MF1.0 - 10 - Taylor

Taylor stared at his recruits and a row of recruits with buzz cuts and severely tied back hair stared back. They all stood at attention, awaiting his next command.

‘Sir.’

It was Magnolia’s voice. The only recruit to not attend practice. This annoyed him. Had it been any other recruit, disciplinary action would have been obvious and immediate.

However, since it was Magnolia, he had second thoughts. He left his recruits with an hour’s worth of exercises, then turned and strode from the gym.

She trailed behind him, but was stopped when he closed the door.

He sat behind his desk, stared angrily at the paperwork that had accumulated there, then up at the door.

‘Password.’

The reply came, slightly muffled by the door. ‘Alpha sequence, three-five-alpha-six-two-eight, sir. Omega sequence seven-seven-seven-beta-beta-two, sir.’

‘Recruit number?’

‘Five-six-nine-two, sir’

‘Come.’

The doorknob jiggled. His eyes snapped up. ‘If you walk through that door, you’re no longer a recruit.’

‘Sir…’ the pain in her voice was obvious, but he easily ignored it.

‘Shift in, Recruit, or do not come in.’

‘Yes sir.’

It took her a long moment to arrive, he noted the look of pained concentration on her face as she faded in, before she schooled it back to neutral. She held a blue folder in her hand, though it was spotted with blood.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">Magnolia did not wear a training uniform, nor a suit. He allowed her to wear what she wanted -it was a freedom he only allowed her. He wasn’t quite sure why he allowed this - though the utter and complete loyalty he had shown her was a factor.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">She did as she was asked, no matter what. He had told her that it was likely that he would kill her one day, when her dancer heritage got the best of her and she rebelled - she had merely snapped a salute and responded that she had supposed that from the beginning.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">The dress she wore today was short, with a needlessly complicated skirt. He didn’t understand fashion, nor would he ever. What had drawn his eye, however, was that the black and white material was stained red. Arterial red. Some of it was hers - the wound in her side was still bleeding, the one hand she held to it wasn’t an effective tourniquet.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">She crossed the room, dripping blood onto his carpet.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘Report.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">She gritted her teeth, then looked up. ’Took down three dancers, scared the rest off. Sir.’ She closed her eyes and swayed a little.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘Anything else, recruit?’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘Nothing of note, sir. Nothing I hadn’t seen before, sir.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘You’re injured.’ He’d appraised her as soon as she’d appeared in the gym, it wasn’t anything life threatening, though, even if it had been, procedure was procedure. He stared at his recruit, knowing his weak companions would have allowed her medical attention before making a report.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">He disliked that they valued the recruits over the facts. The fact was that information was always time-sensitive. It was also a fact that recruits were expendable and replaceable.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">‘You’re injured,’ he said again.

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">Magnolia looked up, the smallest of smiles on her face. ‘Not too badly.’

<p style="color:rgb(189,190,190);font-family:Verdana,'CenturyGothic',Tahoma,sans-serif;line-height:normal;">He stood and snatched the file from her hand. ‘There’ll be nothing else recruit.’ With a thought, he shifted her to the infirmary.