A/N Just a heads up, but unfortunately I will be unable to update for a while after this chapter. (A while for me is about a week haha!)

WITH THE LIGHTS OUT

CHAPTER 6

June

"Miss Moone – Amanda Waller."

The woman introduces herself to June smoothly, but there's an amused quirk to her lips as if she knows something June doesn't. The thought makes June reflexively look at the man next to her – unsettled, as if this could possibly be a trap – but his expression gives nothing away. He jerks his head at the seat next to Waller's.

"Get in."

But June continues to stall. "Where are you taking me?" she asks, cautiously.

He has his arms folded on top of the door, his chin resting on his hands. He looks bored. June wonders if he ever smiles. Instead of replying he merely tilts his head pointedly towards the car; it's clear both he and the woman inside are used to getting their own way.

"Where are you taking me?" she presses again – but she's already getting into the car and the man is slamming the door after her.

"We're using a US army base not far from here as headquarters." The woman called Amanda Waller informs her, without looking in June's direction. She has one elbow rested against the base of the window as she stares outside. The car begins to move. "You have nothing to worry about."

"Why –"

"I said you have nothing to worry about," Waller repeats, abruptly turning to face June with one eyebrow raised - as if daring her to speak again. "So you don't have a problem."

June shuts her mouth with a snap and the car plunges into silence.

She tells herself that she made the choice to be here.

If she registers as a meta-human, these people can keep an eye on her. They can stop her from hurting anyone. They might even be able to figure out how to…cure…her. She needs their help. But June can't help but think that help isn't what they're offering. They think she caused the power cut – which she did – but they don't know the whole story. They think she's a meta-human…and a strong one.

She twists her hands in her lap nervously. What will they do when she tells them the truth? What if they think she's crazy, like Harley Quinn? It's not as if she can prove she's being possessed. They only have her word. She could end up in an asylum.

June takes a deep breath and catches Amanda Waller glancing at her fidgeting hands out of the corner of her eye. She unlocks her fingers hastily, abruptly all too aware of the woman's calculating gaze and her own body language. She wonders how much she's already given away unconsciously, without saying anything, and sits up straighter.

The army base is only a little under an hour's drive away, but still secluded from the rest of society. Exotic looking palm trees and trees with bright pink flowers conceal most of the high, brick walls and barbed wire fences. They are waved past a checkpoint and down a dirt track into the main barracks, which are a hive of activity. June tries to ignore what's going on around her and keeps her gaze firmly trained on Amanda Waller; she doesn't want to look away – or turn her back - on the woman for a second.

They pull in to a small parking lot round the back of the tallest building – an office block – and the three of them hop out of the car. On June's right is a parched track and field and on her left is another, low slung dusty building that could be a mess hall; there's a strong, mouth-watering smell of cooking meat coming from it.

"Wait here." Waller seems to be instructing the man as much as June. She looks between the pair of them carefully and, apparently satisfied that they will both obey, she turns on her heel and walks off across the parking lot.

June takes the moment alone to subtly observe the tall man next to her. She notices that like most of the soldiers she can see he looks unhappy about the people in suits who stride round the base in small clusters, folders or some form of paperwork usually clutched under their arms. A lot of them wear ear pieces and have a lanyard on with a logo she doesn't recognise; too small to make out. But while most of the soldiers look mistrustful, the man next to her is merely irritable. He's tall, and an odd mixture of well-groomed and rugged. And not the designer stubble rugged, but the I-can-sleep-rough-for-three-weeks rugged. Dangerous. She remembers from the beach the gravelly voice that sounds as if he recently swallowed an entire pack of cigarettes. As if to prove her theory correct he decides to smoke whilst they wait. He takes a pack out from his jacket pocket and lights one up, using a hand to shield the flame from the slight wind.

They're quiet for a few moments when he suddenly speaks. "You haven't done anything wrong," he tells her, exhaling a line of smoke. He's not looking at June – his gaze fixed on the direction Amanda Waller walked off in. "Just tell them what they want to know and they'll let you go."

