I sat up, my heart pounding, ignoring the sharp throb in my ankle. This mission — it meant one of two things: they were either trying to get rid of me, or they believed I could pull this off. The ICU training center usually takes in deviants aged 14 to 18, training them to become deadly weapons. At 17, I was the youngest agent they had, and the only one qualified for this mission. Unless they waited for younger trainees to catch up.
I get why they're after Black's identity, but this feels rushed. Especially after I flopped the last mission. I've still yet to activate my powers, and the hospital is a wreck after that... thing broke in. So much has happened, and this? This feels like the worst time to send me out. On top of everything, the chances that the government sent that woman are high.
I sat there, silent, my mind running through all the possibilities. Then it hit me. That woman being able to identify me... it means Black must've described me. He'd studied my face — he let me go with just a bullet wound, knowing I'd lead them straight to the ICU headquarters. After that, she could've finished the job. I shuddered as my breath caught in my throat. My hands started trembling.
Luckily, the hospital was separate from the headquarters to prevent situations like this. I limped to the bathroom, peeling off my clothes and scanning my body. That's when I saw it — a tracker embedded in my right arm. What the hell?
When did he...? How long...?
My head pounded, and I stumbled backward. He'd injected this damn thing in me during the fight back at the Corps branch.
The pain worsened. I winced, clutching my chest as my breathing became erratic. I crawled toward the bathtub, turning on the tap, and dunked my hand into the cold water. I closed my eyes, trying to steady myself, my chest heaving with each ragged breath.
I turned off the water and rose, using the sink to support myself. In a daze, I rummaged through my dress and found the pocket knife I had stolen earlier. "Found it," I whispered to myself, my voice hoarse. I moved back to the bathroom, clenching my teeth. The cloth in my mouth, I steadied my hand and began cutting the tracker out. The pain was blinding, shooting up my spine, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. I couldn't leave it in.
When the tracker was finally free, I dropped the knife, my breath coming in short, painful bursts. Blood dripped from my arm as I collapsed to the floor, the agony almost unbearable. The world spun, but I stayed on the cold tile, not moving for a long time.
Late in the evening, I heard a knock at the door. I staggered to my feet, throwing on some clothes, and opened it.
Mara stood there, her eyes wide as she took in my disheveled state. She didn't speak — just rushed to me and pulled me into a tight hug. I felt relief flood through me. She was alive. She was okay. But... I felt something else. Something cold, gnawing at my gut. She was stronger than I was, and I hated myself for it. I hated myself for being so weak.
I buried my face in her shoulder, tears welling up. I was happy she was here, but I felt so pathetic. How could I be a part of the ICU if I couldn't even take care of myself?
We cried in each other's arms — but for different reasons. She was worried about me, and I? I was jealous of her. Of her strength, her power. The things I didn't have. The things I couldn't seem to activate.
Mara didn't say anything, but I could feel the heaviness of her gaze as she helped me clean the wounds. I lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, not knowing how to feel anymore.
"Natty," Mara said softly, breaking the silence. "Why don't we have a picnic? Just like we used to, you know?"
I blinked at her, still in a daze, but she was already setting up blankets and preparing the food. I tried to help, but she refused.
Finally, Mara sat beside me, her eyes soft and filled with concern. "I don't want you to push yourself too hard, Natty. You've been through so much. Maybe it's time to rest. You don't have to do everything."
But I couldn't rest. If I can't even do this then I really am completely useless. I clenched my fists.
"I'm not like you," I said quietly, my voice cold. "I'm going to join the government training agency. I'm going to find Black."
Mara froze. Her eyes went wide, and I saw something shift in her — a mix of disbelief and fear. "No, Natty, please," she begged standing up. "Don't. You don't have to do this. We've been through enough. You don't have to—"
"I'm not a coward," I cut her off, my voice sharp. "i won't give up, Mara. I'm not scared anymore. I'm going to do this. I have to."
Mara's lips trembled as tears welled up in her eyes. "Natty... Do you really wanna go back there? Haven't you had enough?"
Her words hit me harder than any blow I'd received. I turned away, fighting back my own tears. My mind was made up.
I wasn't going to let fear hold me back.
Mara stayed silent, hurt and confused. Her voice barely above a whisper, she asked, "Do you even remember what we dreamed of, Natty? We used to talk about it all the time... escaping. A life outside that place."
I closed my eyes, trying to block out the memories. We were kids, with foolish dreams. But that was a lifetime ago. That person was gone.
"I remember," I said, my voice tinged with regret. "But I'm not that person anymore."
Mara stared at me in silence her eyes filled with tears. But I avoided eye contact. She got up and left, leaving me alone once again.