SECTION 1- ARRIVAL
Chapter 1:
It’s been two weeks. No… 13 Days. No,no… Two weeks. I’ve
been on campus for two weeks. I thought I would get a different feeling living
in a dormitory room by myself. I don’t know why, it’s just a change of setting.
I’ve almost always been alone. But there was a certain expectance that now I’m out
of my Aunt’s house it would be different. I must’ve taken down the calendar or
something…I swear it’s been 13 days…whatever. It doesn’t really matter. I would
have to go to class today in 20 minutes, but I’ve decided to skip today’s
lesson. Again. As I’ve done with most of them. All the professor does is go
over a chapter or two in the text book, all while fiddling with his wedding
ring, a sign that he’s becoming discontent with his relationship decisions.
With sky rocketing divorce rates, I’m not surprised at all. All I have to do is
study the textbook, absorbing all the important information and key words, and
I’ll have covered in two hours what the class’ll do in a day. I’ve managed to
excuse my absences by saying I’ve been on vacation with family, which should
not work at all since that would mean I’ll be on “vacation” for three quarters
of the semester with the parents I lost when I was younger, but it’s enough to
appease whoever keeps track of that stuff. It’s not hard to fake signatures. I
just simply change the way my muscles move and coordinate in my hand to
replicate someone else. It’s even easier since they don’t have a signature to
compare it to. With that being taken care of, I can have another day to myself.
No outside world, no one but me. A place outside of heaven. My perfect world. I
lay back down on my bed after once again observing where the calendar should be
and pulled my purple beanie down over my eyes. This is what I call living. I’m
by myself with no one to bother me. I’m not worried about anything outside of
this room. My world is right here. I don’t care for much outside of my room, my
world. Politics, World Leaders, Conflicts, Tragedies, Famine, Holiday… they all
mean nothing. Not a single thing matters but I am here. I am here and I’m me,
I’m being me and doing what I stand for. It’s peaceful. Imagine a world where
it was only you, you and your beliefs. No one else to ruin it or interfere. No
need for worry, no need to be ready to defend yourself or take over others.
It’s the only way I see to get the most out of life. Is it narcissistic? No. No
no no… not by a long shot. I’m describing the lack of the need to worry about
others, not the enjoyment and admiration of one’s self. Another day in my
perfect world was about to be spent and enjoyed, but of course today had to be
different. It had to be different eventually. The world is in a constant state
of change and motion. Those who dwell on the past and future are sure to miss
the present. The present. The present is such a different concept. It’s right
now. But not then. This moment. But not later, not when you thought about it,
it’s as things are happening. That’s why it’s so easy to miss. But at this
moment in time, my present, my perfect world is shattered. Change has arrived
at my door. Literally. Three sharp rasps against the multi-wood material dilute
my thoughts. I take the beanie off my eyes. Three knocks again. Have my days of
skipping class finally caught up to me? I get up and walk to the door, rubbing
the back of my neck with my left hand. I press my palm into the brass doorknob
and turn it, and open the door towards me. In front of me was a girl. A
student. Multiple bags by her feet. She had short black hair that went down to
her eyes over her face and went down to the base of her neck. It was a bit
unkempt, clearly not brushed for three or four days. Her facial features were
sharp, sky blue eyes and a small softened nose. She wore a white hoody with the
word “PINK” written on it, but the “I” had been crossed out and replaced with a
“U”. She wore blue jeans and black socks and sneakers. Her right hand tucked
into her hoody pocket, clutching onto something. Her phone. She’s expecting
someone to message her. Her other hand remained dormant at her side. She looked
into my eyes. She was looking for something. Weaknesses maybe? “Roman Daniels?”
she inquired. I gave a slight nod. She gave a relieved sigh “ Alright great…
I’m your new roommate. Help me move my bags.” She said, her eyes dropping to
the floor. I stayed in the doorway. “You know there’re separate dorms for guys
and girls, right?” I asked. She knew, I wanted a reason without being direct.
“You know, most guys would be happy to have a girl move into a dorm with them.”
She said, giving a slight grin. Did she avoid what I was inferring or did she
just not notice? “Yeah, well…” I started. “I’m not most guys.” I finish after a
breath. “I had a feeling… Well should I take my bags in by myself then?” I
don’t answer. My “place outside of heaven” has been distilled. I walk back inside
the dorm, heading towards bed, hands tucked into my jeans pockets while saying
“Nobody helped me with mine, I think you can handle it yourself.” I can feel a
sense of frustration. And a sense of playfulness. “Well since you asked so
politely, the name’s-“ before she can finish I interrupt “Milli. You had your
name on two of your bags. Make yourself at home in the other bedroom.” I lay on
my bed once more, arms back behind my head staring up into the ceiling. Well
there goes my peace. I have no doubt this arrival will bring tension both good
and bad, I just don’t know why yet. I sat up and looked out of my open door.
She was moving her last bag into her room. A guitar case. “Acoustic?” I ask. I
already knew the answer. “yeah!” she replies, clearly happy I noticed, though
the excitement felt forced. “Been playing for 2 ½ years now. Do you play?”
“Used to.” I lie. I wouldn’t be caught dead with a musical instrument. “How’s
that going to help in engineering?” I ask. She peeks around the door frame.
“Stop joking around… It’s for fun. Besides, I’m studying bionics.” She says.
“But isn’t bionics a branch of engineering?” I ask her. “It is…” she starts,
moving into the kitchen. “but it’s more about using engineering to augment
life. Hence the “bio” part of bionics.” She explains. “and the “"onics” meaning
mechanics.” I state, getting out of bed and heading towards the kitchen myself.
“exactly.” She says, opening the fridge. “Wow…Only instant Ramen and Iced Tea?”
she wonders out loud, amazed and confused. “How can you live like that?” she
asks turning from the fridge to face me. Ouch. “I only need that to maintain my
body’s need for consumption, plus they’re the cheapest and most produced food
items in New Boston.” I explain. “Ugh… Yeah it’s good and all but that’s all
you eat? I mean that’s so boring. You
should change it up every day, so you won’t get tired of the same thing and you
get the right variety of nutrients you need…” she trails off and closes the
fridge. “It’s all I could afford.” I offer. “What do you mean” she asks. She
knows what I mean, she’s asking about my financial situation. “I spent almost
all I had to get into college and for student loans.” I explain. “Oh…” she
says, opening the fridge again and snagging an iced tea. “I’ll get myself set
up then…” she says walking to her room, opening the iced tea. I follow her with
my eyes until the door closes. What a difference this is going to make. I don’t
mind a little human Interaction, but I greatly prefer my own company. Simply
because I don’t completely trust anybody. That’s one of my rules. Never
completely trust anyone. Even if they’re close, the unexpected can always
happen, so you have to make the unexpected the expected and prepare for it so
you don’t have to rely on someone else. I scan the layout of the dorm room once
more. I’m in the kitchen, in front of me are two parallel bedrooms, to my right
is the “living room”, which is behind the wall of the kitchen and has a TV, two
couch chairs, and a rug, to get there I’d have to walk forward to the bedrooms
then hang a right through the hallway, which has one bathroom on the left side.
