When I was merely five years old, etched vividly in my memories is the initial conversation I had with a stranger. A man of perhaps thirty-something, dressed in a suit that matched his silver tie, remains an indelible figure in my recollections. His shoes gleamed with a luster akin to my father's finest footwear. This man introduced himself as Dr. Tim Roberts, a psychologist.
Our encounter took place within a small, secluded room nestled within the hospital's corridors. The room itself was modest, housing naught but a square table and two chairs positioned at opposite poles. He motioned for me to take a seat, while he clutched a bundle of papers, presumably documents intended for my assessment following the accident.
"Kiera, my condolences for your loss... Your parents are no longer with us," he spoke with a considerate cadence, his every gesture deliberate and cautious, as if he were deciphering messages in my movements. His eyes emitted compassion as they regarded me. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," I responded, reigning in my emotions. I refrained from reacting in the typical manner of a child – no crying, no sobbing – upon learning that my parents were no more. Despite my tender age, I comprehended that I was undergoing a form of psychological scrutiny. My father had schooled me in deciphering people's thoughts, even their deepest secrets, through their gestures: the motion of their lips, the touch of their hair, the clenching of their hands, their posture, and the expression in their eyes. Each gesture held meaning beyond face value. I had also been coached in maintaining a mask of emotional neutrality during questioning, rendering my visage an enigmatic slate.
"Aren't you sad?" he inquired warily, jotting notes upon the paper before him.
"I am sad. But tears aren't necessary," I replied, once again meeting his gaze, cognizant of his scrutiny upon every contour of my countenance, each twitch of my lips, each blink, swallow, and breath. "Death is a part of life. My parents are gone, but indulging in sorrow and self-pity isn't my inclination, especially when I'm on my own."
My response seemed to surprise him, the words from a five-year-old like me unexpected. Then again, I wasn't your average child, and he was well aware that this was the rationale behind our tête-à-tête within that room.
"Kiera, do you recognize this object?" he queried, extracting a cube adorned in various hues from his pocket.
"Rubik's cube," I stated succinctly.
"Can you assemble all the colors together? Arrange all the white squares on one side, and replicate the same for the other colors," he elucidated, sliding the cube toward me.
I accepted the cube and commenced its twisting, almost as though I had imprinted the maneuvers into memory before ever clutching it. I knew precisely what to do: Front. Right. Up. Back. Left. Down. The motions and patterns flowed organically through my mind, bypassing conscious thought. It was as if my mind itself was directing the puzzle's solution.
In an interval of less than a minute, I returned the cube to him, now with each red, blue, yellow, green, black, and white square neatly ensconced on its respective face. Only as he accepted the cube did I snap back to the present moment.
"A-amazing, Kiera. Now, I have just one final query."
"What is it?"
"Would you care to accompany me?"
"Where?"
"Home..."
***
Present Time
"Lucy! Turn the knob! Open the door swiftly!" Astrid's urgent voice pierced through the static of my earpiece, yanking me back from the depths of my ruminations. Lost in memories I yearned to shun, I refocused my senses on the present.
"Apologies, Astrid," I muttered under my breath as I turned the rusty doorknob of the dilapidated storage room. Its groaning protest added a dissonant note to the already charged atmosphere. Squeezing through the narrow gap between the door and its frame, I slipped into the room, my muscles tensed in anticipation.
"I'm in," I whispered, my body pressed against the doorframe, fingers gripping the earpiece, awaiting further instructions from Astrid.
"Good. Take a left and proceed down the corridor. Swiftly, before anyone takes notice."
Affirming the directive with a nod, even though Astrid couldn't see it, I moved forward, turning left and advancing into the dimly lit passage. Each step reverberated with a weightiness, a gravity borne from the mission and the memories that had the power to engulf me.
The hallway stretched before me, a tunnel of shadows, its stillness broken only by the low hum of ventilation. The walls seemed to narrow, threatening to enclose me in a suffocating embrace. Every footfall felt like an eternity, the rhythmic thudding of my heart echoing in my ears. Swallowing hard, I wrestled to suppress the unease that clawed at my insides.
Astrid's voice crackled once more, anchoring me in the present. "Take the next left. There's a door. Push it open."
Following her guidance, I quickened my pace, my gloved hand closing around the frigid metal of the door handle. With a determined shove, I forced the heavy door open, greeted by the blaze of sunlight and the rush of fresh air. The abrupt transition from shadow to light momentarily blinded me.
"Keep moving!" Astrid's voice, urgent and commanding, galvanized me.
