The padded cell smelled of bleach and despair. I sat on the edge of the thin mattress, my fingers tracing the worn vinyl covering the walls. The Sanctuary—what a mockery of a name. This place was a tomb for the inconvenient, not a haven for healing.
"Meal time," announced a flat voice from the hallway. An orderly slid a tray through the slot at the bottom of my door—a cold, watery soup and bread crusts. Not enough to sustain a child, let alone someone who needed strength.
"Where's the rest?" I asked, my voice echoing in the empty room.
"Special orders for you," the orderly replied, his eyes avoiding mine. "Dr. Dixon says you need to learn control."
Dixon. Octavia's cousin. Of course.
I left the food untouched. By nightfall, hunger gnawed at my insides, but I'd learned long ago that hunger was a lesser enemy than weakness.
"Time for your therapy," came another voice hours later.
Two orderlies entered, one holding a fire hose. My stomach clenched as they approached.
"This will help you calm down," the larger one said, his smile revealing yellowed teeth.
The water hit me like a battering ram, knocking me against the wall. The pressure was set high—punishment disguised as treatment. I gasped as the icy stream pounded my chest, stealing my breath.
"Stop fighting it," the orderly shouted over the roar. "The more you resist, the longer it lasts."
I forced my body to go limp, letting the water push me around the room. They wanted submission. I would give them catatonia.
Afterward, shivering and bruised, I waited until the lights clicked off for the night. Then I reached under the mattress and pulled out the metal spoon I'd stolen from yesterday's tray. Its handle was already showing signs of wear from where I'd scraped it against the concrete floor during the night.
"Come on," I whispered, working the metal against the rough stone. Each stroke sent sparks of pain through my raw fingers, but I kept going. The spoon's handle grew sharper, more defined.
By dawn, I had a weapon—primitive but potentially deadly.
---
Days passed in a haze of "treatments" and isolation. I perfected my role—eyes vacant, movements slow, responses minimal. The staff began to relax around me. I heard them talking outside my door.
"She's broken," one said. "Not even trying to communicate anymore."
"Good," another replied. "Makes our job easier."
On the seventh day, I knew they'd grown complacent enough.
I waited until the shift change, when the night guards were at their most distracted. The spoon handle slid into the lock mechanism—a technique I'd learned years ago in the fighting pits. Three minutes of careful manipulation, and the lock clicked open.
The hallway stretched empty before me, dimly lit and silent. I moved like a ghost, my bare feet making no sound on the cold tiles. A ventilation grate covered with rusted screws beckoned overhead.
With trembling arms, I pulled myself up and into the shaft. The metal bit into my palms as I crawled through the darkness, following the map I'd memorized from glimpses of the building's layout during my "exercise periods."
Left at the first junction. Straight for twenty feet. Right at the second split.
The medical wing's ventilation system opened into a supply closet. I could hear voices beyond the door—nurses discussing inventory levels.
"The neurotoxin shipment came in yesterday," one was saying. "Dr. West wants it stored in the cold unit."
My heart raced. The antidote would be there too—it had to be.
I waited until their footsteps faded before emerging from the closet. The medical wing was brightly lit but deserted at this hour. I moved quickly to the cold storage unit, a heavy metal cabinet with a combination lock.
Three numbers. I'd seen Kaiser enter them countless times in his office—his birthdate.
The lock clicked open. Inside, rows of vials gleamed under the fluorescent light. My fingers trembled as I searched the labels.
"West Neurotoxin Counter-Agent," read one label in red.
I reached for it just as the room's lights suddenly blazed brighter.
"Find what you're looking for?"
I spun around to find Kaiser standing in the doorway, flanked by four armed guards. His face was a mask of cold fury.
"Eileen." My name on his lips sounded like a curse. "Planning to finish what you started with Octavia?"
"I'm looking for the antidote," I said, my voice steady despite the fear coursing through me.
"More like looking for a weapon." He advanced into the room, his movements predatory. "You can't let go of the past, can you? Even now, broken and pathetic, you still want to fight."
The guards raised their weapons. Kaiser's hand shot out, grabbing my throat and slamming me against the wall.
"You're a monster," he hissed, his face inches from mine. "A monster I created."
His fingers tightened around my neck, cutting off my air. The vial fell from my grasp, shattering on the floor between us.
"You should have stayed dead," he whispered as darkness crept into the edges of my vision.
