Vivian's POV:

I find myself staring at the musclebound herculean before me. To say that he's built like a brick shithouse feels like an underestimation.

Where on God's green earth do they find these men?... It beats me Jess, but I doubt we want to find out. Right now we have more oppressing matters to attend to.

"Do I work for you?" I question Michael as I get up from the bed.

If one had told me last week that I'd be questioning an extremely intimidating man, I would have called them irrational. Micheal looks big enough to crush skulls in one hand. Deep down I know that I'm taking a huge risk questioning his authority, but what do I have to lose really? My mind is practically scrambled as is and if it wasn't for Jess keeping what little part of me sane, I'd be crawling walls.

"I beg your pardon?" 

"Unless I work for you and earn a weekly wage or a monthly salary, I'm not calling you sir, Michael," I say rather bitterly.

Don't you think that you're being a little too bold right now? By the looks of it, he could kill you just by staring at you long enough... Jess voices and I battle with myself not to yell out loud. Of course, she would have an opinion regarding my attitude.

Bold my ass! It's enough we have to deal with Steven, now this guy too... I respond. I've gotten used to these internal conflicts between myself and my subconscious. Some would say it to be a derivative sickness, one I placed upon myself. Yet, I have to agree to disagree. I say it to be beneficial, an intellectual nourishment which keeps me on my toes.

"And just who do you think you are speaking to me like that?" Anger begins to rumble in his chest. With clenched fists and a rooted jaw, he takes one threatening stride into the room.

"I'm Vivian. A human being. Not subject 016 like some cheap no-name brand you pick off a shelf." I straighten myself out. There's no way I'm allowing him to feel some form of power over me. I would be lying if I said that he doesn't already, but that's not something he needs to know.

"I don't give a fuck who you are."

"You asked-"

"Enough!"

And I decide that it is.

My eyes scan his body from head to toe and I have to say that I'm rather petrified now that I've taken a proper glance. His muscles have muscles, pouring through his clothing and I fear a deep intake of breath will rip his clothing to shreds. It has never occurred to me that I'd one day come face to face with a real life hulk. The only difference being this one lacks green pigmentation.

A deafening silence fills the room and I query whether or not Micheal is having some or other conflicting battle with his thoughts. Thoughts most likely drowning with my face on a crimson pedestal of torture. The air is so brittle, I fear it could snap and if it doesn't, I might.

"Soo..." I drawl after a while, trying to ease the thickset tension hovering between the two of us, "Are we just going to stand here or can I go back to my room now?"

"You're one of them," is all he responds and I find myself quite dumbfounded by his statement. 

My face morphs into that of confusion. One of who? 

As if reading my mind he continues, "One of those smart-mouthed bitches they brought in 9 days ago. We compl-" yet my imbecilic self does not allow him to finish.

"9 days!? It's only been 9 days!? I feel like I've been here for months!"

The realization hits me harder than any object currently would. I recall every painful blow that has ever seared throughout my body since I've arrived here. My memories seem to be my soul torturer at this very moment and I wish I could grab at them and throw them in the trash where they belong. I don't want them in my head, I want them gone, I want to forget.

I carry my dull brown eyes to meet Michael's piercing blue ones and what happens next takes me completely by surprise. Why anything dares to continue surprising me still baffles me. Without giving me a chance to come to my senses, he smacks me over with the flat of his hand. The impact is enough to make me crumble to the ground. He hit hard and it stung.

"Don't ever interrupt me while I'm speaking! Do you hear me!" I decide it's best just to give the man what he wants. I nod my head in understanding, still trying to adjust to the pain searing throughout my right cheek. 

"I said... Do. You. Hear. ME?" 

Clearly, a nod does not suffice. This bozo wants a voiced agreement.

"Yes, Michael," I state as I slowly rise back onto my feet. The ground feels oddly unstable and I don't remember them replacing the floor with a bouncy house in the last couple of seconds. 

Damn, how hard did he hit me?

"IT'S MIKE- You will refer to me as sir! Understood subject 016? If not, we can stay in this room and I'll just have to smack it into that fucking head of yours."

That's the one thing I didn't need happening. More powerhouse punches from an overly fed power hungry beast, but I can't give into this guy. They can't all get what they want.

Don't be ridiculous Vivian! Just say what needs to be said and get to the room... Jess we both know that's not going to happen. I'm not calling him sir and I'm not a subject. 

Don't dig yourself deeper into a mess you cannot crawl back out of... I'm not.

"Yes, I understand, Michael," I reply despite the battle I was having with my subconscious.

A sinister look of disapproval and hatred flash in those brown orbs of his and suddenly I regret every word I've uttered since he opened that door. He takes a step closer to me and I fear for the worse, yet show little to no emotion. Within a split second of raising his hand, his eyes glaze over as if realizing a far more suited punishment.

"That's it. We going to the basement." he announces.

My eyes widen knowing exactly where it is that he wants to take me and my heart begins to beat rapidly. I've picked two of three items displayed in the past and each brought me hell. I'm not prepared to pick another. I have to do whatever it takes to get myself out of this. 

I wish Peggy was here. 

She would have stopped him in a heartbeat.

"No no no please don't! I'm sorry!" I cry out begging for mercy.

"Don't be sorry, be safe. I'm going to murder you." And with that said, he drags me out the room nearly ripping my arm off in the process and slams the door shut behind him.

Don't say I didn't warn you... And that's the last I heard from Jess for the rest of the day.

I don't think I'll ever learn my lesson.

