It's alright, you can cringe at the new name.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked as the
woman wobbled along the squeaky floor.

"Doesn't matter," she growled gruffly. I opened my mouth to protest, but she blew a hot breath on my neck and I remained silent, worried she might slow my healing if I continued. If there was any chance of healing.

"How am I alive?" I blurted out.

"Huh?"

"A knife passed through my neck, and I'm still breathing. It went deep, too."

"But only here," she jerked her head towards the upper left side of my neck, where it hurt the most. And then I realized she was right. He had certainly gotten past grazing, though. The only thing stopping me from passing out from blood loss was the pillow case knotted around my neck. This morbid thought only succeeded in reminding me of Qibli. If I died today, he would never remember. But I probably would.

Strangely, I was at peace at the thought of death. It sounded pleasurable, even. No pain. No emperors of a tortured life. No suffering. But then there would be no Qibli. Except, I wouldn't have a consciousness to remember Qibli. Still, the very concept sent shivers down my spine, literally, disrupting the woman. I wondered what her name was. Then, and idea lit.

"Hey, Miss—" I released a string of no-no words. She yelled in anger.

"How dare you?"

"What else am I gonna call you?" I snapped.
"Theresa." She huffed. My eyes sparked gladly; I had just uncovered the name, if only the first, of a Devil's Major agent.

"Okay, Rese-Rese,"

"Don't call me that!" She jiggled her arms a little, causing pain to ripple up my neck.

"Yeesh," I muttered, rubbing my injury. "Touchy one, aren't you, Resa," she glared on, but didn't correct the nickname, so I guessed it was alright. Another question surfaced. "So, if you need me alive, why'd you, y'know, slit open my neck?"

"I didn't. That fool Jeremy did."

"Huh?" I knew more information could be drawn from this. Already had been, as a matter of fact. Allow me to elaborate. First, I had learned the names of two agents. Second, there was a familiarity between them, or if not that, than an emotion range that could lead from grudging to annoying to hidden care. Yes, it is possible to deduct that much intel from a single sentence. But Theresa needn't know that. Repeating my earlier dumbfounded statement, I pressed onward, hoping my luck would hold. The next step could tip the scales, but not in the kind of way I wanted.

"I mean, who's Jeremy?" A quick sentence added helped. "That crazy guy who almost killed me?" I dared add, "Disobeying orders?"
"Crazy, I'll say!" She burst out, ignoring the fact that I was listening eagerly. "That nutjob couldn't tell if the weather had changed by four months! He thinks he's so smart, disobeying the DM's orders. Swear I'll kill him," knowing just the right egg-on, I nodded empathetically.
"He sounds pushy. And I'm not just saying that because he held a knife to my throat against the DM—er, Devil's Major's orders," if I gave way my filed progress, all hope would be lost.
"Yes!" She cried, a little too excitedly for my liking. "No one ever agreed with me on Young!"
"Young?" I tentatively questioned.
"Jeremy," she explained, as if that made sense.
"Right," I babbled quickly. "Jeremy Young," she gave me a strange look.
"How did you—oh!" The dips and curves on her face curled and clenched in anger. "You were getting—arg!" I couldn't help but jibe,
"'Good luck getting intel outta me'!" She glared.

