I was angry with my friend,

I told my wrath, my wrath did end.

I was angry with a foe,

I told it not, my wrath did grow.

-The Poison Tree, William Blake

Iris took her down to 6: a low, cement-walled building giving off a heavy, greasy scent. The instant they entered the din stilled, and the faces of a hundred hungry men turned away from their breakfasts and towards them. Katia stopped in her tracks, her urge to flee stronger than ever. Iris shot her an irritated look. Katia followed her to a long counter where a plump, dark-haired lady with kind eyes supplied them each with a pile of fruit, eggs, and toast. Katia noted that it was not the same bacon, eggs, and grits that the men were eating.

"The Paragons don't eat as the mercenaries do," Iris explained, guessing her thoughts as they sat down at a long bench. "We're not as disposable." She picked up her fork and used it to point at Katia's plate. "You might not feel hungry in your snivelling state, but eat. It won't do you any good to starve yourself."

Katia looked up at Iris, fury rushing through her. She wanted to tip the plate of food over Iris' pretty head. Instead, she speared her food and forced down what might have been cardboard, trying to shut out the conversations around her.

All around her, men made lewd comments. Katia felt close to vomiting. If Iris was aware of the revolting dialogue, she was indifferent.

A sharp tingling raced down her spine, and she turned towards him. She couldn't see him at first, hidden as he was behind the other Paragons, but as they parted to take their seats at the table, he appeared. He and Apollo flanked Aldous, who was speaking with intent, gesturing with his hands, lips moving quickly. Holden's hair was newly shorn, revealing more of his face. Just like the two men beside him, every feature was even and perfect. Katia hated his face.

Something caused Holden to stop walking and glare at the mercenaries, staring silent threats in their direction. Katia watched as he lined up for food behind Apollo. The cafeteria lady patted his cheek and piled extra toast onto his plate. Holden smiled in thanks, and the woman lit up.

The others swarmed the table: Apollo and Aldous continued deep in discussion; Sam and Cass shoved piles of food into their mouths at impossible speeds; Frankie built a fortress of toast crusts and filled it with scrambled eggs, then flooded it with ketchup; Colton catapulted grapes with his fork over several tables, hitting a particularly crude mercenary in the back of the head with one.

The mercenary glanced up in confusion, and Colton grinned at Katia, who could not help but smile back. It was the first time anyone had smiled at her in any cafeteria.

Holden sat down beside her, and she could feel the warm buzz of energy that flickered between them. Katia rubbed her arm viciously, wishing it away.

"Do they know about us?" she asked softly when she finally relented to the fact that the buzzing would never go away.

Holden looked at her, surprised that she'd spoken at all. He lowered his voice and asked, "The mercenaries? Can you hear them too?"

She nodded. Katia knew that she shouldn't be able to hear the conversations all around her with perfect clarity. Something had changed in her hearing; it had seemingly improved overnight beyond normal human capacity. "They're wondering who I am... among other things."

Holden stabbed a slice of melon with unnecessary force. "They don't really know who we are. They have their theories, ranging from improbable to ridiculous."

"Such as?"

"Some think we're a group of elite fighters, which is basically true. Some think we're a special section of the secret service that uses the facilities here." He laughed and flicked the piece of melon at Frankie's fortress, which crumpled under the battering of the fructose-filled bomb. Frankie glowered. "And some have been reading their wives' novels."

At that, Frankie and Colton both jumped up, growling inhumanly. Frankie howled, and let ketchup dribble down his chin, adding to the effect. A few of the mercenaries cowered with visible terror. Despite herself, Katia snorted.

"Get down and stop dicking around," Aldous snapped. The Kappas sank back to their seats. Katia watched Aldous curiously, trying to gauge his personality. She wondered if the easy friendliness in his approach was a ruse, and if he led this group with an iron fist.

After breakfast, Holden led her through the compound, showing her the simulation courses where men scrambled over climbing walls and through mazes of bullet-riddled, roofless buildings designed to imitate modern warzones. There was both an indoor and outdoor shooting range, where men shot at both moving and still targets.

He took her into Building two, which opened into a large room with eight enormous computers and several high tables stacked with papers. Aldous was in the far corner, discussing something with Jackson and the Epsilons. In the centre of the room, a compact-sized couple were staring at a blueprint spread out over a tall table.

