I never got to finish my coffee

Part 3

There was a low, steady hum. A bit of quiet chatter, in urgent, hushed tones.

Then her head hurt. It hit with a pang, as if she just bumped into something. She didn't, as far as she knew. She was...wedged in between two things. A bit warm, a bit fleshy, but stiff otherwise.

Then she suddenly seemed to be aware of her vision.

She could open her eyes. So she did.

The sudden bright light made her squint. She tried to raise her hand to shield her eyes.

Her hand was stuck.

She tried the other hand.

It was also stuck. She took a steadying breath to calm herself upon realising they're tethered to each other. On the contrary, somewhere in her mind, she was screaming.

Slowly she opened her eyes.

She was in a car.

It wasn't her car.

The people around her were strangers.

"You're awake" a voice came from her right. She couldn't see the face of this speaker, nor the face of anyone else. They were all just ever so conveniently out of sight.

Her mind suddenly kicked into overdrive. Who are these people? Where was she? Why is she here? How much time has passed? What's going on?

"No matter, we're nearly there anyway,"

Wherever 'there' was, soon enough the car pulled into a driveway of a seemingly normal house, albeit rather big. It was in the middle of nowhere, so it seemed, surrounded by tall trees and bushy shrubs, with the heavy canopy shielding the location from the sky.

Rivera was led - or perhaps pulled was a better word - into the house. She would've tried to put up a fight, or maybe use some sort of ploy, anything, to escape, but her captors seemed to have prepared for that. Her hands were cuffed behind her, and the person leading her was strong enough that their grip alone made her arm ache. Fighting back now would be pointless; she doesn't know what these people want, what they're capable of, and what they're willing to do.

She did manage to get a better look at this person, luckily. A lightly tanned woman with frisky, jet black hair, choppily cut short, wearing a jade green blouse with black pants and a blazer. There was another person, with ashy blond hair, a red plaid shirt, and jeans, although she couldn't see much else about them.

The interior was a mix between a common house and an office. The occasional file lay open on the coffee table, as if someone was recently looking through it. Papers with names and statistics and lengthy descriptions littered some areas, while others were kept clean. Her eyes scanned the room for a potential weapon; perhaps to be used by her, or perhaps to be used against her.

The three went downstairs, into a cold basement. It didn't seem unfinished, but it wasn't a place where one would spend a quiet evening either, to say the least. The only light came from harsh, fluorescent lights on the ceiling, bright enough to give someone a headache. The cement walls radiated a bone-chilling aura, as did the ceiling.

Before she could continue absorbing the details of the scene, the blonde opened a door along the far wall at the back, and stood to the side. The woman in the blazer, still with a steel-tight grip, kept walking into the room.

It was a small room, with shelves along the walls, and a desk in the middle, plus a couple of chairs by the desk.

The woman holding onto Rivera let go, and tugged on the cuffs. A click was heard, and the strain around her wrists loosened significantly, as she gave her a little wink. "Don't tell anyone I did this," she whispered. "Anyway, what was your name again?" she returned to her normal, carefree tone, while sitting on the tabletop.

"Tell me who you are first," Rivera retorted, regaining some of her original unabashed attitude. "And that guy outside the door."

The woman just stared at her for a while. Her face broke into a grin, and then a laugh.

The incessant cackling abruptly halted when the door swung open, beginning both womens' attention to the figure standing in the doorway. Someone with a black, tactical outfit, a literal gasmask (or...something of that sort?), with dark glasses. He had what looked like a bruise (or old blood stains?) covering most of his rather pale face left uncovered from the mask, with his greying hair slicked back neatly.

"You're dismissed now," came the low, slightly muffled voice, as he looked towards the woman sitting on the table.

"I'm staying," she nonchalantly replied. "I wanna see what happens."

"Eagle,"

"But-"

"Out. Now."

Eagle groaned, and dramatically left the room. The masked person went over to the desk, not bothering to sit down, and got out a file from its drawers.

"Celeste Rivera, I take it?"

"You will address me as Doctor Rivera,"

"Doctor Rivera," they nodded. "You work as a consultant at a tech firm in Toronto, correct?"

Rivera stayed silent. She refused to say anything she didn't need to. The person asking her questions took that as an answer.

"Consider this as us hiring you." Upon seeing Rivera's reaction, primarily of confusion and shock, they added on. "We are an organisation called Halcyon. Currently we're working on developing a project we've...picked up from somewhere. That's where you come in.

"We've been observing your work as of late, and have concluded that you'll be a valuable asset to us. Remember that project I mentioned? You will now be a consultant for it-"

"I am not participating in whatever bullshit you want me to do." Rivera surprised herself with her impromptu interruption, but leaned into the splurge. "Take me back."

They sighed. "Perhaps it would help if I introduced myself? You can call me Pulse. I'm the Chief Research Officer at Halcyon."

"I don't care,"

"You don't really have a choice."

Rivera was never really one for physical strength, or using violence to fix things, but she was really fancying the idea of punching this guy- Pulse, whatever. She clenched her fists instead.

"You don't get to tell me what choice I-"

Then, she heard a click. She saw the gun.

A small, black, metallic pistol, with a suppressor as long as the barrel.

"I'd prefer not to escalate my methods that may be considered 'ugly'." he raised the pistol, aiming it towards her direction. "Especially if it means killing a fellow scientist. However, The Director has bigger plans that need to be done."

A moment of silence passed.

"So, if I were you, Doctor Rivera, I'd find it more logical to reconsider your choice."

Rivera stared at the gun, which was pointed at her face now. Pulse's tone hadn't changed at all. All those dreaded feelings from the past week rushed back to her; the raised hairs, the sinking in her stomach, the sweat on her palms-

The door slammed open, and the twos' attention snapped to the person in the doorway.

"Pulse, wait!" A man with the same tactical uniform, save for the mask and gear, with short black hair that stuck up near the front, and a day-old stubble had run into the room, slightly out of breath.

"Think about this, Pulse, the Director needs this project done, and Doctor Rivera is our best shot at helping us complete it." He moved between the two, like a shield. "If you kill her now, we'll lose this opportunity to finish all of this quicker."

"...What are you suggesting, Falcon?"

"Let me convince her to help work on the project." Falcon's voice grew more desperate by the word. "Getting this project done and checking in with all scientific endeavours? That's all you."

There was a long wait.

"Your argument..." Pulse slowly lowered the gun. "...is logical."