We are the Monsters

Something feels wrong.

And it had been feeling that way since the moment Mal woke up earlier that night - just a couple of hours before her assignment was due. Yet she can't pinpoint what exactly is bothering her.

The feeling itself is much like an itch at the centre of her brain. The kind of small thing capable of making a person crawl up the walls because of their inability to scratch that exact spot. So, annoying.

On a good day, Mal would chalk it all up to paranoia or instincts - not that it mattered; it really didn't.

Too bad it isn't a good day. The annoying feeling is putting her on edge.

You need to stay calm, says the main voice in her head. Stay calm. Quiet.

I am, Mal replies impatiently. After all, she truly is. Her breathing is silent and her body remains immobile; hidden in the shadows of a corner, where she awaits her current prey.

Mal, stay calm, they say again.

And the young woman sighs softly - still completely quiet - before repeating, I am.

Although this time she doesn't feel so sure, Mal doesn't have the time to dwell on it. The steps approaching from further down the alley are getting louder and the man's mind is whispering pleas for help. He doesn't want to die yet.

He doesn't want to die.

Pity, Mal thinks unimpressed and gets ready. It will happen anyway. His steps are already faltering. She hears his breathing, ragged and weak. It's only a matter of time. She has him.

They have him.

Now, orders the one in her head. Do it now!

Not yet, Mal tries to reason, but it is no use. Her body springs into action on its own; her hand pulling a knife out of the leather belt on her left thigh. She takes a deep breath, focuses, and throws the blade at the limping figure with one swift movement of her arm.

Two seconds later, there's a thud as the body hits the pavement and a rush of adrenaline invades her senses - triggered by the sound of flesh being cut and the aborted scream that left his lips before he fell.

Now they have him.

We got him, snickers the voice in her head. They sound so pleased with themselves.

Mal chooses a small noncommittal hum as her only reply and calmly makes her way towards the fallen man.

With her target dead, her work is almost done for the night. All that's left is to gather proof of her job done and then get rid of the body. So she takes a few pictures of the man where he lays - throws in a couple of photos of his face for good measure - then takes her sweet time hauling the corpse into one of the dumpsters before setting it on fire; to speed up the process of destroying the evidence.

Mal does all this with a familiar sense of disconnect. She's used to how peaceful she feels after a kill.

Just another day in her life, she always thinks to herself. In a way, she finds it kind of beautiful; how life can be so vibrant in one moment only to become a flatline in another. And she often finds herself amused by the fact it's never as romantic as serial-killer movies make it out to be. The rest of the world never really turns silent to gaze upon a kill like that, as if it's some big loss to society. Instead, everyone really just keeps on moving; the world keeps on turning and all the meaningless rustle is more than enough to keep any possible witness deaf to the event.

It's actually one of the reasons Mal notices something is wrong.

Usually, the white noise of the city keeps going while she cleans up after herself. But this time everything around her is still; quiet and unassuming. And it only lasts a moment.

There's a small prickle on her thigh and then there are so many new thoughts ringing in her head she can't even focus on her own.

That's not... what I signed up for...

The subject is ready for extraction.

Guess that's who we are now, huh?

I wonder why they always have to be dangerous.

Mal cringes and staggers. She suddenly feels dizzy, so she closes her eyes and reaches up for her temple. Her shoulder collides harshly with the now flaming dumpster and she falls to her knees.

We need to get out of here, pipes the voice in her head. Move, Mal.

I'm...trying..., she snaps back, using all her remaining energy into a pathetic attempt at crawling out of the alley.

Something pricks at the back of her neck, and then at her side. Something is wrong with us.

When Mal feebly reaches behind her neck to inspect the cause of her sudden dizziness, she finds a tranquillizer dart.

Mal feels strong hands pull her up and drag her into a car. All faces are blurred. But she hears someone on the phone:

"The subject has been secured," says the man sitting closest to her. Mal is vaguely aware the vehicle is already moving. She's being taken.