The sky is groily – grey – and June shivers in the cool air. "Thanks for the advice," she mutters. Sarcastic: a front.

"Take it or leave it, sweetheart," he tells her, rolling his eyes as he takes another drag from his cigarette. "I really don' care."

If June's being honest with herself, she's scared about their questions. She doesn't want to admit to herself how far this goes, yet alone to Amanda Waller. She remembers the woman's calculating stare, as if she can see right through June's skin and flesh and to whatever's inside of her. Her hooded, dark gaze reminds June of the pit. She gets the feeling Waller understands the nature and depth of the darkness lodged in her a lot better than she does.

The soldier sees Amanda Waller coming, flanked by two of her own men, before she does and he discards the end of his smoke, grinding it into the ground with his heel. June jumps when he claps a hand down on her shoulder heavily – the force of it reverberating through her entire body. "See you on the other side, Doc."

She's surprised by the way her stomach twists unpleasantly at his words. "You're not coming with me?" she asks, too quickly. She doesn't know who he is, really, but she can tell he doesn't adhere to whatever agenda it is these people have. It would have been nice to have an ally of sorts…wherever it is they plan to take her.

His gaze properly meets hers for the first time – taking in the panic tightening the skin round her eyes. He glances between her and Waller and though he's squinting, she thinks she can detect sympathy in the lines on his face. Despite his previous statement, she thinks he cares more than he likes to let on. "Nah – but I'll be here when you get out." His voice is gentler – a promise. His hand slips from her shoulder. She hadn't realised he was still touching her and the loss of human contact makes her feel more alone than ever.

"Miss Moone," Waller calls. "Today, please."

She grits her teeth at the demanding woman but promptly stalks over to her anyway without a backward glance, trying to ignore the imposing bodyguards. This is why she's here – this is what she came for.

Still, June can't help but hesitate when she's lead towards a deceptively small building – over-looked and inconspicuous in the residential area. The door is a thick heavy metal – opened with a six-pin entry code and a security pass. When it opens she finds herself on the top step of a dark, gloomy stairwell leading down to a basement; at the bottom a dimly lit corridor, more shadows than light.

Her throat constricts. The thought of going below ground is worse than unpalatable – it's inconceivable: the memory of the filthy young girl locked in the cell flits through her mind; her face turned hungrily up to the sunlight. June's vision slips and moves – the stairs are abruptly lined with skulls. Then they're swarming with spiders. Her stomach sickens.

"Not a fan of enclosed spaces?" Waller asks her, the now familiar half-smile touching her features. Her voice echoes off the wall as she begins to make her way down the stairs. June reluctantly follows the older woman – crowded down by the two guards. "I get it. Having four walls around you with no way out…it makes your palms sweat. Gives most people the heebie-jeebies. But don't worry. We have air conditioning."

It's true. The stagnant air in the corridor is strangely cool – almost clammy. As June is led down the hall she pauses, her eyes focusing on a large emblem on the wall. It's a round circle – half red and half blue, with three symbols: a cube, a helix of DNA and the Vitruvian man. Any historian would recognise it: the most famous drawing of Leonardo di Vinci. A man in two positions superimposed one atop of the other – arms and legs spread-eagled. Da Vinci had believed the workings of the human body to be an analogy for the essential balance of all things in the universe: light and dark, good and evil. June had liked the concept – once. Now the image seemed to her almost demonic – a being impossibly maimed and contorted. Though she had no idea what A.R.G.U.S could possibly stand for, she easily reads the Latin beneath.

"Our search begins," she translates, looking at Waller, who is already opening a door into another room.

She's impassive and unresponsive. "Like I said, we just want to ask you some questions."

There's the heavy clang as the metal door shuts at the top of the stairs, and then a bleep as an electric current seals it. She's stuck in here until they decide to let her out.

