Nightmare

1

190 Years Ago

Three shots.

The sound echoed through the small house, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Amy stood frozen, her wide eyes fixed on the lifeless body of her father. Blood pooled around him, staining the worn floorboards. Jason, standing by the window, snapped out of his stupor at the sound of approaching sirens.

"Dammit," Jason muttered, turning to his younger sister. He grabbed her arm, his grip firm but not harsh. "Come on, Amy. We've got to go."

"But... Jason, Dad-"

"No time," he interrupted, his voice tight. He quickly rummaged through their father's belongings, pulling out a stash of money from a hidden drawer. Shoving it into his pocket, he tugged Amy toward the back door.

They ran through the darkened streets, the wailing of sirens fading behind them. Hours later, they stopped in an abandoned alley, breathless and exhausted. Jason leaned against the wall, his face hard and unreadable.

"Sting operation," he finally said, spitting the words out like venom. "The damn military had it in for us from the start."

Amy stared at him, her voice trembling. "Jason... why? Why did this happen?"

Jason sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Because we're mutants, Amy. We've always been on their radar. People like us... they don't want us alive." He looked at her, his expression softening for a moment. "But we're not done. I know someone who can help us."

"Who?"

"You'll see. Let's go."

---

Hours later, they arrived at a dimly lit, rundown building on the outskirts of the city. Jason knocked three times, and the door creaked open to reveal a grizzled man with sunken eyes and a perpetual scowl. He looked them over with a mixture of disdain and curiosity.

"So," the man sneered, his voice rough. "Jason brings his little sister into this mess. Guessing things didn't go too well back home?"

Jason didn't respond. The man snorted, shaking his head. "Still can't believe you two are just kids-what, five years old in the bodies of teenagers? That mutation of yours must be one hell of a curse. But I'm guessing you're not here for a chat, Jason."

Jason stepped forward, his tone firm. "We need your help, Able. Train us."

Able raised an eyebrow, glancing at Amy. "Her too?"

"I don't care what it takes," Amy said, stepping forward before Jason could answer. Her voice was steady, her gaze unflinching. "I want to learn. Train me."

Able chuckled darkly, leaning against the doorway. "You? In this line of work? Do you even know what you're asking for, girl?"

"I don't care," Amy said, her voice sharper now.

Jason smirked faintly, crossing his arms. "Telling her no isn't an option, Able. Trust me, she's stubborn."

Able sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Fine. Amy, was it? Let's see if you've got what it takes. You've already crossed one line-you killed your old man, didn't you? Guess you've got the guts for it." He stepped aside, motioning them inside. "Welcome to your new life. Let's hope you survive it."

14 years ago

Amy sat alone at a dimly lit bar for mercenaries, the kind of place where bloodstained currency and whispered contracts decided who lived and who didn't. Her expression was stoic, her presence imposing. Strapped to her back were her trusted weapons: a Mossberg 590 shotgun and an M14 DMR. They weren't just tools of her trade-they were extensions of her resolve.