"Those are the Betas," Holden nodded toward them. "Lin and Erno."

The two turned at the sound of their names. They appeared to be in their mid-twenties. The tiny woman had long, glossy black hair and Asian features. She too was lovely, but her eyes were a fearsome, midnight black. Beside her, an equally petite man with brown skin and fuzzy dark hair nodded. His eyes were the same disconcerting shade, bottomless as the abyss.

"They remember everything they've ever seen, heard, or felt, with perfect recall," Holden added in a low voice as the Betas turned back to their blueprint. "Don't worry about getting to know them. They don't talk much."

Katia found that even the possibility of remembering everything overwhelmed her. Katia decided to forget the Betas, simply because she could.

"It's my turn with the seat!" she heard Frankie hiss.

She glanced towards the back of the room, where the Kappas fought for control of a computer. Standing behind them were two armed security guards, wearing perfectly exasperated expressions. Katia followed Holden towards the Kappas so that she could see the computer screen.

It displayed a grainy satellite image of a vaguely familiar man smoking a pipe outside of what looked like the entrance to a cave.

"Is that Kareem bin Monsoor?" Katia asked.

Holden nodded. "That's our last image of him. They've been looking for him for a few months. It's a better track record than the MI6, who've been looking for him for four years."

The image pixelated as it changed slowly, and the man disappeared from view. "The Kareem bin Monsoor responsible for bombing the airport in Glasgow?"

"Killed six hundred and forty-seven people." Holden affirmed. He nodded at the Betas. "They're going over blueprints of the compound they think he's living at."

That bomb had killed Valentina Yazykova's parents- Katia's grandparents. They'd been on their way over to visit for the first time. Katia had never met her grandparents because of that bomb. She looked up at Holden. "Why are you looking for him?"

Holden shrugged. "MI6 were having trouble, so they hired the CIA, who in turn hired MBB."

"Does the CIA know about you?"

Holden shook his head. "No one knows about us. They just know that MBB happens to be very good at tracking down terrorists, for the right price." He looked down at her, tilting his head in the direction of the busy Paragons. "We're not the bad guys. We catch the bad guys."

Katia crossed her arms over her chest, daring Holden to consider his words.

He matched her anger with stern irritation, leaning close and answering her unspoken objection. "You belong here. I brought you back."

She bit down on her cheeks, turning away from him.

"Omega-one," Aldous came over, Jackson beside him. The Epsilons stood behind, their wide-legged stance making them seem as big as bulls. Their white t-shirts were stretched tight across their chests, revealing absurdly large muscles underneath. Noticing her stare, Cass crossed his arms over his chest, biceps bulging as he flexed them. She rolled her eyes, which only made him laugh.

Aldous glanced down at Katia and nodded in greeting before turning his attention back to Holden. "I'm gone for a month to deal with oil field securities, but we still plan to deploy for the extraction. I trust that by the time I'm back, you will have... smoothed out any wrinkles, and will be in full understanding of your abilities."

Holden nodded. "Of course."

"Good." Aldous half-smiled at Katia.

It was Jackson who spoke next, and it was to Katia. "I will be overseeing your progress, while Commander Dean King will be responsible for your combat training."

All she could do was swallow the nausea that quelled in her stomach.

After dinner, she followed Holden to building two. It was adjacent to the administrative building where she'd earlier met the Secretary of the State, and slightly larger. There was a narrow set of stairs at the back, leading up to a second story. The foyer was small, giving way almost immediately to a second room that held a television hooked up to an Xbox, with a grungy brown couch facing it. The Kappas were playing a game she vaguely recognized.

"I thought Black Ops wasn't coming out for another two years," Katia noted.

Frankie and Colton paused the game, and turned towards Katia. Colton stared at her curiously for a moment, then shrugged. "We got a test version. They think it's good practice."

Katia thought about the hundreds of enemies she would shoot or stab or maim in Ethan's basement. That was only a game, but the game didn't seem fun if there was a possibility it could be real. "Is it... good practice?"

