Thanks for the great reviews - I appreciate them very much! I could write
these for myself but it's always nice to get feedback/criticism - whatever
(though if you are going to criticize, be kind and helpful). Enjoy!
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I wake up shivering - my new blanket has found its way to the floor without my consent. Will's right - my breath could knock someone over. Thankfully I am allowed a toothbrush and toothpaste - apparently there is nothing dangerous to be done with either of these objects. My mind briefly flits across the image of me shoving my Pepsodent up a certain CIA director's ass - that thought definitely brightens my day.
Down the hall I hear the gate open and footsteps coming towards me. Apparently someone was waiting for me to wake up.
"Good morning, Sydney, I trust you slept well on your new mattress." It's Kendall.
"Oh sir, I was just thinking of you," I turn and smile sweetly at the man behind the glass, I decide it is best to leave the toothpaste on the sink, "Yes, I slept very well last night, though I could do without the surroundings."
"Patience," Kendall responds and for a minute I am reminded of Sloane and his patronizing lectures, blathering on and on in his creepy voice about things like patience and loyalty. But, unlike Sloane, Kendall continues with sarcasm, "Is not one of your strong points, is it Agent Bristow?"
"I don't know about that, I have patience when it comes to the important things, like the people I care about, but when it comes to being held prisoner because I seem to have forgotten the past two years of my life, well, for that I have little patience. Are they ready for me this morning?"
I walk to the door and wait to hear the inevitable click of the lock. Kendall pushes the door open and takes my arm once again. Our trip through the main operations room is pretty much the same as the day before but this morning Vaughn's office is empty.
The first stop is a treadmill and plenty of monitors to check on my stamina and physical fitness. My last test like this with SD-6 proved that I could run 6 miles at a steady pace before I started slowing down, I finally had to stop running after 15. The CIA got possession of these tests after the Alliance fell so no doubt they are going to measure this new performance against my old one. I just hope I can make it to the 6 mile marker this time, though if I outperform my old standard I wonder if that will put yet another black mark on my record. I certainly can't fake exhaustion with all the machines they will have me hooked up to.
Kendall leaves once I am delivered into the hands of one of the doctors I remember from yesterday, Dr. Melvin, I think her name was.
"Hello, Sydney, I'm Dr. Melvin, we met yesterday."
"Yes, I remember," I smile at her kind face. "What would you like me to do today?"
"Simply run," Dr. Melvin replies, "We'll be monitoring your vital signs, adrenaline, fluid outtake - all the important things. We just want you to run however you feel comfortable until you can't run anymore."
Well, I was right, it looks like they want to see how I measure up to my former self. Dr. Melvin gives me a change of clothes - running shorts and a tank top - and leaves the room so I can change.
Ten minutes later she is back and hooking me up to the various machines in the room. A panel on the opposite wall rises, revealing an observation deck of sorts, behind the window I see a number of other doctors, some with familiar faces and some without. Oh great, an audience.
Dr. Melvin joins her colleagues behind the glass and speaks into a microphone, voice echoing into the room I am in. "Go ahead, Sydney, whenever you are ready, just start running."
I hate tests like this, I think to myself as I step onto the treadmill, I feel like a laboratory rat made to run around in an exercise wheel. Though I guess that analogy isn't too far from the truth. Oh well, aside from throwing a hissy fit, I don't think there is anything I can really do, so I start running.
Running feels just like it always has - a way for me to think and to get out my frustrations. As much as I hate being watching and tested, I love to run, and after a half hour or so, I am simply focused on continuing on, clearing my head of everything that has happened and concentrating on my breathing and my goal - to get out of the Joint Task Force as soon as I possibly can.
I'm not sure how far I run but after a few hours I have to stop, I need water and my legs feel like jello. I push a button, shutting off the conveyor and sit down on it with my legs hanging off the end. Thankfully they have left me water, I pick up a bottle and guzzle the cool liquid down, my legs are throbbing and my arms are tired from pumping back and forth.
