"Why are you doing this?" I ask, giving the straps on my wrists another tug. It seems pointless to continue to fight at this point, but a part of me can't resign myself to death just yet.

"To improve mankind," Dr. Wells says simply. She attaches some kind of clip to my finger, hooking me up to the small, square screen in the corner of the room.

"Improve," I scoff, recalling the countless disfigured girls I'd found. Death doesn't seem like much of an improvement.

"Yes, improve," she says. She walks over to the aquarium now, examining the glass with a far-off look. "You won't understand this, I'm sure, but I am pioneering the future, Aura. Fast-tracking evolution in order to create a hybrid species that can survive what is coming. While the others were busy scrambling to cater to rich parents and their designer babies, I was thinking of ways that would keep the human race alive."

"Except you failed," I say, my voice thick. "I've seen evidence of your hybrids, Dr. Wells. They all end up dead."

She turns to face me, her thin lips curled into a secretive smile. "Yes, well," she says, with the slightest shrug, "each death brought me closer to my goal."

Without another word, she walks a few steps around the bed. When her cold eyes meet mine, I refuse to look away. Refuse to be scared of people like her any longer. I cannot control the kind of person she is, nor can I change her, but I can refuse to give her the power she craves by no longer fearing her.

She secures the cannula with a plaster before looking down at me. I see no malice reflected in her eyes, nor any signs to indicate she's enjoying this. I suppose in her mind, her cause is a worthy one. She has somehow convinced herself she is saving the future–though from what, I don't know–and as such, the lives of genetically engineered girls are expendable.

"Is this what you did to Muriel?" I ask, my vision blurred with tears. "Did you cut her up into pieces, too? Just like you did with those other engineered girls you kidnapped?"

Dr. Wells raises her eyebrows, clearly surprised that I know about the missing girls. "We didn't have years to waste waiting for genetically-engineered girls to develop," she says, her voice sounding detached. "Those girls were necessary sacrifices for a greater cause. As for Muriel, well, I'd had high hopes for her. Unfortunately, she wasn't strong enough to survive the transplant."

It feels like I've been stabbed in the gut. The tears flow freely, running down the curves of my cheeks and over my lips. They feel hot and salty as they cross my tongue, a reminder that I am not brave or strong, when it comes to Dr. Wells.

I am nothing at all.

Dr. Wells adjusts the bag attached to my drip. I watch as the liquid inches down the tube, getting closer to the cannula in my hand. Soon, I'll be left completely unconscious, and Dr. Wells will have free rein to do whatever she pleases.

"Don't do this," I say, my breathing shallow. "Please."

"Don't worry," Dr. Wells says with a wave of her hand. "You're not going to feel a thing. At least, not during the transplant."

I pull and struggle against my restraints. The engineering, the experiments, the daily workouts–it seems none of it was enough to save me in the end.

The liquid continues to travel down the tube. This is it. This is what everything has been leading up to: my escape, my freedom, my subsequent return–everything I did and fought for was so that Dr. Wells could use me one last time.

I close my eyes, allowing myself to think of the moments I have shared with the people I love. My kisses with Reece, my time with the girls, the stolen moments we shared between the bouts of darkness.

Despite the fact it is all about to end, these memories still bring a smile to my lips.

I tell myself that whatever happens, Marine World did not beat me. I might be physically confined again, left powerless by my captors, but I am not imprisoned. Freedom, I realize, is not out there, it is in here, in the parts of my mind that they'll never have access to. The things I have felt, the people I have loved–they are the parts that will always be free.

Dr. Wells leans over me, picking up a scalpel from her table of instruments. It glimmers slightly under the harsh fluorescent lights, offering me a glimpse of the resolve in my expression.

The room flickers in and out of focus. I feel my muscles start to relax, my fear beginning to subside. I suppose if this is what death feels like, it is not so bad. Peaceful, in fact, like maybe I can finally rest.

Something crashes through the peace. It sounds like someone is being thrown across the room, although I am not sure who. I half-open my eyes, watching as the metal tray beside the bed goes flying, along with the equipment on top of it.

Reece moves quickly, unstrapping one of my hands and ripping out the cannula before the guard is on him again. I inhale, drawing a rattling breath into my lungs. Everything in the room appears hazy, blurred, as though I am stuck under water.

I blink a few times, spotting a familiar splash of red hair. It takes me a moment to realize the blurred figure is Jewel, and she has Dr. Wells pressed against the glass of the aquarium.

🧜🏻‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏾‍♀️