Then the door out is between the kitchen and the bedrooms. It feels a lot more
like an apartment then a college dorm, but I’m definitely not complaining. I
was supposed to be put in one of the smaller ones but they didn’t have any
left, so they moved me to the more “higher class” ones. In fact this is the
highest. I know a lot of people find it appalling that we have to pay to go to
college, even more so since there are subdivisions of social classes. I can see
why, everyone should have an equal chance to get the same quality and quantity
of education. But unfortunately, Amerigo is in a lot of debt at the moment, and
it’s only increasing. They’re going to have to start taxing and pricing almost
everything if they want to get out of it, and education is one of those things.
I look at the clock above the fridge in the kitchen. 9: 53 AM. This is going to
be the most awkward day of my life. I have a full day to get used to having her
here. Damn… why couldn’t have been later during the day? Or at least they
could’ve given me some kind of heads up that this was going to happen. Now that
I think about it, this is way odder then I originally thought. I don’t really
care that she’s here, well I mean I do, but I can get used to it. It raises
questions though. Why did she arrive without warning? Why was it a “She” in the
first place? Like I said before, there’re separate dorms for males and females.
On top of that she wasn’t being accompanied by anyone, and I couldn’t see,
hear, or sense anyone else in the hallways or dorm rooms at all during her
arrival. It’s probably nothing, more like I want it to be nothing, so hopefully
it’ll stay as nothing. So what do I do now? I should probably break the Ice
with her a little more, try to get to know more about her since she’s staying
here now. Maybe even get an explanation for her arrival. But how? I feel like
trying to talk to her now would just make things awkward. No. I’ll just have to
pick my words carefully. As long as they’re fluent and natural, it should go
just fine. I jam my hands in my pockets and make my way over to the room she’s
now occupying. I rap my hand against the doorway twice, just so she’s aware of
my presence. She’s already unpacked all her clothes and set up various
possessions. She’s sitting on the bed and strapping a blue plastic watch onto
her left hand. “Everything okay in here?” I ask. Wow. Really Roman? What
happened to fluent and natural? She smiles nervously at me. “Yeah fine.” She
drops the smile “’wassup?” “I just wanted to apologize for just now, I
should’ve helped you with the bags.” I say. Good save. “Oh.” She say, crossing
her legs. “it’s nothing really, don’t worry about it.” Notice the guitar case leaning against an
empty corner along with a black carrier bag. Now that I see it up close, the
contents inside don’t appear to be guitar shaped. She notices me looking over
at the case and gets up off her bed. “You don’t mind if I play music through
the dorm do you?” she’s purposely blocking my vision from the guitar case. Why?
“And by play I mean blast.” She adds. I look in her eyes again for something.
I’m getting a sense of secrecy from her. “Knock yourself out. As long as it’s not country or pop I’ll cope
with it.” I reply. “A’ight” she says
“I’m just gonna set the rest of my stuff up here.” She says. We stand there for
a moment. “Do you mind?” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Oh.” I say. Oh. Oh
Roman? Smooth. “Yeah, I’ll funk off.” I say. Turning around and making my way
to the living room. “funk off?” she says. I can feel her smirking. “Please
don’t be a hipster.” She jokes. She closes the door. I sit down in a couch
chair and turn on the TV. The news flashes across the screen but I don’t absorb
any of it, I’m lost in thought. She didn’t want me looking at the guitar case.
It comes back to the most asked question in the world. Why? I’m snapped back
into reality as “Time to get Ill” by the Beastie Boys starts blasting through
the dorm. Well she has quite the taste in music, this song had to have come out
in the mid 80’s… I pull out my phone to look up the release. Two messages pop
off the lock screen into my face. Spam mail. I unlock the phone and the
holograms disappear. I open up the internet search engine. “beastie boys time
to get ill” I put into the search bar. It’s on the album “License to Ill” which
released in ’86… the songs’ 34 years old. Another 6 and it would probably be
considered a classic. My attention turns to the tv once again. In the news is
another story of a white police officer shooting an unarmed black man.
Sensationalize, sensationalize, sensationalize. There’s never a story about a
white cop shooting a white man, or a black cop shooting black man, and they
never have all the facts. They’re fueling controversy and fear into the public
for viewership and money. I turn the TV off and walk back to Milli’s room.
“Beastie Boys huh?” I say through the door. “yeah!” she says back. “I like a
majority of 80’s and 90’s music better than the modern crap people are putting
out.” “I have to agree with you there.” I say. I move past the door and go into
my own room. Not much to do… I need to stall time before I press Milli again. I
sit on my bed and solve a Rubik’s cube several times. That took an hour. I make
my way to the bathroom. I noted that her door was still closed tight. I use my
hands to lean against the sink and look into my reflection. My shaggy
white-blonde hair came down over my eyes and covered my ears, which were being
concealed even more by my beanie. My eyes are slanted in such a way that my
resting face always looks slightly aggressive, but it’s eased by my empty gray irises.
My thin long nose makes my face look sleek and sharp, and my thin lips and
mouth compliment that. I’m wearing my basically patented “The End” shirt which
I have several of and needs to go through the wash once or twice. My hands
covered by black fingerless gloves are tucked into the pockets of my denim
jeans with a leather belt bound tightly to my waist. On my feet I don white socks
and blue flip flop slides since I’m indoors. I look over myself once again and
sigh. I reach into the drawer under the sink and pull out an electric razor
which I promptly plug into a socket near the door and start working away at the
stubble growing on my face. After I’m done I wash the excess hair down the sink
and put the razor away. I reach into the drawer once again and fish around for
the brush and find it after a few moments. I brush my hair straight down over
my eyes and then split it down the middle brushing it off to the right and
left. I’m done here. I if I had to guess I’d say that she’d be ready by about
4pm, 6 at the most. So I still have quite a bit of time to kill, and there’s
only two ways I know how. I walk back to my room, lie down on my bed, pull my
beanie over my eyes and get lost in thought. I eventually drift off into a
light sleep. I’m awakened to a knocking on the wall. Her face peeked out from
the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt you, but dinner’s ready.” She says and walks
to the kitchen. Dinner’s ready. I realize what this means and I snap my vison
to the clock on the wall. 6:30pm. I overslept. But the other thing… She made me
dinner? I get up and walk into the kitchen. Of course it was just the instant
noodles and iced tea I had, but still. She sees me walk in. “Don’t pretend to
be flattered” she says. “I just thought I would spend the extra 60 seconds it
takes to make these to get you yours.” She says. “Thanks” I say. I swipe the
noodles and tea can off the counter and take it into the living room and sit
down. “Forgetting something?” she calls. S**t. She’s right. She appears with a
pair of chopsticks. She throws them at me. But the thing is I didn’t turn
around, I couldn’t see her. She was in the hall connecting the kitchen to the
living room. I just heard her and felt…something. Without thinking my left arm
snaps back and catches something. The chopsticks. “Nice catch.” She remarks.
