him moving closer, "Stay as still as possible, alright? Deep breath."
Michelle took the deep breath, knowing it was coming, the thought of it pervading her every thought. Then she felt it. The small pinch as the needle entered at one end of the open wound.
What started out as a small pinch quickly escalated to full and sharp pain as she felt the thread being pulled through her flesh. Michelle was sure she cried out in pain and her mind filled itself with images of needles penetrating her flesh again and again, worsening the pain, worsening the fear.
Somewhere in the distance, she heard Tenth urging her to calm down, but it only grew more distant, much more muffled. Until finally true blackness greeted her mind, numbness took over her body, and she drifted away from the harshness of reality.