Dr. Melvin comes back into the room, "Very good, Sydney. I'm impressed - I hate to run. It's just so monotonous."
"I used to think so too, but now, now it feels like an escape. And I guess I like that feeling."
"Well, it looks like we should get you something to eat." Dr. Melvin consults a chart in her hand and I wonder if they have my whole regimen charted out for the day. 'Have her run, feed her, poke her some more, make idle chitchat, don't give any indication that she will ever leave here or that the tests will ever end.'
I play with the edge of my shorts and offer the woman in front of me a half- hearted smile, "Do you think I could take a shower? I haven't had one since I was in Hong Kong two days ago and after this I feel completely disgusting."
"I don't see why not," she looks at her chart again and then up at the window at someone on the other side, "Let me check on that. I know we have some more physical testing to do today so you are bound to get sweaty again, but I understand how you must feel."
A third person enters the room, it's Agent Armstrong from my first night back. "Good morning, Agent Bristow, I've been assigned to accompany you for the day. I was just given word that you requested a shower. Are you ready to go?"
"Um, sure, thanks." I get up, looking around to gather my change of clothes and notice they have been removed from the room - when did that happen? I must have been pretty focused when I was running to not notice someone coming into the room.
Agent Armstrong takes me by the arm and walks me out into the hall, turning away from the main room and my cell. We walk in silence down the first two corridors before I have to break the silence. "You can call me Sydney if you want to. I don't feel much like an agent right now and it seems sort of silly to keep up the pretence if you are going to be accompanying me to the shower."
My quest for a smile on the serious face next to me is rewarded with slightly upturned lips, a small dimple appears on the cheek that I can see. "You are welcome to call me Bryce, but despite the way you feel, you are still an agent of the government and as such deserve to be treated with respect. Technically, you would be my superior."
"Ah, that's just semantics, Bryce, in reality, I am a prisoner and you are my guard."
"True, but there seems to be no question in anyone's mind, at least those who know you, that you will be getting out of here soon. You can understand that someone with your skill level needs to be examined closely, because on the off-chance that you have turned, we wouldn't want you lose in the CIA, no would we?"
"Touché. One question, where exactly would I have turned to - the Dark Side?" I can't help but tease him, hoping to lift some of the heaviness off of my day.
"Here we are," Bryce appears to be a tough nut to crack, he didn't even show a glimmer of a smile at my last comment.
"Come on, lighten up a bit, Agent Armstrong. I'm the one whose life is screwed, if I can joke, the least you can do is laugh."
"Sydney," his voice is reproachful, "I appreciate your lightheartedness, God knows most people wouldn't be like that in your situation. But you have quite a reputation in the agency as a stellar performer, a true asset to your country and I find it hard to make light of what has happened."
"Trust me, Bryce, I'm anything about lighthearted but sometimes being stoic and playing the martyr is something I like to take a break from, reality hits soon enough and then I can't tell you what my emotions will be like but I can assure you that they won't be jovial."
Finally a real smile from Agent Armstrong, "Fair enough, I will try to laugh at your pathetic attempts at humor. Now go take a shower, hopefully it will make you feel better."
"It can't hurt," I smile one more time at my new-found friend as I enter the bathroom.
A fresh change of clothes and a clean towel are already waiting for me inside - the CIA is ever the efficient little machine. I strip out of my sweaty clothes and turn on the hot water in the stand-up stall. What I wouldn't give for an actual bath. Waiting for the water to heat up, I look down at my body - it still looks the same, aside from the scar on my abdomen, and it feels the same to me - it's so strange that two years have passed and I don't appear to have changed, at least not on the outside. I will have to remember to ask one of the doctors about the scar, I totally forgot about it yesterday.
Steam is rising up now so I add a little cold to the mix and step under the water. I'm prompted to move only after my stomach growls and I realize that I am quite hungry. I hope there is something more than broth waiting for me today.