She was testing me, I can feel it. “I got lucky…” I say, trying to brush it
off. It probably didn’t work. I dig in to my noodles and quickly wash it down
with the iced tea. I walk back to the kitchen and throw the trash away in the
trash can on the floor. Milli was there with one foot up against the wall
eating her noodles. She was using chopsticks, but almost like it was second
nature. “How’d you get that damned good at using chopsticks?” I inquire with a
grin. She smiles. “ My dad taught me.” She says. “Your dad a big fan of Asian
food?” I say. “Yeah, something like that…” she replies, looking down at the
ground. I struck a nerve. “Welp…I’m going back to sleep.” I declare, walking
back to my room. “You are one lazy a*s, you know that?” she says playfully.
“Yeah, yeah.” I say back. I really just
wanted to get to tomorrow, that way when she goes to class I can really see
what she’s hiding from me. I lock the door and strip down to just my jeans. I
slip into the covers and my hair falls over my eyes, blanketing my vision, but
I don’t move it. This has been my first day out of my heaven, I’m going to need
to get as much sleep as I possibly can.
Chapter 2:
My eyes shoot open like they do every morning. Most people usually have an
alarm or something of the sorts, but not me. Every day for all the 20 years
I’ve been alive I’ve woken up at 7 AM. I get up and out of bed. Before I put
clothes on I press my ear against the door and listen for signs of life.
Nothing, I hear nothing in the dorm whatsoever, not even in the neighboring
ones. I throw on some clothes and my gloves and head to the bathroom to
complete my morning routine. There has to be a reason nobody’s here, probably
not a good one but a reason none the less. I stare at myself in the mirror for
a minute or two, staring deep into my own eyes. I wonder what other people see
when they look into these eyes… I rinse off my manual tooth brush and squeeze
out mint toothpaste into the bristles. I start scrubbing away at my teeth while
in thought revising what my plan is for today. I’ll definitely check out
Milli’s room when she leaves, something about it isn’t right… I’ll have to be
careful to leave everything the way found it. I finish cleansing my teeth and
wash my brush under the cold tap water. I shove it hastily back into the drawer
I withdrew it from and make my way into the kitchen for my first meal of
noodles and iced tea for the day. When I’m finished I make it look like I went
out to class. I brought my red synthetic leather trench coat and shoes into my
room and left the door to the dorm slightly ajar. I make sure to take a pencil
and my various academic supplies around the dorm and place them on the floor in
my room. I lock the door behind me when I’m finished. And now we wait. I take
my copy of “The Tempest” from off the side table next to my bed and read it for
a couple hours. I hear things starting to stir in Mill’s room. I crease the
corner of the page I’m on and put the book back on the side table. I sit on my
bed as still as possible, controlling my breathing and focusing on the noises I
can hear. Feet thumping on the floor…the shuffle of fabrics as clothes are
changed… something unfamiliar. I hear the sound of metal clicking and sliding
against another metallic surface. Then I hear her dragging a couple heavy
objects around. Then something hits my ears, another unfamiliar sound. Metal
moving quickly through the air so it emits a resonant tone. The sound is cut short and I hear the door
open and her footsteps exit the room. She stops, most likely to observe the
dorm. If I did my job right, she’ll come to the conclusion that I’ve left to go
to my class. She then moves in front of my door. My stomach churns and I feel
light headed. The doorknob is tried by her twice. I hold my breath like it’s
going to do something to stop her. The door’s lock and she quickly gives up. I
breathe again. She heads to the kitchen and makes her own breakfast, and takes
ten minutes to eat it. I feel something…something’s wrong. For whatever reason,
I slip under my bed like a child. I press my face against the floor and hold my
breath once again. The door crashes open and I hear her step into the room. At
the crash of the door I suddenly flashback to a memory of hiding under my bed
when I was little and my dad was destroying the house in a fit of rage. She
stands there for a moment. Then turns around, grabs a couple bags out of her
room, and leaves the dorm. When she’s walking out I hear her mutter “I coulda
sworn…” under her breath. When I hear the front door close I roll out from
under my bed and get to my feet. The lock on my door had been broken off by
brute force and was lying on the floor. The door itself was intact and fully
open, with a faded footprint just above the doorknob. I stood there stumped,
trying to figure out why she would do this but what I found more interesting is
how she did it. She only kicked once, and she did it in such a way that the
door was in one piece after it was forced open. That tells me she’s done this
before, and that she’s been trained to do it. I’ll have to be careful not to
move anything out of place, which would be a sign that I was still in the dorm
or that I returned from class before her. Slowly I walk out of my door way. I
keep on edge, if she forgot something or decided to come back soon for whatever
reason I have to be ready to hide or figure out a damned good excuse for why
I’m still here. I don’t hear her outside the dorm, so I think it’s safe to say
she won’t be back for a couple hours. I relax a little and make my way to her
room. Maybe I’ll find up what she’s hiding, if she’s hiding something, and what’s
up with her guitar case. I try to open
the door but she locked it, it appears we both didn’t want each other snooping
around. There’s only one way I can think of to open the door without her
knowing I snuck in. I go back to my room and fumble through my things until I
find my screwdriver, of then which I switch the head of from flat head to
Philips head. I walk back over to her door and start unscrewing the hinges. After
about six minutes I take the screws and hinges out, and I take the door out of
the frame and lay it against the wall behind me lengthways. I take two steps
into the room and drink it all in. The bed has been untouched accept the covers
have been replaced by a black comforter with some Japanese symbols in in the
middle of it. “ジャッカル”it
says descending from top to bottom. Since Japanese isn’t a romance language
it’s impossible for me to spitball what this means. Drawers across from the
bottom of her bed are stuffed with clothes, and there is some sort of audio
system on top of it connected to mini speakers in the corners of the ceiling.
