Title: Purple Beams
Description: This involves RB-012C3, otherwise known as Kara. She is a muttation designed by the Capitol to fight in the 8th Hunger Games…and win.
Rated: T
Character(s): OCC
Genre: Action
Chapter 1
Author Note: Well, this is my first fanfiction. Hope you like it! =] Please rate and review! Rated T for violence.
Disclaimer: I don't want to have to post this on every chapter, so just understand that, no, I do not own Hunger Games. Sigh.
A white wall. That's all I ever see, every day. Morning to night, sunrise to sunset. Every waking moment is spent staring at the blinding stark white wall as scientists from the Capitol buzz around me like tracker jackers.
"Is it ready yet?"
"No, not yet. But it will be in time for the 8th Hunger Games." Sounds of muted dialogue weave in and out of my genetically altered ears.
"It'll be the best muttation yet," one of the scientists crows.
I, the subject of their whisperings, am listening intently, trying to catch the lingering sounds before they dissipate into the air. I smile faintly before I can catch myself. I am amused at the soft melodies intertwined through the voices. Immediately, a sharp electric shock speeds through my body. I wince as I mentally slap myself. Right. No smiling. It is against the Rules.
I absently eye the crumbling plaster of the wall. By this time, I can name every single cranny and crevice on that wall. I pause in my musings. How long had I been here? How old was I? I have no recollection of being a young child or toddler. I know they exist; one of my creators had brought his daughter in once to show off. Maybe I had just sprung into being. And it was all due to my creators. I reign in my involuntary smile just in time as the customary feelings of euphoria wash over my body. These valuable glimpses of happiness are always present with thoughts of my creators. I am not stupid; I know this is a defense mechanism created by the Capitol scientists to ensure that their creations would never turn against them. I don't mind. It is an expected aspect of my life.
Suddenly, I spot a slight movement out of the corner of my eye. It came from the Forbidden side of my room – the window. Oh, how I long to gaze out of the window and drink in the outside to my heart's content. But it is against the Rules. All I am allowed to do is stare at the wall…I scowl at the snow-white plaster – I can feel it mocking me. A sharp crackle hisses as another electrical charge pierces my body through one of the numerous wires attached to my back, legs, and arms. Frowning is against the Rules, too. In fact, I am pretty sure that showing any emotion at all is against the Rules.
The Rules dictate my life. Pretty much everything is against the Rules. Any sudden movements, disobeying the scientists, failing to complete tasks…basically, anything that annoys my creators. I eye the scientists again. It amuses me to watch them fuss with the various mechanisms attached to me. The wide range of colors dyed to their faces, hair, and even skin shocks and pleases me and provides a rare source of amusement. Who knows why those silly humans did those superficial things to themselves…humans. I have mixed feelings about them. For one, I completely adore my creators, the small group of important-looking officials in crisply pressed black suits. They never bothered with those silly colors and glitters. However, they are the only exception to my…cruelty. I can't help it; I am programmed to immediately spot any physical – or mental – flaws or weaknesses. This will aid me immensely in the Hunger Games.
As my thoughts slowly turn to the Hunger Games, a slight frown line creases the area between my delicate black eyebrows. Thankfully, it isn't significant enough to warrant another electric shot. It is my life's sole purpose to win the Hunger Games. I am the first of my kind to be created. The heads at the Capitol, having decided that they didn't want to cough up the expected prizes for some low-life bum from a random District, had began drafting – or, technically, ordering the scientists to – blueprints for the most advanced muttations yet – and I am one of them.
Looking at me, you would never have guessed at my…questionable background. To the other competitors, I will simply be yet another person among many. Soft tendrils of raven black hair cascade down from my pale head, barely grazing my shoulders. My fair skin is dusted with a few faint sprinkles of freckles across my nose and cheekbones, and my striking luminescent purple eyes – the only abnormal aspect of my face – gaze solemnly from underneath thick black lashes. My arms and legs are lean and rippled with muscles, and every single one of my senses are enhanced. I feel no emotion – thus, I will not feel any qualms from brutally slaughtering every. Single. Person. Who. Stands. In. My. Way. I will win. And maybe this time, I can finally make my creators proud.
Another movement. By this time, I feel unfamiliar tugs at the corners of my mind. Is this...curiousity? I feel myself experience vague feelings of surprise and wonder as if through a haze. What is happening to me? I barely manage to blink before a thick fog seemed to billow out from the depths of my mind and I succumb to darkness.