"Well, I hold true to my word,"
"Yeah right," I snorted. "I already know—" I shouldn't reveal my store of knowledge. "That the woman who shot me was Young Jeremy,"
She snickered. "Okay," Then snidely put in, "Sherlock,"
I shrugged, later regretting it as the hot prickle in my neck burned brighter. She growled and continued, passing so many doors my vision swirled and twisted in a vortex of numbered wood and netted windows. I gripped Theresa's shoulder as the dizziness accumulated. She sighed through clenched teeth.
"I swear I'll have his teeth mounted on my wall after this," she muttered, slowing down to steady my spinning brain. We eventually arrived at a door identical to the rest, except for the tiny sign hung against the window slot.
OCCUPIED
DO NOT ENTER
I tried to pull through the pain by clamping my teeth on my lip, but it was unquenchable. I knew that I would pass out, yet again. I deducted that I had lost my hold on consciousness, as foretold, because I woke up in an unfamiliar room. It didn't share any resemblance to the room in which I had previously belonged, though. It wasn't immaculately white and pristine, with a beeping monitor and a cushy bed. It was midnight with a single craft hanging in the center, a strange object that looked as if it were out to eat me. It dangled from the arched ceiling. I was settled in a chair beneath the hung structure, and a lifetime of nightmares sprung into action, of it falling on me, destroying me, and/or wiping my mind. Actually, the latter made the most sense. I tried craning my neck, but flinched as a sharp point pressed awkwardly against my throat. Then I noticed the figure crouched at my knees, dexterous hands working at my injury. I ground my teeth together, grinding so hard I was certain they would be crushed to dust as she stitched up my wound.
"What are you doing?" I croaked, even though I was perfectly aware of her actions. Her arctic eyes flicked to mine, her red hair shifting as she beckoned another. I watched fearfully as what I presumed to be a second agent stepped, or rather lumbered, forward. I gasped in recognition as Theresa placed a dirty cloth to the uncapped bottle resting on the black marble table beside her. Tipping the bottle upside down, she let the liquid seep into the towel. But that wasn't what I was gaping at. Her once auburn hair, ragged and braided, was now a short, smooth bob, and her saggy skin was now taut; she seemed to have lost some of it. She'd also grown shorter, losing most of her squishy bulk; her corpulent build seemed to have deflated and molded into a middle aged woman's body. Her eyes were a flat brown instead of turquoise.
"You..."
"He thought all our agents were homogeneous  redheads," she sneered in my direction while explaining smugly to the woman. Feeling the need to exercise my intelligence, I blurted
"Well, that's more than you can say, Theresa!" I snapped.
"Wow." The stranger stated. Then she sharply slapped Theresa over the face.
"You told him your name?!"
"Calm down," She snapped.
"Ugh! Rese, I told you not to spoil our entire plan with your pride!"
"Excuse me, Chrysan—" the girl clamped Theresa's mouth shut, before apologetically looking to me.
"Sorry you had to witness that," I actually thought she was genuine, until she continued on without taking a spare second for breath. "Pure purpose can be hard for such a," She looked me up and down, "cretin to process." Even Theresa smirked at this, and my pale cheeks scorched vermilion.
"Hmph," I muttered, wracking my brain for the perfect retort.
"He says 'hmph'!" Resa tried stupidly.
"And here I thought the Devil's Major was against hypocrites," internally, I was cringing at the flat usage of a lame excuse performed only when all was lost. Any sensible person would only use the hypocrisy term when it was swift and delivered a charged blow, or if things had sunk beyond the low. But it sparked a second thought.
"Oh?" She flashed her teeth threateningly.
"Yeah," I blabbered. "It's obvious you don't like something about the way things run, most likely the government, so you fight back against what you think is wrong, in a way you assume to be right." I was on a roll now, tongue flipping and folding out words of grace with the gentle ease of a swan dipping through the shallows of a breezy pond. The girl raised her eyes.
