Uncharted Perspective

A Short-lived Freedom

The fumes were intoxicating. The burning in her lungs felt exhilarating. She did not want it to stop. Yet, as the flames commenced their infiltration, a sudden twinge in her gut made its presence known. A familiar voice filled her head.

"Nova, I don't like it when you hurt yourself! Stop disobeying Father and me! Please take care of yourself, or else- or else I won't marry you!"

The frayed hems of her hand-me-down nightgown brushed against her bare legs, bringing her back to reality. The fire shone on her luminous skin, drowning her soul in an ethereal, god-like aura. Power coursed through her veins, and the heat was fuel to her ignited passion. Resentment? No, perhaps confusion. Her lack of comprehension- her feelings- trapped beneath layers of tissue caused friction and unease. They pushed and pushed, fighting for a long-awaited liberation. Breaking free from their constraints, she screamed in agony. Her body was ripping itself apart. Blood trickled down her legs. The frayed hems dripped with luscious red elixir, unable to soak in anymore.

"No. 12!" 

Her body convulsed at the sound. Screams spilled out of her mouth like honey. She wanted it to stop, that once-raging power within her vanishing as quickly as it appeared. Her eyes remained shut no matter how hard she willed for them to open. A foreign hand wrapped itself around her wrist, yanking her out of her stance. She hadn't moved one step from her bed.

"Move, dammit!" The formidable voice was rougher than any she had ever heard, and it growled at her lack of compliance. She shrieked. She wanted to truly- but she couldn't. Her eyes remained shut as her body continued its assault on her soul. Was that it? Was she undergoing spiritual rejection? A snarl filled her ears, and she felt herself being lifted off her feet. She coughed, a warm sensation rising in her throat. Choking on the hot liquid, she felt her nightgown dampen, soaking in more blood than it could handle.

She heard the coughs of her savior. She couldn't see it, but she knew where they were, and where the mysterious man was headed. She felt the thumping of boots hastily trotting down the familiar steel stairs that made their way to the hallway of the first floor. She heard the crackling of the inferno and persisted in her efforts of not throwing up. The man turned right, past the dining hall. She smelt a particularly stronger burning smell from the door to her left. She immediately recognized its significance and screamed.

"What the hell?" The man yanked her hair, but she persisted, banging her arms and legs on the closest objects she felt.

"No!" She thrashed, biting down hard on what she believed was the shoulder of the man. "It's in there! I have to go back!" Her mouth produced wails and shrieks she would ordinarily be embarrassed by, but the severity of the situation spared no room for futile feelings. Persevering in her act of rebellion, she felt a sharp sting to the right side of her face. She choked back a cry.

"You show one more act of disobedience and I leave you behind to burn with your friends," the man spat. No. 12 felt numb. She complied, swearing to keep her mouth shut, but the tears persisted. She snuggled closer, hiding her face in the crook of the man's neck, who remained indifferent. No. 12 didn't care. There was nothing more to care about after her whole life burned down in front of her eyes.

-------

"You got her?"

No. 12 moaned; her head throbbed as she took in her surroundings. She could no longer feel the familiar warmth that once exuded from her home. A few tears escaped without her permission, her self-control barely hanging on. She took in the rough smell of leather and contorted her face in disgust. She felt nothing short of embarrassed having been saved by mere Military Police. Beads of sweat formed on her head despite her maintaining distance from the heat of the fire. Her attempts at eavesdropping were deemed profitless as the men mumbled. Their intention was for her not to hear. Orders declared to leave her clueless. No. 12 despised the feeling of ignorance but brushed those feelings aside. The operation may have succeeded if it were not for the naivete of the Military Police. They were stupid, No. 12 thought, to underestimate their enemy. This way of thinking was not foreign to No. 12, as Father had made his perspective clear: Asterian Military Police were incompetent. No. 12 and her siblings, of course, undoubtedly agreed.

She bit her lip in anticipation. She'd have to make a run for it. She deduced that three men remained stationed to her left, and her savior, the man with the deep voice, was talking to, who she presumed, a higher up. Swallowing down the growing lump in her throat, she forced herself to speak.

"E-excuse me?" She would have felt the attention if any had landed on her. She snarled at herself, annoyed with her unwelcomed shyness. "Excuse me!"

This time, she felt the stares. Two, no, three people were staring at her pitiful body. She heard footsteps make their way towards her. The sudden aura of hostility and the smell of cigarettes filled her senses. She flinched, scarcely avoiding being spit at by the intimidating-man-with-a-deep-voice. She heard him clear his throat.

"Captain, you sure this is the right kid?" No. 12 could sense his disbelief. "This runt who refuses to open her eyes?"