This must be how she was playing music through the dorm. The system’s a little
outdated, probably early 2016 at best. There were a couple black travel bags
along with a black duffel bag and backpack. I’ll get to those later, for now, I
want to know about the guitar case. I took it from its leaning position against
the side table and laid the case down on the floor and it made a low pitched
metallic thud. I started to unzip the guitar case slowly. Then I noticed
something, this wasn’t a conventional guitar case. It’s made of the same
material and it’s the same size but it has latches on the opposite side of the
zipper like a violin or cello case. I
open up the guitar case like a briefcase due to the latches, and what I see
sends a shiver down my spine. I feel my palms get sweaty and I feel myself
growing pale, but I don’t move. I just stare at the open case before me. There
were four compartments in the case. The largest one held some kind of weapon, a
sniper rifle. But I’ve never seen or heard of one like this. The barrel and the
stock were folded towards the inside of the weapon, and there seemed to be some
set up of mini steam pistons and engines along the outside of it. It’s pitch
black, but all along the weapon are white tally marks. They covered almost the
entire surface of the rifle, leaving patches of black under them. I dare not
touch it. Out of everything it could’ve been, of course it had to be this. But
someone like her would be hiding something like this? She did just expertly
breach my room a few minutes ago… I look it over again. Now that I clear my
head, I notice this thing’s ancient. It’s nearly 100 years old, probably around
80. This is also unlike any American firearm of that time, so if I had to guess
it’s probably some variant of a World War 2 axis powers rifle. I look to a
smaller compartment below it. A scope with the same red symbols of the
comforter along the top of it in red paint, this is as old as the rifle judging
by how faded the paint is, but it was painted with a practiced steady hand. Again
I do not touch it. In another small compartment besides it is a cleaning kit,
no need to investigate anything there. The final compartment has a synthetic
fur flap over it. Looks like will have to touch something in here. Gingerly I
lift up the leather tab on the flap. In the last compartment is a stash of
loose individual bullets. Judging by the size, shape, and color, they’re some sort
of special .50 caliber rounds. I close the flap and the case, zip it up, and
stand it back up against the side table by the bed. I put my palms on both my
temples, trying to make sense of this in frustration, but nothing comes to me.
After pacing a little I go over to the other bags. I go through them quickly
but carefully. Black athletic tape, Quite a bit of eyeshadow, medical gloves, a
couple first aid kits and medicinal herbs and concoctions I knew nothing about,
A few Kevlar vests, improvised explosives, kunais and shuriken? Why the Asian
throwing blades? I stop and shake my head, just baffled. I close the bags and
put them as I found them, and then grab my screwdriver and replace the door. I
walk into the living room and sit down on one of the couch chairs. I bring my
left hand upwards and brush the beanie off my head and it falls to the floor.
My white-blonde hair falls over my eyes. She shows up with no warning, the
surrounding dorms are abandoned, she breaks into my room, and she has military
grade weapons in her room. Why? Is she in some sort of terrorist cell?
Unlikely, she didn’t seem to have any group affiliation or views on ethnicities
and there was no way for her to communicate with other people in her room.
Unless she’s using her phone, which would be an unwise decision since it’s easy
to track, especially for someone with the right connections. All right, so, is
she a Vigilante? That’s more likely, but I don’t think she’d have a motive to
do that kind of work just on the basis of what she thinks is right. Then
something hits me, not about why she’d be involved in this kind of thing, but a
detail I overlooked. She spent about 10 minutes eating breakfast this morning
in the kitchen. Last night she ate the same meal in less than 2. I get up and fast
walk to the kitchen. What did she do in that extra time? I check the trash.
There’s nothing. I start opening the drawers and cabinets, hoping to find
something, still nothing. I open the last thing in the kitchen, the silverware
drawer. Again, there’s nothing. I slam the drawer shut in frustration. But
something was off. The sound it made when it was closed… it sounded hollow. I
franticly open the drawer again and take all the silverware out and dump it on
the floor. Still a wooden bottom, like I remembered. I pick up a knife off the
floor and use it to pry the bottom of the drawer open. It pops off and I take
it and drop it on the floor with the silverware. I take a couple steps back. In
a hidden compartment under the drawer there’s a 9mm handgun and two magazines
of ammunition. She’s hiding weaponry inside the dorm, and it won’t stop here.
Does she plan to turn this into some kind of base of operations under my nose?
Well, honestly, I don’t care. I’m just frustrated she didn’t tell me. I can
definitely see why, why would she tell anyone about this? But with me, just let
me know, as long as I’m aware of what’s going on, I don’t care. I take the 9mm
out of the drawer and place it on the kitchen counter. I replace the drawer
bottom and put all the silverware back. I go back to the living room and sit
down, holding the 9mm in both hands, inspecting it thoroughly. The trigger
guard has been filed down, allowing for a higher grip. The inside of the slide
has been polished to a mirror sheen, but the outside has been spray painted
black, probably to camouflage with the darkness. The magazine didn’t come with
the firearm; it’s made by a different manufacturer and accommodates 18 rounds
instead of 14. The iron sight system is original too, and has been modified to be
pin point accurate at close quarters firefights. Obviously she wouldn’t be
taking this outside the dorm for any reason; she placed it there for
emergencies inside the dorm. I keep it in my right hand and patiently wait for
her to come back. After about an hour and a half I hear the door open. I grit
my teeth and brace for the inevitable conflict. She walks in and heads into her
room without noticing me. She’s wearing a black hoody and something heavy
underneath it, as well as jogging pants and sneakers with a smooth bottom. I
hear her drop some bags and she walks back out. I stand up and look at her,
forcing eye contact. She notices me now. Her eyes widen is disbelief.
“…Roman?...” she says, she doesn’t even believe the words coming out of her
mouth. I raise my arm up and let the handgun hang on my finger by the trigger
guard. “You’ve got some explaining to do.” I say sternly. She stays surprised
for a moment, but just for a moment. Her face then twists into what I can only
describe as grim determination. What happens next is a blur; she leans forward
slightly and quickly reaches for something at her waist. I do the opposite and
tuck the handgun into the back of my jeans. She rushes forward, she’s fast. I notice the small cuts
and patches of dirt of her face and hands. Reflexively I lean backwards,
without really reacting to anything, just a feeling. Her back foot comes
swinging in a roundhouse kick right in front of my chest. If I didn’t lean that
would’ve connected with my throat. She knows what she’s doing. Upon whiffing
the kick she continues her momentum and brings her other foot up after the
other, while her first foot lands on the ground keeping her balance. Again I
kind of feel it coming and duck the second one. She still needs to recover from
such a big heavy attack. I use this as an opportunity to rush in. I have no
intention of killing, wounding, or even hurting her. But I think she’s got the
mindset to do all three. As her other foot makes contact with the ground she
sees me rushing in, and her left hand grabs what’s at her waist and makes a
calculated swing at me. I have too much
momentum, and all I can do is turn my face to the left. A sharp pain brushes
across my cheek. She cut it. It could’ve been a lot worse if I didn’t move.
