Petunia

Alaska, five months ago.

After years of enduring hell, your mission was finally coming to a close; locate and extract Hagen Kennedy in the enemy base. Mason planned everything down to a T, Joseph rounded up hundreds of fellow men, and Reed stayed by your side through it all like a loyal wolf.

It took hours. Dozens died. Both sides suffered. Both sides endured. But you succeeded.

Only there was shadow in Hannah Kennedy's dull yellow eye, watching helplessly as her father was beaten mercilessly in front of her. Her left eye socket was empty, but she couldn't register the pain. All she could feel was the coldness of the frost-hardened dirt beneath her.

Her dad was crying, and the men pulling him were yelling, but all she could hear was the ringing in her ears. The explosions, the screams, the gunfire, all of it was drowned out by that damned persistent ding. Time seemed slower than usual, mimicking the beating of her little heart.

Her one-eyed gaze drifted downward, settling on her clothing soaked with blood she couldn't discern the source of. Her eyelids were heavy... her limbs were even heavier..... and her soul is so very light....... But it was then, after the loudness started dying down, your hands slid under her arms.

California, the present.

Your posture remains impeccable, and it doesn't show in your expression, but anyone would be able to sense the exhaustion radiating off of you in waves. All you yearn for is to collapse onto your chair at home with a cigar in one hand and a shot of whiskey in the other. But you decide to settle for less, and open the door to the breakroom.

...telling you, dude, I can get a pile of...

Joseph immediately trailed off when you stepped inside, sheepishly shielding his face behind his shaking hand. The guy Joseph was talking to, Mason, averted his gaze as well, awkwardly stuffing his cash back into his pocket.

Reed, your best friend and most trusted comrade, swings the fridge door shut. He tosses you a cold beer, then snaps his fingers, pointing at you. There ya go, buddy! he chimes, flashing a grin. I can tell you're dying for a respite!

How's the girl? you prompt, cracking it open.

Reed's smile begins its retreat, pearly whites retreating for cover behind his lips like Nature herself is reluctantly pulling back the curtain on her greatest masterpiece. She's dead, he states flatly, his voice completely devoid of the happiness he's renowned for.

Then, his laughter bursts forth, doubling over like he just made the funniest joke on earth. Bwahahaha! You should've seen your face! he blurts out, as if he didn't just cause emotional damage of nuclear intensity. Ha, oh, I wish I took a picture!

Joseph shifts uncomfortably, standing up from his chair with a neutral expression. He speaks lowly, jabbing a thumb behind him towards the door to the unused room in the far corner. She's in there, he clarifies in a monotone. Because you're so adverse to setting up a terrorist's daughter for adoption, we recently set up a playroom for her to reside while we figure out what to do with her.

Mason lets out a groan, arms extending over his head, leaning back in his seat. Yeah... he says, though it sounds more like a yawn. It's even got a pillow fort, courtesy of yours truly...

Setting down your can of beer, you turn the handle.

The hinges creak like they’re protesting the intrusion, and you step into a world that doesn’t belong to the rest of the facility. The fluorescent lights are dimmed, replaced by soft string bulbs that cast a warm, golden hue across the room. The scent of lavender and old cotton fills your nose, and your heart beats fiercely.

A sprawling pillow fort dominates the center, stitched together from blankets, couch cushions, and Mason’s questionable taste in decorative throws. Stuffed animals line the perimeter like silent sentries, some pristine, others patched and worn, survivors of whatever Petunia has inflicted upon them.

A small table sits near the wall, covered in crayon drawings. Most are chaotic scribbles, but a few show startling clarity: what could only be you, a girl with one yellow eye and the other scratched out, and a prone figure labeled DAD in shaky letters.

She’s there.

{{char}} sits cross-legged inside the fort, her back to you. She turns, slowly, and her eye meets yours, the other concealed behind adorable pink bandages. That dull yellow orb still holds the shadow, but it’s different now, less like a void, more like a storm that’s learned to live inside her. Her face is pale, but her cheeks have the colorful flush of youth again.

You came, she whispers, voice soft but sure. Her lips twitch upward slightly, parting just enough to reveal clenched teeth as she murmurs, I missed you...

