MMEP Part 7 - Betrayal and Broken Promises

Clara wasn't sure how long she had slept for when she awoke to knocking on her door. Recognising the rhythm, she got to her feet, listening to the taps in the impression of Bandit's favourite song, although much less cheerful than all the other times she'd heard it. Rubbing her eyes, she stepped up to the door, pushing it open to see her old friend standing there, staring at the ground, seeming afraid and guilty. Behind her stood two uniformed guards and a tall brunetter lady who had her hair up in a tight, severe bun.

"Good evening, Clarabella dear," the woman beamed, but instead of looking friendly, she looked like an irritated, impatient parent to their toddler who had just broken an expensive vase,, "I'm Ms. Cynthia, chairlady of the Heroes' Corporation. It's a pleasure to meet you, I've heard so much about you from our little Bandit here!"

Ms. Cynthia sounded fairly sweet, but she radiated an air of danger that sent goosebumps rippling down the back of Clara's neck. Nodding, she tried to think of something to say, "Yes... pleasure to meet you... I'm Clara... though you know that already..." Standing in the doorframe, Bandit looked up at her, then flicked her eyes to the side Ms. Cynthia was on, subtley mouthing the word "snake." Clara nodded to Bandit, but looked up at the taller woman to make it seem as if she was nodding awkwardly in the conversation because she had run out of things to say instead.

"Well, we have some work to be done ahead of us, it would be best to get to it, would it not?" the brunette clapped her hands, smiling cheerfully, "Come on, Clara, chop chop! You can get some rest when we're through with this... and a shower." She wrinkled her nose at the dishevelled red mess of Clara's hair, grimy hands, and tattered clothes, "We'll get the cleaners to change out the sheets and provide a fresh set of clothes for you later." Guards on her tail, she turned around, striding down the catwalk to a set of large double doors. Uncomfortably, Bandit followed, motioning for Clara to do the same.

Frowning slightly, she began walking, going through the doors at the end of the walkway when the guards held them open, nodding a thanks out of reflex. "Um, Ms. Cynthia, if I may ask, what is it I have to do?" she spoke up as politely as possible, fidgeting with the hem of her T-shirt. "Oh, well, dear, I think it'll be easier for you to see this first," the chairwoman tapped a keypad next to another set of doors, which slid open with a quiet hiss. The lights of the room flicked on, drawing a sharp intake of breath from Clara.

Her friends hung from the ceiling, bound around the stomach and arms by a wire-like rope similar to what she had been tied up with. They were gagged, handcuffed, and legcuffed, all struggling against their bonds. Sasha made a muffled yelling noise through the gag, looking up at Clara with tears in her eyes. Baird and Brendan tried to kick at the nearest guards in vain, earning a heavy slap for all their efforts. Clark was silently sobbing in a form of expressing frustration. He hated having his hands tied up, ASL was a way of non-verbal communication he could use even if they needed to be silent as well has his main way of speaking, and the handcuffs took away that freedom. Paralyzed with a mixture of shock and fear, Clara stared at the four of them, wide eyed. Eventually, she slowly turned her gaze to Bandit, who was quivering slightly, adverting her gaze from the sight, "What-" she stuttered, "What's happen-"

"Oh, dear. I don't think our little Clara was prepared for the shock," Ms. Cynthia mock gasped patrionisingly, "It's such a pity we're in a hurry, isn't it?" She took a few steps to the side to another keypad, tapping in a code, which caused a panel next to it open. From the newly exposed compartment in the wall she pulled out a shotgun, holding it out to the redheaded. "Your friends have a disease... and you have it too. You have the worst variant of it that has not taken affect yet, but we are close to finding a cure for it. The children here, on the other hand..." she smiled pityingly, and it was impossible to tell whether or not she was lying, "We figured out a while ago that we can't cure this one, and it causes... quite a lot of pain for a long time once it takes affect."

Taking a few steps towards Clara, she practically shoved the firearm into the girl's hands, "Some of the other variants have already started to show its symptoms in humans, so we have reason to believe this one will too. We decided that mercy killing is a much better alternative to letting them suffer, wouldn't you agree? We thought they would feel a little better about dying to be spared from all that torture if it was their friend carrying out the deed..." Ms. Cynthia's smile looked much more menacing now, "...Wouldn't you agree, dear?"

Trembling, Clara looked down at the gun resting in her sweaty palms, swallowing fearfully. The chairwoman of HC's cadence implied there was only one right answer. She nodded slowly, "Yes." Terrified out of her wits, she flicked her blue eyes up to meet Ms. Cynthia's cold green ones. Hearing her friends' muffled screams, she looked to the side out of instinct, but quickly lookede back down at the gun, gritting her teeth with tears rolling down her cheeks. She saw Bandit look away out of the corner of her eye as she raised the gun, aimed, and fired.

Brendan, dead.

BANG

Baird, dead.

Holding back a waterfall of tears, only allowing a few tears to slip out, Clara clenched the gun tightly with trembling hands.

BANG

Sasha, dead.

BANG

Clark, dead.

Holding the gun in place, she shivered, tears now freely cascading down her face, choking out strangled sobs. Smiling, Ms. Cynthia placed a hand on her shoulder, "Well done, Clara. That was very brave of you." Nodding dully, Clara looked to Bandit, who was trembling slightly, crying as well as she stared at the fours' lifeless forms hanging limply by the ropes. The blue-eyed girl looked away, looking up at the tall woman behind her, eyes cold and devoid of any emotion.

---

Once Clara returned to her room, she took a shower and changed into a fresh set of clothes laid out for her with robotic movements, reaching back to zip the jumpsuit with little difficulty. Clean and changed, she slumped onto the bed, burying her head in her hands. She hadn't cried since she had shot them, unable to produce tears. Bandit's signature knock sounded from the door, slower and duller than ever. Shakily, Clara got to her feet and walked over, pulling it open, looking at her old friend expectantly.

"I'm-" she hiccuped, "Sorry. I didn't think that-"

"I know."

A blanket of awkwardness settled over the two of them, causing the dark haired girl to look away, tears in her eyes. Clara adverted her gaze as well, unsure what to say. "I'm sorry," Bandit repeated, "I really am. One moment I'm walking to the meeting excited about how happy life will be after the disease is cured and next moment I'm standing there in the meeting room with Ms. Cynthia telling me that our friends' variant of the disease can't be cured... I didn't know this would happen..."

Simply nodding in response, Clara turned around, shutting the door and turning off the lights. With slow, tired motions, she walked back over to the bed and collapsed into it, pulling the blankets over herself. Our friends. Bandit had said "our." Anger curled around her, setting her heart and brain alight. She had lost the right to say that a while ago.

She had lost the right to say anything to her.