The Infinity Project

Waking up in a hospital, being spoon-fed lies be her mysterious captors, being stuck with a group of teenagers, with no memories of her life before, but flickering remnants of a car crash. Things aren't looking good for Kira. On top of that she has to deal with sudden powers, and a mysterious dark force that has taken hold of her.
With betrayal looming at every corner, can Kira save herself and her friends, or die trying?

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10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

 

I stride into cafeteria, wearing my rage like armour, my hatred a sword. Not the only weapon of carrying. 

I'm a force of wrath. A black cloud strolling into the quiet space. A storm, just waiting to break, and I will. 

The knife is cold as it presses into my foreleg, the blade digging into my skin but not ripping it, angled just right so it won't slice through my skin. 

I stole it from the kitchen. It was hidden just on the other side of the cafeteria, behind a panel in the place where our food was retrieved. I flashed there at some point in the night, had grabbed the knife and flashed back. 

And I'm about to put it to good use. 

They're all there. Looking somber and annoyed and fearful. David. Mia. Wind. Tiffany. As they look to me, contempt is the only expression they offer me. I'm nothing to them. Hints of anger and scathing flicker in their eyes, but they keep everything else bored. As if I'm not worth their attention. They'll be reconsidering that soon.

I've forced the Blackness down for this little expedition, but I call up to it now, letting it claim me. 

I see the fear on their faces as my eyes go all pupil. See the hateful words ready to leave their tongues. Then they fire.

“You're nothing but Dr. Saleron's filthy little pet!” Tiffany all but screams.

“I was once fascinated by you. Now I'm only disgusted.” Wind’s words, his face twisted in anger. 

“You betrayed us. You turned us in.” Mia. The normally quiet girl glares, her honey-toned skin flushed with anger.

“I considered you a friend. Now, you're nothing to me.” David. No longer carefree, joking. He is all cold malice.

They fling the insult, only to be silenced when I slip out the knife, whirling to Dr. Saleron, who'd been escorting me, and plunge it into her neck. 

The Blackness cheers. It tells me how to kill, fast and efficient. I thank Dr. Saleron, for giving me this killing gift, 

I'm a shell. A ghost. A box filled up with chunks of emptiness. I'm a killing machine, as I plot through the guards. 

Dr. Saleron's blood stains my hands. I don't bother to wipe it off. Why bother with appearance? I look like wrath embodied, the blood is nothing. 

I finish up with the rest of the guards and doctors, not uttering a word. 

I'm seeing through a haze of black, of death. 

Then I turn to the table where the people that used to have a place in my heart, before the broke it, cower. And I finally speak. 

“I would've spared you, maybe. If you'd gotten down in you're hands and knees and begged.” I tell them, my face vacant of any possible emotion. 

“I doubt it.” One of them says, but I don't bother to use the effort to place them. 

“Let me tell you something. All along, I was planning on getting us out of here. Of saving us all. I played along to whatever Dr. Saleron wanted, doing it for you. So I could help you later on. I didn't tell you, because I didn't want you to feel pressure. So I kept it all to myself, destroying my own soul to save you.” I whisper, my voice hoarse with anger. 

I don't want to go on, but I force out the next few words.

“Thank you for destroying what was left of it. I see you're escape went well without me. And no, I did not turn you in. Didn't say, do anything against you. Ever.” With a malicious smile I utter the next phrase. “Until now.”

I launch forward, living through them all without mercy. When it's over, I stand panting, dripping with blood. 

Too easy. It was too easy. 

Too easy for me to kill. To easy for me to wield this knife, little more than a steak knife, and to plunge it into a living person.

I should cry, I should feel some remorse.

But instead, I merely sink deeper into the Blackness, letting it engulf me. 

Then I stride away, lighting a match, and throwing it to the batch of improvised explosives. 

I don't look back as the twisting hallways filled with secrets erupt behind me, fire spilling out. 

Instead, I turn to the grassy field ahead of me. The one I now see, stretching out to trees on all sides but one. 

There. There's a trace of civilization. Building, faint and blurry. 

I begin walking towards them, my breath ragged, calling up the energy to make the jump. 

It doesn't happen. I do not have the strength to make the leap, and stay rooted in place. Not strong enough, I realize, I'm not strong enough to do it. 

But I won't let that stop me. Drenched in blood, I begin a series of jumps forward. Nausea builds, but I keep going. It's like swimming underwater, the parts in between jumps the only occasions I get to suck in breaths of air. 

A quarter of the way there, my strength gives out, and I am forced to my knees. My breath comes in ragged gasps, my mind shrouded by a thick haze.

I try to fight away the Blackness, but I can't. So I let it take full control, let myself slip away. It's not too bad, being lost, but it take something away. The more I get lost, the more I doubt ever being found again. 

I'm on my knees in the field, seeing the world without sight. For my vision has gone blank, the Blackness clouding over. Yet I can still feel mute sensations around me, the sigh of the wind, the faint rustle of the grass beneath me, the feeling of the rocky earth, harsh against my weary legs. 

I can't keep going, yet I have to. I cannot waist away here, I have made it this far. If I was in control, I'd squint at the city in the distance, or admire the ruins behind me. 

