Less than forty-eight hours after killing the hemisphere's longest reigning dictator, Gabriele found herself swimming in a private boatyard in a rather ritzy district of Miami. She was almost invisible in the dark water as the hour grew later. She felt completely unprepared for this mission which was thrust upon her before she could even step back onto American soil and get a good night's sleep. The mission wasn't even clear. Stop the boat from leaving the harbor. Don't let anyone escape. The radio message ordered her. She had never failed to complete a job but she always had time to plan and prepare, as well as a clear, detailed task. But it wasn't her job to babysit boats. That was the Coast Guard's problem. The United States federal government did not pay her high salary so she could deal with things on American soil.
The boat in question wasn't exactly a boat. It was a hundred foot yacht with multiple floors and a helipad. From the water, which was where she was still floating, it looked more like a commercial cruise liner than a personal yacht. Eventually, after swimming in circles around the boat, Gabriele was able to pull herself up onto a lower deck, which was empty of people. Her short brown hair stuck to her face as saltwater dripped onto the wooden floor. She shook her body, imitating a wet dog, before she removed a gun from the holster on her hip.
Guns were the crutch she leaned on too much. Her five foot five inch body was stronger than it looked. Over the course of her career, she had practically mastered the art of hand-to-hand combat but guns were her forte. She enjoyed guns and she was good with them. And that wasn't ever a product of her mutation. The long sleeves and gloves were, however, a necessary reaction to her mutation.
Before she had gone five feet down the hallway, the water around the yacht erupted in chaos. In the distance a large spotlight lit up the yacht and the majority of the surrounding harbor, blinding Gabriele for a few brief seconds. When her eyes adjusted to the light, she was able to make out about eight speed boats carrying what she presumed to be soldiers plowing through the waves towards the yacht. A voice flowed across the once silent air from a large military ship, which appeared out of the darkness and blocked the exit of the harbor. "This is the United States' Coast Guard. You are under asset. Do not attempt to flee."
"Son of a bitch." She said rather loudly under her breath. The CIA can't do anything right anymore, she thought. She shouldn't have taken her attention off of her surroundings. While she was still cursing her employer and the incoming military, someone or something cause a rather heavy, blunt object to hit Gabriele over the head with it. Reality went black as she collapsed to the floor.
Bright, artificial light burned Sevel Hirsch's brown eyes as she awoke. She found herself laying on a cold, metal table. What little energy the young girl had was wasted on the straps which held her down to the table. She felt the sedative fading away and found herself wanting more. To feel nothing was her wish. No sadness. No hopelessness. No fear. No pain. Nothing. Numbness was her goal.
Her fragile mind wandered back to the day that changed everything. It was also the day that was suppose to end everything. End all the feeling. End her life. Ironic sunlight warmed Sevel's face as she walked hand-in-hand with her more sickly mother. Everyone around her was sick; coughing, vomiting, and internal bleeding were what put many of the others in the line which traveled into the large brick building. Sevel had contracted only a minor cough but she still posed a threat to the vital workforce. Spring had arrived late and the winter too harsh. The lucky ones were killed by their disease.
The young girl of fourteen looked towards what would be her, and her mother's, final resting place. The round smoke-stack towered far into the air, narrowing at the top. Black smoke was still flowing gracefully from the red chimney. The Nazi's were behind on the last run. Maybe if they weren't so weak, someone might have fought against the eerily calm pace at which the line moved. But the ill Jews had already made their peace with God. Better to die now, than to live any longer as slaves.
Sevel continued to hold her mother's hand even though the woman did not pay her any attention. Her mother hadn't spoken a word since her husband died. She had all but ignored her only surviving child. Inside, the heavy iron door was sealed and locked once the small windowless room was filled beyond capacity. Finally, panic took its hold among the herd of people.
Now, Sevel wished she could have joined in the fate of so many of her people. For her survival, only brought more pain.
