It's been decades since the Re-Establishment was taken down for good. Everyone grew up, settled down, had a few kids even.
But with old threats arising and time running out, will the new generation be able to take down a far too familiar enemy or w...
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(TRIGGER WARNING: THIS CHAPTER WILLL HAVE VIOLENT IMAGERY!!!)
This chapter is dedicated to Archer. Aka Anderson's new wife. #Archerson
Everything. Is. Numb.
The world had collapsed in on itself after the bang. After the explosion. The last real recollection I had was hitting the wall. Hard. Blood blooming on my pale pink sweater.
I was no longer wearing that sweater.
I was in a sterile room, the walls all white, the floor white, the shirt and pants that had been put onto my body white. I had no idea where I was, where Will was, where Leo was-
Leo. We had kissed. Oh my god.
He had told me to trust him, that it was just a show. He had kissed me with such desire, passion. It was weird, in a way. But right now, it was a gentle reminder of myself, that I was still Delilah Emmy Warner, not losing my mind.
The people here had done something; patched me up from the clearly planned blast. I had been half-lucid while they worked, so I didn't remember much. Just that I wasn't in pain anymore.
The door swung open of The White Room, which I had coined it. It had done that a few times, people walking in and out, uttering no words despite my pleads for someone to tell me where I was.
This time, a new figure stood in the doorway. His hand was clenched around something coiled, a glinting ring on one finger, his suit was pristine and he looked the spit of my cousin. Or my cousin looked the spit of him?
It didn't take long to realise who he was.
The old Supreme Commander of North America. The reason my dad despises raising his voice at us. One of the coordinators of my parent's disappearance. A key player in Operation Synthesis.
Paris Anderson.
And he didn't look friendly. Not by a long shot.
"Hello Delilah. I don't believe we have met," he started, hand clenching around the coiled object in his hand, someone else wheeling a tray into the room. It had a syringe on it. And I hated needles.
"Stay the hell away from me!" I yelled, trying to shrink back against the wall, to put as much distance between us. He was going to hurt me, and if I could stay back, it wouldn't hurt as bad.
He tutted, walking closer to me just as my back hit the wall. I was trapped. Completely and utterly trapped. "It does not need to end in a violent way, my dear. Just tell me what I wish to know and you will be free to join your parents. How does that sound?"
His voice was honeyed, sugarcoating what violence meant. It was almost kind, like I could trust him. He was looking at me like I was a wounded animal, or a disturbed child. Like I wasn't the badass that was Delilah Warner.