"Perfect," the person on the other side of the line responds. Their voice is familiar; it's her contract. "We've just sent you the coordinates for dropoff."

Looks like you've been set up, taunts the voice in her head. Again.

It's true. And Mal can almost laugh. Unfortunately, she's so sedated she only manages a quiet snort. Later, should anyone ask, she will say she's surprised at being deceived. It will be a complete lie, but that will surely be her answer.

This could be like a playdate, the voice in her head suggests.

Hmm, Mal is unable to keep her head straight and eyes open but is aware of the fact she has been handcuffed. It's been a while since we last played like this.

And if it really turns out to be like the other times, this can mean the end of the line for her.

Or for them.

Mal has absolutely no idea of how much time has passed between getting shot like a rabid animal and being shoved onto some damp, smelly cot. And the bag over her head doesn't make things any easier.

At some point, she caught a glimpse of a dark blue sky through some high-up window when two men came in. They forced a bunch of pills down her throat before trying to drown her in a glass of water, and Mal had never had to try so hard not to laugh at someone trying to kill her.

The situation was so absurdly ridiculous that Mal was actually the one to offer to take the two men out of their misery, calmly guiding them into giving her water between a few chuckles.

Since then, she has attempted counting to one thousand a handful of times in order to stay awake, but her mind is hazy and her body feels like lead.

The realization she had fallen asleep despite her efforts, dawns on her when two pairs of strong hands start grabbing at her.

Mal has no strength to fight back. Instead, she feels so high on the drugs they forced down her throat earlier that night, that a bemused squeak and a lazy stretch are the only things her kidnappers get out of her until they decide to rudely drop her on her ribs.

Mal cringes in pain when her body collides with the cold floor, and she lets out a wet cough. She only notices the taste of blood and the sting on her lip after a brief moment; once she opens her eyes and sees the small red drops on the white-tiled floor.

Rubbing her ribs slowly as she analyzes her immediate surroundings, Mal notices that wherever that place is it isn't that filthy basement they had initially put her in. In fact, it looks like an old mansion.

Four men stand around her, but she only recognizes one of them. Jimenez. Her contact. The one who had been bold enough to screw her over.

Mal is actually a bit proud of the man. He looked two seconds from wetting his pants the first time they spoke, and it had been through a video call. Of course, now she knows why he was acting so skittish. The whole job had clearly been a set-up from the start.

It all made her very curious, in all honesty. And despite her other mind still being silent under so many drugs, she's sure they would also want to know what exactly was happening.

Mal glances around slowly, she can easily label the two beefy men as goons, and probably the ones to almost kill her with a glass of water. The fourth man, however, is new.

He has an interesting aura about him and pretty silver eyes - cold and clearly calculating as they stare right back at her.

"You call that a test subject?" The mysterious man questions. And just like the rest of him, his voice is... imposing. But quiet.

"Like silent lightning," she whispers to herself, narrating an old poem she had once read. "What was it, again? You can feel its power, but you can never hear its roaring."

"What is it talking about?" The way the dim light caught in his clear eyes got her attention immediately. They really were like liquid silver and had a glimmering to them that was quite like ice on fire.

It's beautiful, Mal thinks. Yet, she finds the disgusted glare he's aiming at her so very annoying.

"It's filthy."

"Well, you're rude," Mal quips back, furrowing her brows. "And I go by she/her pronouns, thank you very much."

The stranger looks displeased, and Mal knows he wasn't expecting her to act so casually, given the apparent difference in their power. It's a provocation, but it's also a way to see what they will do about it.

"She may not look like it, but she does have a strong mind," Dr Jimenez pats Mal on the shoulder and pulls her by the hand, forcing her to her feet. Mal doesn't bother trying to understand what the man is talking about, nor does she pretend to be bothered by how friendly he's behaving for someone who has literally just betrayed her. "That's why I chose her. I'm pretty confident that she'll be the one to help us finish this project."

Mal's eyes wander around the place while Jimenez continues. She still feels dizzy and couldn't care less what the conversation is about.

