Faith has been cursed with a voice so beautiful, she has to stay silent. She wasn't born with it, rather she was transformed into a walking weapon at the ripe age of ten years old. After barely escaping with her life, she ends back up in the foster...
We are put up into a hotel for the time in-between us moving to New York and leaving the hospital. It certainly isn't anyone's preferred place to stay but in typical Maverick fashion, we are currently in one of the best hotels in the state. Once Friday rolls around, Cathleen practically bursts into my room with a change of clothes and we are on our way to the state capitol.
I become very disoriented from exhaustion and a new environment. Eventually, somehow, we end up in a restaurant, having lunch with the president of all people. As I sit down in the luxuriously, over the top restaurant, my chair is pushed in for me before everyone, but the one guard leaves us to our conversation. How Cathleen got this meeting is beyond me, but I can't even say that I am surprised by it, she seems like the type to always get what she is chasing after.
"Mrs. Winters, shall we get down to business?" The man before asks us and Cathleen smiles.
She lays out multiple files on the table with photos and evidence and in all of her beautiful chaotic lawyer behavior, she lays the president a new one. He goes on to say that as far as he knew, the Metac project had been shut down years but he would do what was needed to keep this out of the media's attention. I can feel his gaze drifting to me occasionally as they strike a deal.
"Is something wrong, sir?" I ask him as he glances at me again.
"Who exactly are you?" He asks me with a confused smile.
"I'm a former member of the camp," I say with a forced smile and his eyes widen. The guard behind us stiffens.
"You are?" He asks me.
Tilting my head to the side I push my hair out of the way so that he can see my one ear plant. Looking back at him, the shock in his eyes is clear as day and I smile at him.
"That project destroyed me from the inside out, I have nightmares every night and can't get more than six hours of sleep. I suffer from chronic panic attacks and probably will be diagnosed with dissociate identity disorder due to a history of mental and physical abuse," I say in a very calm voice and I watch as he swallows hard.
"What is that near your ear?"
"An implant, it increases my hearing two-fold, but the General of the camp had a kill switch on most of the kids, the ones who didn't have the new version of these, and anyone with the old one is now dead," I say, and the guard continues to shift agitated. But I make no move and I keep my voice very calm.
"How many did he kill with the kill switch?"
"Another ninety-five on top of the hundreds to thousands that died from the abuse and surgeries," I say.
"Sir," the guard mumbles to him.
"I'm not going to hurt him; I am simply here to show the president what the government has done. They have ruined over a thousand lives, innocent, children's lives. Although this man here wasn't the creator, one of his predecessors approved this project and now he has to clean up the mess," I say.
Cathleen's hand rests on top of mine and I know she is doing it to reassure me that I am okay, but also as a reminder to keep myself in check. I am perfectly in control of myself right now. I move my hand from under hers and grab the file. Pulling out the General's photo I hand it to the president, and he looks it over.
"That man needs to rot in prison for the rest of his life so that he knows what it is like to spend your life behind bars," I say seriously.
"I will make sure he is taken care of," he says.
"I want to be there the day they throw him in jail sir, I want to see it in his face when he realizes that his life is over and there is nothing left for him," I say, and Cathleen gives me a harsh jab.
"That's a very interesting request," he says.
"Can you honor it?"
"I can, but I need your name dear," he says.
"My name is Faith," I say.
"Faith what?"
"I don't have a middle or last name, they never gave us one, they didn't even call us by our names, we were a number or a codename," I say.
"Oh, that's an ironic name for a girl who has been through as much as you have,"
"I wear it like a badge sir,"
"Why is that?"
"Because I survived without having any," I say, and he is taken aback. I don't break eye contact with him for a moment; he looks away first.
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