"Connor!" He screamed, but his voice was growing fainter. "Let him go! Take me! Just let him go!"
I didn't fight when hands shove me into the room. I didn't fight when they tied me to the gurney. I didn't fight.
And still I heard his voice calling to me, telling me to be strong. Yet it was soon drowned out by nothing but pain.
"God dammit, Connor!"
I jolt awake, already at full alert. "What, what?" Adrenaline courses through me as I look around the room for whatever ticked Bao off. When I find nothing, I look to him standing above me and realize what happened. "Sorry." I state. as if I'd merely spilled a glass of water.
"Sorry? Pssh." He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms like he does when he's conflicted. "What the fuck was that?"
"A bad dream." I answer, running a hand down my face in exhaustion. I might as well have not slept.
"A bad dream?" He asks incredulously.
"Do you like repeating everyone, or am I just special?" I don't mean to be cruel, but it's my defense when someone pries. The only problem is that Bao has known me for five years and knows this.
"What's going on, Con? Are you nervous?" He follows me to the floor as I begin my morning workout, frowning.
I give a huff of a laugh as I start sit-ups. "Me? Nervous? Please."
He shakes his head. "So what is it?"
I stop my set and lay on the cold floor, staring at the ceiling. What was going on with me? This was the fifth nightmare this week, and the second time I've lost control and emoted unconsciously. It's been five years. I have to learn to let him go. Or I'm better off dead.
"Connor?"
"Shit." It pains me that I can't talk to Bao about what I'm experiencing. He's been my closest friend since I got to this rotten place. But he's always been an easy read. I can't let Merrick or any other telepathic soldiers catch a thought about my past flying out of Bao's head in the middle of the cafeteria. Or worse- Heron. The commanding officer has taken leave in the first platoon's hall and no one knows how long he'll be staying. There's talk something big was going on outside the facility in the village, but it's all hearsay.
"Fine. I get it." Bao slaps his hands on the stone floor and stands up, disappointment and hurt rolling off him.
"Bao." I sigh. "It's not that I don't trust you-"
"But it's exactly that, isn't it?" He scowls, but his attitude loses its severity as he takes a moment to get changed into his uniform. Once he's finished, he sits on his cot and stares at the light about the door thoughtfully. Silence stretches on, and I still lay there on the ground.
Finally, when the sun makes its way through the window, I get up and put on my own uniform. While the light clicks to green, I whisper, "I'm sorry."
Whether he hears me as he stomps out of the room is uncertain.
___
Like I said, even the System doesn’t know the intent of the System. So when the doors click open and the alarm goes off in D-block in the middle of the night, its residents stumble out of their rooms in confusion. It has to be at least three, and most people are still in their night clothes. Minutes pass with nothing happening, but most of us get dressed as quickly as we can, certain this was some weird drill.
I lean against the doorway as I watch Bao hold conversation with Kidda, whose room is across from us. Bao’s been giving me the silent treatment for the last two days. Hanson made a joke the other afternoon about there being “trouble in paradise” and Kiera took me aside to ask me if there was anything I wanted to talk about. Merrick, of course, probably understands a bit of what’s going on. Bao might as well have been screaming how frustrated he was with me, so much so that every cognitive in the area would give us strange looks whenever our squad walked by.
“So you gonna tell me what’s got Bao all worked up?” I’m not surprised to see Merrick approaching me from his room down the hall. I’m also not surprised he’s already in uniform, his dark hair combed back and beard properly groomed. He was a bit of a perfectionist- a great quality in the field, when hitting targets from impossible distance away.
“If I haven’t said anything to him, what makes you think I’d tell you?” I scoff.
“Oh, I dunno.” He rubs his beard absentmindedly, a tick that he’s scheming something. “Maybe because I can keep a secret.”
That’s certainly true. Since the moment Merrick arrived (three days after myself, actually) I could never get the best read on him. He’s a strong enough cognitive to be able to recognize when someone is intruding in his mind, and he’s smart enough to use a tact of distracting the intruder with meaningless thoughts and emotions. I can read him nonetheless- and if I could, so could Heron.
“No thanks.” I reply, crossing my arms and looking away.
“I could always take a peek,” he says, though the threat means nothing to me. Every squad has two cognitives. During basic training, they usually spar against each other to help build mental barriers and to make themselves familiar with the other’s mind. Whenever Merrick and I sparred, I purposefully let him win a few times so no one could tell his influence over me was minimal.
“I dare you.” I challenge, looking him straight in the eyes. We stare at each other for a moment, a battle between my grey eyes and his blue. I feel his influence try to cloud over me, but I brush it off like a fly. “You want answers, do it politely.” I grumble.
“Somebody’s grumpy.” Hanson appears beside me, his disarray of blond hair and freckled face a stark contrast to Merrick. “Did you give him a stern lecturing, Mer?” He joshes, taking a bite of a breakfast bar.
Merrick rolls his eyes and takes the bar off of him. “You know this is restricted. You’ll get written up again.” Hanson and Merrick remind me of a mother duck and her chick, which is only further encouraged by their stark contrast in height, despite being the same age of nineteen.
That’s when the doors to D-block are thrown open and our platoon leader, Lieutenant Gibbons, standing there for a moment with his hands on his hips and surveys the hall as we all fall silent. Something about the man never rested easy with me, regardless of the opinions of my fellow soldiers. His gaze makes it way to us and lands on the breakfast bar in Merrick’s hands.
“Marksman, if that food ain’t down your gullet before I count to ten, I’ll have your head.” Gibbons says calmly before continues his analysis. As Merrick hurriedly chomps down on the bar, the man shouts, “Soldiers!”
We all seem to jump at the same time, our nerves are so on edge. Yet still, we get into formation and salute. “Lieutenant, sir!” We answer.
He gives a wild grin, as if someone just told him he won the lottery. Tension builds as we remain in formation. Then, he nearly whispers in a voice that sends a tremble like spiders across my entire body. “Are you ready?”
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