Once my shower is done and I am feeling much fresher, I pull on the new clothes: yoga pants and another tank top. Bryce is leaning against the opposite wall as I come out and he pushes himself forward as I step into the hall. "Feel better?"
"Much," I brush my wet hair out of my eyes, "Now I just need a comb and something to eat - I'm famished!"
"Both of those sound easy enough, let's go," he takes my arm once again and we are off in search of food.
* * *
Lunch was quick and forgettable, the food at least, the company was much better. Will and Dixon were able to join me as I was getting done with my tuna salad sandwich and pasta salad. Dixon looks as good as ever, better certainly that the last few times I had seen him. He has been thinking about asking out one of his neighbors that moved in a few months ago but he doesn't want to start something if it isn't going to go anywhere. Hearing Dixon fret over the dating scene is actually quite sweet - maybe he and I can go out on the town when I am free. That thought makes me want to kick myself for remembering that I, too, am a single person again.
Will brought news that my father had had to follow a possible lead about Sloane, the first in months. Since I don't typically see my dad on a daily basis it doesn't seem strange to have not seen him since yesterday morning. But there is one person that I am missing like crazy, Vaughn has been MIA since last night. Though I can't blame him for avoiding me, mattress or not, an encounter between us can only prove to be awkward or volatile. Probably best for us to have a break from each other, as much as I want to see him.
After Will and Dixon leave, Bryce is back to take me to the training room. The training room is where I have spent many hours practicing new fighting techniques and variations on old ones. It's here that I have learned all forms of combat. One of the agency's instructors is waiting for me on the mat.
"Agent Armstrong," the well-muscled man nods at Bryce and turns his attention to me, "Agent Bristow, welcome, I am Agent Rick Sherman, special forces trainer. This afternoon I am going to run you through a series of drills to test your skill level in a number of combat forms. Just so you are aware, we'll be videotaping your performance."
I follow his gestures and see a number of cameras pointing at different places around the room, ready to capture my moves at any angle. Super.
Bryce waves as he exits the room, leaving me alone with Agent Sherman.
"Do you feel that you have fully digested your lunch? We are going to start with stretches to make sure we don't damage your body before starting in with the testing. Does that sound okay?"
"That sounds fine. Starting now won't be a problem."
The next few hours are filled with my following Sherman's every instruction, no matter what type of combat or weapon he has me demonstrating, I am able to spar against him without problem. Somewhere in the third hour he starts testing my instincts, coming at me instead of waiting to see what my moves will be and reacting to them. He is good, physically stronger and bigger as well as quite quick on his feet, definitely skilled at what he is doing.
I have worked up quite a sweat when I hear the door open behind us. "Sorry, I'm late, traffic was a bitch today."
A woman about my same build has entered the room in an almost identical outfit. She has flaming red hair and a face full of freckles, I don't remember her from before.
"Not a problem, we were just finishing up here," Sherman tosses the wooden rod he has been using towards one of the walls, it hits the floor with a crash and then quietly rolls to a stop. I mimic his actions. "Now I'm going to have you fight with Agent Edwards. I want to see how you do against someone of the same build and who is at the same physical ability level as yourself. This will just be hand-to-hand practice, but try not to hold back, I won't let you hurt each other too much."
It would appear that the woman who entered the room is my new "enemy." I hate this part, the all out fighting with a person who I don't even know, let alone hate on principle. It is one with to go against the bad guys, but another to be doing this with someone who is on my side. Rick wraps both of our hands and gets us ready to go.
Agent Edwards doesn't seem to share my hesitation, a few minutes into our sparring she strikes out and jabs me in the gut. Reflexively, I double over, but I am ready for her - two can play at this game. When she comes in to kick me, I react with speed and accuracy, fist flying into her hamstring. My punch as the desired effect and I feel like smiling as I see her fall to the floor, this feels good. We go back and forth for a while, blocking each others' advances with ease. I am able to get in a few whacks to her back when she spins away from my foot flying through the air.
