Nothing Personal

00. prologue

WILLOW'S DELICATE FINGERS nimbly straightened her tie around the stiff collar. She straightened it by moving it to the side. Willow retreated within the glass's frame, surveying her visage with hollow eyes.

She had rubbed off her makeup and tucked her silky, dark hair in a simple braid down her back. Appearances mattered little to her, especially at this hour. All that remained was functionality. And her primary function was soon to begin.

Willow glided through the haunted halls, her steps echoing in the liminal space between sleeping and waking. At this late hour, the other students were still nestled in their beds, lost in blissful oblivion. Only she was awake.

Finally arriving at the infirmary's door, she let herself inside. As expected, Doctor Giulia Bianchi was already there, preparing her medical supplies. The middle-aged woman turned at the sound of Willow's entrance, a snarl present on her face.

The woman looked away, ignoring Willow as she removed her blazer, unbuttoned her shirt, and removed her skirt, remaining only in her undergarments. Giulia remained silent, organizing her tools with deliberate slowness.

Willow climbed onto the examination bed and laid back, the harsh glare of the overhead light shining on her. Willow gulped, a dread creeping in her stomach as Giulia rested her slender fingers on her arm, her icy touch sending shivers skittering across Willow's skin like spiders as she hooked her up to the vital signs monitor.

Giulia tied a strap tight around her bicep, constricting tighter as the veins popped up in stark relief. Willow grunted at the unnecessary tightness of the leather strap coiling around her flesh, yet Giulia smiled cruelly at her discomfort. Her smile sliced through the dark like a dagger, her lips curving in all the wrong places.

Giulia worked methodically, the soft swish of her lab coat brushing against the surface of the examination bed and filling the space as she selected the appropriate needle and syringe before swabbing Willow's skin with antiseptic.

Willow's breathing filled the room. Her steady inhales and exhales echoed in her ears as her shaky fingers tensed against the cool metal of the bed. Her knuckles turned white as she braced herself for the pinch of the needle.

As the needle slid effortlessly into her vein, Willow suppressed a shudder. She felt a knot of anxiety tighten in her chest. It was not fear or discomfort; she felt neither of those things anymore. It was from the knowledge of what was to come once the paralyzing drug took effect.

Giulia pressed the plunger, injecting a small dose of the neuromuscular blocker, Rocuronium, into Willow's bloodstream. The woman had injected a substance specifically designed to disrupt the intricate dance of neurotransmitters at Willow's neuromuscular plates. Without that synaptic bridge, her cognition could send all the 'move' orders it wanted to her immobile flesh.

The potion took hold, melting steel into a liquid until she was a ragdoll. At first, the slowing was subtle. Her veins tensed before numbness set in. Willow stretched out an arm, giving in to the lazy unraveling of taut muscles. Her fingers released their curled position, falling lax and limber onto the sheets. A twinge of tension drained from her shoulder, rolling away into nothing.

Her muscles loosened further with each passing moment as the paralysis set in. Her legs stretched long on the bed as rest ebbed through her limbs. Ankles loosened, and toes unfurled, releasing their hold on rigid configuration.

Dimly, she was aware of her body surrendering fully to slumber—and yet somewhere beneath the surface, a small part of her resented losing control. Willow tried to tighten her sleeping muscles and clench her fingers, but her body was no longer hers to command. An invisible force was stealing over her, suffusing her limbs with a delicious heaviness that resisted all efforts to resist.