Waking up
Kelly blinks awake. She can tell something is wrong immediately.
No, its not that she's strapped to a table. That's a little weird, but mostly only because she's pretty sure she didn't bring anyone home. Quite sure, in fact. That, and she usually does the tying, but hey, for the right gun dealer or sniper, she'll switch now and then. Like that CIA chick she had to distract for a weekend. That was a fun assignment.
No, that's not it.
Her guns, she can't feel her guns. Ok, that's a moment of panic, but one she's dealt with. Kind of like the time she's woken up after demolitions assignments gone wrong unable to feel her legs, except more traumatic. Legs grow back. But they've punished her for borderline insubordination towards Nick and others when she mouthed off by taking her guns for a few days. So she could cope, and its a different kind of wrong.
They... they... yeah, that's it. They're not in her brain anymore.
No urge to salute anyone, except maybe with a middle finger. No one she'd feel any need to obey if they told her not to streak Grand Central wearing nothing but two ammo belts and a heavy machinegun. Huh... maybe later.
Ok, so something snapped Weapon X out of her brain. Now to try and figure out where she actually is. She doesn't even bother worrying about the straps and all, just glancing about, smelling the air, and otherwise trying to get some context clues, starting with determining its some kind of medical facility.
Hmm, maybe someone finally donated her body to science fiction? Sure, she's still using it, but its a good cause.
(Read comments)
Post a comment in response:
scribbld is part of the horse.13 network
Design by Jimmy B.
Logo created by 
hitsuzen.
Scribbld System Status
