[ COMPLETED ]
German Translations Provided By @vanessanats
BOOK 1 of the ORPHIC series
ZEITGEIST
/ˈtsītˌɡīst,ˈzītˌɡīst/
the defining spirit or mood of a particular period of history as shown by the ideas and beliefs of the time.
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"Sometimes monsters can be heroes."
Wisconsin, America November, 1942
THE TARGETS WERE ALWAYS nameless. Giving them a name only humanized them, and that was a problem- not only for Lucy, but for anyone who wandered into the army. If she ever hypothetically stared at a piece of grilled chicken and thought hard enough to wonder if a knife was used to slit its neck, or if it's head was brutally twisted, she would falter in eating it. If the thoughts continued, and she wondered of the snap of its bones and the blood dripping from its neck- consequently its beak- she'd might as well lose her appetite. Of course, Lucy was rarely bothered by anything anymore- she'd done worse things then the average person, but then again, she was far from average. Either way, her targets were nameless and Lucy? Lucy found it easy.
That terrified her to the core and that was enough to lose her appetite. She promptly left her plate of chicken besides Peggy who's eyes trailed after her as she stalked out of the barracks. She managed to rush towards her and block her path, but Lucy only asked she'd give her time.
She could see the worry and genuine concern in Peggy's eyes, so she'd merely pushed her aside and said she'd return sometime during the night.
So here she was, under the light of the moon at some ungodly hour, holding a plank in the middle of a clearing besides the training area. Her knuckles pressed against the dirt and her abdominal muscles burned as every minute passed. She clenched her jaw and bit harshly into her tongue as her hands curled into fists. Her nails dug into the palms of her hand and she could feel the blood trickling into the dirt. Her breathing was slow and controlled and her eyes were screwed shut as the moon vaguely lit up the forestry around her.
One small thought that'd evolved over a plate of food had almost managed to throw her into a complete panic attack, and for reasons known, she was genuinely pissed. It wasn't the reoccurring nightmares, nor the anxious feeling of being too close to people that finally cracked the fragile heart in her chest- it was a damn thought over chicken.
A frustrated growl left her lips and she forced herself to stand, having the urge to hunch over and massage her stomach. She didn't however, as she let the pain brew across her torso. The anger was quite easily steered to herself.
Blaming anyone else was dangerous when Dr. Schaffer was the only other man she could truly blame- besides Dr. Fenhoff. She felt her stomach swell with that same feeling of aching guilt that twisted her guts in every direction possible. She had every right to hate the man and yet, she couldn't bring herself to. Some twisted part of her thought of him as something- someone- that was important, necessary, someone that mattered more than her life. She would take a bullet for him, not that a bullet could ever touch her.
