Synthetic Heart

01 - Fired

"What?" I couldn't keep my voice down.

William clasps his hands together while holding his gaze at me. He doesn't give a damn.

"Are you serious?"

"You're done."

My eyes widen before glancing away from the asshole. I couldn't believe it. I lost my job—the only thing I ever had that kept me afloat. It's all gone.

"I don't remember this being part of the contract?"

He lets out a sigh of exasperation. "Your contract is finished, it's done. You're done."

"My contract said I can leave the company strictly either if I fuck up or die."

William leans closer, "Molly," he paused as if carefully choosing his words, knowing I could explode. But before he could continue, I stormed outside the room and headed straight for Jason's office.

His son might not be any better, but at least he tells the truth.  Since I've worked here, William has been restricting me from participating in anything. I thought it was because I was new, but it took me three damn years before I was assigned a mission. I never budged because this was all I wanted to do all my life.

I can spot Jason sitting behind his desk through his office's glass window. As if he knew what just went down in his father's office, he stood from his seat.

I barge in without wasting any time for pleasantries. "Is there something you need to tell me?"

Jason shuts the door behind me as I enter his office.

He looks at me with a sigh. I keep my head up and try not to grit my teeth in confusion and anger. "Why did I just get fired?"

Jason knew there was no point in holding back. "It's Norris." 

"What?" I stutter. "My uncle?"

Jason keeps quiet, looking at me with his dark brown eyes. "Have a seat."

Then it hits me, like a speeding train right in the face that I'm flushed red in anger.

Mike was a good friend of my father. He promised to take care of me before my father died. He tried to convince me to change careers because it was my father's dying wish. But it was his wish, not mine.

I am drawn to this industry. I know this is what I was born for. My father can't just decide for me, nor Mike.

But Jason tells me that Mike had an agreement with William when I entered the agency. 

"Something about your father not wanting you to die working for this company. He did it for you, Molly." Jason adds.

"Is this why I haven't been assigned to any mission?"

Jason takes a beat before he nods. All my life I thought that it was because I wasn't good enough. I trained for hours on end and sacrificed my time for other things.

"Norris is a good friend of William. He had no choice but to honor his wishes, which is in fact, your father's too."

"They can't act like they own my destiny. I own my destiny. I make my own decisions."t

Jason doesn't say a word.

"Tell me you're not just going to let this go."

"I can't do anything about it, Molly," he says and I start for the door. But he reaches his arm and places his hand on my shoulder, stopping me.

"This is for your own good. I think you ought to take a break from the system."

"Oh, please," I scoff, pushing his hand away. I open the door and head to my desk. I feel everyone's eye on me as I collect my things from my desk.

"Consider this a favor," he glances at me as I pause. "This is for your own good."

"Fine, I'll leave the agency." I say firmy and pushing him out of the way to walk to the elevator. He tries to catch up beside me.

"Where are you going?"

"This isn't over."

He stops in his tracks. "Is that a threat?"

I enter the elevator and lock eyes with him before the doors finally close. If everyone wants to antagonize me, then so be it. But I won't let them trample over me. I'll die fighting if I have to.

* * *

I stare at the welcome sign on the screen right above the conveyor. Chicago is my second hometown. When my mom passed, I had to move here with my Dad. He couldn't accept the fact that he, a senior detective, couldn't protect his own wife. 

He projected his own fears on me, telling me to enter the academy to protect myself. He had already taught me how to hold a gun and how to headlock a man heavier than me. But becoming a cop was just foolproof—at least according to him.

I had the desire to hold a gun, but not as a detective. I wanted the dirty, nitty, gritty. And he didn't like that.

Sometimes on the weekends, he would take me to Uncle Mike's. It's his way of showing me how great it would be to be surrounded by pigs. I beg to differ.

After I check myself into the hotel, I take a cab into town. It comes to a stop and I see Uncle Mike's house. I climb off and drag myself to his porch. The old trims and white paint on the house are almost washed up. He never got it fixed since I left for California.

 I lightly knock on the wooden door.

The sound of heavy, slow footsteps approached the door until an old man with a familiar face opens it. He greets me with wide eyes.

It doesn't take him a long time to realize who I was as he gave me a warm smile. Mike remembers me.

"Molly Stephen."