Colton paused the game and glanced up at her. "Real life is lying in a muddy ditch for ten, maybe twelve hours and then walking home with a single piece of information, knowing you'll blow the place to bits, or you'll have shot one, maybe two men. Or maybe you'll have gone home with nothing else to say about it." Colton picked the controller backup and focussed on the screen. "But this is more fun, so I can't complain."

Katia had no response, and Colton was too preoccupied to want one. She noticed Frankie hadn't resumed play. He was staring at Katia with a half-hidden grin of anticipation.

Holden stopped at his expression. "Did Aldous assign her a room?"

His grin grew even more roguish. Frankie tilted his head. "Where did you think she was going to sleep?"

Colton picked up a large, black rucksack that appeared full and a small plastic crate, and held it out for Katia. "Iris prepared you some essentials, and Apollo set up your cot before you left."

She stepped forward and took it from him. Inside the crate was an oddly extensive – and apparently expensive- variety of toiletries: shampoo, conditioner, scrubs and lotions, razors and make-up. Somehow, she'd thought these things would be less important in a place like this, but there was a handwritten note tucked between a bottle of shampoo and body oil, instructing her that 'it would not be tolerated for her to take such poor care of herself.'

She smirked bemusedly, because by that stage, the only thing to do was laugh.

Holden was staring at the Kappas, his face a mixture of anger and disbelief. "I thought-

Frankie narrowed his eyes. "Did you honestly think Aldous would let her sleep in that room? There are no other rooms. Colton and I have to share."

Katia dropped the bag. "I can just sleep on the couch."

"No you can't," Colton shook his head. "Someone needs to keep an eye on you, and we're already full."

"What about Apollo? Or Iris?" Katia didn't care if she sounded rude. She was desperate not to sleep in the same room as him.

Frankie and Colton both laughed at the suggestion as they got up from their chairs and headed to their room.

"This just keeps getting better," she muttered angrily after them.

"You're a real joy to be around as well," Holden retorted.

"Maybe you shouldn't have taken me in the first place," she retorted, barely keeping her voice level. Knowing there was nothing she could do, she picked up her bag and stomped into the room ahead of Holden. There was a cot on one wall, and a narrow bed set up opposite to it, with only three feet of space in between. At the far end of the room, there was a small dresser and a door, which she presumed led to a bathroom.

Holden sat down on his bed and watched as she placed her small pile of clothing at the foot of her cot silently. After a moment, he muttered. "I forgot."

He reached around his neck and pulled off a thin, beaded silver chain with two silver tags. He tossed it to her. On it was engraved a small symbol, a bit like a w. She was fairly certain it was a Greek letter.

As if reading her thoughts, Holden pulled out a second chain. "I was holding onto to it for you. It's the miniscule of Omega. Mine's the majuscule, because I'm the first."

"The first of the last," she said.

He cleared his throat. "Anyway, the second line is your blood type, AB positive."

"That's useful," she remarked. "I thought dog tags had more on them." She recalled the numerous tiny letters she'd seen on the silver tags in films. She slipped on the cool silver chain, despising the weight of it around her neck.

"Normally, they do. But you don't have a social security number, a religious preference... or a name," he explained. He yawned. "There's not much to write about us."

She slipped the chain around her neck, and fingered the symbol. "What happened to the others?"

"The others?" Holden asked in confusion.

She chewed on her lower lip, thinking for a moment. "They have Alpha and Beta, then they skip Gamma, then it's Delta and Epsilon, then they skip up to Kappa, and then it skips the rest of the alphabet, reaching us. They intended us to be the last Paragons, which was why they gave us our name. But what happened to all the ones in between?"

Holden scratched the back of his neck, but as he did, he pointed one finger to a corner of the room, above his head.

"I can't say," he answered.

She stared at the little black box with the tiny white light in the corner. It couldn't have been filming them, but it must be recording their conversations. She curled her legs up to her chest. She should have expected it, yet should not help but feel exposed and further violated.

"Why are there two tags?" She wondered aloud.

"One for your body, one for your identification."

"If I die," she finished.

"Yes."

There was not much to say after that.

She changed in the bathroom. Under the flickering light, she removed the plastic wrap from around her forearm and stared at the tattoo. P/O:MBB W2. She understood the symbol: that was her identity now. MBB almost certainly stood for Mills, Black and Branch, the company responsible for her creation. P/O... property of, she realized with disgust. Like a clothing label, she was forever branded as the property of something.

