Defection (MentalModel!Brothers and OC)

Chapter 23

My eyebrow twitched in annoyance as I was wheeled down a well-kept corridor, not expecting to be sidelined to 'clean up' my appearance.

The hospital gown was swapped for a red knitted dress, a long-sleeved black shirt clinging tightly to my arms and chest while black leggings covered my lower half. The wool socks had been replaced with some black kitten heels.

My green gaze switched from the hallway to the person pushing my wheelchair down it, the female officer barely glancing down to acknowledge the look, "We didn't have to stop...now the Board will think I've delayed this."

"If you're fearing reprimand for changing your wardrobe, then don't worry," She gave a brief smile, albeit a cold one, "I was instructed to make sure that you were presentable before you entered the conference room."

My eyes trailed back towards the small entourage that followed Choro, Jon now absent as he was needed elsewhere in the base.

The submarine Mental Model didn't appear to be fazed by the forced delay, merely keeping his attention forward before noticing my eyes on him, "Captain?"

"Any word from the Scharnhorst or Tirpitz?"

"Negative."

I settled back into the wheelchair before the officer turned me towards a row of conference rooms, one of the doors near the middle guarded by four officers in full dress military uniforms. Their presence was intimidating as I was wheeled through their line of sight to be at the door, struggling not to shirk back physically while one of the entourage opened the double doors and stepped aside to let me pass.

A gathering of eight people sat at the long conference table, talking amongst themselves about something before they all turned to look at me. A pressing silence enveloped the room as my wheelchair barely made any noise against the thin carpet, pushed into position at the end of the long table.

I didn't say a word as the military escort left the room, closing the doors behind them and sealing Choro and myself in with the eight people that decided our fate at the base.

"You are Ashley Crawford, is that correct?" One of the older men spoke up, his Air Force uniform bearing the four silver stars of a general. I swallowed as silently as I could before answering.

"Yessir."

"We have seen the reports of what has transpired here at Quincy over the past three months, beginning with the intrusion of a Fleet of Fog heavy cruiser sailing under your command up until recently when a different Fleet of Fog submarine emerged in the bay with heavy deformity," The general continued while eyeing several documents laid out in front of him. I could see some of the other figures looking at more documents while others watched me, "You're awfully brazen to use this military port as some sort of base for enemy ships."

A wave of tension filled the room, nearly sucking the breath from my lungs as my fingers tightened around the armrests of the wheelchair.

"If I may speak, General," I fought to keep the fear from my voice, "It was not my intent to use Quincy as a base of operations for the Fog ships, nor was it my intent to--"

"Yet you continued to return here," A woman cut me off, pushing herself up from her seat while leaning her hands against the table. Her fierce blue glare cut me off, "You continued to bring these monsters back into the heart of humanity, endangering our livelihoods and military forces."

"There is no guarantee that these ships have not taken sensitive information and sent it to their own forces," Another man cried out, jumping at the opening he saw, "Everything that the American forces have been working hard to protect are now probably being exposed to the entire Fleet of Fog because this child wanted to play superhero!"