"Not a total imbecile, I suppose," she muttered. Feeling redemption at my fingertips, I dared add, "can you blame me for assuming all the agents in my case were redheads?" I'd read enough books to know they would assign agents to cases.
"Yes." She answered flatly. I glared at her stout use of language.
"After all," she explained. "There is such a thing as wigs. But here you see us all unveiled."
"Except for you," I snapped, but took note to memorize the actual faces of everyone. "Why don't you man—er, woman up and take off the wig?" I stabbed ferociously at her hair with my right arm.
"Nope." I gaped. "This is me unveiled."
"But—" I spluttered. "Your hair—"
"Authentic," she smirked, and brought my fingers to her frizzy curls. I tore back my hand, wincing in pain. Feeling no response bubble at my lips, I growled embarrassedly. "Finish up the damn stitches, will you?" I snarled. She raised her eyebrows. "While your awake? Nada." Theresa snorted.
"You say you don't care, but you obviously like him,"
"What?" She shrugged nonchalantly. "He's cute." I felt my face heat, and knew what she was trying to do. "For your information," I steamed. "I have a boyfriend." She puckered her lips. "You won't give him up for me?" Her neon eyes sparkled.
"No!" I cried hotly.
"He certainly gave up on you," Resa muttered. Unwilling tears popped at my ducts. The other girl cocked her head. Then she held out her hand demandingly, and Theresa set the soaked cloth into it. Curling her thin fingers around my chin, she yanked it down with hidden strength and pinched my nose with the cloth. I held my breath as the sedative flowed freely through my nostrils, chest aching as I glared defiantly. She sighed.
"Get Qibli," I gasped, sucking in a breath of the chemical. Resa smirked.
"Nice work." I tried to spit out the vile mist, but only succeeded in choking down more.
"Aww," She pitied falsely, eyes glimmering mockingly. "Did I scare you?" Her babying voice only fueled my panic.
"No!" My voice came out muffled by the ragged cloth, but I forced on, biting into the soaked material and ripping hard. "Don't you dare touch him!" I flailed wildly, but an exhausted ache had settled over my limbs and mind, clouding all energy and judgment.
"Please..." I couldn't slip away again. It had happened too many times these past hours. Or was it days?
"How long have I...?" My voice slurred into a babble of nonsensical noises. 
"Shh," the woman laid a finger to my lips.
"Don't...touch...m...." I fell back, dazed.
"Don't fight it, Winter." Her voice echoed around in my brain. "It'll only make things worse."
Don't fight it, Winter.
Don't fight it Winter.
...fight it Winter.
...fight it Winter.
Make things worse.
Worse.
Worse.
Winter.
Winter.
Winter...
Blond hair and black eyes. Gold skin and a big heart. It didn't matter if he forgot. I hadn't. And I would not let them take him.
"I said...don't...touch HIM!" I surged upwards and knocked her back.
"Feisty, isn't he?" She panted as she grappled me against the seat. "Now sit STILL!" The woman barked. I threw a wild punch, connecting with her long, arched nose. A growl dusted her voice, and she squeezed my wrist.
"Don't forget your left elbow has fissure cracking it, and you had a knife run you through," she hissed.
"Don't touch him!" I screamed again fiercely, tearing my hand out of her grasp. I strained against discovered leather bonds, sawing with my teeth to jerk free.
"That does it," She howled, and pounced on me. Her rank breath drifted through my senses, her nails digging deep into my shoulders, her knees sinking against mine. Elbows flew through the musty air, tackling me harder. Theresa had pitched in.
"Weak," I rasped.
"Oh yeah?" The woman smirked. I nodded numbly.
"Well, let me remind you of something. She leaned in, her red lips curling up in a sick smile. Her bouncy hair rolled down my nose in a familiar way. It curled against my cheek in a familiar way. Her lips brushed my face in a somewhat familiar way. My stomach clenched.
"You," I gasped.
"Just another redhead," she grinned wickedly.
"It wasn't the one who strangled me. It was you!" I lunged and grabbed her face, nails sliding against her cheeks.