Livid, she flicked off the light and settled under the covers in the cot across from Holden's bed, glad at least for that space between them. She faced the wall, her back to him, and curled up in a ball, trying to imagine she was home again. She believed everything they'd told her, because her entire life, she'd known instinctually that something was not quite right, that she was not quite right. This was worse than anything she could have ever imagined. There was no use in fighting or trying to escape. They would find her, wherever she was, and they would kill her. That in itself would not be so terrible, but she believed Holden wholly when he warned her that they would go after her family.

For the first time, she allowed herself to think of her family, to wonder what they might be thinking, what they might do in the face of her disappearance. The weight of it nearly crushed her, pressing tears out from her eyes. She closed her eyes to keep them in. This was the worst part: having no privacy to grieve. Shoving down the desperate hopelessness that battered her chest, she took a deep, trembling breath and focused on not thinking of it any more. She took a deep, halting breath as she buried the sobs, pushing them down with every other unreleased sadness in her life.

She heard Holden stir beside her. "Are you crying?"

There was no sympathy in his voice, only confusion. Besides which, she was not crying, and that he thought she was made her despise him all the more. She sniffed. "No."

"Why are you crying?"

She turned and faced him, her features distorted with rage. She sat up and let her feet fall over the edges of the bed, toes curling against the cold floor, fingers clutching the bed frame for fear of what she might do. "Are you kidding me? You kidnapped me. And even worse than that, I don't even believe in war, and now I'm expected to be an active participant. And I'm not crying."

Holden snorted. "I don't understand people who say they don't believe in war, like they don't believe in God, like they don't believe in fairy tales. War exists, whether you believe in it or not."

Wet drops of frustration formed at the corners of her eyes, and she wiped them away furiously with her clenched fists. "You're supposed to be some of the most intelligent, superior beings in the world. You could be curing diseases, discovering forms of renewable energy, building rockets to fly to the far reaches of the fucking galaxy, but instead you kill other people, and not even for some misguided ideal of freedom or patriotism. For money. What a waste."

He sat up in his bed, staring at her. "I watched you break a boy's wrist. I know what you did to Jason. Pretty violent for a pacifist, Katia."

Her voice was ragged and soft as she tried to control herself. "It was an accident. I didn't mean to hurt him."

"No, Katia, it wasn't." He glinted at her. "You let people walk all over you, the kids in your school, you sister, even Ethan." He smiled bitterly as he watched her breath stop as he said it. "Admit it. Your biggest fear is that one day, the hopelessness of that situation will get to you, and you'll blow up around him, and he'll see what you really are." He shook his head, but he seemed to be enjoying his lecture now. "You shove things down and try to ignore them. You let them build up without ever asserting yourself until you just explode. Katia, I watched you in Haidala. You're the most perfected Paragon. You, with all your talents, all your intelligence, and all of your goddamned goodness; you have the potential to be better than any of us. You could be great, but you've never been pushed to be anything but mediocre. You're completely untrained and you're a total coward."

She shook with rage, her fingers gripping the edge of the cot so hard, she worried she might break it.

"See?" He continued, "You can't just let it go. You don't know what to do with all of that rage, because you feel too much. You care too much, and you let your feelings get in the way. That's the untrained part. And you're too scared to hit me right now, because you're scared of touching me again. That's the coward in you."

She burst out angrily. "With good reason I don't touch you!"

He shrugged, lying back on his bed. "They'll kill us if we don't." His tone didn't indicate that he cared at all whether he lived or died.

"That would be better than having to kill someone else," she replied with quiet determination, but the sober thought quelled her anger.

"Tell me that next time you have a gun to your head," he said softly.

"It's not because I'm afraid," she began with evenness in her voice that surprised even herself. He watched her as she spoke, and she knew her words would strike him. "I don't touch you because the thought of it disgusts me. I don't touch you because I hate you."

With that, she settled back down onto her cot, the exhaustion of her anger draining her. She was asleep by the time her head hit the pillow.

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What do ya'll think about what Holden said? Any truth to his words, you think?

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