Summary: Margaret's new work threatens to suck the life out of her. She, also, feels the eyes looking in her direction and waiting for her response.

She fears the ground she walks on is leading them to a trap she won't be able to get her son out of.

TW: non that I know of. Maybe some cussing.


The doors to "Safe Heaven" close behind her, and Margaret takes a quick look around.

The office is busy today, probably because it's the beginning of September and summer holidays are just over. Back in their old home, close to Seattle, Margaret used to work in an extension of the "Safe Heaven Quarters" for single mothers and divorced women in dire economic and social situations. The place had been bigger, because it not only had the residential side building, but also the offices.

Back there she had been in charge of receiving them the moment they came through the door, as well as doing pick ups and other more physical activities, such as chasing away men who didn't understand the word "no". Her past as a military agent put her in the perfect position to serve as a strong support for those who came from broken homes, and her personal story had served as inspiration to show all those women that, like her, they did have the power to, if not succeed, try to push the odds to their favor.

Margaret loves her job because she feels like she is able to heal her younger self a little bit every time one of them, especially one of the younger ones, comes back, tears in her eyes, to tell her how she has won.

And MEGTAF has taken that away from her.

This building is smaller and older, with a handful of people working in small offices and managing paperwork to send to the bigger structure in the neighboring town. Here, her new role is based on filling up document after document and read all the cases that didn't even have an ending because they do not give a fuck.

There is also the fact that more than half of the workers here are new like her. And they are all men.

Because of course they are all men.

Margaret takes a deep breath in, almost as if she was trying to memorize the smell of the place, and takes her first steps. A few heads turn in her direction, but nobody makes an effort to greet her, to introduce themselves, and explain how things work around the place.

They look at her, eyes stuck to her like cannons waiting for any sign of hostility to show in her face and fire.

They, also, look at her scar, and some of them are too cowardly to keep up the facade and turn away. Good, she thinks. They know her.

Margaret keeps her head high and walks with confidence towards her new office. It's not as big as the older one, but it's spacious enough. It has a modern design, void of any sense of coziness or familiarity that would help a victim feel comforted when asking for help. She has a desk, a comfortable looking office chair and a few bookshelves filled with paperwork and personal things from her old workplace.

She places her bag on the desk, still closed, picks up a small potted plant —fake, like everything in this place— and throws it to the left corner of the ceiling. The camera breaks, while the potted plant lands intact on the ground. She picks it up again, and walks to the bookcase to the right wall, where she takes an innocent looking book holder and smashes it with it. She does the same with the front left leg of her desk.

The broken mics are dropped into the trash can, and the potted plant follows suit. She gathers the rest of the camera and throws it away too. She will take out the trash later.

MEGTAF seems to have forgotten that, no matter how long she hasn't been a part of its military forces, she still hasn't forgotten her training; but that is not surprising. It's not the first time they have done this.

Since having Duncan, her life has become a shit show of cameras, light and action. Mics in every corner of every house they have lived in, cameras hidden in childhood toys and bathroom mirrors, weekly check ins by a children's counselor —an impartial opinion, they said—. And the looks. Oh, how she hates the looks.

She can feel their eyes on her from the moment she wakes up to the moment she goes to sleep. It's the neighbor, the mailman, the delivery guy, the woman at the register, the banker, the teacher. They know she knows. They know Duncan knows. And still, they do it.

Margaret moves toward her desk and sits on the chair, opens her purse and pulls out her phone and work laptop —the one with no personal information they can steal. The real one is at home, hidden away so they can never touch it—. She turns on her phone, and a picture of Duncan and herself as background greets her. It's old, Duncan had been nine, and they had gone to the waterpark to celebrate his birthday. Just the two of them, no friends to play with —It's ok, mama. I don't like them either—.

She takes a deep breath, opens the laptop and pretends to work on something. She types away on it, eyes vacant on the screen, and thinks. Her head is the only place where they can not reach her. Where they can not see, nor hear, so she has to keep it fast, swift, smart. Her baby's life depends solely on how much and how fast she can outsmart them —on him too, but he is away, where she can not hide her son away under his shadow—, so she can not get lazy nor content.

The move is a direct blow, and that's what worries her the most.

They have not seeked to directly antagonize her since the accident, which proved just how effective her message had been. For the past fifteen years —and six months—, almost everything has been on her terms. Schools, moves, housing, medical and legal. For as long as she plays nice, they respond in the same manner, and Margaret has been a master at this game for the past decade and a half.

Now though… now things have changed. They have made their move, and Margaret is terrified.

They are not scared anymore. They do not fear her, nor the words she uttered that day when she entered MEGTAF's headquarters covered in sweat and blood, and that means that they have something to hang over her head.

It has not gone unnoticed their new location either. It has been close to eighteen years, since then, but she remembers it like it was yesterday.

She'd been six months pregnant and in the outskirts of this same town when they found her.

(…)

Gym class is, surprisingly, not as shity as he had initially feared.

They are in the locker room, slightly bigger and newer than the one at his last school, and above all the noise the other boys make, Duncan can hear the sound of mats being dropped on the ground just outside the double doors. He doesn't know who their gym teacher is, and apparently nobody does. A new guy, they said.

"Hey, dude, you play football?" He stops pulling white t-shirt over his head and turns to the new voice. It's, surprisingly, one of the guys from early in the morning. A friend of this "Troy" guy.

"Nah, did gymnastics for a few years though. Why?" He knows why. Aside from his hair, his physical capabilities have always been a factor to be proud of. He knows he is strong, has been since he was a toddler. Stronger than any adult. He also looks like it, too, and it wouldn't be the first time someone has asked him if he'd like to join a sport. That's a no for him though, especially the ones that include physical contact with other players. Orders from up above.

"Don't listen to him, dude, they wanna steal you away into their frat house themed hellwhole." Two hands land on his shoulders and Ken jumps in from behind him. They have their hair out of their face with a headband, and he looks way more awake than he did in the lab.

"Fuck you, Roger's." The insult doesn't really have any bite, and the guy turns around and exits the locker room. Ken points to his t-shirt while waving away the the other boy with a shit eating grin.

"Cover up and come on, I heard the new coach is a bit of an asshole." Duncan snorts, pulls on his t-shirt, and follows Ken to where the rest of the class is waiting. the girls are there, too, and he can see Jenna in the white uniform holding Isabel's hand. She looks murderous, and Duncan thinks it may be because the uniform is not pink.

Just when he and Ken arrive next to them, the gymnasium doors open and Duncan's worst nightmare walks through them.

Oh, asswhole doesn't even begin to cover it.