"We tried to save her. But maybe—just maybe—she was never the one who needed saving."
The kind of girl who haunts a battlefield long after the smoke clears... Not with blood. Not with screams.
But with silence.
And the question no one dares ask: Was she ever a victim... or always something else entirely?
------------------------
Jay
Wasn't she the one who hauled me all the way to the main street before handing me off to the boys—who then continued escorting me into the elevator?
If so...
Where the hell is she?!
Ignoring the pain from my injury, I somehow stood, adrenaline overriding common sense, and frantically searched the crowd.
The elevator was massive—according to our Engineer's orientation, it could hold up to seventy or eighty people at once. With only fifteen civilians inside, spotting someone should've been easy.
And then my eyes landed on the gap in the slowly closing elevator doors.
There.
She stood just outside the entrance, her back facing us.
My breath caught—not just because she was still outside, but because I spotted them in the distance.
A wave of FREAKs. Not just a crowd. A tsunami, scrambling straight toward her.
—Which, unfortunately, also meant us.
My heart launched into my throat.
And she—she was just standing there. Doing nothing.
Freaking crazy woman!
I lunged forward to go after her, instincts kicking in—until the alarm system blared overhead.
The doors began to close. Faster than usual.
Shit.
Normally, the elevator gave a five-minute window for boarding. While doing this, it scanned the perimeter, using facial and heat detection to verify whether a nearby body was alive or dead. But when it sensed a threat?
That window would dropped to five seconds.
"No, no, no—!"
I slammed into the already-sealing steel door like a madman, shoulder-first, trying to force it open. Tried again. And again.
Then a thunderous crash shook the elevator.
The FREAKs had reached the doors.
The whole steel box jolted as we began to ascend. Another impact came—this time from beneath—and I was thrown off balance.
Dammit!
She was still out there—alone. Vulnerable.
I forced myself upright and reached for the control panel, punching in override codes.
"Yo, man, what the hell's wrong with you?" Dave yelled, trying to grab my arm.
"One package is left behind!" I shouted, dodging his grip.
The system beeped—access denied.
"What? Jay, didn't you hear me earlier?" Malcolm called as he helped an elderly man sit. "We've got a full package today."
He looked confused. Dave looked concerned.
"Guys, no time to explain! She needs me—I have to get back out there!" I snarled, inputting another code.
Access denied.
"She who now?" Dave snapped. "Jay, you're scaring everyone. Look around—we got all fifteen. That was the count."
"Fifteen's wrong. There should be sixteen," I growled.
The override failed again.
Frustrated, I yanked open the control panel and started digging into the wiring.
"You're gonna need a key badge for that."
The voice came low and calm—Malcolm.
I turned. He was watching me with an expression I couldn't read.
"You sure?" I asked.
He gave a single nod.
Dave looked at him like he'd lost his mind.
Around us, the civilians were growing nervous. Some clutched their children tighter; others avoided looking at me altogether.
That's when I saw it—the fear.
Their eyes were wide, some brimming with tears. The kids looked terrified.
They shouldn't have seen this.
And yet... could you blame me?
She was still out there.
Panic clashed with guilt as I turned back to the controls. My brain scrambled for a solution—anything to force the door open.
That's when I remembered—my sidearm.
I reached for it—
Click.
Of course. Empty.
Then I saw it—Dave's handgun. Still loaded. Still holstered.
Before anyone could stop me, I grabbed it clean from his side and raised it at the panel.
One shot. That's all I needed.
"Jay." Malcolm's voice sliced through the tension—calm and cutting.
I hesitated.
"I get it," he said. "But this isn't the way, brother. This won't help her."
And in that split-second of hesitation, he lunged.
Fast. Precise. Brutal.
He gripped my wrist, twisted, and wrenched the gun from my hand.
"Hey! Give it back!" I snapped.
"Major Cruz, STOP!" Third's voice erupted in my earpiece, crackling through the static. "You're not helping anyone right now!"
"You said no package left behind! That's our motto, Lieutenant Moll! So why not help her?! Why leave her?!"
Third's voice came quieter. Calmer.
"You can't help someone who doesn't want to be saved."
"Bullshit!" I barked. "How would you even know that?! People need help—she needs help!"
"Not her, Major," he said quietly. "Not once. Not in five years."
I froze.
And then, I remembered.
It started with our brothers—Horizon soldiers sent out to help civilians in the Dead Zone. Weeks would pass. They didn't return. We thought they were gone—until they suddenly showed up. Weak. But alive.
Then came the civilians. Group after group, stepping out of the elevator—scared, confused, hungry... but alive.
What baffled us was where they came from: deep inside the Dead Zone. FREAK territory. Places we needed heavy prep and machinery just to reach. Yet somehow, these people made it through unscathed. As if they walked straight out of the park.
They all told the same story.
A woman had come to them. Never spoke. But had a big heart. She fought for them. Guided them to the elevator. And just as they tried to drag her with them—to bring her to safety—she'd press the emergency button to send the lift up.
That was all they remembered.
She became their shield. Their comfort. Their savior.
We grew curious. Obsessed. We checked the security cams, hoping for a glimpse of her. Nothing. Not for years.
Until one of our own saw her—in the Dead Zone.
That's when we discovered the truth: she was the one saving both civilians and our men.
Just like today...
So as much as I wanted to argue with Third, I didn't.
Because deep down... he was right.
No matter how many times we saw her—alone, fighting, surviving—she never asked for help. Never accepted it when we offered. Never joined the evac groups.
She always walked away.
I turned back to the steel door and slammed my fist into it.
Why?
Why won't she come with us?
She's human too, isn't she?
Why do we keep turning our backs on her?
Another punch. Louder this time.
Gasps behind me.
The group was staring.
Some startled. Some just looked away.
Especially the kids.
I stopped.
Slid to the floor, back against the wall, breathing hard, trying to calm the fire behind my ribs.
That's when the pain caught up.
My knuckles throbbed. Splitting open.
Blood oozed between the joints.
Dave approached, quiet now, med kit in hand. He started cleaning the wound.
Malcolm sat beside me, silent.
Eventually, the air settled.
Dave wrapped my hand with practiced movements. He didn't meet my eyes.
"Thankfully, the package is calm now," he muttered. "Still... seriously, man? You know she doesn't need saving."
I looked away, shame creeping in.
"Yeah. Sorry," I murmured.
There was a long pause.
Then Third's voice returned in my earpiece.
"It's not that we don't want to help her, Major. It's just... she's hesitant."
I didn't answer. Because I had none.
He was right.
Again.
It's been five years...
Five years since we first heard about her—fighting alone in the Dead Zones.
And she's never once stepped into the elevator.
Not once.
Why?
"Do you know her name?" Malcolm asked softly, pulling me from my thoughts.
I sighed. "No."
"You didn't ask?"
"She doesn't speak," I muttered, remembering her eyes—how she'd stared at me without a word, yet somehow said so much. "She just... looks at you."
"Ugh, yeah. Those innocent eyes..." Dave added. "But really, none of us know her name. Not even Horizon. Not the Bureau... She's a ghost."
I nodded, lost in silence.
Then—
"Actually," a voice crackled over the comms.
"I do."
*********
Chapter 4:
"Some truths stay buried for a reason. But once you start digging... something always digs back."