The interrogation room is basic in the extreme. A table made of reinforced steel and welded to the cement floor, two chairs and three walls. The fourth wall is made of black glass: a one way window. June notices the handcuffs tightly secured by chains to the table – to her relief no one attempts to put them on her.

Waller settles into the chair opposite June's: her blood red suit the only splash of colour in the grey room. The guards position themselves by the door quietly.

"Okay…so…I know this is going to sound crazy –" June rushes out, her nervousness making her talk too fast as she launches into trying to explain herself.

" - Trust me, I've seen a lot of crazy shit doing this job," Waller cuts in, dryly. She clicks a ball point pen and opens the file in front of her. Next to her a laptop is emitting a dim glow, but June can't see the screen. Waller moves slowly – calmly; giving the impression she has done this many, many times before.

"No you haven't," June replies, flatly, irritated at the other woman brushing her off. "Not like this."

Waller ignores her, not looking up from the file as she skims it. "We're going to go through a few basic details and then we'll hand you over to medical. They'll take your blood type and run a couple of standard tests." Her pen poises over a page. June can make out a picture of her face lifted from her passport upside down. "When did you start exhibiting your powers?"

"Two days ago."

A pause. This is not what she expected. "Excuse me?"

June lifts her chin slightly, defiant in the face of the other woman's surprise. "Are you going to listen to me now?" she challenges.

Waller settles her pen down next to the file with care and looks at June closely for the first time. She steeples her fingers in front of her for a moment, thinking. "I specialise in bringing in dangerous criminals with special abilities…" She says slowly, finally. "They all try to run, but we get them in the end. I should have realised…when you came quietly." She calculates the shift expertly and adjusts. "What is it you want from us, June?"

To her credit, June doesn't skip a beat. "Your help," she replies, rummaging in her pocket and drawing out the folded, crumpled images of the cave paintings. "I'm an archaeologist. Two days ago I was exploring a temple in Mexico. It's old. Maybe as old as the Ancient Greeks – we haven't dated the remains we found there yet. I was alone, and I fell down a pit in one of the chambers." June stands and lays the papers out in front Waller who looks at them each in turn with a blank expression on her face. "In the cave I found these paintings. We don't know what they are yet, but we know they tell the story of a magical princess called Dzmor. Then, when I was in a local village, the children told me about a beautiful empress that roamed the hills."

Amanda Waller sits back in her chair. "And why should I care about a fairy tale?"

"Because every myth has a grain of truth…. Romulus and Remus – the tower of Babel. People embellish these stories over the centuries. They add to them. But then you start to see a pattern – you see the repetitions – the message." The back of her neck itches as if someone is watching her, close enough to breathe on her skin. She wishes that there was daylight down here, or some kind of fresh air, but ploughs on, regardless. "Dzmor was real. Is real…I know this sounds crazy, but when I was down in that cave something was alive in there. It entered me – or it's possessed me. I don't know." She stops abruptly, her hurried words followed by a long silence. Waller still has her hands clasped in front of her mouth so that June can't read her expression. Her heart flutters uneasily and she can feel sweat gathering on her hairline. She's doing a bad job of explaining. It all sounds so stupid. So insane. " – you have to believe me –" she tries, but Amanda lowers a hand like a guillotine, pressing a finger into the table.

"This…thing. It survives thousands of years without a body. How?"

"I don't know," June replies, frustrated. Did Amanda Waller really think if she knew how this all worked, she'd be sitting in front of her right now? "That's what I want to find out: what happened."

"And the power cut. That was it? Not you."

"Yes."

"It can act through you?"

"…When it wants to. Yes."

June can physically see the woman rearrange her perspective. Anticipate new answers and possibilities. "Why?" she questions, finally.

June blinks at her and she clarifies.

"Why cut the power?"