Sherman, who has been watching in silence, finally speaks up, "Don't let your guard down, Melanie."
Upon hearing Sherman speak, I see a change in the woman; her eyes, steely before, now have a gleam in them. She is coming after me. I, on the other hand, suddenly feel worn down, her first name shoots straight to my heart, this can't be the same woman.
"Melanie, huh?" I question, trying to sound nonchalant. I slice my arm through the air, connecting solidly with her shoulder and flip my arm back to knock her in the jaw.
"Melanie Edwards," she smiles at me, seemingly unaffected by my last attach, an unsettling twinkle in her eye, "But some people call me Melanie Vaughn."
A leg comes flying out of nowhere and knocks my own legs out from under me, I hit the floor with a thud, air rushing out of my lungs. I can't breathe and roll to my side, feeling her foot connect with my back, sending a jolt of pain that seems to reach my toes and my head at the same time. Then I feel it, the blackness coming on.
"Melanie, that's enough," Sherman's voice sounds like it is miles away, echoing in a canyon. "Go cool down. Agent Bristow, are you all right?"
I want to move, to show that I am fine, that she hasn't beat me, but my body won't cooperate with my will. 'God help me,' I cry out without making a sound.
"Did you say Agent Bristow? This is the infamous Sydney Bristow - I thought you brought me in to test out a new recruit."
"Yes, this is Sydney Bristow, we didn't want you to hold back with her, we wanted a real challenge." Sherman explains, though I feel like I can barely hear him over the pounding in my head.
"Well, I wasn't trying to hurt her," her voice, unlike his, rings clearly in my head and I realize that I hate it more than any sound I have ever heard, "I was just testing her, seeing what she was made of, apparently she is more easily broken then we thought."
And finally the blackness has me fully in its hold, taking me into the unconscious.
---------
Okay, what did you think? Sorry to leave out Vaughn this time around, but you can be sure that he will figure prominently in the coming chapter.
I wake up shivering - my new blanket has found its way to the floor without my consent. Will's right - my breath could knock someone over. Thankfully I am allowed a toothbrush and toothpaste - apparently there is nothing dangerous to be done with either of these objects. My mind briefly flits across the image of me shoving my Pepsodent up a certain CIA director's ass - that thought definitely brightens my day.
Down the hall I hear the gate open and footsteps coming towards me. Apparently someone was waiting for me to wake up.
"Good morning, Sydney, I trust you slept well on your new mattress." It's Kendall.
"Oh sir, I was just thinking of you," I turn and smile sweetly at the man behind the glass, I decide it is best to leave the toothpaste on the sink, "Yes, I slept very well last night, though I could do without the surroundings."
"Patience," Kendall responds and for a minute I am reminded of Sloane and his patronizing lectures, blathering on and on in his creepy voice about things like patience and loyalty. But, unlike Sloane, Kendall continues with sarcasm, "Is not one of your strong points, is it Agent Bristow?"
"I don't know about that, I have patience when it comes to the important things, like the people I care about, but when it comes to being held prisoner because I seem to have forgotten the past two years of my life, well, for that I have little patience. Are they ready for me this morning?"
I walk to the door and wait to hear the inevitable click of the lock. Kendall pushes the door open and takes my arm once again. Our trip through the main operations room is pretty much the same as the day before but this morning Vaughn's office is empty.
The first stop is a treadmill and plenty of monitors to check on my stamina and physical fitness. My last test like this with SD-6 proved that I could run 6 miles at a steady pace before I started slowing down, I finally had to stop running after 15. The CIA got possession of these tests after the Alliance fell so no doubt they are going to measure this new performance against my old one. I just hope I can make it to the 6 mile marker this time, though if I outperform my old standard I wonder if that will put yet another black mark on my record. I certainly can't fake exhaustion with all the machines they will have me hooked up to.