She’s holding a blue steel karambit knife in her left hand, another Asian
blade. I continue moving forward with all my force and drive her into the
hallway wall between her room and the bathroom, pinning her with my shoulder.
The knife falls out of her hand and clatters along the floor. My blow forces
her to breathe off beat. She put her foot left foot in between my feet and
pushes me back, and I trip over her foot and start to fall to the floor. Instinctively
I reach out for something and grab her by the shoulders and pull her down with
me. As we fall I keep my left hand on her shoulder and use my right to grab for
the handgun in my jeans. We land and I pull out the handgun and press it to her
temple, she’s lying on top of me about 3 inches away from my face. I feel cold
steel against my left temple. She had the same idea. We lay there with each
other at gunpoint for a moment. “Not bad…” I say grinning. I’m such a child,
that was really cheesy. “That’s my line.” She replies, and smirks back. A
couple nail biting seconds pass, both of us ready to pull the trigger if we
needed to. I feel light headed again. Then I start acting on second nature,
like an autopilot. I violently push my head forward, head-butting her nose. She
reels back, more in surprise then in pain, and pulls the trigger. A deafening
roar erupts in the room and there’s a bright flash of light. But it’s too late.
I’ve already stood up, and she’s rolled over onto her side. She swings her arm
up to take another shot at me. I perfectly mimic the kick she started the fight
with and knock the gun out of her hand. As it gets launched across the room I
see it’s some kind of .44 revolver. She starts to get up but I point my gun at
her and she stops. Her eyes widen. She’s surprised again. Maybe at the fact I
disarmed her? The lightheadedness is gone, and so is her surprised look. I’m
not killing you. There’s no point, and it’s not our place to decide the fate of
others. I eject the magazine from the handgun and let it fall to the floor,
then I c**k the slide back and let the bullet in the chamber eject. Then I hand
the empty gun to her. She doesn’t reach for it. She remains lying on her side.
“…Why?” she says. I let my arm with the gun drop to my side. “Honestly I don’t
care who you are or what you do, I just wanted to know why you did this and
maybe some kind of heads up that this is what you’re doing. Otherwise, I really
just don’t care.” I extend my unarmed hand towards her. She’s still hesitant. “Why
should I trust you?” She says, eyeing me. “Because I’m not involved in anything
outside of this dorm, I’ve had my own little world until you showed up. I have
no reason to tell anybody or try to stop you, and in terms of my safety, well,
I think I just protected myself just fine.” I say. I stretch my arm out
further. She’s reluctant, but she takes it and I help her get up. I hand her
the 9mm. she takes it and put it in her hoody pocket. We stand there and stare
each other down in the quietest moments in my life. “So that’s it?” She says. I
sigh “That’s it…” I let my voice trail off. “I’ll clean this up…” She says,
walking towards her revolver on the ground. Now that I get a good look at it,
I’ve never seen a weapon like that either. It has 2 barrels that fire .44
rounds from the top and bottom cylinders. But the ammunition isn’t standard
either, the barrel shouldn’t’ve had that much of a flash when it was shot, it’s
been custom made with god knows what, and the sound was off too. She picks it
up and opens up the cylinder. She fumbles in her pockets for something. She
pulls out a speed loader and takes 2 of the bullets out of it and replaces the
empty spaces in the revolver with them. She puts the one third empty speed
loader back in her pocket and spins the revolver before putting it in a holster
strapped around her waist that goes down the back of her thigh. She then picks
up her knife as well as the magazine and bullet ejected and put them in her
hoody pockets. I pick my beanie up off the floor from earlier and put in back
on my head, then sit on one of the couch chairs. Milli heads into the kitchen,
where I hear her putting the 9 back into its hiding place. When she’s done she
comes back in and says “Look…I know I’ve got some explaining to do, and you do
too, just let me get cleaned up and I’ll be here and we can talk this out.” She
says. “Yeah, sure.” I reply. She heads to her room and stops halfway. “How do
you know I won’t try to escape now that you know my secret? Or try to kill you
for that matter?” she says, turning around. I think for a moment and lean
forward in my chair. “Three reasons.” I start. “One, you turned around and
asked that question, if you were going to do those things you would’ve kept
them to yourself. Two, I trust you.” I pause. “And three?” she asks. “There are
no windows or vents for you to escape through in your room.” I say with a grin.
She rolls her eyes and continues walking to her room. “Fair enough.” She
remarks, closing the door behind her. I slump back in the chair. What a mess. My
head hurts. I rub it as I hear things being shuffled around in her room. After
a few minutes she came out and went into the bathroom with a first aid kit and
a handful of herbs, and then finally entered the living room and sat down in
the other chair. Her face and hands were clean now, and she had two butterfly
bandages on her forehead and changed out of her hoody and what I can safely
assume was a Kevlar vest when I shoved her into the wall into a black tank top.
She also changed out of jogging pants and sneakers into jeans and socks and
sandals. We sit in silence for a few moments. I decide to propose the first
question. “So what were you doing? When you were out, I mean.” She breaks her
eyes away from the floor and looks at me. “I had a delivery to make.” She said,
but didn’t elaborate. “A kind of delivery that requires a .44 magnum and Kevlar
armor?” I inquire. “Yes.” She responds. “That and more.” Her face is stern. “So
what exactly is it you do? Clearly you had some hand in making sure these dorms
were empty but you kept me here for some reason, and then you have military
grade equipment and attack me like a natural born killer. Is this what you do
for a living or some type of seriously messed up hobby?” I ask her. “I do it
for a living, that’s all I’m comfortable telling you.” She responds. “Okay,
that’s fine.” I tell her. “Are you a trained killer?” she blurts out. “What?” I
say, surprised by the sudden burst. “Like I said I do this kind of thing for a
living, and you could have killed me right there. Surely you’re trained.” She
explains. “No, not at all. And because you haven’t even given me the slightest
detail on “what you do for a living” it’s making it difficult to interpret what
you mean.” I reply. She shakes her head
and sighs in frustration. “So I was torn apart by some punk kid…” she says
under her breath. “Well clearly I’m not some punk kid if I tore you apart” I
say. “Clearly.” She almost yells with a fierce look in her eyes. “Sorry…” she
says. “I just… need to rest.” She says. “You will, just after we get all this
out. Or at least what we’re comfortable with.” I tell her. She slumps in her
chair with her hand on her head. “Yeah, okay…” she says. “This is going to
happen again, right?” I ask. Just keep it simple Roman, Yes or No questions.