But I'm not the one in control, so I let the Blackness guide me. I am force to stand, forced to walk. The Blackness lends me strength, giving me enough to keep walking. Keep going, until I can anymore. Until my body and not what's inside wins out, and I collapse without a hint of grace down onto the grass and mud and gravel beneath me. 

Miles of this, indefinite amounts of space between me and safety. Why do I even want to reach that city? It's some urge inside me, go find shelter, find people. 

But why? Why? Why me, why was I chosen? Still so many unanswered questions, ones I will never be able to answer. Ones I don't want to answer, because I fear what that very answer might be. I can't think about it, because I can't think of anything. 

While in the Blackness’ hold, I am merely part of something, not worthy to be graced with thought. 

A slave, that's what I am. A slave in my own body, to my own mind. With quiet resignation, I let the Blackness continue to drag me along, no longer caring about fighting. 

|||

At some point, I'd blacked out, and now, I awake to dawn, with a mind fuzzy. I can't seem to focus on any particular thing, I'm just trying to remember to breath, to not totally freak out. My mind is free of the Blackness, yet I can't seem to understand why. 

I stand, only to collapse again. I can taste blood in my mouth, and for a horrifying moment, I do not know if it's my own. Then I shrug it off, and try to force myself to my feet. 

It does not come, and I falter, and fall. I'm on the ground. Every part of me aches, yet I cant do anything about it. 

I turn around, to where the smouldering ruins of that horrible place should lay, but see nothing. Just grass, stretching off into forest. On the other side, grass, until a faint city skyline dusts the horizon. 

Now I see it. A faint shimmer, a difference in the air. Some sort of cloaking mechanism, I can only guess. 

I drag myself along, my legs not working, at a mere crawl. I've made quite the distance, from where I started, while under the heavy footsteps of the Blackness. Yet I can't help but fell destroyed. I will never be able to do it, no food no water. 

I flash myself forward, as far as I can go. Again and again, each time the leaps get shorter. I hate using the word teleportation, as it makes me feel like I'm in some cheesy Sci-Fi film. 

It's still faster than walking, but harder. I've covered half of the distance that was left, before I'm wiped again. I don't care if it's only morning, Dawn barely having broke, I rest, sprawled in the grass, and pass out. If this is my life now, so be it. 

And that's how my days become, an endless rhythm. Each time, my jumps grow shorter, each session I can get less in before I pass out. It's hard. But I do it. 

Sometimes it's day, sometimes it's night. Dusk, dawn. 

Sometimes the afternoon sun is unbearable, and I know dehydration becomes a greater threat with each passing second. Water, it's inexistent here.  

Sometimes I'm in the hold of the Blackness, blissfully unaware, while other times the Blackness seems to have exhausted itself, and I am left alone, as myself. I hate those times. 

I'm starving too, yet I don't notice that half as much as the thirst that plagues me. My skin, which was once white from being trapped inside, bakes underneath the solar glare, and soon I'm so tan I look like a different ethnicity. 

My clothes, battered garments before, are shredded and dirtied. I somehow manage to scrape up my arms and legs, yet I can't figure out how. 

It's on the fifth day, that things start to change. I get more jumps in, my original, on the first day, had been seven. Then the next day, six. Five. Three. Three. Now, four. And farther too, I manage to go almost as far as I'd gone the very first jump. 

Elated, my scores are going up. Seven. Six. Five. Three. Three. Four. Six. Seven. Eight. Now I'm at the doorstep on the city, and as I stumble over the threshold it's like a different world. 

I'm plunged into blissfully cool shadows, the grass that was underneath my feet turning to the dark asphalt I once knew and loved. 

Pavement. I can stand without wavering, if only from the refreshing break from the sun's harsh glare. But I'm still not in the clear. I need to get food, water and shelter. 

I stumble through the winding alleys and streets, yet see no one. The occasional elderly woman hanging clothes out on a line. 

But here on the outskirts of the city, despite the occasional high apartment building, most houses are just simple, one or two story homes. 

I can't expect to find much, and the closer I get to the heart of the city, the taller the buildings, the more cars I see pass. But I have a problem, I have no money. No way to get money. I can only hope someone will be kind enough to help me, or maybe I'd have enough luck to find some change dropped into the sidewalk. 

But my luck seems to have run out, as I stagger forward. My steps are getting harder, each time I move one foot in front of the other causes pain and disinvest to swarm me. The Blackness lumbers just around the corner. I take one step, another, another. Then stop. Then take another. 

I have enough sense not to flash away in the centre of the city, no matter how much I'd like to be somewhere else. I still have a better chance here than out on the grass, though. 

A car honks, and I realize I'm in the middle of the road. I scamper away, tripping up, and crashing to the pavement. The man in the car yells. 

“Get up! Filthy b—” I thankfully don't hear the rest, as I drag myself off the road, and sink into unconsciousness in the sidewalk, exchanging sleep for the Blackness that prompts me to rip out the man’s throat. 

As I fall away, I don't even bother to think about if I'll wake up or not. I don't care anymore. 

 

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