**unedited because I'm drowning in homework, please forgive me. enjoy xx**

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

EVELYN IS STILL STANDING in a pool of blood when the door clicks open some time later. She isn't sure how long it's been, how long she's stood unmoving with her glare fixated on the broken camera. When she hears the handle turn, she merely casts her gaze towards it. She knows who has come to pay her a visit. It wouldn't take a genius to guess.

"Such dramatics," Doctor Stevens says, amusement underlying his tone.

It's hard to keep her breathing level, to keep her shoulders still. She won't give him the reaction he so desperately wants.

"One of many tests," he continues, "and I'm pleased to say you passed. However, it did seem a bit too easy for you. I'll make note of that."

She still refuses to look at him, a small act of defiance.

His tone remains indifferent as he speaks. "Also, you've yet to receive your complete transformation. I had to work quickly to keep you from dying on me, you see. I only had time for the vital implants, but your other advantages are coming, I assure you."

Oh God. No. No, no, no. She'd rather puncture her own throat with that broken monitor stand than let him touch her again. Her eyes dart to the jagged metal, the thought racing through her mind. She could do it now. End it before it really begins.

As if the doctor had been calculating every tense muscle in her, reading her thoughts, he says, "1298, do grab her before she does something completely foolish."

Hands snatch her wrists behind her before she can fight back. She stays unmoving, though her glare is harsh when the experiment turns her to face the doctor. The doctor seems to flinch and take a step back, but that could be her imagination for her own pleasure. Still, she feels satisfied that he hasn't totally underestimated her anger.

The doctor clasps his hands in front of him. "Despite yourself, I think you'll be rather ecstatic to see what I've made for you. You can hate me all you wish, but you are mine nevertheless. And, believe it or not, I have my moments where I grant appraisal when I see fit. I've had a gift customized especially for you."

"I don't care what it is, I don't want it," she snaps.

"I think you'll say otherwise once you see it."

"Your thinking is arrogant and stupider than I thought."

He smiles at her. "I do like a challenge, Evelyn Baxter."

She grits her teeth to keep from asking how he knows her name. She doesn't doubt he has his many connections. At this point, he probably knows everything about her. The thought sends that familiar rage rushing through her, but she stifles it the best she can.

He waves his hand in dismissal as he turns for the door. "1298 will lead you to the changing room. Your gift awaits you. We shall see each other again soon."

Unfortunately.

"Oh, and you may have to apologize to the poor janitors. The smell in here is horrendous," he adds with a devilish smirk flashed over his shoulder for her.

"I'll be sure to place all the blame on you," she says.

"It wouldn't be the first time one has."

Then he is out the door, and 1298 is gently nudging her.

"How does it feel to be that asshole's pet?" she asks him coolly.

He sighs, and she feels the hot breath on the back of her neck. "Like a die a little more every day."

This intrigues her, and she glances over at him as they walk out the door. "Not as loyal as he thinks, huh?"

He lets go of her, another shock, and walks at her side. He speaks so lowly, she struggles to hear him. "My loyalty has always lied with 748."

Her chest constricts and her eyes widen slightly, but she covers the effect Harry's title has on her quickly. Her face contorts to one of boredom as a young woman, probably a servant, walks by with her head down. "How many of you?" she asks in the same, barely audible voice.

"Previously, majority of us. However, I've lost contact with a lot of them since everything began falling apart and 748 escaped. I'm not sure how many would be willing to stand at his side, should he stand against Doctor Stevens at all."

"Do you know where he is?"

He gives her a look of pity. "Somewhere else on the hover. The doctor hasn't yet gone to see him since we boarded."

She stops out of instinct as the breath leaves her lungs. Close. He's so close. She fights the urge to break into a sprint, to bust down every damn door this ship has until she finds him. 1298 gives her a warning nudge to keep moving. She does so, but struggles to walk straight, her mind racing. If she can find Harry, they can break out of here and--

Her jaw clenches. They have nowhere to go. She doubts they're still in Florida, so she would be on foreign territory, lost of her bearings. It would take her some time to adapt, and Harry may not know the land either. He may not...

