The Hand You're Dealt

3| Vie ou Mort?

The pounding of a headache returned Lauren to consciousness. Whatever gas the men used had worn off, but left an equally throbbing pain below her eyes. Her lashes fluttered as she struggled to open her eyes; even though she wasn't fully alert yet, at least she was awake. Multiple aches in her body—from her head to her nasal cavity, to her chest, arms, back, and ankles—competed for her attention.

She was bound to a chair with her shoulders burning from her still-bound arms around the back. She felt the familiar heavy metal bars cuffing her arms and wrists. Her ankles were similarly bound by the shackles. Lauren leaned up the best she could to see the contraption: red and blue lines emanated from a box in the center of the black metal manacle. The red and blue lines pulsed with light; she guessed the box hid the energy source. Before, she had felt an energetic aura radiating off it, supplying warning; even now, she still felt it. But a forewarning against what? These were some hi-tech handcuffs for a woman barely one-hundred-and-twenty pounds.

A single hanging lamp let her see. The light left all four walls in shadow, but she could at least see that the space was small and built solely of gray concrete. No lines of those clunky concrete blocks; just entirely smooth and with no splash of color or decoration whatsoever. Nor were there any windows, only a closed door looking to be made of metal to the right. From the looks of it, Lauren thought this room belonged in a military bunker or something like that.

"H–Hello? Is anyone there?" she asked through a dry mouth.

Silence answered her. The room felt so still as she waited for something to happen. She shifted in the chair to supply noise. Lauren asked again and again for someone, her voice rising higher since frustration set in at the refusal to answer her. The emptiness seemed to crowd in around her—if something didn't happen soon, she'd go mad.

"Hello!" she screamed. "Someone answer me! Why am I here! What do you want!"

Because of the silence, she heard the shuffle of footsteps as someone approached the door.

A man and a woman stepped into the room; he shut it and joined her before Lauren. A low bun held the woman's blonde hair and her high cheekbones, full lips, and aquiline features made her a beautiful woman. She had that perfect hourglass figure all women wanted. Her heels made her taller than the obviously militarized man beside her—with a crew cut, black military fatigues, combat boots, and the way he stood planted on his feet said he was. She wasn't sure if she was more afraid of the intimidating man or the woman with icy blue eyes—something about her scared Lauren.

Her eyes jumped from one to the other; she didn't recognize either of them. She waited for one of them to talk; when neither did, she decided to start.

"Who are you people? What am I doing here? Do you want money? I can get you some—"

"We're going to ask the questions here," the man stated.

The way he interrupted and how hard he delivered his statement had her dropping into silence. She had a feeling he had a short temper and shouldn't anger him.

"She's not a mutant," the woman suddenly said.

A mutant? They thought she was a mutant? She had heard about mutants—people born with various abilities, like telekinesis, walking through walls, or super-strength—but she had always thought it a hoax. That television coverage of a man with magnetic powers or a blue woman who could change her skin to look like someone else looked fake. She had never heard of a report of mutants in Chicago. If that was why they took her, they had a crappy surveillance team—there was nothing supernatural or extraordinary about her life.

The man cut his dark eyes over to the woman in irritation. "We know that; that's not why we brought her in."

"I'm quite aware of your intelligence, Lieutenant." She looked at him with a leveled gaze. "I'm just stating the obvious so I can hear your explanation on why Power Locks are on her who has no powers."