02 - Mirrorheart

  • 02 - Mirrorheart

    20 – An Attempt to Rise

    Stef was bleeding. One arm was cuffed to the bars of her cell. Blood gushed down her head like her head had been smacked against the metal a dozen times. There was a hammer in his hand. He swung the hammer at the bars, and she screamed. He swung it again, and blood gushed to the floor, her throat slit. She grabbed at her throat, coughing and gasping for breath, her eyes wide. The floor turned to blood, but her uniform shirt remained white. She continued to bleed, her fists pounding the bloody floor and- Curt opened his eyes. His heart pounded in his chest, his temples tight with a…

  • 02 - Mirrorheart

    19 – The Death in Every Moment

    Ryan turned the coaster over and over in his hand, something just to keep his hands busy, something to dull his mind as he watched light reflect and refract through it. The resin was clear, with gold flakes here and there, but nothing that would overwhelm the rose petals – Carol had made them as a pair, one for each of them, something subtle they could keep on their desks, a reminder of each other, even when work pulled them apart. And now, it was one of the few things left of their relationship. They had loved, he’d mourned, and time had passed. Cruelly, the guilt had left more of…

  • 02 - Mirrorheart

    18 – Far From Basic

    Ryan adjusted the blinds on the board room windows – the tinted glass kept out the majority of the glare. Still, it was something to fill the time, something to pass the seconds before everyone else arrived. A meeting macro had aligned the table, set out jugs and glasses – everything was in place, except for the participants. At his place at the head of the table sat several folders. Copies of both the basic outcomes of the night before. Under normal circumstances, these would be the meat of the discussion, as well as a preliminary folder with facts about Stef’s condition. Jones walked in, nothing more than a tablet…

  • 02 - Mirrorheart

    17 – The Simplicity of Touch

    When nothing else called her attention, she liked to spend the hour before any relatively important meeting near Taylor, so that she could ensure that he was on time. Not that it was something that Ryan commented on – he knew better than to start shit over something so petty. Still, she was sure that Clarke kept a record of every tiny transgression, for the day he needed blackmail. Magnolia casually ducked the thrown knife, then ran forward on the balance beam, dipped and tagged the finish line, listening for the second knife as she turned to run back towards the starting position. As she headed towards the start position…

  • 02 - Mirrorheart

    16 – The Intent to Achieve More

    Grief and sleep were old bedfellows. Ryan opened his eyes. The quality of the light coming in through the wall of windows at the far end of his office told him it was mid-afternoon, something his HUD was kind enough to confirm as he sat up and felt himself speed back up to full function. As he usually did, he stood, stretched, and refreshed his skin and clothes with requirements. To the outside world, he was sure he looked like a perfectly ordinary agent, not one who had barely escaped the worst tragedies it was possible to befall a man. Or had hopefully escaped. Stef was safe for now. But…

  • 02 - Mirrorheart

    15 – A Love Story

    Magnolia knocked on the door to Taylor’s office and waited the requisite four seconds. The door had two locked modes – locked to the entire world, and locked to everyone except her. By default, she was allowed in, but experience had taught her to give her commander a moment to consider whether or not he wanted company, or needed silence. After a silent count to four, she tried the handle, and it opened easily. People thought Taylor was simple. People were idiots. The recruit population at large saw nothing but an imposing hulk of a man with a penchant for snapping the necks of his enemies. They imagined him to…

  • 02 - Mirrorheart

    14 – Soft Mornings

    There was softness, and there was safety. Waking up was rarely a slow process. Being able to ascertain her immediate situation upon waking was a skill she’d crafted over a life of uncertainty. A life where safety that had existed upon going to sleep might have disappeared overnight. Magnolia stared at Screen’s soft back, adjusted the blanket, and snuggled in further, slipping one leg between Screen’s, trying to meld with her best friend’s marshmallowy form. Sleeping rough, sleeping around people she didn’t trust, sleeping next to people who didn’t respect her…all had given her a comprehensive roster of skills. An ability to recognise what a change in breathing might mean,…

  • 02 - Mirrorheart

    13 – Running from the Mask

    Curt stared at the ceiling, his bloody hand cradled in his lap. At least here he could breathe properly – it was always so hard to breathe in the Agency. Anywhere outside of those four walls still seemed…safer. The first months had been the worst – expecting Petersen to appear at any moment and finally finish the job. To kill him one more time without calling on Agency medical technology to bring him back from the brink. As time went on though, the odds of that happening anywhere outside of his nightmares dropped further and further. A tiny bit of safety, even if he only had the words of an…

  • 02 - Mirrorheart

    12 – Kindness

    There was a knock at the door. Ryan ignored it. There was another knock. Ryan poured himself another drink. His warped reflection stared back at him from the cut crystal of the glass that had been his only companion for the past couple of hours. Jones had made it clear he could come back to the lab whenever he wanted. Still, there had been things he’d needed to do, things he’d needed to organise, and weeping by Stef’s bed was not going to ensure a tidy end to his life. He could run. There was one last piece of mirror remaining, enough for a fresh start, enough to undo the…

  • 02 - Mirrorheart

    11 – Cruel World

    He couldn’t breathe. Every breath felt mechanical. Felt artificial. Felt unreal. Curt stared at the footpath, at the dirt, at the worn patches in the concrete, touched by thousands or millions of shoes, and did his best not to think. And as much as he tried to clear his mind, every breath brought screaming static. Every breath brought up memories, made assumptions and inferences about what would happen to a recruit in the hands of a sadistic Solstice. There was a scream in his chest, and he wished it would crush his heart. He squeezed the Genie phone in his hand and watched his knuckles go white. Every second counted.…