“Yes, I can.” Screw the Hive. Fuck Nexus 5. Fuck every second of every day I’d spent in that hell. That had just been my body. Notme.
Not my soul. The past was done wrecking me, holding my soul hostage. I couldn’t do it another minute. Not one damn second.
My connection with Helion unlocked the cage I’d built around myself, the protection, the illusion I wove for self-preservation. Oberon had seen the real me crouched in the dark, hiding inside. He saw through my disguise. Somehow, he recognized things I had refused to acknowledge myself.
Fuck yeah. I was going to do what I wanted to do from now on.
Sassy me and scared me came to an understanding in that moment.
I couldn’t put her back inside the cage. The very thought threatened to suffocate me. I was free.
I dashed to the door, more excited than I’d been in ages. Even more excited than when I’d been processed as a bride. “Just a minute. I’ll be right back.”
I raced to my tiny, private room. I had an S-Gen there, barely big enough to make my clothing. I stripped naked. Top to bottom. I didn’t want a single stitch of docile me’s clothing to touch my skin. I was done being meek and agreeable. Inoffensive. Careful.
Never again.
I shoved the dress and boots into the recycling unit and stood in front of the S-Gen machine.
“Coalition battle uniform, Willow Baylor, include boots.”
I could barely stand still as I watched the clothing appear. When it was ready, I slipped on the pants and top—built in bra for the win—and took a nice, long look at myself in the mirror. Checked out my backside. Turned this way and that.
Bad. Ass. I looked like a superhero. The uniform fit me like a glove, every curve I had hugged tight and put on display. The fabric was made to block blaster fire, as well as ensure survival for several hours in space, but it was light and flexible. The pattern was odd, not quite what I would call camouflage, and a mix of silver, gray and black.
“Ion blaster with thigh holster, sized and coded to Willow Baylor.”
“Willow Baylor, place your hand on the scanner for sizing.”
The computer had never heard this request before. I thought about it. Guess I’d never made myself a pair of pretty gloves.
I put my palm down on the black and green grid. A soft glow lasted less than a second.
“Thank you. Remove your hand.”
I did so. I moved around as I waited. Jump. Kick. Squat. Twirled my arms around in big circles, forward and back.
Nothing bunched or squeezed. This uniform wasfantastic.
A few minutes later—apparently weapons took even longer than uniforms to create out of thin air—or raw energy particles—I picked up my newly issued, Coalition sidearm and matching thigh holster. Grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, I put the holster on and slipped the new, sleek, silver weapon into place. The weapon’s grip fit my hand perfectly, created and sized specifically for me. My DNA would have been coded to the weapon the second I picked it up. It was mine. No one else could use it. Ever. I slipped the transport beacon into my pocket—not letting that thing out of my sight.
One more look in the mirror.
Not quite there yet.
Reaching for my hair, I pulled the elastic tie loose and then ran my fingers through the braid to unravel it. When that was done, I flipped my head upside down, shook my hair, roughed it up with my fingers, and flipped my head back up to inspect the results.
There I am.
The woman staring back at me was a wild thing. Confident. Strong. Ready for anything.
I didn’t take more than a quick peek. One, I’d start crying—sobbing, blabbering, snot-bubble crying. Two, I’d been gone for a while, and I didn’t know if Oberon would still be waiting.
Of course he will.
I looked down at my chest, curious about the strange insignia on my uniform. I had no idea what it was, but it looked cool. Contributed to the wholeBad-Asstheme I had going.
Feeling more like myself than I had since before I’d been captured, I made my way back to Oberon. If his slack-jawed shock was any indication, I looked as amazing as IthoughtI did.