"I'm sorry if she doesn't look well. We had to triple the dose in order to get her to sleep, so it took a while to chip her before bringing her in. We had to keep her in the lower level until that was done."

"You needed that big a dose just for this little girl?" The mysterious man has such an arrogant air to his tone. It sounds even worse if Mal takes his fine clothing into consideration. Curiously, however, both of his hands and his neck are wrapped in bandages. A single dark, jagged scar crosses his left cheek from just under his eye, over the corner of his lips, and all the way under the bandages around his neck.

Mal openly studies his face, absentmindedly in her doped state. She almost misses the small cocky smile that crosses his features when he catches her staring. The man crosses his arms with his eyes fixed on her, but Mal suddenly wants to look anywhere but at him.

Weird, she thinks as she tries to set a pile of files on top of the desk to her left on fire just with her gaze. It doesn't work.

"Where did you find her? I'm sorry, but I can't see you going through all this trouble just to bring me some random girl."

"She's not some random girl. She's the one we've been looking for to test the new model. Now that it's almost done, we only need to confirm if it works! So tell me. The two boys I brought to you last week, how are they?"

At the last question, the tall, blond man with silver eyes sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Mal can almost physically feel the frustration coming off him in waves.

"They're dead," he says and looks in her direction for a second before turning back to Dr Jimenez. "One of them died even before I connected him, and the other didn't make it through the first test."

Mal is simply walking around the room at this point. She knows the two goons are keeping a close eye on her. And besides, she's handcuffed, so even if she did plan on doing something she would likely get subdued before ever escaping that place.

Speaking of that place, wherever it was, it was clearly located somewhere distant. There was no city noise, and the laboratory equipment she was seeing around would be difficult to move around without being noticed.

Mal had never seen that many laboratories, to be sure, but this one definitely looks like what she would consider one. There's a big counter covered in odd mechanisms and vials, a chair and a table in a corner with papers and books all over the place. But what really catches her attention is a portrait of a black-haired woman hugging what could possibly be a younger version of the blond man with silver eyes.

Mal sits on the chair and analyses the photo for a long moment without touching it; completely oblivious to the ongoing conversation until the death of those who came before her.

"Guess I'm going to die after all," she says without looking away from the photo.

If any of the men hear her, none of them gives any sign of it. They simply keep going;

"Well, Mr Vern, I'll leave Ms Malva in your hands. I would recommend giving her at least 48 hours to get all the medication out of her system. Unless you wish for her to break just like the others." Jimenez hands the blond man - who Mal now knows to be called Vern - an envelope. The old doctor whispers something into the bandaged man's ear, then turns to her, "Goodbye, miss. It was certainly a pleasure meeting you in person."

Unimpressed, Mal just looks at the treacherous man until he and his goons leave. Once Dr Vern is the only person left in her immediate vicinity, Mal goes back to studying his figure quietly. She watches him open the envelope and notices the familiar symbol of Guniverre Mental Hospital - the place where she had spent four years of her life; and possibly the worst ones too. Mal is well familiar with the apparent layout of the document Dr Jimenez has handed the other man. And she's very curious as to how the rat man managed to get his hands on her patient form from so long ago.

"Hm..." Dr Vern frowns at the sight of her sitting on his chair. Once again, he looks disgusted.

Had Mal been feeling just a little less dirty she would have stared right back just to spite him. However, she feels really dirty. And she smells foul even to herself with old rotting blood and garbage - probably from the night she had fallen in that alley. So she moves away from the man's desk and everything else. From that moment on, she decides it would be better to keep her distance from anything belonging to the man. At least until she understood a bit more about him and his plans.

"It looks like you're no longer alive," he says, sounding particularly satisfied with her decision to stop touching his things. But to his words, Mal just shrugs uninterested. "To the rest of the world, you've been dead for the past six years due to an infection."

Mal looks him in the eyes, suddenly feeling a little smug. Little do you know about me being dead, she thought. And said;

"Been dead for quite a while."

