[h2][u][center][i]Anomie Corrielus - The Shadow[/i][/center][/u][/h2]

[h3][i]New York City
The Previous Day
P.R.O.T.E.C.T Headquarters[/i][/h3]


She had officially been interrogated out of her ass, making her momentarily wonder if dying would have been simpler. With her track record of teammates dying on her missions, speaking of an 8 year old mutant who had managed to kill an entire cell of P.R.O.T.E.C.T agents had been a hard concept to grasp. Especially when said child was now dead she had been the only survivor… if one would call it that. Anomie had lost nearly 27% of her blood due to her injuries, and as soon as she was strong enough to walk, she had been whisked away into interrogation where they molested her mind.

By the time she was actually allowed to go, the whole ordeal felt like a lifetime ago and all she wanted to do was collapse into bed.

Dying would have been smoother and less stressful, but the desire to live was what had made her abandon her dying comrades and ultimately kill the unfortunate mutant who had followed her. The boy had lost control of his powers, being used as an experimental puppet for a terrorist organisation. She had tried to make up for her cowardice by downloading all the information on the terrorist group - which had ultimately led to the arrest and fall of a national threat, but she had a feeling that wouldn’t be able to get rid of the stain on her name. 

[b]“Ah, look at that, it’s the Shadow of a Coward.”

“For someone with nine lives, she was afraid to spare even one.”

“I see she still landed on her feet though, even if the blood of her comrades that was on the ground caused everyone else to slip.”[/b]

Anomie supposed she did see the taunting coming, but nothing could prepare her completely for the whispering. The wound was fresh and every word brought a further knife her skin. She could tell the other agents had no care for her, most calling her Coward in hushed tones as she strode down the hall, attempting to keep her head held high as their words clouded her mind.

They always left the dirty missions to her; the gritty immoral ones that nobody wanted to touch, and then judged her for carrying them out. And as she read over the file for her next mission, she raised a single eyebrow at her supervisor who went by the same of Soren. [b]“Is this P.R.O.T.E.C.T’s nice way of telling me I’m suspended? Putting me on a team of children?”[/b]

[indent]His lips twitched upwards in amusement as he replied to her [b]“Most of them are in your age demographic…”[/b][/indent]


________________________________


[h3][i]San Francisco
1400
Top Floor of Champions' Peak[/i][/h3]


Her amber irises slid right, glancing towards her fellow newcomers, lingering for a fraction of a second before flickering back to Fury’s famed heroes. She had been waiting there for some time by this stage and she had to wonder if this uneventful security detail was some kind of sick joke handed down from the Director - she definitely wouldn't put it past him. Restlessness was an unusual feeling for The Shadow... but then again, everything about the mission felt unusual.

Her lips parted slightly so to voice these strange unusual feelings to Soren, only to be bitterly disappointed as she remembered he had not accompanied her. She slightly released the unnecessarily tight grip she had unconsciously held her forearm, only for the feeling of absolute muscle exhaustion to seep down her wrist and flood into her fingers like her body had been poisoned. Her eyes narrowed and she stretched her fingers before hiding the tremble once more by dropping her folded arms and placing her hand on her hip, her fingers digging into the denim material of her high waisted short-shorts.

It seemed quite often nowadays that she found herself wondering just when she'd grown so weak... mentally and physically. The lack of sleep and insufficient amount of food were rapidly catching up with her, but the thought of any substance in her body caused the burn in her throat to creep upwards and the idea of sleep sent shivers down her spine as the screams of those who once were echoed through her memories, the same way they plagued her dreams every time she dared close her eyes. Too many times had she jolted awake in the dead of the night - coated in the blood of innocents, only to find, after hours of scrubbing, that it had only been sweat. 

She had once wondered whether or not she'd ever be able to wash the blood off. She had since found the answer... and it was no.


She hadn’t much to say about The Libertist’s explanation, nor did her expression change much, save for a slight frown of distaste in the team name. Her eyes narrowed into a small glare for a moment as her gaze found Fury; for some reason she felt like she was being punished… but the thought would exit her mind as soon as it came, interrupted by the flashy entrance of the Wakandan King. She shuffled to place her weight on her other leg, her oversized white sweater falling off her shoulders slightly, allowing the milky white skin to peek out, dipping into shadow as it stretched over her collarbone.

[indent]Sick joke or not, this was a mission… and to walk away now would starve her life of purpose.[/indent]