Steam rolls around me and I watch as the trickle of red run clear. Flashes of the nights events go through my head as the hot water seeps into my cold skin. People have died tonight and I can't bring myself to feel anything. No sorrow. No tears. No anguish. Nothing. I knew them, I trained with them, and I fought along side with them. I knew their names and some of them I had known for over a year, yet nothing. I feel nothing. Nothing about their deaths anyway. I feel the never ending stinging sensation in my newly stitched side. I feel annoyance at having to have been the one to do most of the work. Anger at people for not following my orders and running off cause they were terrified, which lead to their deaths. Oh, would you look at that. Guess I do feel something towards the deceased. Being angry at them will do no good. There dead after all.

  Letting out breath of air, I get to washing the blood and grime off of my body and out of my hair, being gentle as I wash around the choppy stitches I gave myself. Wasn't gonna waste time going to the infirmary when I could do it myself. Will it scar? Most likely, but I am not the one to care about scars. My sister could have stitched this better than me, but she is off doing a recon mission of her own and I don't like worrying her. Finished with washing, I step out of the shower and dry myself off before stepping into some fresh clothes.

  Walking out of the door to my room, I hear whispers of talk of the past hours events as I walk down to debrief. In this line of work, death is an ever looming presence that hovers near us. No one knowing when their time is to come. Some fear it so much that they freeze in combat and are placed to do recon instead. Those of us who choose to stare Death in the face are the ones that go out to put the preternatural creatures down. Even those of us who can stare death in the face have times where things become too frightening. For some of us chess pieces our fight response just turns to flight because we want to live. Choosing to run instead of standing your ground when your in the middle of a fight is what tends to ensure you die, especially when the things you fight aren't human at all.

  Cries of people who are grieving can be heard as I walk down the halls. We are Hunters and death is normal for us. We are only humans after all. We have no special abilities or powers. Knowledge is our power and consistent training and recon are what help keep us alive. If we don't follow our own rules, then dying is just part of the game. I grew up in this and have known since I was little what my part to play would be. Many of us have grown up knowing we could die young. Though most of us actually have the mind and body of a hunter, not everyone has the same resolve and ready to die stance that is needed for the job.

  The atmosphere of sadness and the cries of loss has the flashes of blood and echoing screams going through my mind once again. And again, no sadness. Just frustration and annoyance at the deceased for not doing the job we were sent in to do. No not just at the deceased but also at the damn Raven that was assigned to the job with us. We weren't given all the information we needed which led to several deaths. Now getting even more angry thinking about everything, my pace quickens. Though upset, those who see me have the decent mind to step out of my way. Once to the doors that lead into the debriefing room where I know a gathering of our top leaders wait, I shove open the door hard enough for it to make a loud thud as it hits the wall.

  "Who the hell was the Raven on our case, cause I know damn well it wasn't the Doppelg?nger." I demand angrily as I step into the room. Glancing around, I make eye contact with the Director of our region and head in her direction.

  “Hunter Gooden, glad to see you in one piece.” She tells me.

  “Director.” I say in acknowledgement and give a stiff nod. She gives me a quick once over.

  “Any injuries I should know about?” She asks me as she raises the clipboard in her hand, pen at the ready.

  “Nothing I can’t handle. Now can I have an answer to my question?” I ask in return. She looks up from her clipboard and raises a brow at me..

  “And what question would that be? I have heard no question come from you. A demand was heard, but I don’t follow your orders, you follow mine. So, you wanna try again?”

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  “My apologies, Director. My question was, who was the Raven on our case? I know it wasn’t the Doppelg?nger, so it had to have been someone else.” I say in an annoyed tone.

  “Ah, yes. I do know who the Raven was. They are currently being interrogated as to what the hell happened. Shouldn’t be surprised that you knew it wasn’t the Doppelg?nger. After all, you two share a bond. Too bad they can’t stomach playing chess like the rest of us. And don’t worry, nothing happened to them in case you were wondering. They were never placed on the case.” Director Gooden says as she continues to jot things down on her clipboard. Upon hearing this, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding.

