Teresa walked into the makeshift barrack, in which she was stationed, like she owned it. Gardenâs doctors piled around her left and right, They were snapping dislocated joints back in place, sewing open stitches and pumping oxygen into unconscious men and women. She inspected them, her movements snakelike as her gaze raked across the living -- but, her true interest wasnât there to the left, no. It was on the right, where corpses stood in various shapes and conditions. She glared at everyone who dared to make direct eye-contact with her, before she noticed someone looking her way, lingering to the side where the bodies were. Teresa briefly narrowed her eyes, before sheâs decided she could â use a hand â. Her strides were long and quick as she approached them.
âYou there. Give me a hand with the bodies, will ya?â And in return she would turn a blind eye on them.
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Status: Self ParaÂ
Timeline: October 14th, 2552 + December 6th, 2552
Location: The GardenÂ
Trigger Warnings: death, bombing
                                          Saturday October 14th, 2552
The mission was risky, far more than risky â Ava knew this, it was a suicide mission. The idea of attacking back to the Garden just months after the bombing incident had been too risky. And far more idiotic that she was doing it not eve with the rebellion she was part of. Ava had followed Amara, not blindly into the battle but had followed her anyway and that would be a decision sheâd regret for life.
The first part of the attack was successful, destroying most of the cloning facilities within the Garden. Yeah, it was well known that Cosima and her people would have a backup for that. Or if they didnât, they would be able to repair in no time. But they lost nothing by taking back from what had been taking from them. Though the rebel had thought it wouldâve been a better idea to rescue the to be cloned subjects, those were the last thing in Amaraâs mind.
For someone who preached about saving as many people as possible, that was one hell of a bad decision.
And just like Ava had imagined, their risky mission failed.
They were just done destroying part of the cloning facilities, important utensils that would be hard to recover in this post-apocalyptic world. When the staff was finally alerted of the intruders. And that was it, they never made it out of the building â not on their own free will at least. She was one of the lucky ones, if it could be called that way. That survived that night. Most of the people that were part of the mission were killed in the instant, only two ( including herself ) were kept as a souvenir or whatever the fuck it was that Cosima wanted to do with them.
The rest of the night seemed endless, even though when Ava had felt like it passed by in a blur. One minute they had been closed to victory yet the other they were being slaughter by the armyâs defense staff â showing them no mercy. Ava considered herself lucky, despite the situation. Hell, even she had made it through the night and Amara hadnât. Though some part of her hoped the cloned â the leader of this rebellious group had managed to escape just like they had months prior. Or otherwise this still wouldâve been for nothing.
                                          Wednesday December 6th, 2552
Itâd been almost two months since the not successful attack. Ava had managed to lost track of time after been inside there for so long. Who wouldnât? When hell wouldâve been far better than everything sheâs been put through. Torture after torture, trying to obtain information from her, one that she couldnât grant them even she goddamn knew. But that didnât seem to matter to her captors as they unmade her every day.
The woman couldnât tell anymore, did it have a purpose or was it just for fun now? It didnât matter what was the reason behind it. Torture was torture and it seemed like they were just getting started. All Ava could hope so it was to leave this place, despite all the talk sheâd hear her entire life, this was far worse than those ghostâs stories sheâd been told. Guess she understood now why Derek had been so harsh on her and on the others. Why they were protected the way they had been. It was to safe them from this. From this misery and never endless cycle.
But despite her biggest desires to leave this damn building, there wasnât anything else that she wished the most than the well being of her friends and family. The rebel hoped for Axel to still be alive, the last time she saw him, heâd been bad. She was hoping more than anything that he was still alive, because otherwise all of this â enduring this torture wouldâve been worthless. Ava hoped Derek was not planning on some stupid attack. They wouldnât win if he attempted anything. Hell, she was even hoping that clone sheâd been given as her mission was hiding, staying safe. He was very wanted here and by the sound of it he was far more important than she had been led to believe. All this while being completely unaware of the war ravaging outside The Garden.
Location: Portia City; near Babikovâs Diner
Time: 02:37 a.m
The rain was maddening. Thunder roared all around her and if it werenât for her keen intuition and the most of her immortal life spent near a battlefield, she would have overheard the bomb -- the chaos exploded with an intensity turning half the city into a different kind of battlefield. Chaos took over as people pushed one another, squeezing though, metaphorical, keyholes to escape the fires which threatened to engulf the city. It came near the diner, the fragments of the bomb, burning cloth, pine-cones exploding as fire burned them, serving as a mini projectile to spread the fire, spread the chaos.
Isla replied to the situation with a heavy sigh, almost as if she was bored by it. âHere we go again.â- she thought, shaking her head at it. Fortunately enough for her, as she really despised to run in high heels and taking them off was a no go, the diner was safe from chaos thanks to it being located further from the burning Police Station and Monorail. She exited the diner every now and then to inspect the situation, her hair damping from the minutes sheâs spent outside, on the pouring rain. One would though itâd help extinguishing the fire, but no -- arson fires were never that easy to put out, especially if they came from a bomb.
She re-entered the diner, frowning as she noticed someone sitting on a bar-stool, their backs to her. Isla arched her eyebrow, as she inched closer to them.
âSo, did you really come for a drink in the midst of the chaos?â She asked, adding in an amused tone; âItâs still gonna cost you something.â
It was a dream. She knew it was. How could she be back there, back in that wretched place where nightmares were real ( and boy were they real. more real than life itself, more real than even she was ) when she clearly remembers being rescued? She knew it was a nightmare, she anticipated it, waited all night -- it never faltered, never ceased to come to her, and yet it always took her by surprise, always terrified her, no matter how many times sheâd dream of it. She was there again, her head held under icy water until her lung burned with the need of oxygen, anticipation of death lingering in the air, but they would never provide it. They would torment her with the promise of resolution, but the screaming didnât start until she was strapped by a metal chair, leather belts binding her feel and hands to the filthy, rusty thing.
âNo, not againâ. Dream!version of herself said frightfully, while Lyra groaned in her dream; not this scene again, please.
When the first wave of electricity passed her body, and her dream!version screamed, Lyra could not will herself to wake up, mortified by the way her body responded to the image, almost as if she felt the pain again. This time, she didnât react in time, didnât bite hard onto her arm to muffle her screams, didnât remember to suffocate them with a pillow. Her scream echoed around her room, and somewhere in the back of her mind she knew it wouldnât sit well with sleep-deprived rebels, but her eyes wouldnât open, and for a moment she swore she felt the leather grip on her hands, electricity shaking her. But, then a voice broke through the painful haze, someone saying her name and it wasnât one of her captors. It was him, and her eyes opened hasty, her breath leaving her lips in short, shallow intervals.
âAxel?â Lyra called out, her throat dry from screaming, a confused frown on her face as her eyes met his. It took her a split of second to remember where she was, to remember she wasnât in that godforsaken place.