She stops the thought before it can squeeze her heart any further.

"Just know," 1298 says quietly, "you have an ally in me."

She doesn't believe it, doesn't trust him for a moment. But the idea of it takes a miniscule weight off her shoulders.

He halts in front of a door that looks like all the others--shiny steel--and tugs the handle. The room is small with a few racks of clothing and some servants hustling around, what looks to be a bathroom to the right. One of the servants pauses at the sight of them, and rushes to the back of the room. She whispers to another woman, an older one with a stern face and dull green eyes. The elder starts towards them.

"You must be Evelyn," she says bluntly, taking her in from head to toe. "Skinny, but a nice build. Come, let's get you ready."

She doesn't ask what she needs to be ready for.

She turns to 1298, who dips his head in leave. "I'll return to escort you."

She nods back, then allows the old woman to grab her by the wrist and yank her across the room.

"A little more notice would've been nice," the woman mutters. "You may address me as Marion. I do not tolerate insolence, so if you've got an attitude, keep it to yourself. I have bigger things to worry about than a spoiled brat's tantrum."

Despite herself, Evelyn grins.

She gestures for Evelyn to step onto a platform, then scans her body again. Evelyn has lost weight in the months the world collapsed, but she still has a muscled figure with decently sized breasts. The thin band of fabric around her chest does little to hide them, and she blushes as the old woman scrutinizes her.

"I didn't have a chance to measure you myself, obviously, so the suit may be a bit tight around the bosom. Other than that, I believe it'll be a nice fit. You'll certainly have these female-deprived savages staring."

Evelyn scrunches her nose and scoffs, "Men."

A twinkle of amusement in Marion's eyes. "Men," she agrees.

But then Evelyn backtracks. "Wait, you said a suit?"

"Of armor for agility," she clarifies.

The gift the doctor had spoke of, no doubt.

"Stay put," Marion says, then disappears through a door adjacent to the platform. She returns a second later with two other servants, both holding a sleek, black suit with metal-padded shoulders, elbows, breastplates, and knees.

Though she hates herself for it, Evelyn can't help the gasp that flees her lips. It's something out a fantasy, a legend.

And it's hers.

The three women help her into it, the soft rubber material hugging every curve of her body perfectly. The bust is a bit tight as Marion warned, but it's hardly noticeable amongst everything else the suit offers. Indeed, the simple design of it is perfect for flexibility yet it's durable all the same. Marion even tells hers it's flame-retardant.

Marion disappears again to retrieve the boots, and one of the servant girls gives Evelyn a sheepish smile and points to her long brown hair. "May I?"

Evelyn shrugs, and the servant girl beams as she begins to braid her locks. Her surprisingly clean, fresh locks. She doesn't think too long on who bathed her.

Marion helps Evelyn into the boots, and she takes one more look at herself in the mirror. She hates herself for being so satisfied, for relishing in the way she looks like a warrior. Disgust quickly pours in when she remembers what kind of warrior she's intended to be. A blood-thirsty, violent, cruel monster.

"Why am I to wear this now?" she inquires, glancing to Marion.

Marion purses her lips. "I don't get told much, but I heard a rumor or two about a significant battle that's supposed to occur later today."

"I suppose I'm one of the key players," she mutters. "Where are we?"

"We've just landed in Philadelphia not too long ago--"

"Philadelphia?" Evelyn practically shouts, the blood draining from her face. Robbie is back in Florida and she's--

She has to halt her thoughts to take a few deep breaths.

Before Marion can speak, though, a knock sounds and 1298 enters. He doesn't speak, just patiently waits for Evelyn as he takes in her new outfit.

"Good luck," Marion tells her quietly, something almost like dread lacing the words.

Evelyn nods to her. "Thank you. For the suit and your wishes."

Marion nods back.

1298 purses his lips as she nears. "You look like a nightmare," he says, not rudely but in regards to her suit.

"That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

A smirk pulls at his lips.

