Page 21 of Remnants: Disruption
But that would mean Containment. So, the silly identity will have to do.
I glance down at my indicator in the mask’s heads-up-display. Already nearing seven, there’s very little I can probably do for the case itself.
As usual, there aren’t any notifications from the Guild. Either because they don’t trust me or they don’t need someone like me—and either reason is fine with me.
I hate being wielded like a loaded weapon.
Chapter 12
Her II
Nowhen
When Death dies, the world weeps—for Life no longer has balance.
Unknown
Her hands close tightly around your throat. Air depletes fast. The corners of your vision cloud, then darken. Her smile is bright and white, framed in midnight dark hair. Red eyes cutthrough the darkness, but her face is otherwise obscured by the hood around her head.
“They’ll never want you,” she says, her voice soft. “They’ll never accept you for who you are. You’ll always be on the outside. Always hiding. Never yourself.”
You try to swallow, but the movement is cut off by her firm grip.
“Kill—” you choke out, the words somehow possible despite the lack of air in your lungs. “—Me”
“You don’t deserve that,” she says, her gentle tone so different from the tightening hands around your throat.
Choking. Suffocating. Falling.
Chapter 13
Hierarchy
Eight A.M., October 23rd , 1030 A.D.
There are very few Remnants operating in the New American continent whose identities remain unknown. Of those, only four of them are capable of bringing down the world around them. Only one refused the Reliquary when asked. The other three have never spoken directly to authorities.
RISE Introductory Briefing as of October 1030 A.D.
Percy’s look of pure anguish hits me like a tidal wave as I close the office door behind me. She stands slowly; amber eyes trained on mine.
She rounds the desk and throws her arms around me.
I freeze, feeling her bionic arm grip tightly against my back as her head comes to rest at my neck. The scent of her citrus shampoo fills my senses, and, for a moment, I almost lean into the embrace.
“When the fuck were you going to call and tell me you were okay?” she hisses, pulling back finally. She doesn’t look angry, per se.
Annoyed? Worried?
“Shit,” I groan, leaning back against the closed office door.
“Shit is right,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. I can’t help but watch the movement and curse the way my brain misfires. Even pissed she’s gorgeous. “You weren’t going to call, were you?”
“I—” I didn’t want to bother you? I didn’t want to worry you? I didn’t think you'd care? “I’m fine.”
“The damned report came across my desk this morning. Suffice to say I almost had a coronary reading it. You said you were going home.”
“I did,” I say, picking at my braid. “Eventually.”
