Immune

12. Prisoner

...beep...beep...beep...beep...

She was lying on a cold stone floor in near darkness, her hair splayed wildly across. Her eyes remained closed, her eyelashes fluttering in the musty breeze. Her limbs were splayed outwards, away from her bandaged chest. Tubes hung out of her mouth, arms, and chest, connected to machines that surrounded her, beeping and clanking, trying to keep her alive. 

"Will she survive?" A cold voice echoed through the chamber, as two men marched in, their boots loudly clanking on the stone floor.

"Yes sir," a frightened voice responded. "She will surely survive."

"Why did you instruct your men to shoot her? Such a childish and idiotic move, I'm disappointed." The cold voice revealed no emotion, seeming even more frightening and foreboding. 

"I-I'm sorry sir, this will never happen again."

The cold voice laughed. "As if it will happen again," he snarled harshly. "You will do everything you can with her to make sure mistakes like her don't happen again. If I catch one more mistake then you will be sentenced to a worse death than she, do you understand?"

"Y-y-es s-sir," the other man's wimpish voice trembled. "I-I unders-s-stand."

Footsteps neared Jessica's body. "She looks exactly the same," the cold voice smirked. "Surely she would've felt no emotion after leaving such a 'cruel and heartless' person like me. Notify me immediately when she is awake." With that, the cold man marched out of the prison chamber. 

★★★Ἀβαδδών★★★

There was a sharp pain in her chest as she struggled to sit upright. She inhaled deeply, only to choke on the foul fumes surrounding the chamber. She seemed to be locked in an empty and dark room, with barely any light. As she tried to stand up, she heard a sudden whizzing coming from the corner of the room nearest to where she was. A camera. It had spun to focus on her, a red light beeping on it. She ignored the whirring piece of technology and focused on standing up. The sharp pain on her chest was almost unbearable; she clutched the center of her chest and grit her teeth, trying to ignore the aching stabs that punctured her chest. 

She was panting heavily with her hand tightly clutching her chest; her light hair cloaked her face, hiding the sweat that was running down the side of her face. Suddenly the door slammed open, allowing light to shine brightly into the chamber. Jessica stumbled back and fell, taken aback by the abrupt light that stunned her eyes. 

The sound of heavy boots marching towards Jessica echoed around. A man's silhouette stood in front of her; he was tall, with a sharp jawline. His hair was slicked back with gel and he appeared to be wearing a suit. She was suddenly overcome by fear when she saw a pistol in his hand. 

"Jessica," the man said, his voice oozing with coldness. There are no two voices that are exactly alike in the entire world, and this man's was one that she had heard before. Not just once, but many times. "Jessica," he repeated. 

Her heart started to pound rapidly and her eyes widened, unable to comprehend the situation at hand. Suddenly the man laughed, high and cold. "Yes, Jessica, it's me: the president of the United States, the cruel and heartless man who does not know trust. It's me, Kris."