Any amusement from his face fades when she asks, "You wouldn't happen to know anything about this fight, would you?"

He hesitates a moment, then murmurs, "Unfortunately, I do."

***

Micah glares at Killian from across the hover, sharpening a dagger he'd found stashed in the pilot's personal locker. The boy shifts uncomfortably, trying to look anywhere but the experiment boring holes into him. Everyone else had gone off to bed, except Michelle who's doing the flying, and Micah figured he'd get an idea of this kid before he allowed any vulnerability around him. Going to sleep with a stranger near would be downright stupid.

Killian taps his foot against the metal floor, chewing his bottom lip. He's been gripping his own dagger, so tightly his knuckles are white. Micah almost laughs. As if he'd get the chance to fight back.

After about ten minutes of tense silence, Killian huffs and speaks quietly, "Is there anything you want to ask or are you just here to intimidate me?"

Micah shrugs. "Both."

Killian frowns, his foot tapping faster.

"Would you stop? That's terribly annoying," Micah says, rubbing his temples.

"It's an anxious tick."

"Well, stop being anxious."

"You're staring at me like I'm dinner."

"Please. I have more dignity than people tend to assume." Micah scoffs. "Besides, you'd be dead already if that were the case. I haven't eaten in a few days."

Killian face blanches and he swallows audibly.

Micah ignores the intense smell of his fear and asks, "So what's your story?"

"Huh?"

"Your sob-story. Everyone has one. I figured we'd go ahead and get pity and tears out of the way."

Killian shakes his head, mumbling, "As if you'd care."

"Fair enough. But if you'd like to survive the night, I suggest you tell me something about you. And just a heads up, lying is pointless."

"How can you tell?"

"A person can look believable all day long, but their heart still beats faster."

Killian gapes at him. "You can hear that well?"

Micah simply shrugs.

Killian seems reluctant at first, but then he sighs and settles back against the wall, closing his eyes. A brave move. "My whole life has been a sob-story, and I doubt you have any interest in hearing a second of it."

"Tell me how you ended up alone trying to steal a hovercar."

Another pause of hesitation, then a quiet answer. "The person I love was captured."

Micah has the decency to refrain from mocking him. "What's her name?"

"His name is Trey."

Micah's eyebrows furrow in confusion. He doesn't understand anything about love, but it definitely runs more in-depth than he once thought.

"When the army came, I told him we needed to run. But he stayed to fight and... and I couldn't get to him fast enough." Killian's foot begins tapping again. "They chained him up and threw him in the back of their hover. I've been tracking them ever since."

Micah also had the decency to hide the news that if Trey had been captured, he's either dead or might as well be. Being Turned ruins the brain and makes a living nightmare out of a person, practically a zombie. If Killian has any hope that Trey might have actually survived any bit of it... Poor guy.

"I had someone taken from me too," he finds himself saying, his fists curling around the dagger.

"Someone you love?"

"I don't love anyone." He doesn't even know what love is.

Killian purses his lips. "They must have been fairly important to you."

"She is." But she's not his anyways. He'll never be important to her like 748 is. He'll never know the feeling of a connection like theirs.

"I guess that's why you're stealing the hover."

"At least there's half a brain in that head of yours."

Killian snorts.

Micah grins.

Killian clears his throat. "So... if I go to sleep, you're not going to gut me with that, right?" he asks, gesturing to the shiny dagger in Micah's calloused hands.

Just for the hell of it, Micah flings the dagger straight at Killian's head, the tip missing the boy's ear by a few inches. Killian doesn't dare move as Micah gets to his feet, chuckling darkly to himself. "For fairness, I'll let you keep both of them in case I get an inkling."

Killian holds his breath as Micah reaches the door to the hallway where the cabins are.

"However, you're in luck," he says, turning back around. "I'm rather tired tonight. So unless you decide to do something completely stupid, you don't have to worry about me."

Micah grins to himself as he walks out of the lobby, Killian finally releasing a breath at his departure. Perhaps being stuck with these people will be more fun than he thought.