Do it. A fast entry is good.
No.
My arm freezes in place, with my fingers stuck on the door handle. A temporary glitch. Sometimes, my nerves are slow to transmit the message to my limbs. When I was born…when they first woke me, I had problems connecting thinking with doing.
I begin to push then, again, I stop.I do not wish to do this.It’s the order that compels me.
Crush her throat? Crush Hailey’s throat and listen to her die?
It’s not killing the man, her father, that worries me.
My heart jumps about. My chest hurts. I may be suffering an anxiety attack. This is just what I don’t need. Humans have those, and here I’ve been wondering if I am even really human.
“Go!” My handler’s whisper carries. I turn my head. He has emerged from behind a shrub with a tactical knife in hand. Does he mean to poke me with that? Like a goad? Like a man with a cow he wants to move. Stupid man.
He doesn’t know my plans.
Crush her throat? Crush Hailey’s throat. Listen to her die.
I don’t want to do this.
Fuck.
I’ve never thought a swear word before.Fuck.It’s like tasting a food I’ve longed for when it was too expensive and only served at the best restaurants in Siberia.
Fuck.
Clamping my lips together I breathe out, “Fffff.” I smile as I make the first part of the swear word into a truly audible speech sound.
Fuck is rebellion. Fuck is anger. Fuck is…a trigger.
Something cracks and releases joy inside me, a flood of pleasure and beauty, and I broadly smile for the first time in this new life.
Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes.
I’m tromping back to my handler, ground sinking, heart singing.
It will be difficult to communicate my denial. How can I? What will he think of this? They will likely try to retrain me, or something.
As if I would permit this.
I’ve been planning, waiting for the crack, for a weakness, for an opportunity. They brought me here, outside and away from their control. Big mistake.
He ushers me to the door with urgent, sweeping hand movements. As if I’m an animal he’s commanding.
A growl builds in my chest.
“Go!” he whispers, scowling up at my face. “Priority One. Kill your target.”
Slowly, deliberately, I shake my head.
He stays still for fifteen seconds, fingering the knife blade, before he evidently decides I’m not going to obey. He goes by, and I swivel on the spot to keep him in view. A moment later, I follow him. He glances over his shoulder, waves the knife, and smiles.
The moon caresses the blade with evil, silvery light.
A villainous laugh would be excellent, if cliched, here. I remember those from movies, except I would rather do something to him more permanent than laughing.
“Good. I will open the door for you. If you don’t do it, understand the consequences…” He frowns. “The…the thing thatwill happen to you,” he explains in stupid language, assuming I won’t comprehend. He swallows as if nervous.
