How Innocent

There was only one rule: don't open the door.

I was just a kid who had the coolest job in the world. Even so, I'd already seen things. Nothing that could breach our specialized containment units, but things that would give people nightmares.

Not me! I was a trained soldier. Watch them, don't open the door, tell no one what you know. That was my gig, and I figured I was pretty good at it.

She changed that -- humbled me, gave me nightmares.

Her tiny frame huddled in the corner, no older than five. Supposedly, she was the lone survivor of a plane that had exploded in midair, leaving no remains.

Except her, uncharred.

There'd been rumors of a program creating super soldiers, the next generation of spies. Mistakes were made, the project and its subjects, terminated. One escaped.

Unsettled by her gaze, I pretended to inspect the door's seal.

"They think I'm bad."

I glanced at the window again, where she now stood with her small hand pressed against the glass. "They think I killed all those people."

My heart froze.

She wailed a wild, mournful sound, shaking the walls. A whirlwind swept through the cell, whipping her hair and dress violently. She seemed unphased.

Then, the torrent came. As if a hurricane had broken out, rain began to pour from the ceiling, only inside the cell. The water rose rapidly, submerging her like a fish in a tank. Fists pounded the glass, her little body thrashing.

Trained or not, I couldn't watch a child drown. Panicked, my fingers poised over the keypad, ready to unlock the door, when a giggle echoed in the chamber.

There she stood, completely dry, nose to the glass, smiling. "I got you!"

It was going to be a long night.