  After marking a few things down, she tucks the clipboard under one arm before looking back at me. “You know the drill. Go to Room 3.”She tells me before turning and walking towards the next group that just came in the door. I don’t immediately turn towards Room 3, instead I take several calming breaths to center myself. Hearing that they were okay, a lot of tension in my body had vanished and relief had flooded me. All the anger from earlier, I didn’t realize had fear mixed into until now. They are okay. They are okay. I continue to repeat it in my head as I walk towards Room 3.

  The room is dim and plain, with a small table and two chairs. One wall is just a big two-way mirror where I will be monitored for who knows how long. When a mission goes wrong and results in most of the team being killed, interrogations like this will happen to everyone who survived. This is to ensure we have no traitors among us. Be it human traitor or an injury which causes us to become a traitor, as we would no longer be human if we were turned.

  Interrogations like these can either be short or can take hours, it all depends on how you react to the tests and how truthful you are to your superiors. Questions will be asked, tests run, blood drawn, body examined, and whatever else they deem necessary to do. A barely audible click sounds behind me and I don’t bother turning around as I have been through this game before. The door is locked now, so if I wanted to leave for whatever reason, I can’t now.

  Very first interrogation I was ever in taught me to clean up beforehand, otherwise I would be stuck sitting around in whatever gore I showed up in. The once dim light in the room slowly starts brightening as the dial gets turned up. The bright light now reflects off of the white walls and floor, making the room seem ever brighter.

  Not at all bothered by the locked door or blinding white room, I walk up to the two way mirror. Being careful not to pull at the stitches with the fabric, I slowly raise the hem of my shirt to examine the slash on my side. Doing this in front of the mirror lets me see it a bit better but also show anyone behind the mirror what kinds of wounds I have. Hiding any injury from them can result in you being stuck here longer.

  The wound extends from my right hip, up and around to my abdomen, stopping below the ribs. Nodding at my choppy sutures, I lower the hem of my shirt and turn to head towards one of the chairs at the table. I take a seat in the chair facing towards the two-way mirror, fixing my posture and resting both hands on the table, I stare straight ahead.

  A soft click sounds behind me and to my left, as someone unlocks the door and opens it. I don’t move. Shuffling footsteps sound as someone walks towards me. I still don’t move. If I so much as flinched it could be seen as me trying to break protocol and trying to run. Could be seen as me trying to hide something from my people. The sound of fabric rustles and the faint smell of tobacco fills the room as the figure gets closer. From my peripheral I see a balding man in a lab coat, carrying a medical bag that he sets on the table a couple of seconds later. With the amount of times I have had to go to be treated for injuries in the past, I know the man next to me is Dr. Barlowe.

  He doesn’t so much as look at me as he takes out a couple of vials, syringes, a set of gloves and a few other things and sets them on the table next to his bag. I continue to stare straight ahead and unmoving as Dr. Barlowe grabs my left arm and preps it to draw some blood samples. Once done drawing my blood he pulls a stethoscope and thermometer out of the bag. After placing the ear tips in his ears, he brings the diaphragm up to my chest and listens for my heartbeat. After a few moments, he removes the stethoscope and wraps it around the back of his neck before reaching for the thermometer. Placing the thermometer to my forehead a few seconds go by before it beeps and Dr. Barlowe lets out a satisfied little grunt.

  “Well good news is that you still appear to be human.” Says Dr. Barlowe with a little chuckle as he claps a hand to my shoulder and gives it a little squeeze. “Now let's hope you stay that way.” He finishes in a more serious tone before letting go of my shoulder and packing up his stuff and heading towards the door. As the door clicks closed behind Dr. Barlowe, static fills the room for a second before a masculine voice sounds through the entercom.

  “For the records, note that you are being recorded and if you would state your full name and your rank among those in your Chessmen.”

  “My name is Valerie Gooden. My rank among my crew is King.”