“Yeah, more jobs will come in.” her eyes widen and she smacks herself upside
the head. “Shouldn’t’ve said that…” she says. “It’s okay, I didn’t hear
anything.” I tell her. “And I’m guessing that you’re going to continue storing
and hiding weapons here?” I ask her. “Yup…” she responds, she has her eyes
closed and is leaning back in her chair. I lean forward in my chair. “When?” I
press. “Jesus I don’t know, probably a couple tonight if I’m up to it and
throughout the week.” She says. “Alright, alright, one more thing.” I say. “Why’d you kick down my door?” she
opens her eyes and looks at me. “I’m not answering that. But I will ask you why
you were going through my things.” She says. I feel a sinking sensation in my
stomach. “What do you mean?” I try to play it off. She chuckles “Don’t play
dumb with me, you left the guitar case facing the wrong way, I left the
backside facing outwards so I’d know if you broke into my room. And when I come
back, the front side is facing outwards.” She says. I take a deep breath. “Ever
since you showed up something felt wrong, especially when you broke down my
door, so I decided to see if you were hiding something.” I explain. “Did you
touch her?” She asks.” “What?” “The sniper rifle, did you touch her?” She asks
harshly. “No. I only looked.” I inform her. She exhales in relief. “Well at
least you aren’t like most college pervs and go through my clothes…” she says.
It’s hard to tell if she’s joking. “Alright, well I think I’m satisfied.” I
declare. “Alright…I’m gonna get some sleep. I’ll be up at night.” She says.
“Okay.” I respond as she gets up. She stops after standing. “One more thing
actually…” she says, staring at the ground. “What is it?” I ask her, eager to
know what it is. “When you head-butted me and kicked the gun from my hand,
there was… you were…”She trails off, a hint of panic and fear in her eyes.
“Nothing, it’s nothing.” She says, shaking her head like she’s trying to forget
something. “…Okay?” I say, confused. “See ya tomorrow.” She says, tucking her
hands into her pockets and walking into her room. “See you.” I reply as she
closes the door. I sigh. I grab the remote control from the ground and try to
turn the TV on. Nothing happens. Then I notice the two bullet holes in the TV
screen. I groan and pull my beanie down over my eyes.
Chapter
3:
The next day started like any other. I wake up at seven, I get dressed, I brush
my teeth and hair, and I eat my breakfast. Only she was there in the kitchen,
already eating when I went in to go eat. She notices me but doesn’t acknowledge
my presence in any way, and finishes eating. She throws her things away and
heads into her room. I track her with my eyes as I get my breakfast. She’s
still wearing the same clothes as yesterday; she probably hasn’t slept since
she got up during the night. I wonder what changes she made to the dorm during
the night hours, but I stay quiet and eat. I finish my meal and head into my
room. I scan through more of “The Tempest” and clean up my room a little bit. I
hear Milli’s door open and I look out my open doorway to see her heading to the
door. She’s wearing a thin black hoody with the drawstrings removed and I can
now identify the subtle shape under the hoody as Kevlar. She’s wearing
different jogging pants but the same flat-bottomed shoes. I notice now the
revolver in her holster down her thigh as well as the karambit blade latched
horizontally along the left side of her waist. She’s using the overabundance of
eye shadow to paint black around her eyes, making her somewhat harder to
recognize. She’s also wearing blue disposable medical gloves. An idea slips
into my head. I get off my bed and grab my red trench coat and throw it over my
shoulder. “Yo.” I call out as I round the doorway. She turns around at the door
out to look at me. She crosses her arms and looks at me, seeming a bit
impatient. “Yeah?” she replies. I take a breath and prepare for her reaction to
what I’m about to propose. “Let me come with you.” I say, trying to maintain
eye contact to let her know I’m serious. We stand there for a split second and
she lets a grin slip. “No.” she says flatly and reaches for the door. “I can
help you.” I tell her. She stops and turns around. “No, you can’t.” she pauses.
“You don’t know anything about who I am, what I do, and what I’m capable of.
Don’t think because of that fiasco yesterday that you’re associated with me
whatsoever. Not to mention that what I do, I do it alone, and once you start
this life you can never, EVER, go back to how it was before, and you’re constantly
in danger of losing the things you care about most.” She explains. “I have no
intention whatsoever to get you or anyone else involved with this line of work,
especially working alongside or just being around me. I’ve already made a
promise to somebody that I would do this kind of work and not involve anyone
else, so to state it again Roman, no, you cannot come with me.” She stares me
down, waiting for a response. “I’m comfortable with doing whatever this is; I
already have a rough idea of what you do. Whatever it is specifically sure
beats going to class or hanging around the dorm, I know that for certain. And,
I could be a valuable asset to you. I’ve already proven I can handle myself
yesterday.” I argue. She smiles. “Is that what you call that? Handling
yourself? You got lucky. Nobody like you
could ever handle the things that I do.” She says to me. “That’s a baseless
counterargument, and you know it.” I respond. “And I’m not hearing any good
reasons for you to abandon all that you have to live a life on the run.” She
says. She heads out the door, and before closing it, adds in “Just stick to
your perfect little world and I can stick to mine”. The door closes in my face
and I’m left standing there. I don’t know why that got to me, but it did. I
sigh and throw my coat back into my room and it lands sloppily on the floor. I
should probably fix my door soon so it can actually lock. I make my way into
the living room and sit down to ponder again. Why did that get to me? I’ve
always been happy with my world, my place outside of heaven. I’ve never had any
interest in anything outside of it. There’s just something about her and her
secrecy that drives me to know more about her, and to help her with what she
does. Plus I’d have something to do; I’d probably keep physically active and
get some fresh air. No more comfortable boredom. I thought that life was about
just working through it and doing the best you can, sticking to what you know.
But it’s a lot more than that. In fact life is about whatever you want it to
be, it’s all about your perspective. But I’m tired of the life I’m living, and
seeing hers I now want to see what it’s like. I want to experience something
different, to step out of my comfort zone. That’s why I asked her if I could
tag along. But I can’t force myself into her life, she has to let me in, and
she will. I just have to apply the right pressure and appeal to reason. I still
can’t get over it. You showed up in my world, into my life. You front and
decide to be secretive, you try to kill me but don’t take advantage of my
mercy, you live a dangerous life and don’t want me or anyone involved. What is
your game Milli? What is your story? Maybe I’ll know someday, but for now all I
have is a name and a face. Another thing that caught my attention… She said she
made a promise to someone not to get anybody involved. But who told her, a
boyfriend? A family member? Or maybe just a close friend? She didn’t say a
“special” or “close” person so a friend is the most likely. But would she be
doing this if whoever told her didn’t get her involved? There are just too many
questions. A few hours passed, half a day in fact, and I was still there
pondering and theorizing. I was brought back to reality with a jolt as a sharp
sound cracked through the air through the dorm. I jumped in my seat, startled.
