Page 19 of Operation: Defiance

“No.”

Hands pin my arms behind me. Metal closes around my wrists, heavier this time. Then my ankles.

A chain drops and strikes the floor. The sound rings too loudly in the small space, harsh enough to make my shoulders twitch before I can stop them.

They guide me forward. The chain is long enough to shuffle, short enough to make anything faster impossible.

My gait is wrong. Every shift of weight pulls at my shoulder, sending a ripple of pain down my side.

I compensate, instinctively. But every correction costs me something new.

The walk feels long. Endless. Or maybe it isn’t. Under the hood, distance loses its edges.

I stumble. Hit the wall before they yank on my arm to correct my trajectory. The second misstep is worse. My knee buckles, but I catch myself before I go down.

We stop abruptly, and I’m maneuvered until my back is pressed against a wall. Cold bleeds through the thin fabric, leaching the heat from my body.

“Don’t move.”

The hood is yanked away, snagging strands of my hair. I hiss as light slams into my eyes.

Too bright.

I squeeze them shut on instinct, then force them open again. I need information. Layout. Exits. How many people are in the room.

The space resolves in fragments. Concrete walls. A single bench bolted to the floor. No windows. A drain in one corner. A camera in another.

By the time my vision settles, the door is already closing. The lock engages with a dull, heavy sound that travels through the wall and into my spine.

I’m alone. Restrained. Watched.

The scrubs are too thin for this room. Too little barrier between me and the cold. My shoulder has begun to swell visibly now, heat trapped beneath the fabric.

Hot and cold compete for space. Neither wins.

“Don’t move.”

Did he mean don’t move at all? Or just long enough for them to leave?

My vision starts to dim at the edges. The pain is building faster than I can regulate it.

I have to decide.

Sit, or fall.

Falling would cost more.

I lower myself onto the bench an inch at a time, moving slowly enough to keep the pain just below the point where it takes over. When I finally sit, I let my head tip forward for one breath. Just one.

They haven’t told me anything. No accusations, no questions, just…silence.

That’s the worst part.

My hands tremble behind me. I press them together as best I can and rock forward, then back. Once. Enough to keep myself from drifting.

You’re here.

You’re conscious.