Voilà! My new fanfic about Victor and his soulfinder Leah Andersson. This actually takes place before my other story Convincing Kira so Kira isn't featured in it. I hope you enjoy and as always, please leave a review!

Disclaimer: None of the Benedicts/the Savant World belong to me. All rights to the amazing Joss Stirling!

Chapter One – Leah POV

„Why did she do it?

"Is she mental or something?"

"It looked like she did it on purpose"

Confused by all the agitated voices, I squint slightly as I open my eyes. What are they talking about?

"This will have to be reported. The girl sacrificed herself without any thought." Me.

Captain Belgrove's distinct gruff tone won't accept any retaliation. But I have to try. I can't just be put on the back line waiting for the people in front of me to get killed so that I can step over their bodies pretending I'm still strong and tough.

"Sergeant Andersson, you're awake." First Lieutenant Russell has entered the infirmary and wears a concerned look on his face. "You feeling alright, Sergeant?"

Not quite trusting myself to speak, I just nod and reach for the glass of water on the little bedside table.

"The incident will be reported, Sergeant."

I shoot up, ignoring the pain in my head and shake my head frantically.

"Please, sir. You cannot. I was just doing my job."

"Your job was to complete the task successfully and with as few lives lost as possible. Your job was not to put yourself purposefully in harms way and think that counts as a sacrifice."
"I-" I break off. I know full well that one cannot argue with Lieutenant Russell.

"How did you survive the attack anyway?" Russell asks and quickly glances towards the door. He isn't supposed to ask this question. However, I have no idea how to answer it anyway. I guess 'I pulled electricity out of the nearby lamp and used it to keep my heart beating' sounds too strange. That's the slightly annoying thing about my existence. My body's refusal to die.

"I don't remember" I lie and flop back down onto the hard matress. Russell takes that as his cue to leave, not before ruffling my hair the way he always does in an affectionate, fatherly way. He has no idea -

For as long as I can remember, I have been able to get stronger by … absorbing power, mostly in the form of electricity, into my own body. It's abnormal, I don't know why I can do it and that's why I enlisted. I need to die. What is happening to me – the moving stuff around with touching them, the reading minds, the power stuff – is not normal. How am I supposed to survive in a world when if they find out, I'll be stuck in a mental institution? So I have to get rid of myself before they do.

The infirmary is pitch dark as I wake up and I need a few minutes to adjust. And just like that, an escape route forms in my mind. Out of the infirmary, up the stairs along the corridor to the other side of the base, downstairs, out the door, past the guards, and underneath the fence.

Shortly after Russell left, Captain Belgrove charged into the ward, handing me my form of General Discharge, accompanied by the words "You're going home, Andersson!"

This is my worst nightmare come true. I can't return home, not to my parents. They pretended to be proud when I told them I'd enlisted but I think they were just glad to be rid of me.

So, now I'm sneaking across the corridor connecting the two buildings of the base, attempting freedom. I can't blend in with the locals, what with my blonde hair and big green eyes, but I could flee somewhere up into the North. And from there, perhaps back to the Caspian Sea, where I was born. Private Ferris and Private Thornton are on duty at the West entrance tonight but they are so engrossed in a conversation about LeBron James that they do not notice me sneaking around the fence and over the barrier. I run about two miles before stopping at a little rickety clay hut and take a deep breath. Is this what freedom smells like?

Does freedom really mean having to sneak around behind clay huts and wash the blood off your face with muddy water? But before I can even get back up again, my mouth is covered by a pair of dirty hands and a rifle is shoved against my temple.

You scream, we shoot!

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