Chapter 15: Vulnerable

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"You fucking sicko!" Alias screamed, thrashing wildly against her restraints. "I'll kill you! I swear to Primus, I'll kill—GAH!"

Her legs and arms jerked inward, stopped only by metal cuffs locking them to a table. Her nails dug into her skin, her toes tightened, her teeth clenched, and Alias's wings curled in on themselves. Her entire body went rigid and tense, silencing her and her efforts to escape.

A woman at her side pulled away an empty syringe and moved out of the way of the camera. She watched Alias with cold, calculating eyes, searching for anything unexpected and for anything that supported her theories.

The former was found first. Alias's jaw unclenched. Her muscles loosened and expanded as the pain subsided. For a moment, her eyes drooped closed. The doctor frowned and took a slow step toward the medical supplies. Death was possible, but not wanted. Not expected either. The chances were low, but—

Alias surged to life again, teeth flashing, extremities ramming against their restraints again. Blood and bruises around her wrists and ankles were bashed against the warm metal once, twice, three times more before the cuffs ripped out of place.

In an instant, Alias flung herself across the room, hands outstretched. The doctor barely managed to take a step back before Alias threw her against the wall. Sharp metal wings shone as they rose into the air before swiping horizontally between them. Blood sprayed across Alias's face as they tore through flesh.

The doctor gurgled, choking on blood, and dropped to the floor as Alias stepped back. The woman's hands moved to her throat, vainly trying to stem the flow of blood. It was useless. She was dead in less than a minute.

Alias didn't wait to watch the color fade from the doctor's cheeks. She turned away and kicked open the doors, surprising two guards waiting outside. She took them down effortlessly, coating the floor in a layer of red. She left behind bloody footsteps as she flew down the halls, slicing through anyone and everyone in her path.

All she could see was red. Not from physical blood, but from anger and fury and desperation. She had to get out. She had to escape. And she had to kill these monsters. Every last one of them.

And she did.

Alias bolted upright, eyes wide, gasping for breath, and shaking. Her muscles were so tense it hurt and the couch was shredded, leaving stuffing all over the floor and stuck between the crevices in her wings. She pushed away from the couch and placed her hand against her chest, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart.

As she calmed, two blue optics caught her attention, and Alias's blood turned cold.

"It was worse this time," Ratchet frowned. "You're not getting better."

Alias took a few shaky breaths before she felt her ability to speak properly return. "What do you mean by worse?"

"The nightmares," Ratchet clarified. "You didn't think I noticed?"

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She didn't have any quitty responses to that. Not now. Not with the nightmare fresh in her mind. The horror of what she had done was too tender a memory to push aside so easily.

Ratchet didn't seem to need one. He turned away from her and quickly made his way toward the hallway.

"Magnus will need help too."

"Magnus?" Alias frowned. "What's wrong with him?"

She quickly climbed down the ladder and ran after him. Ratchet didn't chastise her for the movement. He hadn't said a word about it yesterday either. Instead, he cast a glance her direction and turned toward the berthrooms.

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