Kendall leaves once I am delivered into the hands of one of the doctors I remember from yesterday, Dr. Melvin, I think her name was.
"Hello, Sydney, I'm Dr. Melvin, we met yesterday."
"Yes, I remember," I smile at her kind face. "What would you like me to do today?"
"Simply run," Dr. Melvin replies, "We'll be monitoring your vital signs, adrenaline, fluid outtake - all the important things. We just want you to run however you feel comfortable until you can't run anymore."
Well, I was right, it looks like they want to see how I measure up to my former self. Dr. Melvin gives me a change of clothes - running shorts and a tank top - and leaves the room so I can change.
Ten minutes later she is back and hooking me up to the various machines in the room. A panel on the opposite wall rises, revealing an observation deck of sorts, behind the window I see a number of other doctors, some with familiar faces and some without. Oh great, an audience.
Dr. Melvin joins her colleagues behind the glass and speaks into a microphone, voice echoing into the room I am in. "Go ahead, Sydney, whenever you are ready, just start running."
I hate tests like this, I think to myself as I step onto the treadmill, I feel like a laboratory rat made to run around in an exercise wheel. Though I guess that analogy isn't too far from the truth. Oh well, aside from throwing a hissy fit, I don't think there is anything I can really do, so I start running.
Running feels just like it always has - a way for me to think and to get out my frustrations. As much as I hate being watching and tested, I love to run, and after a half hour or so, I am simply focused on continuing on, clearing my head of everything that has happened and concentrating on my breathing and my goal - to get out of the Joint Task Force as soon as I possibly can.
I'm not sure how far I run but after a few hours I have to stop, I need water and my legs feel like jello. I push a button, shutting off the conveyor and sit down on it with my legs hanging off the end. Thankfully they have left me water, I pick up a bottle and guzzle the cool liquid down, my legs are throbbing and my arms are tired from pumping back and forth.
Dr. Melvin comes back into the room, "Very good, Sydney. I'm impressed - I hate to run. It's just so monotonous."
"I used to think so too, but now, now it feels like an escape. And I guess I like that feeling."
"Well, it looks like we should get you something to eat." Dr. Melvin consults a chart in her hand and I wonder if they have my whole regimen charted out for the day. 'Have her run, feed her, poke her some more, make idle chitchat, don't give any indication that she will ever leave here or that the tests will ever end.'
I play with the edge of my shorts and offer the woman in front of me a half- hearted smile, "Do you think I could take a shower? I haven't had one since I was in Hong Kong two days ago and after this I feel completely disgusting."
"I don't see why not," she looks at her chart again and then up at the window at someone on the other side, "Let me check on that. I know we have some more physical testing to do today so you are bound to get sweaty again, but I understand how you must feel."
A third person enters the room, it's Agent Armstrong from my first night back. "Good morning, Agent Bristow, I've been assigned to accompany you for the day. I was just given word that you requested a shower. Are you ready to go?"
"Um, sure, thanks." I get up, looking around to gather my change of clothes and notice they have been removed from the room - when did that happen? I must have been pretty focused when I was running to not notice someone coming into the room.
Agent Armstrong takes me by the arm and walks me out into the hall, turning away from the main room and my cell. We walk in silence down the first two corridors before I have to break the silence. "You can call me Sydney if you want to. I don't feel much like an agent right now and it seems sort of silly to keep up the pretence if you are going to be accompanying me to the shower."
My quest for a smile on the serious face next to me is rewarded with slightly upturned lips, a small dimple appears on the cheek that I can see. "You are welcome to call me Bryce, but despite the way you feel, you are still an agent of the government and as such deserve to be treated with respect. Technically, you would be my superior."
"Ah, that's just semantics, Bryce, in reality, I am a prisoner and you are my guard."