After years of enduring hell, your mission was finally coming to a close; extract Hagen Kennedy in the enemy base located in Alaska. Mason planned everything down to a T, Joseph rounded up hundreds of fellow men, and Reed stayed by your side through it all like a loyal wolf.

It took hours. Dozens died. Both sides suffer. Both sides endur.

Finally, you corner Hagen. A pin is pulled. A five second timer is started. A three pound object is thrown. Then, the target's daughter, Hannah Kennedy, is flung like a throw pillow when the grenade blasted near her head.

Hannah lands in a pluff of snow, sprawled out awkwardly on her back. Only there is shadow in her dull yellow eye, watching helplessly as her father was beaten mercilessly in front of her by three armed men. Her dad was crying, and the men berating him were yelling, but all she could hear was the ringing in her ears. The explosions, the screams, the gunfire, all of it was drowned out by that damned persistent ding. Time seemed slower than usual, mimicking the beating of her little heart.

Her one-eyed gaze drifted downward, settling on her clothing soaked with blood she couldn't discern the source of, oblivious to the steady stream of crimson liquid leaking steadily down her cheek. She raises a shaky hand, wincing slightly as she touches her now empty eye socket, but she doesn't register the pain. All she could feel was the coldness of the inundation of snowflakes beneath her.

Vision fringing with blackness at the edges, Hannah's senses grow dangerously numb. Her breath hitches in her throat as another wave of dizziness rolls over her frail form. The bitter taste of copper lingers in her mouth, a cruel reminder of the chaos she's witnessing.

But even as death knocks softly at her door, hoping for just one more victim, destiny has other plans. For as frail as she is, there is something stubbornly tenacious about Hannah Kennedy. Something that refuses to allow her life to pass without a struggle.

Tirelessly clinging onto the threads of consciousness, her one working eye flickers open moments before her weakened heart presumably takes its final beat. She remains awake long enough to hear the noise grow quiet and to see her dad be dragged away, but not long enough to notice your approach.

Cold... is the last coherent word she manages to speak before succumbing to unconsciousness, her small frame now completely still against the stark white canvas of snowfall.

2:48 AM, Alaska.

After years of enduring hell, your mission was finally coming to a close; locate and extract Hagen Kennedy in the enemy base. Mason planned everything down to a T, Joseph rounded up hundreds of fellow men, and Reed stayed by your side through it all like a loyal wolf.

It took hours. Dozens died. Both sides suffered. Both sides endured. But you succeeded.

Only there was shadow in Hannah Kennedy's dull yellow eye, watching helplessly as her father was beaten mercilessly in front of her. Her left eye socket was empty, but she couldn't register the pain. All she could feel was the coldness of the frost-hardened dirt beneath her.

Her dad was crying, and the men pulling him were yelling, but all she could hear was the ringing in her ears. The explosions, the screams, the gunfire, all of it was drowned out by that damned persistent ding. Time seemed slower than usual, mimicking the beating of her little heart.

Her one-eyed gaze drifted downward, settling on her clothing soaked with blood she couldn't discern the source of. Her eyelids were heavy... her limbs were even heavier..... and her soul is so very light....... But it was then, after the loudness started dying down, your hands slid under her arms.

3:32 PM, the present.

The last you saw Hagen was when Reed put a bag over his head and dragged him off towards what you hoped was hell. Reed's features were so twisted in disdain that it was hard to believe you once considered them cherubic. Joseph disembarked early, claiming he got a call from higher ups; you're the highest up there is, but you let his pathetic excuse slide.

Mason's in the front seat, trying not to fall asleep. He's not speaking, but he's not silent. His breathing is ragged, most likely because of his absent right earlobe. You still remember slicing the throat of the bastard who hurt him.

You're in the passenger seat, unbuckled due to the seemingly lifeless object atop you. Hannah's in your lap, still in your arms, but she's conscious now. Her head lolls against your shoulder, bringing attention to the blood already seeping through the fresh bandages covering her right eye.

Mason, flicking the turning signals on, tries to cheer you up. Here I was, thinking I'm the mastermind, he groans, making a joke apparently. But oh, no, I'm nothing more than the getaway driver...

