DAMAGED.
That's what the society calls us, the prisoners, the ones who are feared and hated. We are parasites of our Intelligence Bodies, the carriers of the plague. At least, that's what the Majarlikan military forces said. Of course, it's a fabric...
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Y U R A
I blink away the haze in my eyes as my ears detect the sound of crashing wood somewhere in the unspecified region of space until the mental playback of the most recent memory vanishes away. But when my vision sharpens on the floor-to-ceilinged window, where a ray of sunlight streams through, the memory materializes back.
I hoist myself up.
Spotting a naked body lying facedown at the foot of the bed, confirming my horror that what had happened isn't a product from slumberland, a sudden heat rises up my cheeks, that it provokes tears to coat all over my vision. With trembling feet, I kick away from the rapist, breathlessly gasping for air as if someone is squeezing my neck. Only now do I notice the deep-red smudge—blood peering from his waist. I lift my hands to clap them to my mouth, but I freeze mid-action when I see blood around my fingers and palms, around the already crimson blanket and mattress, almost perfectly camouflaged to the materials. So that explains why everything felt damp.
Terrified, I fling my shivering feet off the bed in time upon hearing stampedes in the other side of the door. Could it be his gangly comrades? Instinctively, despite of the lingering horror and the puddling tears in my eyes, I am able to stand and hastily wrap the blanket around my exposed form before the door slams open, sucking in three Phyrivoxes. I sigh in relief but only for a second when they don't drop their guns. Instead, they point them at me.
"Raise your hands!" the one, who appears to be the leader, barks a command at me as if a weapon is tucked in my hand.
My heart beats wildly in my chest. I have no memory of what had happened after collapsing to the rapist's harassment. Tears scurry down from my eyes. Just thinking about it creates an unusual air around me. As if I am brought back to the episode last night. But, did I really murder a man? I know I'm innocent.
"I didn't—"
"Reserve your frivolous excuses to the law!"
I note that one of the two Phyrivoxes behind him flinch as if reacting to his leader's ill-gotten ways.
"But—"
Bang!
A bullet zooms inches close to my left ear and cracks against the wardrobe behind me, ringing in the air, deafening me for a moment and forcing my eyes to shut and my body to crouch, shuddering, teeth rasping against each other.
"Hands up!" the leader barks again, his gun threatening to fire once more.
Shivering, I do what he has ordered. I pitch a wintry look at him while he quickly snaps the handcuffs in place around my wrists at my back.
The Phyrivox who flinched earlier takes a few steps forward and interposes, "General, don't we have to—"
"Ilastor, your name, is it?" he intercepts before his cohort could finish his statement and jabs a finger against his chest. "As a student intern, don't you think that such carelessness to your performance can ruin your scholarship?"
"I'm sorry, sir." Ilastor tilts his head down in surrender by virtue of his preceptor.
The general ignores his apology and harshly grabs me by my arm. When I refuse to stand, he tightens his grip, fingers digging against my skin that I feel one of my nerves has crushed. I hiss in pain.
"If you keep on doggedly allowing your stupidity to take control over you," the general whispers to my ear, "it would be my pleasure to knock you down and drag you out this apartment."
My eyes freeze as my body numbs defenseless to his beastly touch.
"Deether!" he calls to his other cohort who lingers beside the corpse, snapping into attention. "You stay here, phone an Elythorph to investigate the scene. Don't touch anything."
"Immediately, general," Deether answers, takes his phone and dials into it to demonstrate the general's command.
The general shoves me out the room as I stumble before him. I run a quick assessment to the ruined parlour, to the other corpse resting on a sofa with a hand clawed against the antimacassar. A dagger is still buried in his chest. I tear my eyes away from the dead body, notwithstanding the dire scene.
I stiffen, realizing that the general has no plan for me to change into a decent clothing as I am pushed towards the doorway leading out the corridor.
"General, I think she needs to dress up," Ilastor speaks for me from behind.
The general unfastens his grip from me and clenches his jaws before turning at him.
"Are you ordering me, intern?" The general emphasizes the last word as if to mean that he's nothing but a lowly to him.
"No not, sir. It's just that—"
"It's improper? That she deserves a special treatment after murdering two men? I am very much disappointed with you, Ilastor, knowing that you never failed once," he stops for a second, "but the Cognitive Exam."
The general twist a grin as if pleased to settle his hash on Ilastor, who's now frozen in his spot. I could just run away from them at this very moment, but my heart crumbles for Ilastor, so...
"I'm fine with this," I spit out, eyeing at Ilastor wistfully but also hoping that he gets my unspoken message for him—that is, I am thankful for his concern but he has to drop it.
For sometimes, in order to win the war, one must have to step back and rethink.
A glitter of forced assent betokens from Ilastor's eyes as I furtively give him a slight nod.
"See? She likes it," the general says. "Besides, this garment is better suited for a murderer like her than any other apparels you see in any article."
A part of me wants to pipe out my innocence right at his face but I decide not to venture upon it.
The general locks my arm in iron grip as I nervously fight the urge to gnaw his earlobe inches close to me. He pushes me like a puppet I am. Through the corridor where a few audiences study me from their doorways. I pass by an old lady who looks at me with pure disgust while a girl is curiously peeking behind her. In the other doorway, a nerd-looking guy videos me. I bow my head shamefacedly. I wonder how fast will this news spread before I could explain myself to mom, to my boyfriend, to my friends, to the society. I lifelessly permit the general enjoy this sickening pageantry with Ilastor silently trailing behind.