"True, but there seems to be no question in anyone's mind, at least those who know you, that you will be getting out of here soon. You can understand that someone with your skill level needs to be examined closely, because on the off-chance that you have turned, we wouldn't want you lose in the CIA, no would we?"
"Touché. One question, where exactly would I have turned to - the Dark Side?" I can't help but tease him, hoping to lift some of the heaviness off of my day.
"Here we are," Bryce appears to be a tough nut to crack, he didn't even show a glimmer of a smile at my last comment.
"Come on, lighten up a bit, Agent Armstrong. I'm the one whose life is screwed, if I can joke, the least you can do is laugh."
"Sydney," his voice is reproachful, "I appreciate your lightheartedness, God knows most people wouldn't be like that in your situation. But you have quite a reputation in the agency as a stellar performer, a true asset to your country and I find it hard to make light of what has happened."
"Trust me, Bryce, I'm anything about lighthearted but sometimes being stoic and playing the martyr is something I like to take a break from, reality hits soon enough and then I can't tell you what my emotions will be like but I can assure you that they won't be jovial."
Finally a real smile from Agent Armstrong, "Fair enough, I will try to laugh at your pathetic attempts at humor. Now go take a shower, hopefully it will make you feel better."
"It can't hurt," I smile one more time at my new-found friend as I enter the bathroom.
A fresh change of clothes and a clean towel are already waiting for me inside - the CIA is ever the efficient little machine. I strip out of my sweaty clothes and turn on the hot water in the stand-up stall. What I wouldn't give for an actual bath. Waiting for the water to heat up, I look down at my body - it still looks the same, aside from the scar on my abdomen, and it feels the same to me - it's so strange that two years have passed and I don't appear to have changed, at least not on the outside. I will have to remember to ask one of the doctors about the scar, I totally forgot about it yesterday.
Steam is rising up now so I add a little cold to the mix and step under the water. I'm prompted to move only after my stomach growls and I realize that I am quite hungry. I hope there is something more than broth waiting for me today.
Once my shower is done and I am feeling much fresher, I pull on the new clothes: yoga pants and another tank top. Bryce is leaning against the opposite wall as I come out and he pushes himself forward as I step into the hall. "Feel better?"
"Much," I brush my wet hair out of my eyes, "Now I just need a comb and something to eat - I'm famished!"
"Both of those sound easy enough, let's go," he takes my arm once again and we are off in search of food.
* * *
Lunch was quick and forgettable, the food at least, the company was much better. Will and Dixon were able to join me as I was getting done with my tuna salad sandwich and pasta salad. Dixon looks as good as ever, better certainly that the last few times I had seen him. He has been thinking about asking out one of his neighbors that moved in a few months ago but he doesn't want to start something if it isn't going to go anywhere. Hearing Dixon fret over the dating scene is actually quite sweet - maybe he and I can go out on the town when I am free. That thought makes me want to kick myself for remembering that I, too, am a single person again.
Will brought news that my father had had to follow a possible lead about Sloane, the first in months. Since I don't typically see my dad on a daily basis it doesn't seem strange to have not seen him since yesterday morning. But there is one person that I am missing like crazy, Vaughn has been MIA since last night. Though I can't blame him for avoiding me, mattress or not, an encounter between us can only prove to be awkward or volatile. Probably best for us to have a break from each other, as much as I want to see him.
After Will and Dixon leave, Bryce is back to take me to the training room. The training room is where I have spent many hours practicing new fighting techniques and variations on old ones. It's here that I have learned all forms of combat. One of the agency's instructors is waiting for me on the mat.
"Agent Armstrong," the well-muscled man nods at Bryce and turns his attention to me, "Agent Bristow, welcome, I am Agent Rick Sherman, special forces trainer. This afternoon I am going to run you through a series of drills to test your skill level in a number of combat forms. Just so you are aware, we'll be videotaping your performance."
I follow his gestures and see a number of cameras pointing at different places around the room, ready to capture my moves at any angle. Super.