Mal walks in his direction but stops a few steps away - knowing very well she smells like a decomposing body at that point. Even if he is involved in the whole scheme to get her to that place, she isn't that petty to feel like he had to smell that.

Actually..., she thinks and says, "Look, I particularly don't care what you plan to do with me here, but I could really use a shower. I feel sticky; nasty."

Vern has an unreadable aura to himself. He looks so tranquil it borders on irritating.

What a mysterious man, she thinks, as both stare at each other in silence.

"You don't seem mentally ill, so how did you get to the locked ward? Only the dangerous ones are locked in there."

Mal shrugs again, appreciating the change of subject.

"That's a very long, very dramatic and very boring family story," Mal studies her nails for a brief moment. "It's also a story I don't plan to tell you since it's none of your business. You really don't need to know."

"Is that so?" Dr Vern smirks and Mal watches him move away from the counter he had been leaning on. He points at a door to his side. "Come," he said in a commanding voice.

There was definitely something threatening in the way he walked... Something about his stance felt familiar like maybe he was a predator too. For a moment it even had Mal hesitating. But, ultimately, she ended up following him anyway.

What a big room, she thinks as she paces around, observing the expensive furniture and the comfortable bed. It's awfully luxurious, with a high ceiling and oak floors. An odd cell for a prisoner.

"This is where you'll stay. The door to your left leads to the bathroom, and you'll find clothes right there," Dr Vern indicates the chiffonier by the bathroom door before moving to the exit. "I'll examine you tomorrow and run some tests in order to calibrate the equipment for testing. Until then you are not supposed to eat anything."

He reaches for the door handle but turns around sensing she isn't paying attention. "Dr Jimenez might never have intended to kill you, but whatever you do, from now until you prove yourself useful, might still mean the end of your life."

Mal was looking at the ceiling, amazed by the size of the crystal chandelier hanging from it. She didn't really mind the man's words until he mentioned Jimenez again.

Well, Mal isn't that great at a lot of things, however, holding a grudge and getting revenge are two of the few things she truly excels at. So, who could blame her for all the little fantasies playing in her head whenever she heard the name of the one who screwed her over. That man's name was going to keep bringing back all of those little memories she hated the most.

Mal isn't a fan of that sense of a pit forming in her stomach that came with the unbeatable feeling of powerlessness. It's like a big crimson wave of pain and despair that reminds her too much of when she was alone and thought she was going to die when there was no one there to save her.

That line of thought has Mal rubbing a hand over her stomach, softly trailing her finger over the spot where she still holds a particularly nasty scar from one of the first times someone had betrayed her. It's fascinating for her how the scar still stings after so many years. It's faint, almost imperceptible, but it's still there; just like the images of her crawling in a dirty cold room, begging for her life.

Mal will likely never forgive Jimenez; not for making her relive that.

"Is that an invitation, sir?" Mal says coolly. Her eyes have never left the chandelier.

"A warning," Mr Vern answers. "If you really want to have a chance at ever leaving this place alive, I suggest you behave."

"Right," Mal sounds playful as she swirls around to face him. With a big, venomous grin plastered on her face - still bloodied from when she bit her lip earlier. "Oh, I'm desperate! Please let me go, mister. Please! I'm so scared!"

She laughed before the other could answer.

"Is this what you expected me to be like?" Mal turns around once more to face the crystals hanging from the chandelier. They really did look like glass tears. "Freedom is a relative concept, V. I'm more interested in revenge."

If the man gets bothered by the way she addresses him, he doesn't show it. On the contrary, his lips draw a dark smile before he questions, "And whom might you be plotting against this time?" When Mal glances at him over her shoulder she's smiling too. "Based on your file you have a long history of violent retribution."

Mal doesn't respond, instead, her smile widens just a little bit more and she winks at him.

But V also doesn't continue.

"We'll see each other in the morning," V steps out of the room. "Do something about that blood."

