It took about another three hours for the nurses to clear me so I could leave, and most of that time was spent counting floor and ceiling tiles between different tests. They had to bring in a physical therapist and a neurologist to test my cognitive and motor skills after being asleep for so long. The PT told me that I was to take it slow and ease back into my usual exercise and combat practice regime, but I doubt I'll follow his advice. I left as soon as they cleared me, practically running on my tired muscles to see the light of day. I'm finally reaching the exit through the maze of hallways, and I relish the sight outside.

Our world has changed so much since the apocalypse. They say that the world before ours now was considered 'modern and advanced', but it was nothing compared to what it is now. Towering buildings of sleek glass shine against the night sky, the brilliant blue lights of displays filling the air with a bright sheen. Hovers float down the pathways, all sleek and agile with turns nobody could have dreamt of before. Hoverbikes roll down alleyways, the different colored lights of their weels shining against the reflective ground. People of all different colors, sizes, and shapes walk the sidewalks, stopping under awnings of different stores and attractions. The distant glow of the Arena shines against the stars, the cold blue and bloodthirsty red lights igniting the sky in flame and lightning. Beautiful and deadly.

I take deep and steady breaths, savoring the feel of the cold air rushing through my nostrils. It almost feels foreign after being in the hospital for so long. I twist my feet, feeling the rubber soles of my boots grind against the asphalt. One of my hands absentmindedly twirls a braid, swirling the platinum silver hair around and around my fingers.

A loud rumble of an approaching hover grows louder as it comes closer, the sleek gray metal of the Agency's transport shining against the moonlight. The driver gets out and opens the door to the back seat, gesturing for me to enter. I do as I'm told, slipping onto the black leather seats, landing right next to a familiar face.

"Hello, Leah." General Michaelson practically reclines against the seats, lounging like he owns everything. I guess he sort of does.

"Good afternoon, sir." I try to keep the disdain off my face, careful to keep the twitch of my jaw calm and unnoticeable. This is the bastard who assigned the mission, purposefully trying to get me killed. All for a good show, right?

The hover rumbles forward, the engine growling as the driver all but slams on the gas. The General lets out a curse, his fat arms wailing by as his beer belly strains against the seat belt. A glass of rum sloshes, spilling onto his hand-tailored suit. I almost laugh, savoring the sight of the drunken old man. Serves him right. I enjoy watching him flounder, struggling and gaping like a fish for air.

General Michaelson and I have a long past. He was a commander under my father when he was a General. Michaelson always had his eyes on my father's position, and while he might swear up and down he would have died for my parents, I suspect he was all too happy to see them dead and buried. I remember the look on his face at their funeral. He was practically bouncing in his seat, a smug smile working it's way on his face until he looked like a fat kid in a candy store. It had taken everything in me not to lose it then, let alone when I was told he was being promoted and would be taking over the position my father left behind as head of the Monroe base. I almost left scars on my arms from digging my nails in. I knew he wanted to immediately fire me, but he couldn't risk it with my family's reputation unless I majorly screwed up. My father and my mother were devoted to the agency and were respected by even the highest powers. He couldn't risk trying to kick me out so soon after their passing, especially when the entire country mourned their death. Instead, he stood and acted like they were martyrs, throwing their names on every mission with phrases like "for the Thompsons!". I can never say that anyone disgusts me more than this man.

"For God's sake, easy on the pedals!" His voice is raspy from one too many cigarettes and cracks mid-phrase in a comical octave jump. I snort, instantly slapping a hand over my mouth. "Oh, you had better watch yourself, girl. I'm not too happy with you."

I instantly lose all sense of comedy. "For what reason?"

General Michaelson wipes at his gray mustache, his dyed hair falling in his face from it's perfectly shaped position. He must have forgotten to spray it with stiffeners until it couldn't move even in a hurricane. "You wasted a lot of the Agency's money on your life support. I would have had it cut if it weren't for your parents and for Jax. I mean, think of all the things we could have done with that amount of money!"

Steal it from the agency and buy more cigarettes and beer. "I apologize. What is it you need to speak to me about?"

Michaelson shifts in his seat, the leather groaning in protest under his weight. He sets his rum down, which means this is something important. "First, I have a question for you. There are rumors floating around about the Director himself being in the hospital. I doubt he was there for you, but perhaps you would like to clear it up for us?"

When you're an agent, you have to learn to lie. It comes easily now. "No, sir. I had no guests except for Jax."

The overweight man nods, a smug look on his face that says something along the lines of 'I knew he wouldn't, you don't deserve someone as high as even myself speaking to the likes of you'. I grit my teeth, watching as he shifts around to grab the bottle of rum and pour some more.

"Now, about that mission." He takes a sip and tries to hide the familiar scrunch that comes with the burn. I can smell the alcohol, almost like it's right under my nose. "Jax already spoke with you about losing your memories, so yours are useless as well. I'm afraid because of your failure to complete the mission assigned I will have to bench you till further notice."

"WHAT?" I shout, scaring the General into jumping in his seat.

"Now there's no need for shouting young lady! You need to learn to control yourself. There will be no discussion about it further, and you will be notified when you will be allowed to go on the field once again. I will not make promises on when that will be." He sets back, taking another drink while I'm all but burning holes through his head with my eyes.

"You can't bench me without the proper grounds!"

"And proper grounds I have. You failed to complete a mission that was possibly life or death, and now we have no information about how to stop the bombings. You could have just cost lives. Until you prove you can complete a task accordingly, you will not be given one to complete on the field." He is trying so hard to keep a smile off his face. He wanted this.

Since he can't kill me, he'll bench me.

I want to kill him.

"So what will I be doing until 'further notice'?" I growl at him, resting my head in a hand and trying to massage the ache from my mind.

"Desk work."

That's great. Just absolutely extravagant.

The hover pulls to a stop in front of the agency, and I all but slam the door. My feet almost trip when I practically run to the front door, scanning my ID tags and whipping into the building. My strides are long and even as I burn through the building and up floors instead of taking the elevator. I finally reach my room, and I slam the door shut. I stomp over to the bed, tearing my shoes off as I go and grabbing my boxing gloves. I head straight to my punching bag, slamming my fists into it repeatedly until I start to lose myself and sweat drips down my face.

Punch. I hate him.

Punch. I hate this stupid base.

Punch. Punch. Punch. Breathe. Again.

My vision starts to blur, my eyes swimming with sweat and my body tiring out. I stop for a moment, squinting my eyes closed and resting my head against the bag and trying to focus my mind. I feel strange, the deja vu returning with an alarming force until my body feels like it's on a different plane. When I open my eyes again, I'm not in my room anymore.

I'm in the destroyed base.

My breath hitches and I reel back. My legs slam into my bed board and I fall back onto the soft mattress. My vision is clear, and I'm in my room again. It feels like nothing happened. Like I never saw anything. Did I see something?

I shake my head, trying to wrap my mind around whatever it was that just happened. I roll back up into sitting position, my elbows on my knees and my hands in my hair. I try to shake the fog loose, but it seems like it just won't leave. Eventually, I stand back up and walk to the bathroom. I turn the knob in my shower until hot water streams down, steam filling the white tiled room. I strip, climbing into the shower and feeling the water run down my body. I allow myself to breathe, slow and deep until I feel okay again.

I stay in the shower for a long time, enjoying the relaxing water. When I get out, I put on some comfy clothes and crawl into bed. I don't know why I feel so tired after sleeping for a month straight, but the strain the workout put on my body was too much on limbs that hadn't moved for so long. I fall into sleep as soon as my head touches my pillow, consciousness fading into odd dreams.