…

The jarring freeze of the steel examination table, first colliding with the small of her back and then with the back of her skull, awoke her. Almost mechanically, the frigid collision had rebooted her, and she remembered why she was there.:

“I’m on a Mission and The Mission is what matters.”

She thought it again.

Again.

Again.

Then she spoke it aloud.

“What’s that deary, I can’t hear you,” he ridiculed mere inches from her face, his blood and sweat dripping into her mouth as it parted slightly to recite the mantra again. Again.

Again.

But never louder. Because it wasn’t for him, it was for her. It was for the lifetime of dedication she put into becoming ready for moments like this. Moments when taking her last breath would be selfish, because her breathing was vital to the mission and “The Mission is what matters.” It’s what always mattered…except…it didn’t.

It was just for a brief second, the second before she was forced flat on the exam table, a moment when the thought crossed her mind that The Mission, this Mission, would be her last mission… and in that moment she didn’t fight it. She didn’t invite it, but she also didn’t fight it. For one short moment, the warrior within her stopped fighting and surrendered heself to well earned rest. It was only a moment and a moment can change everything, but so can the next moment.

And the next.

And the next.

It happened in a split second, in a moment so fast he didn’t even realize he lost the upper hand until it was too late and she plunged the needle into his neck and he felt his body warm over with Bw84.

She rested a moment before pulling herself up off of the table and then gathering what she came for. She did not look down as she stepped over his body and continued out of the room, reciting to herself:

“The Mission is what matters.”

(“The mission is what matters” is from Buffy the Vampire Slayer)