*Author's Note* So, here we are. Juliette's story is continuing! I have a rough sketch of what's going to happen next, but I'm open to suggestions. I know people love Warnette scenes, and there will be LOTS of that in this, but right now I'm super excited to see how you guys think current Juliette should meet past Juliette. Let me know!
-Misty
It's as if I'm waking up with a bad hangover. A very bad hangover.
My head is pounding, a desperate beat in my head throbbing one two three and I try to suck in a breath but it sticks like shards in my throat. It takes a herculean effort to open my eyes, and when I do, the ceiling spins above me.
I roll onto my feet and reach my hands out, groping to the side. My fingers skim a wall and I drag myself up, leaning against it for support. Gasping another breath, I let myself drink up five seconds of borrowed time before straightening slowly slowly slowly and moving off the wall.
My hair has fallen out of its ponytail and the tendrils float around my face in hundreds thousands millions of dull strands. For some reason, this annoys me the most, and the minute I tie it back I feel better. More in control. More prepared. Ready to do what I came here to do.
I glance around at my surroundings, trying to figure out where I am. The hallway is short and immaculately clean, with white tiles gleaming on the floor. I can hear guards chattering meaninglessly just around the bend and I follow the trail of noise. The more guards, the closer I am to Warner's room.
And the closer I am to Warner.
I was warned not to leave a trail, to only come for only that one event, to not change anything anyone anymore than I need to. So instead of barreling hallways until I find Aaron, I take a breath and stretch open my hands, palms up and feel the soldier's energy.
Their boredom is tangible. They're only doing this job to feed their families, and only one of them, a muscular, dark-skinned man, is standing up. The other two look much younger and are sitting on the floor, leaning into the wall. Their guns lay side-by-side on the floor next to them.
But oh, are they talking. And not just meaningless chatter, no, not at all, and as I listen I feel my stomach boiling and my intestines knotting and they tighten around my spine until I can't breathe I can't breathe and suddenly everything could be different.
"When?" says the one who's sitting on the floor, idly toying with the trigger on his gun.
"Tonight," responds the standing one. "Fletcher's going to take us there. He's got it all planned out." His voice is rough but not harsh, with just a hint of authority as if to simply remind the others who's in charge.
Fletcher. Private Seamus Fletcher. I know about Fletcher. Fletcher is why I'm here.
"How do we know we can trust you?" asks the other sitting one. This is when I realize the two ones on the floor must be brothers. Their dark brown hair and sharp eyes mirror each other's.
The whole vibe changes from carefree to laced with danger, as if they were all balancing on a scale and one wrong move could tip it.
The muscular man stares at both of them for two seconds that drop off cliffs. "How do I know that I can trust you?"
"Please," scoffs the first. "You need us. Whether or not you trust us isn't the issue."
The man uses all his seconds this time. "And so I'll say to you. You need protection, and you need training."
Training? I think.
"And only we can offer you that. So go. Or don't go. But if you spread this to the wrong people, we will find out," he continues.
And just then do I realize that the gun the sitting one's been playing with is now a mangled sheet of metal.
I can't think anymore. I've ceased to exist, I've ceased to feel anything but confusion and excitement and disappointment and I can't think I can't think I can't. There are others. And this man, this man, knows where they are. But I've never met this man before. Ever. I've never seen him walk the hallways of Omega Point or talk to Castle or meet with Kenji or even be part of a mission. And Castle has shared everything with me. Everything.
So I can only guess. He's not part of Omega Point.
It takes approximately two and a half breaths to steady myself. Another three to feel fully in control again. 7 seconds to stand up straight, 4 to ready myself for what I'm about to do. Because no matter what he just said, I can't let them see me. I can't change this. I can only do what I'm here to do.
I clear my mind, take a breath, and force the soldiers to face the wall. The chatting instantly ceases as they are pushed to one side, and then the dark-skinned one begins to shout. Once again I'm surprised by how easy it is, and how detached I feel as I tell myself lies. Just tools, simply tools, to use as a means to an end, but it still feels wrong, all wrong, to control someone like this.
But I have to. So I do.
I force them to remain that way, eyes facing away from me, and I can feel their rising panic, their need to see what's going on.
I walk over silently and take another breath before knocking the first one down with a swift hit to the temple. I remind myself that I only need them unconscious, not dead, and try to reign myself in as much as I can. One by one, all three fall like dominos, and soon, it's over. And I can't help feeling drunk on power and guilty all the same.
I give myself the luxury of one thought. They were going to escape tonight. To someone. Someplace.
But I don't let myself dwell, I can't let myself dwell, I can't even being to think about what this might means so I begin to run, pounding my feet on the floor as fast as I can as I whip through rooms and hallways. And suddenly, I begin to recognize this as somewhere on the fifth floor. Just one underneath my old room. All I need to do is find an elevator.
And two minutes and 7 soldiers later, I do. But as I press the button and look at the glass walls, I can't help to feel unease rising in my stomach. It all feels too simple too easy too predictable and the elevator slides down and chimes. And opens. Opens up, and I see that it's not empty. Not at all.
Because when the doors slide open and I peer inside ready to fight all I see are two very buff soldiers covered head-to-toe in clothing and one very small, very fragile looking girl.
It takes me less than one second to realize I am looking at myself.
