The Two of Us

Chapter 4: Corporal Buzzkill

Ever had one of those sleeps that's so good, you don't want to wake up? Well, this was one of them. I haven't had such good sleep for months now. No wonder, when in that world outside, you have to sleep with one eye open.

The bed is surprisingly more comfortable than I expected, with my limbs tangled in the crisp military-grade sheets. I rub my eyes, trying to shake off the last shreds of the dream world. The sheets are like a warm hug, and for a moment, all I want is to burrow back in and ignore the rest of the day. But, alas, life's got other plans. There's a mission to be accomplished here, and it starts with untangling myself from these sheets.

With a yawn that feels like it can stretch for days, I roll out of bed, my joints protesting the betrayal of gravity. Seriously, why can't getting up be as easy as hitting the snooze button? The harsh reality of the day awaits, but my cozy cocoon of sheets is a tempting refuge.

The room is all shades of regulation gray, and I half-expect a drill sergeant to barge in, shouting orders. I glance at the clock. Yep, definitely an ungodly hour. Who knew that saving the world came with such an early wake-up call?

A quick glance at the mirror confirms that my reflection is the epitome of morning chic: tousled hair, sleep-ruffled pajamas, and a face that screams "five more minutes, please." I grab a hair tie and throw my unruly bedhead into a messy bun.

Dragging myself to the bathroom, I splash some water on my face, hoping to wash away the remnants of dreamland. The cold water shocks me awake, but my reflection still looks like it's begging for a few more hours of shut-eye. I give myself a half-hearted pep talk in the mirror, something along the lines of, "Come on, Jenna Mae, you got this. After all, there is a world to be saved, and it all depends on you."

The bathroom is all sterile white, and the fluorescent lights don't do any favors for my just-woke-up complexion. I contemplate the mysteries of the universe, like why mornings exist in the first place. Who decided that the crack of dawn was the perfect time to tackle life's challenges? I'll trade a sunrise for a solid eight hours of sleep any day.

With a sigh, I grab my toothbrush and wage war against morning breath. Minty victory achieved, I survey the battlefield that is my reflection once more. The messy bun is holding up surprisingly well, considering it was crafted by someone with half-closed eyes. Maybe there's a hidden talent there—the art of the half-asleep messy bun.

I shuffle back into my regulation-gray room and throw open the closet. They have thrown away the clothes I wore until yesterday. Yeah, it's better that way. Those clothes have smelled more than the dead.

Surprisingly, the military has some sense of fashion—or at least an attempt at it. I pull out a pair of well-worn jeans that seem like they've seen their fair share of adventures. Paired with a plain white tee, it's a classic combo that wouldn't look out of place in any of the places in the old world.

There's also a hoodie hanging there, a comforting shade of deep blue. It's the kind of hoodie you'd wear on lazy Sundays or when the world outside feels a bit too chilly. I slip into it, appreciating the warmth and the scent of detergent. As I pull the hood over my messy bun, I can almost convince myself that I'm just heading out for a casual stroll rather than gearing up for some world-saving escapade.

As for footwear, it's a choice between sturdy sneakers and combat boots that look like they mean business. I opt for the combat boots.

I take a moment to glance at the reflection in the mirror. Not bad, considering the circumstances.

Someone knocks on my door. With a sigh, I stride over and swing it open, half-expecting a stern-faced officer, but no, it's Zane.

"Nice look, Jenna Mae. Ready to conquer the day?"