Mr Vern locks the door behind him, but it does not faze Mal in the least. All she does is keep looking at the crystal chandelier for a little while longer. Thinking about what she's managed to do to herself again.

She allowed herself to be deceived once again. And now she's going to be blamed one more time for having to get even.

After leaving his newest test subject in a safe room. Vikram went down to his office, planning to continue his notes on the CORTEX project. Unfortunately, things aren't going so well with that.

It's strange, he thinks, as he reads Malva's files for the tenth time. None of that information made any more sense than the first time he looked it over. It's almost impossible to link the things written on those files to the girl upstairs. She seems too clever to match the descriptions. None of this makes sense.

Vikram paces around the room with the files in hand and thinks about all he knew regarding the symptoms of schizophrenia. So far, none of them applies to her. And, different from his other test subjects, she's even able to speak coherently.

In other words, Malva seems just fine.

He can almost envision her murdering someone. Almost. Because having a strong sense of humour isn't enough to be considered a killer. But she looks like she knows what's right and what's not.

"Jimenez won't tell me what's wrong here," Vikram says quietly. He leans against the big desk in the middle of the room, crossing his arms. "The girl likely won't either."

He has to think of a way to find out why the girl had been locked up at Guniverre Mental Hospital if she didn't need to. And also why Jimenez chose her - first because she's female. Jimenez is well aware he much prefers male subjects. And also because he had sounded so sure she was the right subject for their next test.

Of course, those aren't the only things bugging him. But Vikram just couldn't make himself stop wondering about the real reason why she was locked up. He wanted to know why they kept her there for so long. After all, even if she had pretended to be crazy just to avoid imprisonment before, she should already be free after all those years.

"There must have been another reason," it takes a moment or two for him to decide on what to do next. He rubs his chin contemplatively. Since she's been left under my care, I can simply do as I please.

Leaving the files aside, Vikram goes down to his laboratory to prepare for the tests in the morning. He wasn't supposed to sedate her for a couple of days at least - her body still needed to flush out whatever Jimenez had given her. That is unless he wanted her to die.

Vikram was going to medicate the girl if necessary, but only once she was fully recovered would he be able to proceed with his testing of the CORTEX equipment. But before that... he could still make her talk.

And he knew exactly how to make her answer his questions honestly.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Vikram takes one of the ampoules from the glass cabinet right beside the table in the laboratory. He takes a look at the label written on it and places it next to the other medicine bottles.

"Sterile Amobarbital Sodium"

-Venal Sedative, Hypnotic-

This will do. He smiled.

Louis Jimenez had just arrived at the Hospital after visiting his research partner, Dr Vern. Earlier, he was almost unable to smuggle the paperwork on Ms Malva out of the file room. And now, he felt like someone walking into a lion's den as he made his way to his office.

The hospital's administration was getting onto him something awful with the recent increase in deaths among patients in the locked ward and soon he was going to run out of excuses to give. This is exactly why he had to go out of his way to find Malva after years of her disappearance. She was the most convenient option. To everyone, she was already dead; had died long ago. And Louis still remembered the rumours about her.

Back then, he was just a new guy in that hospital. He wasn't even her main doctor - though she seemed to have a gift when it came to scaring the hell out of people. None of her psychiatrists ever gave any clues about what she put them through, but there seemed to be a silent agreement that they should never talk about it.

As a doctor, it was obvious Louis wasn't proud of what he was doing to his own patients. But it was a necessity that had to be met in order to achieve an incredible goal. After all, if the CORTEX machine worked as intended, it would mean the cure for so many mental diseases currently untreatable.

Louis was returning to his office after handing over the documents on the past two deaths - the two patients he had managed to smuggle out for Dr Vern's research - when Tanya walked over to him.

She was accompanied by a woman the doctor hadn't seen before. Both women had files in their hands and a serious

look in their faces.

"Hello, Tanya. Did you have a good night?" Jimenez greets the nurse in a sarcastic way. She scowls. "It would be a blessing to actually be able to sleep well around here. There have been so many deceased patients I could barely finish their files."