Bryce waves as he exits the room, leaving me alone with Agent Sherman.
"Do you feel that you have fully digested your lunch? We are going to start with stretches to make sure we don't damage your body before starting in with the testing. Does that sound okay?"
"That sounds fine. Starting now won't be a problem."
The next few hours are filled with my following Sherman's every instruction, no matter what type of combat or weapon he has me demonstrating, I am able to spar against him without problem. Somewhere in the third hour he starts testing my instincts, coming at me instead of waiting to see what my moves will be and reacting to them. He is good, physically stronger and bigger as well as quite quick on his feet, definitely skilled at what he is doing.
I have worked up quite a sweat when I hear the door open behind us. "Sorry, I'm late, traffic was a bitch today."
A woman about my same build has entered the room in an almost identical outfit. She has flaming red hair and a face full of freckles, I don't remember her from before.
"Not a problem, we were just finishing up here," Sherman tosses the wooden rod he has been using towards one of the walls, it hits the floor with a crash and then quietly rolls to a stop. I mimic his actions. "Now I'm going to have you fight with Agent Edwards. I want to see how you do against someone of the same build and who is at the same physical ability level as yourself. This will just be hand-to-hand practice, but try not to hold back, I won't let you hurt each other too much."
It would appear that the woman who entered the room is my new "enemy." I hate this part, the all out fighting with a person who I don't even know, let alone hate on principle. It is one with to go against the bad guys, but another to be doing this with someone who is on my side. Rick wraps both of our hands and gets us ready to go.
Agent Edwards doesn't seem to share my hesitation, a few minutes into our sparring she strikes out and jabs me in the gut. Reflexively, I double over, but I am ready for her - two can play at this game. When she comes in to kick me, I react with speed and accuracy, fist flying into her hamstring. My punch as the desired effect and I feel like smiling as I see her fall to the floor, this feels good. We go back and forth for a while, blocking each others' advances with ease. I am able to get in a few whacks to her back when she spins away from my foot flying through the air.
Sherman, who has been watching in silence, finally speaks up, "Don't let your guard down, Melanie."
Upon hearing Sherman speak, I see a change in the woman; her eyes, steely before, now have a gleam in them. She is coming after me. I, on the other hand, suddenly feel worn down, her first name shoots straight to my heart, this can't be the same woman.
"Melanie, huh?" I question, trying to sound nonchalant. I slice my arm through the air, connecting solidly with her shoulder and flip my arm back to knock her in the jaw.
"Melanie Edwards," she smiles at me, seemingly unaffected by my last attach, an unsettling twinkle in her eye, "But some people call me Melanie Vaughn."
A leg comes flying out of nowhere and knocks my own legs out from under me, I hit the floor with a thud, air rushing out of my lungs. I can't breathe and roll to my side, feeling her foot connect with my back, sending a jolt of pain that seems to reach my toes and my head at the same time. Then I feel it, the blackness coming on.
"Melanie, that's enough," Sherman's voice sounds like it is miles away, echoing in a canyon. "Go cool down. Agent Bristow, are you all right?"
I want to move, to show that I am fine, that she hasn't beat me, but my body won't cooperate with my will. 'God help me,' I cry out without making a sound.
"Did you say Agent Bristow? This is the infamous Sydney Bristow - I thought you brought me in to test out a new recruit."
"Yes, this is Sydney Bristow, we didn't want you to hold back with her, we wanted a real challenge." Sherman explains, though I feel like I can barely hear him over the pounding in my head.
"Well, I wasn't trying to hurt her," her voice, unlike his, rings clearly in my head and I realize that I hate it more than any sound I have ever heard, "I was just testing her, seeing what she was made of, apparently she is more easily broken then we thought."
And finally the blackness has me fully in its hold, taking me into the unconscious.
---------
Okay, what did you think? Sorry to leave out Vaughn this time around, but you can be sure that he will figure prominently in the coming chapter.