A jolt of pain comes from my wrists, my stretch pulling at the still-fresh scar tissue there.
I stretch my arms above my head, my joints popping in protest. It’s disgusting, but I’m able to work some moisture back into my mouth. I take a deep swig of the warm, rust-flavored water. I’d much rather die free, fighting the Mogadorians. My greatest fear is that they’ll just leave me in here to waste away, that I’ll just pass out from dehydration, not even realizing that I’m living my last moment. When I first got here, I tried to keep track of how often the guard came so that I could keep count of the days, but sometimes I think they forget about me. Processed cheese on stale bread, a toilet without a seat, and total isolation. I don’t remember what it feels like not to be starving. I eat the sandwich right away, of course. The guard always sets the bucket down right next to my cell’s stainless-steel toilet, and I always drag the bucket over next to my bed, the closest thing I get to exercise. It’s not exactly room service, even though, as far as I can tell, I’m the only prisoner being held in this cell block-it’s just rows and rows of empty cells connected by steel gangways, and me alone. A guard brings the bucket once a day along with a cheese sandwich. I reach for the bucket of water on the floor next to me. The cramps in my legs and my backache? Those are real, too. The sweat-soaked mattress with broken springs that dig into my back? That’s real.
Just a way for my anxious mind to pass the time. Sometimes it’s like tonight and Six has come to rescue me, other times it’s John, and other times I’ve developed Legacies of my own and I fly out of my cell, pummeling Mogadorians as I go. The only thing I’m really certain of is that my imaginings of escape aren’t real. Hard to keep track of time since there are no windows in my cell. Sometimes it’s tough to tell whether I’m asleep or awake every moment tends to take on a drowsy sameness when you’ve been kept in isolation for weeks. She smiles nonchalantly.Īnd that’s when I wake up. “That was pretty awesome,” I tell her, when she reaches the door of my cell. She twists her way through an ever-increasing cloud of ash, the Mogs soon completely decimated. I watch from between the bars of my cell as she slices through the Mogs, blinking in and out of visibility, turning their own weapons against them. In response, Six tosses her hair and turns invisible. The Mog warriors unsheathe their daggers and charge forward, howling. The Mogs don’t usually devote any manpower whatsoever to keeping watch on me, but this is a dream, so whatever. A HORDE of Mogadorians stands between her and my cell-which isn’t technically realistic.
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