False Gods | The Prime Archives #3 ✓

twenty-nine

"Lunchtime!" a guard outside Stella's holding cell shouted.

Right on cue, a silver tray was pushed through a slit in the heavy, metal door. It clanked as it fell onto the shelf welded into beneath the opening. A juice box, a packet of saltine crackers, and a plain ham and cheese sandwich were the meal of the day.

She crinkled her nose at it.

"Gee, thanks..."

It had only been two days since they threw her in a cell in the basement of The Acropolis, but she was already losing her mind.

After she woke up from whatever General North drugged her with, she woke up on cold, hard cement. Walls of the same material boxed her in, forming her prison. There were no windows, no screens, no nothing. Just a cot, a primitive-looking toilet, a small sink, and the door. They hadn't even given her a blanket to sleep with.

She wasn't sure what the general hit her with. Whatever it was had the power to nullify her abilities within seconds. As far as she was aware, Atlas only had Prime-nullifying cuffs at their disposal—devices they often used to subdue Primes in their custody. No one told her they had access to a serum capable of the same thing.

Then again, they didn't tell her a lot of things.

While she might've been a senior agent within Atlas, General North loved to keep her in the dark. She thought the man was trustworthy. Honest. He was a decorated United States general—a representative of their nation's ideals and values.

He was the exact opposite.

He was power-hungry. Lawless. The government could no longer be trusted, and neither could he. She learned that lesson the hard way. All along, Chase and the others had been right. They were right about President Crane. They were right about the PRA. She should've listened to them. She should've left with them.

But she didn't. Her naivety wouldn't let her.

Sitting alone in that barren room gave her plenty of time to think about where she went wrong. To think about all the decisions that led her to this point in her life.

As she angrily ripped open the plastic bag holding her sandwich, she made a breakthrough. She finally knew what her biggest flaw was.

She trusted people too much. Her heart was too pure. It had never been a problem before. She used it to help people, to make the world a better place. That was why she stayed at Atlas. Even with the problems the PRA brought with it, she knew remaining there would give her the chance to help people.

But, over the last three years, she had barely carried out any missions centered purely around saving civilians. She couldn't remember the last time General North deployed her in the field to not fight someone. When he made her leader of the team, she thought she earned the title. Now she knew she was just his puppet.

Her nostrils flared. Tears of anger welled in her eyes.

He had taken advantage of her kindness. Of her accepting nature. She never asked enough questions, always assuming the powers that be were to be heralded and their rules to be respected. When she finally did start asking questions, it was already too late.

She dug her fingernails into the stiff material of her cot.

"I can't believe this," she grumbled while taking a bite out of her sandwich.

The guards hadn't let her shower since they threw her in the cell. Her prison outfit—which was a dull, navy blue jumpsuit—was beginning to give off a smell. Her eyes cut to the door, her lip curling.