In a world torn between heroes and villains, it can be a dangerous and hostile place. Some take comfort in the Gifted that stand up against those who would use their powers for greed and chaos. While others choose to hide away, fearful of the day...
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"So, where do we start?" She took a slight step forward, her brow dipping down as her head cocked to the side. "Shall we begin with our mutual attempts to kill each other, or are we just going to go straight to the dominatrix that gets off on using her mind to toss me around like a hacky sack?"
Dom sighed and massaged his head. "I intended to talk about the training sessions, but if you want to talk about the night of the gala or the night I..."
He wasn't able to finish the sentence. Blood he could never wash away, tarnished his hands. He knew that. He'd grown numb to the guilt because he didn't fear death or the threat of retribution in the afterlife. Death was final, as far as he was concerned, and dying seemed like a welcome rest. That was true, at least, until Mir came into his life and the guilt came back with a vengeance.
"Well, lucky for you, I don't want to talk about either of those nights," she said, crossing her arms and turning away. "You didn't kill me, I didn't kill you. Let's move on, shall we? Right now is what matters and I don't have a fucking clue where we go from here."
This he understood with painful clarity. The only aspect of death that ate away at him was the anxiety that he hadn't done enough to provoke a movement that would hold Fortress accountable for their crimes. He worried about the legacy of his mission. However, over the past month, a fresh fear bubbled inside him. It felt so shallow in the grand scheme of things, but it filled his nightmares and had him watching his every step. Dread of the future waned, and the present pulled him to his knees. If he died, he'd never see Mir happy and he couldn't move on from the mortal coil until he knew she could live.
"Okay." His lungs exhaled, his body settling as he felt the weight of her sincerity.
He pulled off his suit jacket and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair as he made his way over to a tablet in the wall. With a swipe of his finger, he raised the lights to a warm glow that lit the space without detracting from the view. He then undid his cuffs and the top button of his shirt. He shook off the dust of another strenuous work day so he could approach this conversation with clear eyes. However, when he returned his gaze to his frustrated prisoner, he found her assessing his stance, dragging her eyes up and down his form before noticing his renewed attention. A blush of color lit her cheeks, and she turned away.
"So," he said, stepping forward to draw closer but still keep his distance, "tell me how you are doing — with the sessions, that is."
"Do you not watch the recordings? I've been able to figure out where all the cameras are in any given room based on where Karina stands and what direction she points her ass whenever she finds a reason to bend over."
"Sorry about that," he groaned. "Yes, I watch all the videos, though I admittedly skim through some of them. I can tell you're struggling, but I'd rather hear your feelings on the matter directly."
She watched him for a moment as she chewed on the inside of her lip and bounced her foot.
"I'll answer your question, if you answer one of mine first."
