Rivals

Prologue

        

        As I walked down the stark white halls of our containment facility, my boots clicking on the tile, a sense of apprehension loomed above. I hadn't even met the poisoner, but my blood was already boiling with hatred towards her organization. 

The director believed me to be a good fit for the job, even though there were people who were better trained; something about how I was a woman, and our poisoner hadn't let any men get near her. However, I knew there was more to it than that.

As I approached the small window looking into the cell, my fingers strayed to the belt on my waist, and then to the small stun-gun that was attached there. I was told that she was dangerous, better safe than sorry I guess.

I trained my eyes past my own reflection and through the small glass window that looked into her cell.

She was leaning her back against the concrete wall, her eyes shut tightly, as if she was scared to open them. Her limp hands lay encaged in her lap, sucked to the ground by heavy metal bonds. She had filthy, scrappy hair, encrusted in blood in various places, and shielding most of her face. Black leather pants and a hopelessly ripped shirt hung off her frail frame.

I was told that the previous interrogators were harsh, but I hadn't expected this.

She was young, younger than I had expected one of their agents to be.

According to what little information was forced out of her, she was willing to pay for her crimes. However, knowing the nature of her companions, it could easily be a cover-up for some master plan.

I gulped. I couldn't believe the fact that the director thought this was a good idea.

As I reached down to unlock her cell, my eyes still trained on the window, the girl brought her head back, the movement slightly brushing hair off of her face. Her eyes eased open, locking with mine. They were dark, almost like an endless, empty void.

She knew I was here.

She worked with them, so she was probably highly trained in these things. She was successful, do doubt. Calculated, tricky, and strategic were all words the director has used when warning us about her organization. She probably thought like I did. So in order to get to her, I had to act like she didn't.

I released the lock and stepped into the confining space. I kept the door open a crack behind me, letting some light flow into the dim room.

She was still watching me. I decided to take a different approach.

"Hello." I said, clearing my throat. "My name is Jessica."

She closed her eyes again and moved her head away from me. We were about the same age, although I probably had a few years on her.

I raked my tongue over my lips, trying to find the right words to say. When nothing came, I decided it was best to be blunt.

"We need information about your agency." I said finally, my voice echoing in the bare cell.

She shifted her body towards me, every movement looking to be painful. Her eyes still focused on the ground, stringy hair falling into her face.

"I've already told you what I know" she barely whispered, her voice hoarse but firm.

If what she said was true, she probably ranked pretty low in her organization. Judging by her age, that could be true.

She's probably lying though.

She cleared her throat and began to speak again, this time looking up. "Believe me, if I didn't want to be here, agent, I wouldn't be," she promised.

"Why did you let us bring you here then?" I asked sarcastically. "Why didn't you try to hide from us, or fight back?" Silence. I curled my toes inside my boots. "You could have, but you didn't." Silence again.

"All I want is answers," I said.

Still nothing.

Suddenly, she got up from her position on the ground, suddenly angry.

"I let your people bring me here and I didn't fight back because I deserve to be here." She began to stalk towards me on weak legs, dragging the metal chains behind her, stormy eyes level with mine.

She was referring to the people she had probably killed. My mind raced miles a second. What else could I do to get information?

"Why do you deserve to be here?" I asked.

Her face was now inches from me. She has blood dripping down the side of her face, most likely from our interrogators. Even though she was a criminal, the thought of our people using these methods to get information was sickening.

The sight of her made me stiffen and reach my hand towards my belt.

Her eyes snapped down to the stun-gun on my belt, before snapping up to look at me again.

She lurched towards me with incredible speed, pushing me down to the floor before I could even blink. She scrambled into my lap and pressed me against the cell wall by putting her chained forearm to my throat, cutting off my air supply. Her eyes shone with....betrayal.

She watched as I suffocated under her firm grip.

"I told you", she seethed. "I want to die here. I want this." She jammed her knee forward, hitting me in between my legs. "Now, you can go tell the director to fuck off."

My head swirled. She was cutting off my air supply.

Well. I'd have to admit, this girl was good. But I was better.

I managed to get a solid grip on her wrist and yanked downward, gasping at the ability to breathe again. She winced as she released me, starting to massage her steel encased wrists. I rubbed my throat carefully and took monitored breaths.

After a minute of intense staring, something inside me switched.

Maybe it was because she looked paranoid, despite the aura of confidence she was trying to demonstrate. The whole reason she's not in a federal prison for terrorists right now is because the government wants to know more about her and the powerful organization she worked for.

She had walked right up to our agency and practically knocked on the door. And since that would probably be classified as pretty fucking weird, an explanation was needed.

Quickly, she spun around, returning to her position on the ground from earlier, curled up in a fetal position. "I intend on dying in here, and the sooner the better."

This was going to be harder than I thought.

"You intend on dying here," I mused. "That's cheery."

"Why am I here? Why am I not scheduled for a life in prison?" She asked me harshly.

"You said yourself that you deserved to be locked up. Here's as good a place as any."

I met her eyes. She looked directly into me, as opposed to at me, both of her eyes scanning and assessing. She was trying to read me, I would know. I kept my face void of emotion.

"Okay look," I weaved a hand through my long hair, "Your little association is evil."

She snorted. "Tell me something I don't know."

I blinked. Well that was definitely some information, she was aware that what she is a part of is dishonorable.

I racked my brain, trying to think of something that I could use to get her to cooperate. I was still learning the ropes of interrogation, having decided to focus on school before joining the agency, unlike others. But it wasn't as if I couldn't handle myself, after all, the director had chosen me.

She spoke before I got the chance. "Look, I'm here because I want to be. I wanted out."

That was information.

"Why did you want out?" I asked, my eyes softening. She was pretty young, so she probably hadn't made it through all of her training, or whatever they put their new recruits through.

She shrugged. "I'd had enough. I didn't want to be a part of that."

It was slowly starting to make sense. She hadn't come here to be locked up for her actions. She came because she needed protection, not the other way around.