In your shadows || Sierra six

CHAPTER 1

(Present)

I couldn't see anything. My lungs were engulfed with smoke, and my eyes were blurred with tears. Every breath was a struggle, the air thick with the acrid stench of burning debris. My body was heavy, every muscle screaming in agony, but I didn't need to move. I had done what I came to do. My work here was finished. Finally, I could rest, knowing that no more innocent girls would be taken and turned into deadly weapons. The path I cleared—one forged in darkness and blood—would no longer be tread by anyone else. The knowledge that my actions had stopped this cycle of horror made all the pain, all the discomfort, worth it.

I lay on the dirty ground, feeling the rough earth beneath me. Time seemed to stretch into eternity, each second dragging on as I struggled to stay conscious. I could feel the vibrations of tires rumbling through the ground and the distant wail of sirens growing louder, slicing through the smoke-filled air. They were coming—too late to stop the fire, but in time to find me lying in the aftermath.

Footsteps approached, heavy and hurried. I wanted to see who it was, but my vision was too blurred, my body too weak to respond. I heard a voice, but it was muffled, like it was coming from a great distance. My mind was slipping, consciousness fading. Then, I felt the sharp prick of a needle in my arm, and moments later, the world around me dissolved into darkness as I drifted off to sleep.

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When I woke up, I found myself in a sterile room, the sharp smell of antiseptic stinging my nose. Wires were connected to my body, monitoring my every heartbeat. The suit I had been wearing before everything went black was gone, replaced by a thin hospital gown and thick tan socks. The cold air made my skin prickle, and a deep sense of confusion settled over me. In the corner of my eye, I spotted a camera with a red flickering light. My heart clenched in fear, the paranoia setting in.

"What if he's alive?" I thought to myself, the terror gnawing at my sanity. "No. I killed him." I mumbled, trying to convince myself.

I took a deep breath, forcing my heart to slow its frantic pace, and gradually, my pulse returned to a more normal rhythm.

Time passed, though I couldn't tell how much. Minutes? Hours? It was all a blur as I lay on the stiff twin bed, staring at the ceiling. My arms were covered in bruises, dark splotches of pain decorating my skin. Out of curiosity, I pressed on one, expecting a sharp sting, but to my surprise, it didn't hurt. It was as if my body had gone numb, detached from the agony it had endured.

Suddenly, my stomach grumbled, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

"Fuck, I'm hungry," I whispered to myself, the ache in my gut a stark reminder that I was still alive.

"Good thing I'm just in time," a voice said, breaking the silence.

Startled, I snapped my neck toward the source of the voice, my heart pounding once more. Standing in the doorway was the same man who had put the needle in my arm. He looked calm, almost too calm for someone who had just found me in the middle of what must have been a horrifying scene. He had black hair with gray highlights showing his age, neatly combed, and a thin smile that seemed genuine enough, though I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to him than met the eye. He appeared to be about the same height as me, but there was something about him—his demeanor, perhaps—that made him seem larger than life.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice rough and strained.

"I'm Donald Fitzroy," he stated, his tone even, almost reassuring.

The name sounded familiar, but in my hazy state, I couldn't quite place it. He held a file in one hand and a paper plate with food in the other. The sight of the food made my stomach twist with hunger, and I had to force myself to focus.