"Roger," I responded, stepping out of the storage room and squinting against the brilliance of the sun. The world outside appeared both familiar and alien, a stark contrast to the darkness I had just vacated.
"Are you still there? I hear your breathing, but are you advancing?" Astrid's voice persisted, maintaining the tenuous link that tethered me to the mission.
"I'm here. I'm checking the bodies," I replied, my attention now firmly on the task at hand. The tableau I confronted was gruesome and nightmarish – a room strewn with lifeless figures, each a testament to the malevolence that thrived in obscurity.
As I inched closer to the cadavers, the fetid stench of death and decay assailed my senses, permeating even through the protective mask. I resisted the urge to retch, my stomach coiling in response to the overpowering odor. I reminded myself of the purpose behind this grim tableau, of the necessity to persist.
"Lucy, find the lawyer's body – the one who perished last week. Retrieve his ring swiftly, before you're overcome by the stench," Astrid's voice cut through the chaos, grounding me in the mission's objective.
Amid the ghastly forms that surrounded me, I scoured for any trace of the lawyer's remains. The air hung heavy with the stink of decomposition, and my gut threatened to rebel. With grim determination, I pressed on, gloved hands sifting through the remains.
Astrid's patience waned. "Hurry, Lucy! Time's slipping away. You must locate that ring."
"Understood," I muttered, my gloved fingers grazing the cold, clammy flesh of a corpse. With a shudder, I extended my hand toward the lifeless appendage, the nexus of repulsion and resolve.
"What do you mean, 'understood'?" Astrid's tone rang sharp with frustration, his impatience evident.
"Found it," I announced, my voice strained as I liberated the lawyer's ring from the rotting digit. I wiped the ring clean against my clothing before securing it.
"Excellent. Make your exit," Astrid's voice urged, emphasizing the urgency of the situation.
"Copy that," I responded, my pulse quickening as I pivoted to retrace my steps toward freedom. Yet, before I could take more than a couple of strides, an ear-piercing alarm split the air, sending shockwaves of panic coursing through my veins.
"Lucy! Can you hear that alarm? You're in jeopardy! Move, move, move!"
I sprinted toward the exit, heart pounding as adrenaline surged, the blaring alarm heightening the chaos, urging me forward, pushing me to evade the imminent threat.
"Get out of there!" Astrid's voice implored, a relentless reminder that danger was nigh.
"Roger," I panted, my pace accelerating as I burst through the door, met with the harsh sunlight and the cacophony of the external world.
However, the instant my foot landed beyond the threshold, I found myself surrounded by a swarm of armed assailants. Their frigid stares bore into me, devoid of mercy. Their weapons glinted in the sun, their intention unambiguous – eliminate the threat I posed.
My heart plummeted, realization crashing over me like a tidal wave. Outnumbered, outgunned, cornered.
"Damn it, sir, I'm trapped. There are twenty-three of them," I reported, fear and frustration intertwining in my voice.
"Christ," Astrid's incredulous response mirrored the gravity of the predicament.
In the span of a breath, the adversaries closed in, their eyes empty of compassion. Blades gleamed, poised for the kill.
Summoning every ounce of training, every scrap of instinct, I faced the battle that fate had thrust upon me. I steadied my breath, embraced the dance of survival against overwhelming odds.
Astrid's voice echoed like a lifeline. "Lucy, don't stop! You've got this!"
In the chaos, my body responded instinctively, dodging, parrying, the rhythm of battle coursing through my veins.
The earpiece, Astrid's presence – they were constants in the maelstrom. "Keep moving, Lucy!"
As swords clashed, blood pumped, every fiber of my being engaged. Victory felt distant, yet determination remained ablaze. The thrill of combat merged with the weight of memory, propelling me forward.
When the final foe fell, the battlefield bore witness to the ferocity of the struggle. Amidst the fallen, I stood – battered, but alive.
Memories of triumphs, agonies, all converged in this moment. The angst that had driven me was now a fusion of strength and resolve. The shadowed past, with all its scars, met the newfound realization – that I could defy the odds.
Exhausted, triumphant, I surveyed the aftermath. The battlefield lay littered with bodies – a testament to the might of the clash. In the midst of the gore, I stood – battered, but alive.
The echoes of battle lingered as I caught my breath, and I acknowledged the marks, both seen and unseen, that this life had etched onto me. Triumph tinged with the bitter awareness that the cycle persisted. Yet, Astrid's voice and the flame within reassured me – I was ready for whatever lay ahead.
Stepping away from the battleground, echoes of combat resounding, I embraced my newfound determination – a resolve to confront the shadows of my past, to keep fighting, to keep surviving.