Rose –

"If society fits you comfortably enough, you call it freedom."

Robert Frost

Most NAAMA soldiers die before reaching the age of 30. The Academies never felt the need to sugarcoat that fact; we were never made to believe that we would lead long and fulfilling lives, and no one tried to convince us that our inevitable demise would be glorious. I was nine years old when my instructor told me that the only thing anyone knew for certain about life was that it would eventually come to an end. I had been on this planet for less than a decade and already I was being prepared for my unavoidable departure from it.

I don't have a problem with dying; it's the part that comes afterward that concerns me. I'm not a fan of oblivion, or of Hell, but I suppose reincarnation wouldn't be so bad.

Surprisingly enough, Executor Ozera didn't ban religion; she uses it as a weapon and condemns people to Hell regularly. I used to tell my partner that since I've killed enough people and told enough lies, I can be sure that if Hell does exist, I probably have a fiery cell reserved there. Eddie would always shake his head, and try to explain that he didn't think the Bible mentioned anything about cells.

Jokes on you, Eddie, I'm in one.

I don't remember how I came to be here, but I'm in the same cell I had been brought to on my first day of training with the Risk Prevention Department. The straight-backed metal chair I'm sitting in is as familiar to me as the back of my hand. When I look up, I find that I'm staring straight into a singular glowing bulb; only this one doesn't flicker incessantly. Apparently Hell has better electrical hookups than the RPD.

The door to my cell opens, and a boy with hair the color of a moonless night sky strides in. He looks different, older. He's much taller than I remember him being, and his shoulders are broader. His eyes are unchanging though, they are the same piercing blue they had been the night he and the other investigators had broken into my room.

"I should have known you were behind this," I tell him, but my voice lacks the conviction it once had.

Christian Ozera has the nerve to smile at me. "Rose, I must say that you are the last person I ever expected to find here."

"How could that be?" I scoff. "Where else would I have gone after everything I've done?"

His smile falters for a moment and he looks confused. "Where do you think you are?"

"Isn't it obvious?" I ask, tilting my head to the side playfully. "We're in Hell."

He blinks a few times at me in disbelief and then reaches into his pocket to withdraw something. This small movement sends my mind spinning in a million different directions. Adrenaline surges through my veins and I leap out of my chair, trying to prepare myself for what could come next; a gun, a baton, a tazer…

Christian raises his hands in the air in surrender. "Rose," he says in an almost unrecognizably calm tone. "I'm not going to hurt you."

My eyes dart between his neutral expression and the object clutched in his right hand. It's just a flashlight, and I feel my body go limp when I realize that it's not a weapon. I slump back into the chair, and cringe when my shoulder collides with hard metal of the chair.

Christian lowers his arms slowly, never taking his eyes off of me. "I'm not going to hurt you," he says again, this time with more feeling. "I just want to make sure you didn't hit your head or something."

Christian takes a tentative step toward me, and I feel my body begin to tense up once more. He switches on the flashlight and bends down so that we are eye level with each other.

"Hold still," he commands, and I find that I am too weak to even bother with a verbal response.

He uses his thumb to pull back the lids of my eyes and peers into them with the flashlight one at a time. I swat his hand away in annoyance, and he takes a step back, frowning in confusion.

"Well," he muses. "You don't have a concussion. Perhaps you've merely gone insane? It's not uncommon in soldiers," he says more to himself than to me.

"I'm not crazy," I insist. "I'm dead."

He lets out an aggravated sigh and shoves the flashlight back into his pocket. "You're not dead, Rose."

I narrow my eyes and study him intently, noticing for the first time that Christian isn't wearing an investigator's uniform. Instead he wears dark cargo pants and a thin grey shirt made of cotton. Such casual apparel would never be permitted within the walls of an RPD Academy, a fact that leaves me feeling more confused than ever.

"Then explain what I'm doing here?" I say, gesturing wildly to the room.

"I was hoping you would explain that part," he snaps, running a hand through his sleek black hair. "You show up here, covered in blood and dirt, and dressed like a civy no less."

I look down and see that I am still dressed in the same gray tunic dress that I had been wearing during our escape. My arm lays cradled against my chest, held up by what remains of my sling. My arms and legs are pale, save for the patches of skin that are marred with yellowing bruises.

"Civy?" I question. "Like a civilian?"

He leans back against the wall of the cell with his arms folded. "Yeah, like a civilian," he says, sounding annoyed that I would have to ask. "I don't have time to give you a lesson in Portum slang, tell me how you found us."

Christian might as well be speaking another language, because none of what he says registers with me.

Portum?

"I don't understand," I say, my voice becoming increasingly unsteady. "What is Portum? Is that another word for Hell?"

Christian smacks himself in the forehead out of frustration. "You. Are. Not. Dead," he says, enunciating each word for emphasis. "Portum is Latin for haven."

"Haven?" I croak.

Everything comes back to me in a tidal wave of memories; the holding facility, Tallahassee, escaping the compound, my friends…

This isn't hell.

We made it to the Havens.

They took me.

They took Lissa.

"Not quite what you were expecting is it?" he asks, sounding almost apologetic. "You're not the first person to mistake this place for some magical fairyland where everyone holds hands and sings kumbaya."

An icy pit has formed in my stomach. "Then what is it, and why are you here?"

