Rising Tomorrow (Roc de Chere Book 1) by Mariana Morgan (essential reading txt) 📕

fit body than she was prepared to accept. The opportunities for serious training and exercise there had been limited. The gymnasiums Leeches were allowed to frequent were poorly equipped, and running on flat streets was simply not enough.

The supply of VRPs they had at Roc de Chere wasn’t immense, but there were quite a few to choose from when it came to exercise. Ingram had considered running one of the training obstacle courses to push herself, but in the end decided on a more natural option. Two hours along a rough coast with sand dunes, rocks, fallen trees, high waves and tempestuous weather had done her a world of good. She was relieved to know that not only could she still complete the run but also maintain a satisfying speed. It was definitely worth the scrapes and cuts on her hands and legs from the rocks and rough vegetation to feel alive again.

Her happy brain chemicals were back, pushing her into a content state. Her muscles quivered ever so gently, and she could almost feel the endorphins, dopamine and more feeding her body. Involuntarily, her hand slipped between her legs, and she gasped.

She had pushed her body so far during the wild run that now that her muscles had begun to relax her sexual desires had awoken as well. They always did. The temptation to take care of her urge was strong, but she resisted. This was neither the time nor the place. Wistfully, she pondered the possibility of hitting the town for an easy score, but leaving Roc de Chere for personal indulgence was not an option. That and other personal needs would just have to wait. Ignoring the small whine of protest her body made, she pulled her hand away and searched for the soap dispenser.

She lathered a foamy layer of antibacterial soap over any broken skin and closed her eyes, enjoying the warm, stinging sensation. She would probably have to nano-treat some of the deeper cuts. The colonel wasn’t likely to be pleased with just how far she had pushed herself, but if he didn’t see the wear, he wouldn’t ask any questions. Hopefully.

I know he worries about me. Heck, I worry about myself sometimes!

She was no longer the same hot-headed loose cannon she had been in the early days, when she just wanted to go out and start shooting anyone involved in the oppression of human beings and the support of the twisted System. But whether she liked it or not, that loose cannon was never too far from the surface.

Sometimes, the ignorance she abhorred so much sounded almost inviting. What would it be like to simply enjoy Elite privileges and have a happy and carefree life? Not only away from any violence and abuse, but actually away from the awareness of it. Blissful oblivion.

Maybe, somewhere in a parallel universe, there’s an Aisha Toscano who lives just such a life. An Aisha Toscano who has never seen the horrors that have permanently warped my mind. An Aisha Toscano who doesn’t live from one adrenaline high to another crazy thrill, from one risky decision to the next, because she’s forgotten how to do anything else. One who doesn’t need to stay active only to distract herself from the monsters that live in her mind.

The moment this Aisha Toscano stopped long enough to think, the monsters at the back of her head stirred, trying to tell her she was a victim and should see herself as such—defeated and pathetic. On the bad nights, the monsters whispered that there was no hope to change the world. That what was happening was the result of human action, and would continue as long as there were humans alive to perpetuate it. However much human beings evolved, it never seemed to make a difference. They always found ways to indulge their vices. There was always greed, fear and a superiority complex that propelled people to do unspeakable things.

Sometimes, the monsters whispered horrible ideas. They told her to give up.

When it got really bad, they told her that someone as damaged as she was a waste of oxygen.

CHAPTER 23

Roc de Chere

Lac d’Annecy

Afro-European Alliance

Sunday 26 April 2725

DAY 7

‘Want some, sir?’ Ingram brought two mugs of steaming coffee into the security room and placed one in front of Gonzalez.

She had showered, eaten, and was now feeling better than she had in weeks. The mental monsters were keeping their distance. The side effects of the drugtox weren’t gone, but they had become a faint echo. She was lucky this time; she knew from experience that the symptoms could last much longer and be far nastier.

‘You drink too much of this stuff.’ He gave her a probing look, but except for slightly flushed cheeks from the exercise and damp hair from the shower he found nothing new to worry about. And she did look less haunted.

‘Nonsense, I’m still making up for the last few days. And for the weeks at the 4th,’ she joked wryly.

Not for the first time, the joke was just too close to the depressing reality for Gonzalez, but he let it pass. They all had different coping mechanisms. Besides, not mentioning something didn’t make it disappear. Ingram’s grab-the-bull-by-the-horns attitude was refreshing… most of the time.

Part of him still wondered if he should demand more details of what had happened in the slums, but he couldn’t demand it just to satisfy his own curiosity. Ingram had been out there on her own, and it was her choice to decide how to proceed. He might question her choices, second-guess her decisions, but he hadn’t been there himself. If he had been, both he and Eloise Moretti would probably be dead. He couldn’t begin to understand what it meant to survive in the slums, let alone in the Underground City.

What he did understand, though, was that Ingram had felt compelled to assault Ms Moretti. Having had a moment to think about it, he rather regretted not taking her to task for it. Not