"What?" She asked innocently.
"You killed my brother!"

"Hmm? Me?" She raised her eyes. "Whenever did you get so smart?"

"How dare you?" I tried punching her face once more, but the sedative was gripping my consciousness fiercely, slithering into the potholes created by the earlier medicine. It wreathed around my mind, twisting and coiling tight, squeezing harder and harder, until an imaginary ache pressed into my forehead.

"N...no...don't...let it...take...again..." I mumbled.

"Ugh!" She moaned to Resa. "Why won't Darkstalker let us freaking kill him already?" She yelled frustratedly at the ceiling and her client, striking her fury against my chest in a swift backhand block.

"Chrys!" Theresa hissed softly. The woman called Chrys dawned at realization. "And you scold me for letting pride ruin the mission," she gloated freely.

"It wasn't pride!" Chrys snapped.

"Same difference," Theresa rolled her plainly colored eyes.

"Don't do this," I mumbled as another wave of the drug rolled over me.

"Too bad."

"No, not too bad!" A voice from the doorway cried, and a wider flood of blinding white graced the chilly marble. The light around the figure's head was tinted yellow and gold, as well as the caramel aura around said person.

"Qibli!" I cried, but it came out more like, "Mwiiiiibwi!" He crashed through the two women, holding me tight. His thumbs swept up and down my cheeks. And then I knew how to get him back.

"Come closer," I winced, curling my fingers into a fist.

"Sorry. But it'll work this time," I murmured, and threw my hand at his face. My knuckles slipped down his nose, and a terrible CRACK split the quiet in the room.

"Winter!" He yelled. Then his eyes widened. His whole body crashed downwards as the memories surged back. He gripped his head, forgetting about his fractured nose.

"Ow," he moaned. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, owwww!"
"Hailstorm was shot," I began carefully.

"You and I had a pillow fight," he quoted back.

"And he punched you in the nose," I pushed on.

"And then you came down," he tried.

"And that was it, aside from the encounter by the rain." he nodded, still looking confused. I grabbed his face with my right hand and fell out of the seat, eyes watering despite the sedative.

"They drugged me," I whispered, knees drawing back at the cold floor, where he sat helplessly. "After we got the water and we met Resa."

"Who?"

"The woman at the front." He nodded, this time with more clarity.

"Now get me outta here!" I hissed. He scooped me up with his seemingly frail arms, eyes flicking nervously.

"Cmon," I growled softly. "Your princess needs saving," I added cheekily. And then we were off, galloping down the labyrinthine hallways. We reached the main entrance. Or in this case, exit. Pecking his furrowed brow, I slid dizzily out of his arms and collapsed at the front desk.

"You need a doctor," he toned gravely. When I smiled drily, he pressed. "Seriously." Then, a wild ball of red and white and glinting blue attacked, hurling me into the ground.

"Run!" I gasped as Chrys pierced her elbow into my Adam's apple.

"Not so tough now, are you?" She panted, But that wasn't why I was gritting my teeth. She had flown straight into my left elbow, and the doctor's—Jeremey Young's—words lit in my brain. I had minimal hairline fissures spreading from the core of my elbow and along my upper and forearm. I thought ruefully to his wiry red hair, knowing it was a wig from the way it had slipped across his scalp unnaturally.

"Get—off!" I thrashed wildly, eyes closing in pain. And then the weight was lifted as a shadow heaved her off of me.

Qibli.

"Wait!" I choked, and grabbed her receding collar. She glared as I yanked her back down, away from Qibli, and rolled over so I pinned her down. She wriggled smoothly upward and tapped my nose.

"Don't be so tense, Winter. After all, it's not your fault if he dies." I lurched back as she leaned in, and she used the opportunity to jump up to her feet and slam a spiked, black combat boot down on my elbow. I howled in agony as she ground her foot back and forth.

"Oh," she smirked. "That last sentence was aimed at you," she smiled spitefully at Qibli as she continued to grind my arm.

"Stop," I forced out through clenched teeth.

"Not so easy to be heroic IRL, is it?" She clucked her tongue in the same way she had before she murdered my brother. I couldn't just let her take the last thing that actually mattered to me, now that my only considerate family member was dead, and I had shunned my only friend without realizing it. Now all I had was Qibli. Sweet Qibli who has never deserved the terrible love I'd given him. The pain and anger. The danger. He never should've have loved me. Because now, he was going to die. I was too shocked to cry. There was nothing left in me. I had to let go of him. But not before his precious life was saved.

"Please," I begged hoarsely as she cocked her gun and spun in a circle.

"Don't worry," she smiled sickly. "It'll only hurt a little."

"NO!" I roared as she aimed fired. A loud crack split the air. And then nothing happened. Red burst at Qibli's chest, slowly seeping outwards. But he didn't stop living. He didn't go cold as I touched his fingertips, like Hailstorm had. He still inhaled and exhaled, a little sharper though.

"Winter," he gasped. "Hailstorm isn't dead."