-₹៛₹៛¤៛₹៛₹-

Peggy POV:

Pain.

That's all I felt.

Excruciatingly throbbing pain in my left foot as the box I held dropped directly onto it. Which would not have happened if a bullet spiraling through the air wasn't aimed directly at me.

A shrilling scream echoes from the one ear to the next and it's enough to shatter my drums. It makes no sense as to why the woman who just shot at me would cry out in such horror. I'm the one getting propelled back into ancient shelves covered in powdery mildew. 

However, my body does not collapse and become one with the inanimate floor beneath my feet. My back remains glued to the musty shelves as my hands go up to soothe my aching head.

I can hear Steven yelling my name out over and over again as if trying to convince himself the reality before him is purely fictional, that it's only a figment of his wild imagination, but it's not. I know that he's right next to me, but with the sudden unnerving shock taking over my body, his voice seems faint and distant.

"Hey snap out of it!" Steven yells in my face after placing a hand on either side of my face. That's when I realize that the scream I heard was my very own. 

"Listen, you're fine okay. Everything's going to be fine," he continues.

Now, what is it? Am I fine or not?... I wonder as both of his sentences run through my mind. Deciding not to rely on Steven as a reliable source, I peel his hands away from me and scan my body. All the while ignoring the throbbing pain in my foot.

There's no wound.

I could have sworn-... Without thinking further, my head snaps up towards the lieutenant. Except I don't see her. A silhouette of a man has replaced hers.

Not lingering on who it is, my eyes trail down only to see that she's lying on the cold cement floor. Her body, immobile. Her very last breath, unaccounted for.

My hands fly up to cover my mouth as my eyes grow wider with each passing second. I've dealt with death in the past, but the majority consisted of well groomed figures lowered with a delicate touch into a coffin. I haven't before faced a pale and lifeless corpse that breathed the very same air as me moments before its departure.

"We have to get out of here while I'm still able to hold my own body weight. Unless you plan on carrying me out." Steven announces which snaps me out of my dazed faze. I nod my head not taking my eyes off the lieutenant.

I swing an arm around Steven's body to help him walk. Not that my throbbing foot will make it any easier.  My eyes unwillingly shift to the silhouette at the far end and I squint to get a better look at the man standing in the doorway. Only then do I notice the pistol in his hand.

He shot her... Panic begins to settle in my chest realizing that he still has the gun in his possession. To run or not to run.

"Peggy, Steven, we have to go. Now!" the man states. 

I know that voice. 

My face melts with relief realizing it's Frank and I suddenly feel a million time lighter.

"Don't just stand there. Help us out!" Steven argues and within a few seconds, Frank is at our side.

He holds most of Steven's weight while I provide as much support as I can after picking up the medical kit. I drown Frank in a list of questions during our walk, especially when passing the deceased lieutenant, only to find out that his dad has it all covered. The details were kept to a minimum and I wanted to know far more, but it's not my place to push and pry.

We exit the storage room and I notice that the car is parked much closer than it was before. Sheriff Porter has already been transported to the hospital so that's off my hands. We place Steven in the back seat and I climb in after him to take care of his wounds. 

Frank races back to base like a bat out of hell. Which complicates aiding Steven, especially with all the bumps in the road causing grunts and hisses of agonizing pain every now and then, but I seem to manage.

Buzz... buzz...

"Frank, I think that's your phone. Do you want me to answer it?" I ask after the seventh ring. 

"No, I got it," he replies removing it from his pocket. After clicking the answer button, he puts the phone to his ear and holds it in place using his right shoulder.

"Frank speaking can I-... Hey Mike. Yeah, what's up?"

Why's he calling?

"Yeah we on our way back right now." I catch Frank looking back at Steven while swapping the phone over to his left ear. "Unfortunately not. I think he'll need to rest for a few days... The girl? Ask Marcus I wouldn't know and neither would Peggy." Frank says and my eyes grow wide.

Vivian! How am I constantly forgetting about her?

I do hope that she's in her room by now and hasn't caused any trouble. Mike can be quiet overbearing when it comes to authority and Vivian, well, I'm pretty sure every living creature knows how deeply engraved her distaste towards the idea is. She's a ticking time bomb, ready to explode with the simplest touch.

"Please ask Mike on Vivian's whereabouts." I practically beg Frank. 

He agrees and goes ahead to ask.

"Wait where?... Why? Peggy specifically said to take her directly to her room!... That's not a fucking excuse. Next time do as you're told!"

With that said, he removes the phone from his ear and throws it recklessly to the side of the car. Which only causes it to smash directly into the passenger window, shattering it completely. Yet somehow his cellphone remained on the inside of the vehicle.

"Dude, the fuck is that all about?"

"Steven shut it!" I hiss.

"Frank, what's going on?"

"That's basically what I asked." Steven continues and I can feel my blood beginning to boil. 

"I will reopen your wounds! How you haven't passed out so far still surprises me." I burst out, needing to get some frustration off my chest. Of course, Steven being the hard-boiled ass that he is, chooses to ignore my warning. It baffles me that I've kept up with this feeble-minded dunce all these years.

"So, she has a sense of humo-"  

"Shut up, both of you!" Frank yells out and silence fills the car.

Meaningless arguments never made a poor man rich. In other words, it was simply downright pathetic and unnecessary. No success came from it. I look at Frank through the rear view mirror hoping he would give me answers.

"She chose the fucking bowl." Frank discloses.

My breath hitches in my throat with only one thought in my mind.

Vivian, what have you done?...