Tanya just continues staring at him unimpressed. The other woman, however, crosses her arms and watches him carefully, as he continues.

"We must find out what is happening in the locked ward before all the patients in there become sick-"

"Cut the crap, doctor," the unknown woman cuts him off. She has short brown hair and a blank expression. "We know what you did; we know what you are doing. You have some explaining to do."

Louis flinches at her words and has no time to protest when the woman holds him by the arm and starts dragging him to the nearest door. He looks at Tanya - who follows them closely in silence - looking for some sort of explanation that he doesn't get. She doesn't even look at him.

"Who are you?" the doctor asks and looks at the woman that had pulled him inside the room. "What is the meaning of this?"

They ended up in one of the VIP visiting rooms - the type that is big, quiet and full of decorative plants.

"Sit," orders the mysterious woman. She points over to the sofa in the middle of the room, as she walks over to one of the leather armchairs. Tanya chooses to stand by the door, almost as if to make sure he doesn't escape. "As I said, you have some explaining to do. We need to have a bit of a chat."

"I will not talk to you. I don't know you." Louis chooses not to sit. Instead, he walks to the other side of the room and only stops by the window. "Who are you?"

"Who I am isn't important. All you need to know is that I work for a company that is really interested in your and your partner's research into the human mind. And they are willing to offer you a chance of becoming part of our plans."

"Tell her about the boys, Jimenez." Tanya marches up to him and shoves the files she had been carrying right under his nose. "I've

looked at their blood test results, and there weren't any bacteria; they weren't sick. You poisoned them."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he shoots back as he looks out the window.

"Oh, come on," the other woman snorts and gets up. "You do know."

"The real question is: what changed?" Tanya's voice is low and accusing. She narrows her seafoam-green eyes at him. "What are you doing with the files from that psycho girl from years ago?"

"How do you know about that?" Louis's attention snaps at the nurse, but before she can respond, another voice echoes around the room.

"We have been watching your work, Mr Jimenez," says the male voice. "We have been watching very closely. And the potential of your project is thrilling."

"Who is this?" Louis squeaks. He looks a bit pale as he frantically looks around for the source of the new voice - a small speaker, just by the security camera in one darkened corner of the ceiling.

"Don't worry doctor, I'm just a fan," the voice speaks again, sounding amused, so Louis knows they had eyes on him. "I'm part of a company that can think of many uses for this machine of yours. A company that can pay you really well for it. Besides, you'll still get credit for your amazing research."

"Well, that is an interesting proposal," Louis paces around nervously. "But I don't see what you'll gain from it. Dr Vern's machine is not even guaranteed to work yet."

"What we'll gain shouldn't concern you." There's a moment of silence, "Where would be the fun in me telling you all about my plans anyway?"

The man behind the intercom laughs.

"I'll be honest with you; for the most part. And I won't force you to join us."

"Really?"

"Yes. Mrs Kidman, do hand Dr Jimenez the files," says the voice, and the woman with short hair approaches him before slapping a bunch of papers into his hands. "We won't force you, however, here is what will happen if you decline our offer. We'll send a copy of these documents to the police."

In the files is evidence of what he's been doing to the patients in the locked ward, as well as clear proof he has altered the deceased's documentation. If that were to be made public, not only would he be accused of murder and probably sent to jail, he could kiss his medical license goodbye.

"So, I have no choice," Louis sounds way more bitter than intended as he hands the files back to the woman named Kidman.

"Everyone has a choice, doctor. Right now, you can choose between being rich and prestigious, or being locked up in jail for the rest of your life."

Louis looks around as if searching for a way to escape. But there's none. Not anymore.

On the bright side, he won't need to make any additional effort. Mr Vern can continue to cluelessly do all the hard work until the doctor can find the appropriate moment to share with him that they had been found out. Louis could already see Vikram's disapproving face; could almost even hear the man complaining. But ultimately, in their current situation, there isn't another viable option. They were going to have to do as they were told. Unless the other doctor was willing to give up his freedom for the credit over the development of the CORTEX machine.

