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The moments Cassandra's childhood ended.
Nothing From Something
Gonna break it
And never stop running
Making nothing from something
Making nothing from something
-- Nothing From Something,
by The Offspring
She didn't understand the dress. It didn't make sense. Not only did it impede her movement, or stop her from being able to blend into the shadows (Pink really wasn't a stealthy colour), but it also didn't offer much in the way of warmth. She couldn't see any logical reason for why she was wearing it. Or why her hair was tied the way it was. It was a blatant weak point, begging for someone to grab hold of the pigtails on either side of her head.
She walked through the corridor and smiled at the men she passed as she had been shown to do. They all smiled back at her, but otherwise ignored her. She moved with purpose, having already studied the blueprints for the building she was in, knowing exactly where she needed to go. She knew one person was following her, but that was as planned. It was meant to happen.
Reaching the door to her target, she reached up to the handle and opened it, slipping the small thing into the keyhole like she was supposed to. She didn't know what it was, but she knew it was important. Everything she was shown to do was important. She made sure to put it the right way around, all in a smooth movement taking only a second as she closed the door behind her.
She heard sound from the man leaning against the desk, that weird noise people make with their mouths. It didn't make any sense to her either, but a lot of things didn't. If she had been meant to understand it, she would have been shown it. There were three other men in the room with her, but she ignored all of them except for the one sitting down. He flapped his mouth at her, but she ignored whatever it was, instead leaping onto the desk, drawing back her right hand. Flashing out, she clawed her fingers into his throat, and a gout of blood came flying out as her hand tore through him.
Terror. Fear. Panic. Choke. Blood. Fall. Gasp. Nothing.
She heard noises behind her, but she didn't pay attention. She knew the man behind her had pulled a gun, but didn't care. She knew the door just caved in, and her father entered the room with two guns in hand, but it didn't matter. She heard him shoot the three other men in the room, but it was irrelevant.
The man's blood was all over her hand. She still held that throat thing in her hand. She didn't know what it was, but when the man had it he was... something. But now it was gone, he was nothing. She had caused that.
What just happened? She didn't understand it. She hit the man as she had been shown to do, but he just... stopped. Nothingness. Whatever she'd done before, whatever had been done to her before, there had never been that nothingness before. Sometimes terror, but never that much either. It was all wrong. She'd done a bad thing.
Was this what she was supposed to do? This nothingness wasn't a good thing, and she'd done it to that man. She didn't understand, but she was sure it was a bad thing. Surely it wasn't what was supposed to happen.
She got off the desk and turned to face her father. He was down on one knee, a big smile on his face, arms open wide, inviting her for a hug. A hug. Her father had shown her how to do what she'd done and now he was smiling and wanted to hug her for doing it. For doing a bad thing.
This was wrong.
She darted forwards and smashed out with her right hand, catching him with a fierce uppercut to the underside of his jaw, blood flying out of his mouth. Turning away, she ran out of the door, feeling the tears running down her face, but not daring to stop long enough to wipe them away.
She couldn't stay with him. He might make her end more people, and she didn't want to do that. She never wanted to do that again. She loved him, but she couldn't do that again. Ever.