The Soldier and the Spy.

Chapter 1

"No! Leave me alone!" I cry as he comes close to me. I am curled and shaking in the corner, trying to avoid the knife in his hand. He ignores me, coming closer. Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain in my leg. Looking down, I see blood pouring out of the wound.

"That's for being a slow, dull-witted, stupid girl!" he yells, "You disobeyed me, and in doing so compromised the entire mission!"

"I didn't mean to!" I cry.

He comes closer and reaches for me......

Shaking, I wake up. This was not the first time I had a nightmare, and by now I was somewhat used to it. Looking around the abandoned house I lived in, I am comforted by the familiar smell of spruce and pine. Stretching, I uncurl from the old mattress and head downstairs to the cold basement where I keep my food. I ate my breakfast and snuggled up on my old chair, avoiding the many springs sticking out. Closing my eyes, I went over my nightmare.

It happened when I was fourteen, and I was out on a mission assigned by him. I had been sent to steal a certain object from Atak, one of the big mob bosses. My mission was nearly completed when I wasn't careful and tripped the alarm system. The only reason I survived was that another person was breaking in at the same time, and they were captured instead of me.

Shuddering, I open my eyes and look around, thankful for the silence of the woods. Now I am twenty five, hiding from everyone and everything. My sister disappeared when I was six, leaving me with my parents. After they died and I had no other relatives, I was captured and sent to work for S.T.O.W.-- Secret Terrorist Organisms Worldwide. I have no cable or internet, a precaution so that no one can trace where I've gone.

I have white skin, pale from light deprivation, long blond hair, aqua eyes, and long black eyelashes. The only downside to my appearance is the scars that cover my whole body, minus my head, neck, feet, and hands. Those were from years of living under S.T.O.W. and the constant beatings. In the real world, I'm quieter than most twenty-five-year-olds because I have trauma issues, and I am extremely anti-social.

Going outside, I survey my surroundings, frowning when I hear the sound of helicopter blades. Climbing to the top of "my" house, I turned and saw a strange-looking helicopter coming straight for me. Panicked, I run down the stairs and I was about to exit the door when I ran straight into a man wearing a blue and red suit with stars on it. He also carried a shield.