The Darker Side of Me

Threats

These barracks must be the most boring place in the world. I'm certain that the men used to joke and laugh with each other all night until I came around. I feel deeply satisfied that I have disrupted their very way of life, but I wish I could find something to keep me occupied. The rehabilitation center was hell, but it was never boring. I was never allowed a full night's sleep, and now that it's available to me, I don't know what to do with it. Six hours is far too long for anyone.

I roll my eyes in the dark, staring up at the slats of the bunk above me. A smile pulls at my lips as I register that there is a man above me. They'd drawn lots, and poor little Cadet Jackson wound up just above the killer. This will be fun.

I nudge the bunk bed with my foot, gently at first. He mumbles and shifts. Good. Now everyone will think the creaking sounds are from his weight moving around. I push harder, and the cadet moans in protest. All of a sudden, I pound the mattress with both feet. He startles awake with a bloodcurdling scream, and I can't help but laugh hysterically.

A light clicks on in the tiny, adjacent commander's room, and he comes rushing out, wielding his gun. I notice that he's wearing his uniform though most of his men sleep either in boxers or nothing at all. Typical. But it's wrinkled and his hair is wild, and I know that this will bruise his ego. Exactly as I wanted.

He's still half asleep. This is my chance. I snatch Jackson's rifle from his embrace, but find to my disgust that the safety requires a fingerprint. So I snatch the cadet's pointer finger, cruelly yanking his arm through the bars until the pad of his finger comes into contact with the tiny screen. The finger pops out of its socket and the cadet screams, even louder than before. But just as I level the gun at Teague, he twists his hand, sending the Sound through my brain. I shriek, drop the gun, and clap my hands to my ears, and it disappears almost immediately. Teague grabs my wrists in a vicelike grip and forcibly drags me into his room, throwing me to the ground. He closes and locks the door, but I can still hear him say, "A disappointing performance."

"You knew that would happen," an angry voice says.

"It was a test. One that all of you failed horribly."

"I'm sorry, sir, I should have done the motion..." says Jackson.

"Yes, you should have," Teague says, surprisingly gentle. "But I don't fault you for panicking. Any of your comrades would have done the same. No, the blame falls to the rest of you for neglecting to enact the failsafe even as you watched Two-oh-Eight seize Cadet Jackson's weapon."

I hear mumbled apologies.

"She will be kept in my quarters from now on."

Perfect.

It hasn't been as perfect as I expected. Every time I try to kill Teague in his sleep, he jolts awake and stops me, often with the Sound. The lack of rest doesn't seem to bother him, but after five consecutive nights of staying awake looking for an opening, I can barely function. I finally lay aside the hope of murdering him at night and begin looking for opportunities in the day.

I stay compliant for weeks on end, waiting until the inevitable day when they set me loose on the rebels. If I'm fast enough (and I know that I am) I can kill their enemies, then turn around and kill them too. That day isn't long in coming.