Status: Updated on random occasions
Invictus
Opportunity
Bright, artificial light burned her hazel eyes as she awoke. She found herself laying on a cold, metal table. What little energy the young girl had was wasted on the straps which held her down. Sevel Hirsch felt the sedative fading away and found herself wanting more. To feel nothing was her wish. No sadness. No hopelessness. No fear. No pain. Nothing. Numbness was her goal.
Her fragile mind wondered back to the day that changed everything. It was day that was suppose to end everything. End all the feeling. Ironic sunlight warmed Sevel's face as she walked hand-in-hand with her more sickly mother. Everyone around her was sick; coughing, vomiting, and internal bleeding were what put many of others in the line which followed into the large brick building. Sevel had contracted a minor cough but she still posed a threat to the vital workforce. Spring had arrived late and the winter too harsh. The lucky ones were killed by the disease.
The young girl of fourteen looked towards what would be her, and her mother's, final resting place. The round smoke-stack towered far into the air, narrowing at the top. Black smoke was still flowing gracefully from the red chimney. The Nazi's were behind on the last run. Maybe if they weren't so weak, some one might have fought against the calm pace at which the line moved. But the ill Jews had already made their peace with God. Better to die now, than to live any longer as a slave.
Sevel continued to hold her young mother's hand even though she did not pay her any attention. Her mother hadn't spoken a word since her husband died. She had all but ignored her only surviving child. The heavy iron door was sealed and locked once the small room was filled beyond capacity. Finally, panic took its hold.
Now, Sevel wished she could have joined in the fate of so many of her people. For her survival, only brought more pain.
I was out for less than two minutes, but when I regained conciseness the situation had drastically changed. I could feel blood dripping down the back of my neck, but I gave it no attention. The wound had surely healing by now. Instead, I focused all my attention on the current events on the ship. The upper level had already been destroyed. Bits of stripped wood and broken fiberglass covered the deck around me. The culprit, a large heavy anchor chain, was still at work.
Some how, the chain moved though the air and crashed into the next level of the boat. More debris crumbled to the deck below as the chain passed though like butter. I didn't stick around to see the magical chain destroy the last level, the level in which I stood upon. I didn't even bother to re-holster my gun, which was laying carelessly on the floor, before I jumped over the polished railing and dived back into the cold Atlantic.
When I was a safe distance away from the destructing yacht, I finally stopped swimming and assessed the situation. Obviously, I would be unable to complete my mission. The target, or targets, had already escaped in some kind of submarine. I wondered for a second, as the Coast Guard sailed closer to the destroyed ship, whether my distraction had cost me an opportunity. I finally concluded that their was nothing I could have done to prevent this outcome.
As I began to swim towards the American military ship, I planned out my list of complaints about this abstract mission the CIA had recklessly thrown together. I climbed the metal ladder that was wielded onto the side of the ship prepared to ask for a salary increase. When my feet touched the ground I was met Phil Coulson, an agent at the CIA who was, in a sense, my boss; Moira MacTaggert, another agent; and two men who I had never seen before in my life. Both were out of breath and their clothes were soaked.
Her fragile mind wondered back to the day that changed everything. It was day that was suppose to end everything. End all the feeling. Ironic sunlight warmed Sevel's face as she walked hand-in-hand with her more sickly mother. Everyone around her was sick; coughing, vomiting, and internal bleeding were what put many of others in the line which followed into the large brick building. Sevel had contracted a minor cough but she still posed a threat to the vital workforce. Spring had arrived late and the winter too harsh. The lucky ones were killed by the disease.
The young girl of fourteen looked towards what would be her, and her mother's, final resting place. The round smoke-stack towered far into the air, narrowing at the top. Black smoke was still flowing gracefully from the red chimney. The Nazi's were behind on the last run. Maybe if they weren't so weak, some one might have fought against the calm pace at which the line moved. But the ill Jews had already made their peace with God. Better to die now, than to live any longer as a slave.
Sevel continued to hold her young mother's hand even though she did not pay her any attention. Her mother hadn't spoken a word since her husband died. She had all but ignored her only surviving child. The heavy iron door was sealed and locked once the small room was filled beyond capacity. Finally, panic took its hold.
Now, Sevel wished she could have joined in the fate of so many of her people. For her survival, only brought more pain.
I was out for less than two minutes, but when I regained conciseness the situation had drastically changed. I could feel blood dripping down the back of my neck, but I gave it no attention. The wound had surely healing by now. Instead, I focused all my attention on the current events on the ship. The upper level had already been destroyed. Bits of stripped wood and broken fiberglass covered the deck around me. The culprit, a large heavy anchor chain, was still at work.
Some how, the chain moved though the air and crashed into the next level of the boat. More debris crumbled to the deck below as the chain passed though like butter. I didn't stick around to see the magical chain destroy the last level, the level in which I stood upon. I didn't even bother to re-holster my gun, which was laying carelessly on the floor, before I jumped over the polished railing and dived back into the cold Atlantic.
When I was a safe distance away from the destructing yacht, I finally stopped swimming and assessed the situation. Obviously, I would be unable to complete my mission. The target, or targets, had already escaped in some kind of submarine. I wondered for a second, as the Coast Guard sailed closer to the destroyed ship, whether my distraction had cost me an opportunity. I finally concluded that their was nothing I could have done to prevent this outcome.
As I began to swim towards the American military ship, I planned out my list of complaints about this abstract mission the CIA had recklessly thrown together. I climbed the metal ladder that was wielded onto the side of the ship prepared to ask for a salary increase. When my feet touched the ground I was met Phil Coulson, an agent at the CIA who was, in a sense, my boss; Moira MacTaggert, another agent; and two men who I had never seen before in my life. Both were out of breath and their clothes were soaked.