A theory has been forming in the back of my mind since the moment I laid eyes on Christian. Is it possible that Executor Ozera is the source of all the Haven rumors? Did she create a fictitious place that would draw all of the dissidents together like lambs to the slaughter? My theory would certainly explain why Christian Ozera is standing in front of me.

"It's…complicated," he says evasively, "In more ways than one, Portum Lux is exactly what the rumors say it is; a place where people have come together to create a safer, better world."

I swallow down the bile that has begun to rise in the back of my throat, "And how is it different?"

"Not everyone is welcome here."

"Correct me if I'm wrong," I say, mustering as much venom as I can. "But isn't a haven, by definition, a refuge - a place where everyone can feel safe?"

"Not everyone deserves to feel safe," he retorts.

"And who gets to decide whether or not a person is worthy of feeling safe? You?" I keep the disgust in my voice plane.

"Not just me," he answers with an arrogant grin. "Portum Lux is governed by a council, and I hold a seat on it."

The image of a group of men and women sitting behind a white marble table forms in my mind, and at its center is the severe looking old woman who had asked me my name.

"Is Tatiana on it?" I ask, hoping that I'm remembering the right name.

Christian nods slowly, "So you were paying attention? I wasn't sure what you would remember from that night."

I try to recall the events that had led to this moment. I rack my brain for any piece of information that would explain how I ended up in a cell that looks like the one from my nightmares, but it's no use.

"What happened?" I eventually force myself to ask, "That night."

He shrugs, "You passed out, and that blonde girl went bat-shit crazy, started screaming for someone to help you. Tatiana let you sleep for a few days, but now she wants answers."

I fight the urge to be sick, "Days?"

"You were pretty beat up," he remarks, unhitching himself from the wall. "You still are…which is unfortunate."

"How so?"

His mouth is set in a grim line, and he looks genuinely distressed. "I can't help you, Rose."

"I don't want your help, I don't care about me," I say, shaking my head fervently. "The blonde girl, where is she? If you hurt her, Christian, I swear – "

He chuckles under his breath. "Don't waste your empty threats on me; you couldn't touch me even if you had a reason to. Which, you don't. Lissa is fine."

He used her name, I wonder if she had given it up willingly, or if it had been extracted from her.

"Christian," I growl. "Where is she?"

"I already told you," he says flippantly. "She's fine; she'll have no trouble fitting in here. She's not the one you should be worrying about."

He's right.

I should be worrying about Dimitri.

Is it possible that he and the others were able to avoid being captured? Do Christian and his council of lunatics know that Lissa and I weren't alone? A million questions swirl around in my head, but I can't ask any of them – not without implicating Dimitri and the others.

"I want to see her," I demand, trying to sit up as straight as possible in the chair.

"You're not really in a position to be making requests, you're lucky that you're even here. The council wanted to toss you out on your ass that first night."

"Why didn't they?"

He lets out a long breath and then eyes me warily. "Because I intervened on your behalf."

I let out a snort of disbelief. "Right, was that before or after you outed me as an investigator? Maybe I should let them know how we met, I'm sure the council would be very interested to learn that the RPD's golden boy is sitting on the bench next to them."

Amusement flickers in his eyes, and then he forces a scowl. "Do you think they're idiots? Of course they know who I am."

I try not to visibly shrink back at his revelation, I had been certain that Christian's identity could be used as a bargaining chip to get Lissa and me out of here.

"You're lying," I tell him, though I'm not so sure he is. "If they know you're an investigator, why would they let you stay? Hell, why would they give you a council seat? Why not toss you out like you claim they want to do with me?"

"You don't get it," he says, taking a step toward me. "They don't care that you're former military – they want you gone because you're disabled."

I feel my eyes widen in surprise, "I'm not disabled, I was stabbed!"

"We had one of our physicians take a look at your injury while you were unconscious; she says that the damage to your ulnar nerve is extensive and most likely permanent."

I feel a mixture of horror and rage begin to well up within me. "She's wrong," I snap.

"Sage is rarely wrong," he tells me solemnly.

I want to scream at him, but I think a part of me knew that there would be no miraculous recovery for me. The few parts of me that I had always treasured, my strength, my resolve, and my determination – are being stripped away from me one layer at a time. Soon I will be the shell of the girl that I once was. I can't dwell on what I've lost though, and I force myself back to the present.

"Fine, let's say this Sage person is right and I'm disabled," I concede. "Why should that make me unfit to stay here?"

He hesitates for a moment, and then opens his mouth to speak. "The Pulse destroyed the modern world. The destruction set human advancement back decades, but instead of rebuilding and finding a way to move forward, the Executor pushed us back even further. She created us – you and me – to hunt down and destroy any shred of hope for returning the world to its former glory. Do you know what's left? Ignorance. The people of NAAMA are weak and cowardly. If left unchecked, they will continue to breed and the stupidity that runs through their kind like a disease will fester. There is no room for fatuity in the new world order, nor is there room for sickness and handicaps"

Realization washes over me like a bucket of ice water. I was right all along, I am in Hell.

So I reached 500 reviews and I was like ya know what? The first chapter is done so I might as well put it up because I love you guys and you make me so happy. Haven is going to be a very different story. I kind of wanted to emphasize how most people truly believe that what they're doing and what they believe in is the best thing for the world. I want to touch on a lot of issues that maybe some of my readers can relate, but I also want to write Romitri smut so that will inevitably come up too.

Also, about Christian, right now he sounds like a psychopath, but I swear he'll come around.