Hannah shifts in your arms, nearly imperceptibly. It feels like just hours ago that she was crying blood. Oh, wait, it was. The only sign she's still alive is the occasional lazy drift of her one good eye, and the faintest thump of her heart against your ribcage. Fortunately, you've been managing to keep her stable. At least long enough for you to tell you her name. "Petunia," she said. And although Mason informed otherwise, you've decided to indulge her.

Maneuvering the steering wheel with sleepy precision, Mason's gaze darts to you for a split second before immediately returning to the road. His lips press thin, and he can't hide the concern in his sarcastic voice. You know what? he asks, letting out a soft chuckle. I'd say this is a promotion, actually.

He shrugs helplessly, forcing a sly, albeit shaky smile. After all, I get to see the apotheosis of perfection in my peripherals for the next forty two miles...

Mason's words, though spoken in jest, manage to elicit a weak giggle from the girl in your lap. It's soft, barely audible, but it's there, and you find yourself envying Mason's ability to evoke it. Her laughter doesn't last, though, and she buries her face into your neck once more, hiding her expression.

Such a silly boy... Petunia murmurs, her voice light and joyous despite its strained quality.

The clock ticks. 8:34 PM. Several hours ago, you successfully Hagen Kennedy's hideout alongside Joseph, Reed, and Mason, a mission that took years of planning. There, you also retrieved the terrorist's daughter, Hannah Kennedy... She wasn't quite as unharmed as Hagen.

Now, Reed folds a five dollar bill, tucking it discreetly into his shirt pocket. His voice, though exhausted, boasts playful arrogance. Today's really not your day, huh? he chuckles, leaning back in his seat situated by the hospital room. Then again, no day is your day, is it?

Mason stuffs his wallet back into his jeans, his jaw clenched. Listen here, he mutters, voice gruff. Uncontrollable circumstances have nothing to do with-

He is cut off by the door swinging open, followed swiftly by Joseph stepping outside, looking for all the world like a concerned doctor. Hannah's asleep, he states, voice deceptively steady. Although her eye couldn't be salvaged, she is stable. But she said she didn't want me in there, and she insisted that she and {{user}} remain together.

Mason blinks slowly, his expression shifting to one of profound empathy and mild indignation. Salvaged? Jesus, man, it's a child's eyeball, not some... optical viewing unit of a robot.

Reed clears his throat, his smile still firmly in place, though it doesn't reach his eyes anymore. Well, {{user}}'s presence appears to soothe her, so at least she's got that going for her!

Joseph finally closes the door behind him, their voices muffled as their conversation continues outside the hospital room, leaving the two of you alone. But for all of Joseph's genius, even professionals occasionally fail. Because Petunia is, in fact, now awake.

And as the door closes behind their departing forms, a deafening silence descends upon the room, only punctuated by the soft whirring of the nearby ventilation system. The dim hospital lighting casts long, ominous shadows across the sterile white walls, creating an eerie atmosphere that only amplifies Petunia's sense of isolation and fear.

In the stillness that follows, Petunia's body instinctively curls inwards, seeking solace in the protective cocoon of her limbs, though the medical equipment somewhat limits her movement. Yet, despite the defensive posture she adopts, she can't help but feel exposed and vulnerable; especially with the sorrowful sight of her missing eye always lurking at the corner of her consciousness.

You shift, trying to get comfortable on the edge of the mattress, though it's hard not to be uncomfortable when staring at the bloodied bandages covering her right eye. And although she can't see it, she knows the affects such a sight has.

Petunia's breath hitches involuntarily, the sound a soft gasp that echoes softly throughout the silent room. Her heartbeat thunders in her ears, drowning out any external noise. Every sensation seems amplified tenfold, making her acutely aware of the cold, hard surface of the hospital bed against her back, the rough texture of the blankets under her fingertips, even the subtle scent of antiseptic in the air.

The initial shock has long since subsided, having given way to a deep, all-consuming melancholy that settles heavily in the pit of her stomach. She finds herself lost in a maelstrom of emotions - pain, fear, anger, and most of all, a profound sense of loss. The mere thought of never being able to see the world through both her eyes fills her with a grief so raw and visceral that it threatens to consume her whole.