—--
The air in the chamber was sterile and cold, and it was laced with the odd tang of metal. Darkness pressed in from the corners of the room, only to be broken by the harsh glow of flickering fluorescent lights that buzzed like trapped insects above the white ceiling.
Rhea was only nine at that time.
Her frail body trembled beneath the thick straps that pinned her to a metal table– a table far too large for someone so small, and she was wearing a plain white cloth. The restraints around her wrists and feet dug into her skin whenever she tried to move, but she no longer cried out like before.
What was the point? She had cried hard enough to know no one would ever come to her rescue.
Her wide, crimson eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, following the erratic dance of light and shadow, the hum above almost drowning out the sound of her own heartbeat.
She had stopped struggling hours ago. Maybe days. Who knows. She couldn't tell how long she'd been held up in this place, and if she'll ever get out of it.
Behind the glass, shadowy figures moved about, speaking in casual tones, as if she were deaf and couldn't hear them. As if she weren't human in any way.
"Experiment 1990 is stabilizing. Good." The voice from outside made her flinch. It was a familiar voice she knew– warm once, filled with love… perhaps, but now it sounded hollow and clinical, almost as if the person talking was a total stranger. Tears welled in her eyes but she didn't let them fall. If he saw her in this state, maybe he might do something about it, and tell them to stop hurting her. He couldn't have stopped loving her completely, she was his daughter after all.
"Finally," came another voice, this one completely unfamiliar to her. He chuckled dryly before speaking. "Took you long enough to make this work, Mr Baxter. Half the batch you brought in was worthless. But this one– your kid— is perfect."
There was a long pause outside, followed by sudden scribbling, as if someone was busy writing on a clipboard.
"She survived stage five," Mr Baxter noted, his voice emotionless as he wrote down his observation. "That puts her ahead of the curve. We'll begin stage six next week."
"You know what needs to happen next, don't you?" the man standing next to Mr Baxter said quietly. "I don't care how you do it. Strip her off her choices. Rewire her nerves or something so she obeys anyone with full rights over her. Break her if you have to. Just make sure she complies. This could mean something big if she happens to be the first hunter we can create in Aurelis city, and without lethal complications."
They simply went on, discussing like she wasn't there. Like she was some defective tool they were eager to perfect. What was her name again? She couldn't remember it anymore. But whenever experiment 1990 was mentioned, she knew it was her.
She wasn't just a little girl to them. She wasn't a normal being who'd have dreams and fears. She was just a project. A number they wanted to reshape into something more useful to them.
Rhea tried to shift, just a little, but even that sent waves of agony through her brittle frame, hence, she stayed in place. Her bones groaned like old wood, too fragile to carry the weight of her pain. Her skin stretched tight over her body, as if trying to contain something that was not meant to be in a child's body, and she tried to fight back tears. Whatever they kept pumping into her veins was changing her, twisting her from the inside out. She didn't understand it, but she felt it.
She wanted her daddy. She wanted him to get her out of here.
As her emotions remained in shambles, her heart jolted when she heard the door creak open, followed by footsteps echoing on the cold floor. She couldn't lift her head to see who was approaching her, but she felt the man's presence, the smug smile on his lips settling on her skin like frost.
"You're doing great, little fella," he murmured, tugging his gloves tighter. "Very soon, child. People will use you like a knife, and you will thank us for making you sharp. Stay still now."
Rhea wanted to shake her head, to refuse. She wanted to call out to her daddy who was outside the glass, probably watching the whole thing happen, and it tore at her heart that he would let them treat her like this. It wasn't just an enhancement, it was clearly a curse, and her nerves felt like frayed wires sparking against her insides.
She remembered her daddy's words– how he told her he'd never let anyone hurt her. So what changed? If she made him angry, she'd eagerly apologize! But this was too much! Why was he treating her like this?????
Her pupils dilated when the man in a lab coat before her suddenly drew out a syringe, long and gleaming as it caught the light. Without hesitation, he drove it into the tender spot on her neck, right where the bruises hadn't faded from last time.
Immediately, Rhea awoke with a strangled cry, her body lurching upright as if torn from the grip of something unseen.
Her chest heaved, her lungs desperate for air that refused to come fast enough. For a heartbeat…or two– she didn't know where she was as she looked around the beautiful room. The ceiling overhead felt too clean, almost unfamiliar, and it took her a moment to realize she wasn't at Blackreach institute anymore. She was in her room, and in the home of the man who had adopted her last minute.
Before she could feel the relief, the pain returned.
The keloid mark behind her left ear bloomed with a searing throb, right where the scar lived, and it had Rhea folding. It wasn't just pain, but also the memory of everything she had to endure up to this point. The pain was like fire that seeped heartlessly into her skull, spilling down her spine until it reached her chest.
In her attempts to bear it, her fingers twisted on the sheets, her body folding in on itself. With her knees tucked under her chin, she rocked like a child forgotten in the dark.
"I'm fine," she whispered, pressing her palm over the scar as though the pressure would ease the torment beneath her skin.
"I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine," she kept repeating, like a ritual, curling into herself, as sweat gathered at her brows. Each breath was a battle, and each heartbeat, along with the little pieces she knew about herself, made her realize she wasn't safe anywhere. Not really.
She was still surviving. Because that's all she'd ever been taught to do. There is one little secret that only she knew about herself.
"Hunter my foot," she murmured as the pain ebbed away. Sitting up on the bed as though she hadn't just suffered from something brutal, she stretched her limbs, finally noticing the daylight peeking in from the window through her translucent curtains.
A knock on her door drew her attention, and Linda's voice echoed through.
"New Miss, Mr Callahan wants you to get ready, you'll be leaving for the academy today."