Once I regain my composure, I direct my attention to where the sound came from,
which was the front door to the dorm room. Milli was lying on the ground, one
of her legs laid out straight and the other bent with her knee up. Her right
arm was propping her up and she had her left arm aiming her revolver at the
door. Her clothes were dirty, dusty, and beaten. Her eyeshadow was bleeding and
the corners of her mouth were also bleeding. The cuts on her forehead have
reopened and were accompanied by fresh ones. Her hands are sullied as well. Her
eyes are that of a cornered animal, struggling to fight back, but fierce and
determined. She doesn’t ask for it in words, but she needs help. I stand up out
of my chair and head over to her. The lightheadedness starts happening again. I
kneel besides her and I notice the heavy wooden front door has been forced
open. She had been thrown through it. “What’s wr-“ I start to say before she
breaks her attention away from the door to look and me and yells “ROMAN, DOWN!”
I feel it coming, I got distracted by her. I drop to the floor like she
instructed and roll into the kitchen. Coarse rattling sounds outside the dorm
and the air is torn apart by an invisible force. Milli focuses back on the
doorway and fires off her weapon, letting two .44 rounds fly through the air in
retaliation. I panicked yell is let out somewhere outside the dorm followed by
the sound of something heavy dropping to the floor. She struggles to get up and
dives into the open doorway of my room. I get up and press myself against the
wall closest to the front door. I can see Milli checking her revolver for
ammunition as she prepares to exchange fire again. Do something Roman. The
lightheadedness gets worse, I feel like passing out. But my actions reflect the
opposite. Without thinking I go over to the cutlery and slide out two kitchen
knives. I visually inspect them to see that they’re sharp; they can slice up
meat cleanly if used right. I carefully slid them into my belt loops on either
side of my waist, making sure the handle rest on the loop so they don’t slip. I
look back over at Milli. She’s staring at me, in shock and disbelief. Was it
because I picked up the knives? Now’s not the time to think Roman, now’s the
time to act. I press myself back against the wall and wait for movement. I’m
not going to hurt anyone if I don’t have to, but I will do whatever it takes to
survive. The lightheadedness is accompanied by dizziness, but I’ve never felt
more focused. I can feel footsteps pounding the ground outside, getting closer
and closer to the doorway. I foot shoots through the doorway, followed by the
rest of its body. A Japanese man about the age of 30 in a gray suit and purple
dress shirt with black hair and dress shoes enters the room, holding a fully
automatic 9mm mp7 submachine gun. Upon seeing his foot initially enter the
room, I moved from my place against the wall to next to the door way. As he
entered the room I grabbed the top rail of his firearm, keeping it still. I
used my other hand to eject the 30 round magazine from the handle of the
weapon, and then sliding back the slide lever to eject the round already
chambered in the barrel; A simple tactic that can be applied to almost every
firearm. He turns to face me not realizing what I had done and squeezed the
trigger on his weapon, and looked down after nothing happened. He swore in
Japanese as he smacked his gun, trying to figure out what was wrong. I used
this to my advantage. I thrust my knee forward into his groin and he doubles
over in pain, and I then grab him by the back of the head behind the ears and
forcefully slam his forehead into the kitchen counter. He rolls on the ground
holding his head before he is still. I can hear something…something rhythmic,
rhythmic and slow. It’s his heartbeat. He’s unconscious. I look over at Milli
with my arms spread out addressing what I had just done, as to say “What did
you think of that?” she furrows her eyebrows and snarls her lip and lays her
hand horizontally on the air, rocking it back and forth, as if to say
“eh…so-so.” I roll my eyes. Now that I focus on the threat again I notice
multiple of the same rhythmic beat. One was mine, it was steady and controlled.
Another across from me which was Milli’s, it’s faster than normal but
progressively getting slower. There are two others, outside of the dorm room. There’s
one to the right in the hallway that leads to the atrium and one directly
across in the dorm opposite, probably taking cover behind the doorway. I look back at Milli. I hold up one of my
fingers, “One”. I point to the guy on the floor. Then I point through the wall
at where to the guy behind the door is. I make another one and then point to
the right of the hall. She seems to understand instantly, and makes a circle
out of her thumb and forefinger “Okay.” She signs. She looks a little doubtful,
and she points her revolver out of my room towards the opposite dorm. She looks
at me and makes a thumbs up followed by her shrugging her shoulders. I shake my
head. I point to the right. She moves her revolver too far right and moves past
the person behind the doorway. She stops and looks at me. I point to the left
and then follow it with squeezing my forefinger and thumb together, trying to
say “to the left a little”. She gets the message. She looks at me to confirm
again. I shake my head, she’s aiming at their leg. I point upwards. She moves
up the revolver and I focus in on the steady pounding again. She’s on target. I
give her a thumbs up. She shrugs and has a doubtful look on her face. Here goes
nothing. She pulls the trigger and the explosion of gunpowder roars through the
building. Two holes appear in the wall just to the right of the opposite
doorway. A cry of surprise and excruciating pain is heard and a man drops to
the floor. I hear nothing, the 44.’s must have damaged some vital organs and he
died almost immediately. She pumps her fist and smiles. I feel sick. It’s
different from the movies or television. This is real. I don’t know why this
struck me now, maybe because I just aided and watched a man get killed, A man
with a life, a man with a family as well as hopes and dreams. But this is the
price of sanity I must pay; it was either him or us. I don’t feel good… I kneel
over the trashcan and throw up into it. I use my sleeve to wipe the rancid bile
from the corners of my mouth and stand back up. “You okay?” Milli mouths from
my room. I give her a weak hearted thumbs up. She chuckles a little. She
whispers just loud enough so I can hear it “Well if you’re right, just one more
and we’re done.” She looks at me again, and whispers again “Just stay there,
everything’ll be fine.” I couldn’t agree anymore. I feel horrible. I let myself
fall to the floor. The lightheadedness and dizziness pound my head like a
sledgehammer, and my stomach turns, howling in pain. It’s hard to focus on
anything else. It’s not even like the pain is severe, it’s just so prominent
it’s hard not to notice. I curl up my knees into a ball, in a fetal position on
the floor. My vison gets dark around the edges. Milli is beside me, but not to
check on me or nurse me. She takes the metal lid off the trashcan and takes the
trash bag out of it. She then heads to the doorway and throws it out into the
hallway. I hear the last heartbeat out there quicken, and the sound of lead
shredding the trash bag pulses through the building. The shooter had panicked,
Milli knew he was on edge and would shoot at anything that moved seeing as his
friends are dead to his knowledge. The last thing I remember is another roar of
Milli’s revolver and the smell of gunpowder, accompanied by the sound of
someone slumping to the floor. The last heartbeat is gone and everything goes
black. I feel nothing. Then I’m in an alleyway. I’m in some unfamiliar city,
lying down on cold pavement wet from rain. It’s dark. Then all of a sudden
streetlights come on and an imposing figure is standing over me. He leans
closer and I see He’s wearing a black and white suit, his short black hair
neatly combed to one side. He’s Japanese. To my horror I see two bullet holes
in his chest. They did not bleed, they were scabbed over. This was the man I
helped Milli kill. “I killed you…” I say, more to myself then to him. Then I
look him in the eyes. “I killed you.” I say again, meaning every word. His face
is plain and emotionless, lifeless even. He picks me up off the sidewalk and
stands me upright. I try to move but I can’t, my arms and legs rendered
immobile by an invisible force. Slowly he reaches into the inside of his suit
and pulls out Milli’s double barreled revolver. I try to move desperately but
can’t. “I killed you.” I say again, although I didn’t give my body the command
to do so. He presses the hand cannon to my chest, exactly where he had been
shot. “I killed you.” I say again, out of my control. He puts his finger on the
trigger and my heart races. “I KILLED YOU!” I practically scream. The weapon
goes off and I fall to the floor. I can’t feel any of my body. He stands over
me with the weapon trained on my head. With much effort, I raise my arms to
uselessly try to defend myself. Then I noticed that everything on my left arm
from the elbow to my hand was gone. I had no forearm. I feel my heart sink and
I’m flabbergasted and gaze at once was my appendage. The gun goes off again and
my eyes shoot open. I gasp and sit up, stretching both of my arms out. Both my
arms are intact, I was dreaming. I exhale in relief. I’m sitting on my bed over
the covers. “Jesus Roman…” I hear. I look to my right. Milli’s sitting on a
metal folding chair with her hand on her chest, wide eyed. “Nearly scared me
half to death…” she says. “Sorry…” I reply. The lightheadedness is gone, and so
is the sick feeling in my stomach. She exhales and says “Well at least you’re
awake and seem to be fine, I was worried I’d have to take you to a hospital.”
