CHAPTER #3

The next time she opened her eyes, she saw light again. It was white, harsh and direct, but even then, it seemed more welcoming than the sunlight she had received out of the shuttle and, against instinct, her eyes didn't close, not a fraction, in order to admire it. The same happened with the strong, revolting aroma of antiseptic and alcohol; she inhaled deeply and felt the movement of her lungs in amazement. She hadn't noticed she had been missing it. She hadn't noticed she had been missing a lot of things, she mused, enjoying the ability to wiggle her toes defiantly and caress the cool sheet that hugged her gently.

In a truly ironic manner, it was hearing the last thing she focused on.

"...Hey. Guys, look, the freak is waking up."

And it wanted her to come back to reality.

In what could be described as anything but cold resignation, her eyes shot in the direction of the annoying little prick piercing her heaven. They found more biotic-phobics than they cared to find, a straight row of chairs against the wall in front of her, and there, sitting, were men in uniform. The one in the right corner, in his early-thirties, had this beardy look to him even when having no beard and short hair- she really wasn't sure how that worked –and was sleeping. His arms were crossed, and his head was slightly against the wall, but falling, burying itself into the nest he created with himself. The man to the right was watching her intently, it was a tad unnerving, she had to admit. No much hate, no much fear, no much awe, no much of anything, but as was leaning forward with his elbows on his legs, it was clear he was not relaxing. This man, she realized, wanted to be a career man. He looked young, but not too young, like twenty-one, twenty-two, maybe not even twenty. He was trying to be the perfect, dutiful, disciplined officer that did no let his immature feelings or insecurities get in the way. A robot. She had no doubt he was being encouraged, his superiors loved him, his parents were proud, his naïve fellow-soldiers looked up to him, and the ones that didn't, let him be. Most would say he was a wise young guy, but caring too much and too little, she thought, were two sides of the same problem. She left the unwavering gaze of the dark haired and black eyed handsome idiot, to look at the annoyance that had pierced her little relieved bubble, a blond stuck-up guy who she was trying to decide if he was trying to look hateful, smug, superior, or trying to decide which of those he wanted to look like. Yeah, the disgust was mutual. She moved on, to find the fourth soldier, a guy that looked at her with the same amount of repulsion, but was smart enough to look sure of himself while doing so. "Don't bother yourself," he began, "she doesn't deserve our attention, as long as she gets the message not to try anything." The man beside him nodded at him.

"I disagree." Immediately, Goody-two-shoes of Serious Gaze interjected in the exchange. "Our assignment was to watch over her, make sure that she doesn't do anything to harm others or herself." She found the last specification kind of weird, the Alliance didn't care for the well-being of biotics as much as they pretended to but- oh, pretend, right. "We don't know what she thinks about having gotten caught."

Finally tired of how they talked as if she wasn't aware, she cut in. "I can tell you what I think- if you tell me what you will do with me. Because, you know, if I don't know, how can even begin to form an opinion?"

Perfect-Foot-Soldier stood up, and slowly walked to her bedside. Once there, he took a breath in which she supposed he was collecting his thoughts, and replied. "The Alliance will put you through a program of Biotic Acclamation and Temperance Training in which they teach you to control your abilities." That was such a politically respectful answer, she mockingly congratulated in her mind.

Then she really thought about it. Training. It made the most sense; she had a hard time doubting. She wasn't shackled, if it weren't for these soldiers, she would pass as any other injured free citizen. And they certainly intended to keep her alive; putting her in a hospital would defeat the point otherwise. And inwardly, she smiled, she cheered, she celebrated, she saw what she initially thought as condemnation as a blessing. Sometimes, hearing you were useful to someone was better than hearing they cared about you. Not because someone cares they will go out of their way to protect you, especially if it puts them at risk, but if there were benefits to be ripped, they sure would. Yes, so she would probably be forced into some stupid military institution and would later on have to escape if she didn't like how they wanted to use her. But it wasn't bad, definitely better than an orphanage and she would be free of the hell and dangers gang life often represented, wouldn't worry about the hunger, either.

Little did she know, that she would pass from an open hell, to a closed Hell.

Author's Note: Ok, guys, you are probably getting frustrated, I'll see how to push the story forward faster.