A/N: Disclaimer for the whole story: I do not own Maximum Ride.
This is a prequel, pre-canon, for Angel Experiment.
Please read and review, thank you.
"Hey, you! Up!" a voice said, poking her in the side. She woke up with a start and quivered, pulling her wings in. "Come on!" said the intern impatiently.
Trembling, she crawled out. She blinked hard, transitioning from the darkness of her sleep to the too-bright lights above. The man pushed her forward and she stumbled on.
Another intern was mopping the floor nearby. His greasy hair fell in front of his eyes and music blared out, though he had his ear buds in. He worked on the floor, sweeping away crimson blood from underneath the cage nearest to him. The cage held a boy that had boils that bled out day and night. The rivulets of dry caked blood contrasted with his pale skin. The boy shuddered as he slept, as if he knew he was dying.
She had watched too long and had slowed down. This earned her another shove from the intern. She walked on, knowing the routine by heart. First they would draw blood. Then they would do intelligence tests. They would follow with physical tests, more blood, and she would get to go back to her cage for a small meal.
They wound through complicated hallways, the girl rubbing her eyes once. They stopped in front of the test room. She was shoved in. Inside was a woman in a white coat, just like everyone else in the world. The girl sat down and the whitecoat placed a piece of paper on the table that separated the two.
"You have one minute," the whitecoat told her. The girl got to work on the test; this one was a simple one. She had to copy the drawings onto the matching spot with the letters. One star, two crosses, a rectangle, triangle, rectangle, star, hexagon, she thought, writing quickly. She held the pencil fiercely, scratching out the shapes as best she could.
"Time," said the whitecoat. The girl leaned back into the hard plastic chair as if she were physically exhausted. The whitecoat bobbed her head as she wrote down things on a clipboard. The girl looked around, scanning the room anxiously.
The whitecoat set down her notes and roughly grabbed the girl's arm. She didn't complain, only averted her eyes as the needle was inserted. It burned for a second, and her eyes watered, but it was soon over. Daring now to look back, she saw a vial a bright red blood disappearing under the table. "You may go now," the whitecoat said nonchalantly.
The girl got up and walked over to the door. It opened, and instead of an intern, was a huge Eraser. Her eyes widened as he grabbed her arm, squeezing it and bruising it. You wouldn't have noticed anyway with all the other injuries. The girl had hollow cheeks and dark circles under her chocolate eyes. Her arms and legs were laden with bruises. Her hair was scruffy and longish, hanging, stringy, a dull dirty blond, down to her back. There was a cut under her eye and it had swollen, making her look like she was always on the verge of tears.
She was really about to cry as the Eraser pulled her arm painfully, parading her around. The other Erasers whistled and shouted things she didn't understand. "Can I borrow her for the night?" one called. The Eraser holding her snickered, but didn't answer. The girl sniffed as they passed that hallway that was particularly full of Erasers.
The next corridor was empty, and her arm was released. She rubbed it absently as they continued to zigzag through what she'd heard was named the School. The Eraser stopped in front of what was universally called the Gym.
The door was opened and the girl stepped in. A team of five whitecoats greeted her. One led her by the arm to the side, the other arm thankfully. They gave her a drink and she sucked it down. It tasted like dust and gum, something she'd only known from smelling what interns were chewing.
The mixture was thick and oozy. It stuck to her throat as she tried to drink it. She handed the empty cup to a waiting whitecoat and wiped her mouth on her hand. She'd gotten a fresh hospital gown two days ago, and wanted to make this luxury last. The last time she'd gotten a change of clothes before that went back months and months.
The girl looked up from her gown and saw they had built a maze. They wheeled around wooden panes in indentations in the floor of the Gym to make mazes. She walked over to the entrance, and a bell rang. She was pushed in and she ran on. She stopped only when she was confronted with swirling blades about thigh-high in the hallway.
Not waiting to see whether they would shock her, she backpedaled and took a sharp left, breathing hard. She took turns at random, hoping she wouldn't find a dead end. Her wishing was rewarded as she exited the maze.
She was handed some apple juice and drank it down. Word floated over to her: stress… cognitive abilities… adrenaline. The girl tried to force down the dull fear starting in the pit of her stomach.
She put down her now-empty cup and was led over to the maze entrance. She was shoved in and ran. She felt and shock and froze, twitching. It felt as if her very bones were on fire. Her eyes watered and she started running as soon as her muscles responded.
She felt the shock again, like lightning coursing through her. She wasn't stopping! Why would they shock her? She tried to move again and was jolted by another attack of pain.
She crumpled to the ground and tried dragging herself away, her lower half feeling paralyzed. She clawed at the floor desperately, trying to keep moving. Another shock seized her and she started jerking around. Her eyes rolled back and she couldn't feel the next jolt of electricity.
"Stop! STOP!" a voice thundered. The whitecoats looked up, Jones's finger just above the button that shocked the subject.
The man that had just walked in turned to the group of scientists, his eyes fiery. "What are you doing?"
"We're testing the effect of stress on her adrenaline levels," Jones explained. Sewell nodded.
"She can't run while unconscious! The voltage is much too high! What are you trying to prove, that electricity paralyzes you? That's already been proved, Jones!" the man screamed, his face getting red.
"Sorry, doctor," said Jones a little shakily.
"You're fired," he answered.
"What?"
"These are my avian-DNA experiments, and you're fired! OUT!"
Jones bowed his head and left the room. Another glare from the man sent Sewell and the others scurrying off too. The doctor slid the wooden panels as to make a path through the maze. In the middle of it, he found the girl.
She was sleeping, it seemed, if it weren't for the grotesque contortion of her limbs. He sighed and checked her pulse. She was alive. He shook her gently.
The girl woke up again and instantly withered away from the man's touch. He was balding, had square glasses, and an unmistakably friendly round face.
"Don't worry. I won't hurt you," said the man reassuringly. The girl frowned. He held out his hand and helped her up. He opened the door for her, and for once, the girl was walking around without someone to grip her arm.
They walked together into a room like the one the girl had been in that morning for the intelligence test. The man sat down on a plastic chair and she sat in front of him. She looked at him suspiciously. "Who are you?"
These were the first words she'd uttered all day. Looking back, she realized it might have been a whole week since she'd spoken. The man in front of her smiled. "My name is Dr. Jeb Batchelder. You can call me Jeb."