"I'm in," Louis sounds resigned as he agrees.

"Wonderful," concludes the mysterious man before there's a click. It takes the doctor a moment to notice he's no longer there.

Kidman hands Louis a small device; similar to a pager.

"I hope you know what you are doing," she whispers. "Welcome to Neuro."

Such a filthy liar, Mal thinks, as she picks some clothes to wear after her shower. She trusted Jimenez, and he made her into some lab rat. It's pretty much the same as killing her, just with extra steps. The man pretended to be someone who had been hurt by their significant other and in need of some payback - for a moment she had almost felt sympathy for him! What a joke.

Thinking about it, Mal realizes she has absolutely no idea who that man she had been hired to kill was. The poor fool might not even have known about Jimenez's scheme.

She walks to the bathroom to check if it has everything she needs, carrying with her a long-sleeved red blouse and a pair of dark brown pants. It feels a bit strange to have to wear someone else's underwear, but it's not as if she has a choice.

Damn you, doctor, she curses in her mind as she gets a towel and some soap from a cabinet in the bathroom. There is even shampoo, so she counts herself lucky.

It was possibly going to be the last peaceful shower she'd get in a while, so every inch of her was looking forward to it. Mal planned on enjoying every second of it. She's usually quiet on her own; whenever she decides to pamper herself. So she takes her time; from placing everything next to the bathtub and getting the water to the right temperature, to undressing and throwing her ruined clothes in the trash. Mal takes her time observing the blood stains and bruises on her body, there's even some blood under her nails. It brings back memories-

Suddenly there's a familiar click deep inside her mind, like a lock snapping open, and then the blood is everywhere. On the floor, on the walls, even on the mirror.

She glances at her reflection, but something seems off.

It was your fault and you know it! snaps the voice in her head. It sounds piped and distant, probably an effect of all the drugs she had been forced on. But she can still almost feel its hate towards her. You will never run away from what you've done!

"No, it wasn't," Mal mumbles; her voice small. It's the last thing she remembers before everything fades to black. And when she comes to, it's to someone calling:

"Wake up," someone repeats and pulls her up by the arm. It has slender but strong fingers. Their touch is really warm; almost burning hot. "Why are you sleeping on the floor?"

"It wasn't my fault..." She babbles mindlessly. Her hands wander aimlessly and she grabs the first thing within her reach; holding onto it as hard as she can. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone!"

A pained groan from somewhere close makes her open her eyes. Mal finds V standing before her with a pained frown.

The daylight coming from the windows makes his eyes shine as if mirrors had been placed behind them. And it takes her a moment to notice she's staring and still holding tightly onto his bandaged wrist.

"I see you have a bit of an aggression problem waking up," he says through gritted teeth.

Dr Vern pries her hands off his wrist before ensuring she's steady on her feet. Meanwhile, Mal can only look at him in silence. For some unknown reason, she just can't help herself. There's something familiar about the man. Something that makes her equal parts excited and wary.

"I brought you some medicine for that split lip and those scratches on your hands and knees," V points to a small platter sitting on the bedside table. It has some cotton, balm and a glass of water. He then makes his way to the door, "Come downstairs once you're ready. There are some things we need to discuss."

Mal is still stunned. All she manages is a small nod, but the man has already left. After a few moments longer of complete stunned silence, she moves closer to the items brought for her. Cleaning up such small wounds is meant to be easy. However, nothing prepared Mal for what she found when she walked into the bathroom.

Blood. Dark blood is everywhere. From the sink to the mirror, words are written in it:

your fault

your fault

your fault

monster

"No..." Mal whimpers under her breath. "Not this again."

It wasn't, she cries internally. Not the first time.

Mal turns on the water and hurriedly cleans everything. She washes her face, angrily, until there are no more tears. And puts on a new perfectly fake smile.

I'm not doing this again with you, she thinks, with a sense of finality as she glares at her reflection in the mirror. We made a deal.