An: Kinda short. More coming soon, however. To anyone who reads Secrets -It will be up as soon as I finish writing it.
9: Punishment
You're a crusader, you've made me your fight
Your superhero name is Mr. right
Instead of trying to understand
You tell all your friends how wrong I am
You're not listening to me ~~'Na Na' -Superchic[k]
Major William Stryker stood outside of Emma Frost's cage, tapping his toe with a grim look on his face. "Emma."
Emma Frost frowned inwardly. She did not like the way he said her name. He was not her father or any authority she recognized. She did not respond.
"Emma. Didn't I warn you of the consequences of escaping? The harm it could do to your sister?"
She bristled. "I didn't escape."
"So I see. Still…"
"No. No 'still's, 'but's, or 'however's. I broke no vow, made no promise. Do not lecture me." She glared, crossing her arms over her chest.
Stryker frowned. This was a new development. It was the fault of Creed's girl, no doubt. He'd have to deal with her soon. She had a spirit like her father.
But she could be useful. He smiled to himself, beginning to make plans.
My dreams were chaotic as my body fought off the anesthetic. I dropped into a memory, enhanced by the effect of the drugs in my system.
My mother and I were driving home from a night in a larger city to the west. The night was dark and I was tired; so was she. I curled up in the passenger's seat and dozed off. I woke to a sharp jerk and a thump. Looking over at my mother, I noticed her eyes were wide with alarm. "Mom? What's going on?"
"I think I hit something!" she said. But she didn't stop.
She didn't stop.
She didn't –
Something hit the back of our car, throwing us forward against our taut seatbelts. Our car began to roll forward, and I watched it as if in a dream, seeing the ground come up close to the windshield, hearing the crack before the windshield shattered in our faces. Blood seeped out of cuts and stung, burned, like fire. Coming to rest on the top of the car, we hung upside down. Somewhere in there, the air bags had deployed, so I stared at a big white cloud before watching it dissolve into black dots.
The next things I saw in my dream were paramedics lifting me into an ambulance. My face and arms were covered in blood, but all the big gashes had healed by themselves.
"Mom?" I say around the oxygen mask. They whisper at me and tell me to shush, be still, everything would be all right. Not to worry, they said.
Not to worry. Ha. I knew something was wrong in the very core of me.
And I was right.
Some man in a white coat came into my hospital room and told me my mother was dead. My mother, the only family I had. The only one who understood. The one who had taught me to fly. I screamed. I screamed and screamed and screamed and only stopped when my throat choked me.
At the funeral, I was screaming still. But I screamed my pain silently.
My mother was dead. And I was alone.
And that was when I woke up.
Victor Creed seethed with hidden anger as he got into his black car and drove off Three Mile Island. Suddenly he has mission after mission, task after task, and assignment after assignment. Stryker had told him to just do them all at once, and only return to the base when he had finished. Like #*%, he thought to himself. If Victor had learned anything from the past six years, it was how to read Stryker.
Stryker was planning something, and if he didn't want Victor to know, it either had to do with Jimmy or his cub. Jimmy was long gone and he and Stryker had a deal concerning him, so it had to be the cub.
The only thing to do was to get all of his assignments done as quickly as possible, and get back. He wanted this job and liked doing it, but if Stryker thought he was going to mess with his cub, he had another thing coming.
I opened my eyes to gray. Gray walls, gray floor, gray door, and a gray security camera. Sitting up, I put my hand to my head. There was no bruising, but the phantom pain remained. I lay back down, noting that I just barely fit the length of this room lying down. Three of me side by side would take up all the floor space. And it was just as bare as the cage.
Mama, why are you dead? Why aren't you here? I shut my eyes and curled into a ball. I could heal all my outward injuries, but my healing factor didn't do anything for pain in my heart. Dreaming comes so easily. But I don't want to dream. Mama, I don't want to remember, but I'm terrified to forget. I should have died that day, but I didn't. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Keys clanged in the lock and I lifted my lip in a snarl.
"Hello, Val. Do you remember Dr. Carol?"
You do not extend greetings to a rattlesnake that is holding you captive and has robbed you of the only life you knew. I did not move.
"You had quite an idea there, helping the Cajun escape. You have promise, you know, just like your father."
"Let me promise you something," I said abruptly, rolling over to face him. "I promise that you will never, ever break me."
"We'll see," Stryker said, his eyes hard. "Starting now. Let's begin with seeing just how long you can survive without food. Doctor?"
The woman nodded, pushing her glasses up on her nose. "The camera will monitor the process. If you attempt to tamper with it in any way, you will be punished."
They left, and the door slammed shut.
News Flash: the diversion was injured in performing her function. Assumed that the object gained his freedom. The diversion has been isolated and food supply cut off. More bulletins to come at a later date.
Right then, my stomach growled. Perfect.
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