Chapter Text
A final tear escapes her eye as the needle enters her arm, never moving from where she sat. The pain is unbearable, a burning that spreads through her veins until it reaches her neck. By the time it reached her head the pain was all consuming, but she couldn’t find the energy to be sad or angry. Her mind felt numb, devoid of emotion, anything that made her feel human. The metal of the cuffs dig into her wrists and ankles, holding her captive with no way to fight.
The next needle stabs into her other arm, the clear liquid slowly being pushed from the barrel of the needle. Every muscle in her body seems to relax, eyes staring blankly at the smiling man standing in front of her. He puts the needle back in its case and holds a glass of red liquid to her lips.
“Drink.”
She does as she’s told and opens her mouth, trying not to choke while the drink runs down her throat. It burns long after it reaches her stomach, and she finds her vision blurring around the edge. Everything’s kicked in now, leaving her feeling empty. No happiness, no joy, not even fear. It’s simply anger.
Then she can feel her memories start to slip away. First her mother, then her father, then her brothers. After that it’s her past, the memories of her standing on a stage. The sounds of the band behind her, the lights heating her skin.
The last memory that disappears are the ones of him. His face slowly fades, erasing itself like words on paper. Once his face is finally gone, leaving her with nothing, her back straightens.
She finds herself awaiting her next order, feeling a need to be given a purpose.
The man in front of her holds pictures to her face. He flips through each one, showing them off for no more than a second before moving to the next. She stares at them, listening to the monotonous words the man speaks. He tells her what to do, what her purpose is.
He’s the target. He must be eliminated.
She doesn’t want to. It’s this or she’s back on the streets again.
The thought disappears almost as soon as it arrives.
Once he closes the folder, the cuffs unclamp. She stands on unsteady feet, knees almost buckling as the cold tile floor comes into contact with her bare feet. The man hands her her suit, folded neatly into a square.
“You know what to do.”
“Yes, sir.”