"I'm not sure..." her throat is abruptly dry, like sandpaper. "…Whatever it wants it's sentient and…and it's learning. It can think for itself…I can't control what happens." She leans across the table, earnest. "Look. I know history. I can figure this out – I know I can. But in the meantime you know meta-humans, and you know how to…contain them. I need help with this. Before I hurt someone. Please."

Waller hums under her breath, apparently massively unconcerned by June's last words. She then stands abruptly, shuffling the papers together and handing them over to a guard.

"Hey! –" June protests.

"Make copies of these," the other woman instructs, ignoring her. "Bring the originals back to this room. Get me the co-ordinates for that temple and the Architectural Institute on the line. I want an expert here by Wednesday, latest." The man nods and leaves the room.

The back of June's neck is prickling again – the feeling stronger than before. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes darting about the confined space. Is it just her, or do the walls feel closer? The ceiling lower?

"Miss Moone?" Waller addresses her and she grits her teeth, trying to focus. This isn't the time to be spinning out of control. "I'd like to run some standard medical checks. Its procedure…we'll see what comes up."

June finds herself complying. The intellectual in her is intrigued to see her own results. She went into that cave entirely human and came out…changed. She knows that on a microscopic level – smaller than cellular – she's different. But Waller's team of doctors spend hours taking blood samples, analysing them; measuring her heart rate and her stress hormones – they even run an MRI scan. Nothing.

When she's returned to the interrogation room much later, she feels oddly feverish. The shadows seem to heave around her. The air even cooler on her over-heated skin. There's a strange ringing in her ears – an incessant, high-pitched eeeeeeee – that makes it hard to concentrate. She needs to concentrate.

She tries to focus on Amanda Waller, sat in the same chair – the original scans of June's cave paintings in front of her as promised – but finds that the woman seems to blur strangely. June blinks once as a test: Waller stays blurred, and she's definitely wearing her contact lenses.

"Anything?" the older woman asks the doctors behind June.

One of them shakes their head. "Nothing. All normal. No DNA markers. She's not meta – human. By our definition, at least."

Hands press onto her shoulders, forcing June to sit in the free chair. The buzzing in her ears is becoming annoying. Like a radio badly out of frequency "I'm not lying," she protests, angrily. "I'm telling the truth."

Amanda Waller stands from her seat and moves round the table to look down at June, her eyes considering. "Maybe we should keep her down here longer," she decides, finally. "Run some more tests. Keep trying until something comes up."

The effect is instantaneous. Like a rubber band snapping, June's vision abruptly sharpens, like she's seeing for the first time. She feels as if she can see through Waller. Through A.R.G.U.S.

The feeling of being watched, the stress of being interrogated bubbles up in her along with rage and fear – so potent it threatens to choke her.

There's a rush of memory. The filthy, ugly girl - keening. Begging. A four wall prison – built up around her. The brick inches thick. The only light comes through a barred chink no bigger than a sewer drain. Please Papa! Please let me out! PLEASE!

The man speaks over his daughter's begging. His voice cold and unyielding.

Monsters should not be free.

"NO!" June's screech is inhumanly loud – probably heard for miles. Without her touching it, the thick, steel table – which has been welded to the ground – is torn free; some, immense power hurls it across the room where it smashes through the one-way mirror. Had Waller not moved round the table, she would have been crushed.

As if they have been waiting for this exact moment, the guards lift their rifles and train them on her. She stands and looks at the hole in the wall, shaking. The dust begins to settle – broken wires spark with electricity. The people who have been standing on the other side begin to pick themselves up, coughing in the wreckage.

June covers her mouth, her breathing shallow and panicky. She's not sure what scares her more: how close she nearly came to killing someone. Or the fact that that hadn't been her.

She looks past the guards and their guns, straight to Amanda Waller. There's a strange gleam in her eye. Satisfied - like a cat who has finally got the cream. Had she been waiting for this all along?

A/N

Thank you, guys, for all your continuing support. Your comments and thoughts really do mean a lot to me.

Last Of The Lilac Wine