She says. “And I don’t deal with hospitals well.” She adds on. “Why?” I
inquire. “Because of your whole not-exactly-legal practices you have going on?”
“Yeah, something like that.” She mutters. “Well unlike most people you don’t
seem to be going into shock after something like that, so that’s good.” She
says. “I can treat what injuries you have here with what I got.” She explains
as she holds up a red first aid kit, showing it to me. I also notice the small
cases and plastic baggies of medial herbs and mixtures by her feet. “As far as
mental trauma goes, you definitely have a case of Killer’s Guilt, which should
go away in a day or two.” She tells me. “Killer’s Guilt?” I ask, unsure of what
she meant by that. “It’s what happens to the brain after the first time taking
a life or sometimes, in your case, aiding in the killing of a human being. The
brain takes full responsibility for that person’s death and makes them feel
uneasy and unsettled by it. A normal symptom is to throw up or to have dreams
about the dead person. Both of which you experienced.” She continues. “How do
you know I had a dream about it?” I wonder. “You kept saying “I killed you”
over and over in your sleep.” She explains. “It was freaking me out. There’s
also a similar mental case called Survivor’s Guilt where somebody is put into a
life threating situation with a group of others, for our example we’ll say a
plane crash, and the survivor feels personally responsible for the lives that
were lost in the situation. It’s very unlikely you have that as well, but it’s
a possibility.” She finishes. “Now let’s get to your physical wounds” she tells
me. I hang my legs over the edge of the bed and sit facing her, and let her
inspect me for injuries. “Oh…” she says. “Oh wow…” “What’s “oh wow”?” I ask
her, intrigued. “Your cut on your cheek from yesterday… The cuts on your hands
and lip from this morning… they’re gone.” She says, astonished. “Yeah? I’ve
always healed fast since I was a kid. Not to mention I just rested.” I tell
her, I don’t see why this is so interesting. “Roman, it’s 12:17 AM, you got
those injuries about two hours ago and they’re COMPLETLEY gone.” She tells me.
A chill runs down my spine. “…What?” “Yeah, take a look.” She hands me a hand
mirror, and I take it from her. She’s right. I can feel where the cuts should
be, but my face is perfect, unsullied. Did my eyes turn into a darker blue
instead of the usual grey-blue? Probably just the lighting… “ I don’t know what
to say…” I tell her handing the hand mirror back to her. “Me neither, they were
there when I carried you into the room.” She says. That couldn’t have taken
long, why did she wait until now to give me medical attention? WAIT WHAT. “You
carried me?!” I blurt out. She grins. “Easily. I’m stronger than I look.” She
says matter of factly. I sit in wonder for second. She carried me in here. I’m
6’1’ and 220lbs. She’s about 5’9” and 150lbs. How the hell… “What were you
doing after you set me down?” I ask her. “Cleaning up the mess we made. “Taking
out the trash.” So to speak. No need to worry about the authorities
fortunately. The rest of the dorms in the complex are abandoned and the complex
is a good distance from the rest of the campus. Nobody saw or heard anything”.
She explains. “Yeah and I’m sure that’s a coincidence. I think you owe me an
explanation, especially after I assisted you in manslaughter.” “Oh I intend to,
It’s either that or kill you, and after you helped me I think you’re an asset
not worth wasting.” She tells me. I swallow nervously. She was considering
killing me as a valid option? That bothers me more than it should… “You also
owe me a door and new TV” I joke. “What happened to the TV?” she asks. “You
managed to put two holes in the screen when you tried to shoot me.” I tell her.
She lets out a groan, tilting her head up. “S**t…” she says. “Yeah, s**t. I
mean it was a 50 Ollar TV, but still.” “That thing was only 50 Ollars?” she
questions in disbelief. “Yeah, it came with the dorm when I moved in.” I
explain. “It’s a nice TV…” “It WAS a nice TV, then you mistakened your revolver
for a “duck hunt” controller.” I tell her. She groans again. “Yeah I get
it…wait If it came with the dorm how do you know it was 50 Ollars?” she says.
“The internet.” I say promptly. “Oh. Well I can’t even make fun of you for
looking it up, it’s a nice TV.” “Was.” I correct her. “Was.” She confirms. “So
when can I expect some information from you?” I ask standing up. She sighs and
leans back in the chair, thinking. “Tonight, just let me get myself situated.” She
says after thinking. “When tonight?” I press her. She sighs again “You’re a
real hard a*s for details aren’t you? How about 7?” she says. “Yeah, that’s
fine.” I tell her. “Alright, see ya then.” She says, picking up her medical
supplies and taking them back to her room with her. God, if I had been told
that my life would change to this a week ago, I have no clue what I’ do. It
just spontaneously burst into chaos, a wonderful, wonderful chaos. Also looking
back, I see that I am free. Free from the invisible shackles of boredom and
solitude I would’ve never realized without the help of Milli. But now I can
never turn back, I’m on this path until I perish. And I am glad.
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