I leaned down with my hands on my knees, sweat clinging my clothes to my skin, my labored breathing coming out in short punctuated huffs. My ribs ached and my muscles screamed, but it felt amazing. Victorious. Completely and utterly worth it. Because at last, after two weeks of a screaming idiot drill sergeant and five other recruits, at least one of whom made my skin crawl with anger, training was over. Done. Come tomorrow, I'd be a full fledged agent of Project Freelancer. I'd receive armour and an A.I. And even better, my own room. No more suffering through New Mexico and California's constant inanity and chatter. No more worrying and watching my every move and word (although there weren't many) around them. Alone. How it was meant to be.

I heard the running of footsteps approach me. I sighed. Things were never as they were meant to be.

"Carolina! Congratulations! On your training, I mean." New York was so full of cheer, and always with a smile. Always trying to be bright.

Too bad it was all faked and forced.

But what did I expect? He was not the sort who would know that some things are best forgot, best left for time to erase. New York was a dweller, a contemplater. And I could not be.

"It's hardly worthy of congratulations," I brushed my knees off and stood up straight, staring past him. "It was just training."

"Well not everyone else handled it...quite so...nonchalantly as yourself." His gaze darted to the center of the yard where the shaking form of Louisiana had collapsed at the end of training. Such a melodramatic.

"I'd hardly put him as the bar at which to measured," I said walking past New York. I didn't particularly want his guilty-conscience-chatter, and I did particularly want a shower.

"Wait! Carolina." He called after me, reaching out to grab my arm, but stopped short, his hand hovering inches from my shoulder. "Um...sorry. Look, uh, just don't go to dinner tonight, okay?" He tried so hard to act the same around me, to show no change in demeanor.

I studied him for a moment, wondering what he was at, before turning back around and walking away.

I never should have let him in. For both our sakes.


Why am I still here?

The thought raced through my head, running laps, begging for an answer.

Six o' clock had come, and the bell for dinner had rung. New Mexico and California had left, staring at me as they did. Had they wondered why I stayed? Why I didn't move? I wondered as well.

And found myself, twenty-three minutes later, without an answer.

I sighed and turned over on my bed, wondering again. Why had I listened? Why hadn't he come? Why had he told me not to go to dinner in the first place?

Why.

*Rapp rapp rapp*

I bolted up from my bed, startled by the sudden noise. I swung my feet out of the bed and stood silently, paranoia washing over me, not wanting whoever was at the door to know I was here.

I didn't know why I was so paranoid...but then this whole project seemed to breed an inherent sense of it. In the logical part of my brain, I knew it was New York. But there was nothing logical about paranoia.

*knock knock ... knock*
It was a question this time, more hesitant and quieter than the first.

"Carolina..." Through the cracks of the steel door, I heard his whisper, his distinct voice. So he had finally come after all.

I slid the door open to find New York standing there, nervously, and almost imperceptibly, twitching, decked out in black.

I lifted an eyebrow, "I see this is a covert affair?"

He glanced around him, nervous - why was he so nervous? "Carolina, we need to-"

"I need to put on something more stealth encouraging. And since you so seem to hate the hall, you'd best come in."

New York had come, but brought more questions than answers. What was it about this man? Everyone else was simple basic; they acted on their own desires and wants and wants. Everyone else could fit into the template of pre-fab humanity. What was it about him that made him so different? So...confusing?

I fished through my bag, looking among the few clothes I owned. And there, hiding in the corner, was a flash of black. Reaching in, I pulled out a black turtleneck, and black form fitting pants. I stuck my hand in again, and retrieved a pair of slender, yet sturdy knee high boots.

"I have to change, so turn around...or something." I turned back to New York, who sat silent on California's bed.

"You have an outfit prepared?" he raised an eyebrow, or maybe both. The eye patch he'd traded his bandage in for made it hard to tell.

"Just turn the fuck around around or I'll break something near and dear to you. And it may or not be a bone," I snapped. He sighed, but complied, turning to face the wall.

I silently raced through changing, none too keen on him having any possibility to see me with this way. Even with California and New Mexico - I rarely changed in front of them.

My skin was cracked and scarred, overlaid with a matrix of bruises and scrapes, and the odd bullet wound. In no way could I hide from myself who I was.

But I didn't need those thoughts just then, and brushed them aside, as I finished changing. These clothes fit snug on my body, clinging so that no rustle of cloth would give me away. It was a very basic kind of stealth, but then, the basics existed for a reason.

"Alright, so what's this big and covert adventure of yours?" I turned back around to New York, ready for some answers.

He slid off the bed, turning to face me. He stared at my outfit, and then without a word, walked to the door, placing his hand on the door knob.

"You'll just have to see." With that he slid open the door and slipped through, disappearing into the hallway.

Without pause or thought, I rushed to follow.

I shouldn't have cared what he was up to, but I did. I shouldn't have followed him, but I did. I shouldn't have let him control this, but I did.

I shouldn't have let him control me, but I did.