I wake in the morning to the loud beeping of my alarm clock, my groggy mind questioning how long it went off while I was in a coma. I roll over and slap the button on the top, 7:00 in glowing white numbers on the smooth glass searing into my tired eyes. The sleek glass of the CP next to my bed glows to life, a single message displayed across the screen. I immediately throw my legs over the side of the bed, staring down at the device as it scans my face and unlocks. The message opens, showing a short but firm message from the only number on the CP.

Remember our talk. Trust no one. You begin today.

I run a hand through my hair, catching on a few braids and letting it rest at the base of my skull. My other hand holds the CP, my thumb typing letters into a single sentence.

Message received. I will not fail.

I wait a few seconds, watching as the message sends and it turns a glowing blue. A small line underneath it shows that it was read almost immediately after it was sent, a small bubble appearing in the bottom left corner above the keyboard with three dots that alternate in which is bigger. He's typing.

Updates every night. Understood?

My response is immediate. Loud and clear.

He reads it and doesn't respond. I wait a few more seconds before placing the CP down and standing to my feet. I stretch my arms and legs, walking swiftly to the bathroom and doing my morning routine. Once I'm finished in there, I go straight to the dresser not too far from my bed. I dig out a pair of black leggings and a white tank top, slipping my dad's leather jacket on over top. I lace up my combat boots and purl the top half of my hair up into a bun, the braids resting at the top of my skull and the rest hanging loose. I barely glance at the mirror before stepping out into the hallway.

My room is one of the few suits on this wing, all meant for officials. Other agents of low ranks reside in the bunkers across the street, and those of higher rank live here. Most don't get suits like mine, but their accommodations are still much nicer than those that the privates get. Technically I should be out there with them, but I was a higher rank when my parents ran this base. When they passed, the board under the lead of General Michaelson removed me from my rank saying that it was what was best for me. Those that followed my father fought for me to at least keep my room since it's all I have left of them, and most of the stuff I have from them in here would have had to been trashed since they wouldn't fit in the bunkers. My room is down a private hallway, where there isn't too much noise from the gym and the training rooms. I'm thankful for it, but in some ways, I wish they made me go with the other agents. The silence makes it too easy for the ghosts of my memories to come back, haunting me with joy I used to feel. Some of my best times with my parents happened in that room, and some of my most life building life moments in there too. I almost never go in there unless I need to sleep.

"Good morning, Leah!" A chipper voice sounds from down the hallway towards the exit. I turn to see a small elderly woman in a pale pink shirt and white pants standing while holding a basket full of what is most likely cookies. I breathe in deeply, a pleasant feeling filling my heart.

"Grammy Parish!" I run to her, wrapping the small woman in my arms and breathing in the familiar smell of cookies and flowers that always seems to come from grandmothers. Mrs. Parish has always been there for me, and I grew up calling her Grammy. Since then, she sort of adopted me as a grandchild. She's not married and has no kids of her own, but she is practically a grandma to all of us agents.

"Oh, sugar." She squeezes me gently and pulls back to look me in the eyes and cup my face even though I'm a head and shoulders taller than her. "You gave me quite the fright when you were asleep. I was so worried I wouldn't see you again!" Tears brim in her eyes and my heart breaks to know I did this to her. I can't imagine how hard it must have been on her. My parents were practically her kids, and there I was in a coma, the last piece of them she has.

"Grammy please don't cry." I hug her again, bending over to wrap my arms around her shoulders. She pulls back again, swatting gently at my arms.

"Oh, stop that. You're fine now, and no doubt you need to get back to work. Stop lazing around all day, go go go!" She tries to usher me down the hallway, and I drag my feet some and crane my head over my shoulder.

"Actually I don't have to go to work yet. I got taken off field duty."

Grammy Parish stops in her tracks, putting her wrinkled hands on her hips and glaring at me. "General Michaelson's work no doubt. That man really gets on my damn nerves. If I could, I'd give him a piece of my not-yet-senile mind and blame it on my age!"

I laugh at that, my face cracking into the goofy grin I hate. I turn to face her, her lined but stern face staring up into mine. "Thank you, but you don't have to. I know you're standing up for me on the board, and I'm grateful for that. But I really don't want you sticking your neck out any further for me. You know how Michaelson is, and you know he'd be all too happy to have an excuse to kick you off the board."

Grammy sighs and shifts the basket full of probably cookies to her other hand, letting the now free hand rest on my arm. "Now don't you be afraid for me, sugar. Michaelson is just a big ole drunk man who is hungry for power. I don't put my trust in him, I put my trust in Unity itself. I know that someone has to be noticing what's been going on here since that man took over. They'll do something, I'm sure of it."

I can't help but smile as my heart swells with love for Grammy. She's always been such a sweet lady to me, yet she isn't one to be trifled with. She used to be the General before my father was, and she ruled with an iron fist with painted nails. Grammy's influence still resides in the base to this day, which is a lot of the reason she still has as much power as she does. But Michaelson's greed is like a fire, burning down the pillars this base used to stand for. I'm just scared my sweet Grammy might be burned down with them, just because she was standing up for me.

"I know, and I can't wait for that day. But I've really got to go, I have desk work starting at nine." I swoop down and give her small frame one last hug, savoring the smell of her baked goods and the chocolate from the cookies. I sneak a hand down and snatch one of them out of the basket, wheeling around and sprinting down the hallway as I hear Grammy yelling in a funny way as she watches me go, her tinkling laugh ringing through the halls.