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7.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

The next morning comes quicker than I expected. For the first time in years, I wake up feeling refreshed. My body feels like it’s thanking the bed for its comfort. I stretch out, then head for the bathroom, which is painted in a color that oddly matches the rest of the room — don't even ask me how I even figured out where the bathroom is. Just as I reach for the door button, an alarm blares, and the room’s door slides open.

Caitlyn walks through with the alacrity of a battlefield commander. She's wearing a black tank top and a military short. There's an ID laying between her chest, one clipped to a lanyard. This time, I notice her hair is packed in a low bun. “Good morning, Ophelia. Hope you slept well?”

“I slept like a pug,” I say as I watch the room door fall shut. “Why are you here? To be my human alarm? I'm awake already.”

“I'm not your human alarm,” she replies as she walks to another section of the room. She presses a button and the wall falls open, revealing a wardrobe that I will never have known was even there. “Your wardrobe has been arranged with clothes that would be comfortable for your one week training.”

I blink, surprised. “Wait. That was always there?”

Caitlyn smiles and nods as she pulls out some clothes. “It was arranged for you this midnight while you were out like a pug. I sent in documents about your time in prison. It also included your height and measurements, and that was used in curating your wardrobe.”

“I was going to say something about invasion of privacy, but I guess I really don't own my life anymore,” I mumble.

She doesn't say anything as she closes the wardrobe and lays the clothes she's picked out on my bed. Then, she looks at me and smiles. “I see you already figured out where the bathroom is.”

“I guess there is at least one benefit to sleepwalking,” I grimace as I remember almost stumbling into the desk in the room. Caitlyn gives me a look that obviously means she wants to hear more about my sleepwalking problem. “I won't be taking any more questions about that, you're welcome. Anyways, I guess the alarm was because of the training, right?”

Touché! But I do want to hear more about your sleeping —”

“No. No. Nope!” I cut her off, disappearing into the bathroom. Before I close the door, I pop my head back out. “Erm would we at least get breakfast before training?”

“It's a buffet,” her words make me happy.

The bathroom feels like it's straight out of a sci-fi movie. The tap is a motion sensor one…and even the showers. There's a dryer that can be used instead of towels. What even leaves me even more fascinated is the toilet. I don't need to use tissue papers to wipe my butt anymore because the toilet now has this futuristic water spraying thing that does that for me. I have never seen anything like that before. I take a quick shower and dry myself before leaving the bathroom naked, not caring.

“Someone isn't shy, I see,” Caitlyn raises an eyebrow as I stroll over to the bed.

“Try bathing with over forty women per day for six years under the eyes of numerous male guards, I doubt shame would even be a word in your dictionary,” I reply as I make my way to the bed.

Caitlyn is perched on the bed, legs crossed, watching me. She doesn't say anything as I go through the clothes she has picked out for me. It's a black tank top and military trousers. Hell, there's even a military combat boot.

“Are there any panties or bras for me?” I ask as I pick up my tank top.

A raise of an eyebrow is what Caitlyn sends my way as she stands up from my bed.

“Oh, let me guess. Those documents don't include my bra size and panties preference. Well, for future purposes, I love every type of pants, except G-strings — the string gets in-between my butt and I hate it. Also, I wear a cup D. You're welcome,” I flash her a grin as I get right to wearing the tank top.

Caitlyn raises an eyebrow, amused by my nonchalance, but doesn't respond as I finish dressing. Once I'm fully geared up in the military-style outfit, I glance at the boots. They look sturdy, built for combat, though the last thing I want to do is fight aliens—or whatever’s waiting for us on the planet named Xyriel.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” I ask as I sit on the edge of the bed, pulling on the boots.

“Today’s focus is survival basics. You'll be taught how to navigate and read maps. You'll also be taught basic first aid processes, and a bit of self-defense. We have a rigorous schedule for you and the others,” Caitlyn stretches like she’s getting ready to hit the gym. “You’ll need it once you’re on Xyriel.”

“And by ‘others,’ you mean my other poor ‘ex-death rowers’ dragged into this interplanetary adventure that might as well give us a more painful death that the electrocution chair might?”

“Yes, those others,” she says with a wry smirk. “Think of them as your new best friends.”

I roll my eyes. “More like my ‘Go die together friends’. Anyway, this sounds thrilling. I'd take this over prison even if it means I might meet my end in the hands of some green. Looking. Aliens.”

Caitlyn crosses the room and taps the panel by the door. The mechanical hiss follows as it slides open again. “Follow me. We’ll head to the cafeteria before training begins.”

I get up, half-heartedly straightening my tank top, and follow her out into the hallway. The metallic alien corridors stretch out ahead of us, with doors that likely lead to rooms like mine.

We reach the cafeteria after a short walk, and I’m hit with the scent of food—real food, not the bland, boring, prison meals I’m used to. I can’t help but feel a tiny bit of excitement as I step inside. It’s a commodious room with rows of tables and a buffet spread out against one wall. There are trays of eggs, bacon, pancakes, waffles, chicken, fruits, and other breakfast foods, along with a machine for coffee.

“Help yourself,” Caitlyn says, motioning toward the buffet. “We’ve got a long day ahead, so eat up.”

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