Author Games Compilation [Cycle 2]

Task 5 • Prudence [NB]

AUTHOR GAMES: THE ABSENT EMPRESS - TASK FIVE

Bruja! Mi hija! 

Wake up, sister dearest. Mother's out to cook you right up. Get to the lake.

Sucking the air clean of the sterile bedroom was the first thing Nora could do upon waking up from a midday slumber. Little particles filtered down her throat in doing so, and she coughed herself to a sit, hacking violently into the bareness of her inner elbow. She saw dark blue fly forward - nothing more than bedhead falling into her eyes, but for a moment it was unfamiliar. "Christ," she wheezed, a final wave of hawking travelling up and out. And then she was fine, and she could breathe, and all was quiet. All was well.

Wearily, she exhaled, letting the oxygen filter out as gently as she could manage. The sun shining in was too bright; at least, against the white walls and white furniture and white sheets draped comfortably over her lap, it was. She blinked profusely while staring through the blinds, as if that might help her adjust.

It didn't.

"Ugh," she groaned, rubbing dry palms against her eyes. That was the cold's fault. It feels like I just slept for the first time in two years, she thought. Naturally, I don't wanna get the hell up. It was nice, for a minute. But then the thought of minutes brought her gaze to the clock, and at the realization it was noon, irritation began to trickle in. Sleep schedule? Hah, what's that? The team? Probably roaming, waiting. She flung the sheets off her lap and crawled over to stand straight. "Let's hope they haven't stopped working on my account," she said bitterly.

She shuffled over to the door, barefooted and unweighted by the tight-fitting uniform of yesterday. T-shirt, shorts stopping just a little beyond the gluteus maximus - nothing the inhabitants of this headquarters would deem "professional," by any means. Oh fuckin' well though.

Nora slipped her feet into some castaway shoes before exiting into the hall. She stood in the middle of it for a moment, looking around, bleary-eyed and swaying. So tired was she that when she glanced down one end of the hall, she thought there was a black bird hopping across the floor, but blinking proved otherwise. Fingers rubbed at the edge of her cheek roughly, perhaps a little angrily. Her nail began to pick at a bump but she stopped herself. I'm breaking out. I should sue.

In fact, that put her on a suitable course of action: find someone who would take her empty threats of suing seriously until something productive happened. It was a weak plan, but a plan, and so she dragged her feet down the pristine halls until she came upon the bare traces of a recovering civilization.

The whereabouts of such a thing were cued in by sound. Radio static. When she placed her body in the doorframe for a better listen, she found that a cluster of these "heroes" were in the room, sitting backwards on foldout chairs and skimming through paperwork at some table in the corner.

A lot of them kept raising their hands subconsciously to their ears, and a pit fell in Nora's stomach; oh, she thought, that was me, I think. My bad. She knit her fingers together in a fidget.

Still, they weren't deaf, and some listened intently to whatever the radio was tuned into. Nora caught a few traces of the story herself.

"...Declan Hart was killed yesterday. As you all know, Hart was an escaped convict, and had a particular group of heroes not stepped in, there's no telling the damage that could've been dealt to Esquimalt."

"Let me cut you off there, Marie," another voice intercepted through the speakers, "because, while Hart's death puts ease to several of us out there, Project Phoenix is, in and of itself, something to marvel at. I mean, there's heroes we've never even seen before, out there taking names! We all know Glacier, but what about that screamer a witness talked about? We have audio of it, too, but we'll refrain from placing it here. What of these new guys? And where is the Empress in all this?"