The girl was lying on her side in a moving vehicle. That was all she knew for certain. There were at least two men with her, but she couldn't see them and it was difficult to hear them when they spoke.
"How old do you think she is? Only Twenty? Eighteen? Maybe younger?" It was a voice she didn't know, not that of the man who had been carrying her before she had been tossed into the vehicle. The voice addressed her directly, "How old are you?"
Nell felt compelled to respond: "Sixteen."
She was seized by the collar of her shirt and propped up into a sitting position. She pulled her shackled legs close to her body defensively, not quite sure what was going on outside of her blinder. Hands touched her face and she flinched and squealed, but then she realized they were just moving her hood above her mouth so she could speak.
"Quit pulling back like that," whoever was farthest away said. It was the man who had hit her with the shock-baton and carried her out. His gravelly voice was already ingrained into her psyche, a new and potent phobia. She shuddered at the sound. The carrier repeated the other man's question; apparently he hadn't heard Nell's reply the first time. "How old are you, sweetheart?"
The girl choked on her words. "I said, sixteen."
"And what's your name?"
She paused. Anyone with powers knew to never give out their real name. The only living person who knew her actual name was Derek, her old foster parents, and maybe (if they were still out there and remembered she existed) her bio-parents. "I'm just The Fixer."
A buzzing noise followed by excruciating agony in her neck. She couldn't scream, she could only groan and slump forward as new burns crawled across her skin.
"We know that's what they call you. What's your fucking name, girl?!"
"How old do you think she is? Only Twenty? Eighteen? Maybe younger?" It was a voice she didn't know, not that of the man who had been carrying her before she had been tossed into the vehicle. The voice addressed her directly, "How old are you?"
Nell felt compelled to respond: "Sixteen."
She was seized by the collar of her shirt and propped up into a sitting position. She pulled her shackled legs close to her body defensively, not quite sure what was going on outside of her blinder. Hands touched her face and she flinched and squealed, but then she realized they were just moving her hood above her mouth so she could speak.
"Quit pulling back like that," whoever was farthest away said. It was the man who had hit her with the shock-baton and carried her out. His gravelly voice was already ingrained into her psyche, a new and potent phobia. She shuddered at the sound. The carrier repeated the other man's question; apparently he hadn't heard Nell's reply the first time. "How old are you, sweetheart?"
The girl choked on her words. "I said, sixteen."
"And what's your name?"
She paused. Anyone with powers knew to never give out their real name. The only living person who knew her actual name was Derek, her old foster parents, and maybe (if they were still out there and remembered she existed) her bio-parents. "I'm just The Fixer."
A buzzing noise followed by excruciating agony in her neck. She couldn't scream, she could only groan and slump forward as new burns crawled across her skin.
"We know that's what they call you. What's your fucking name, girl?!"
