Lindhall Reed gazed at the girl, trapped safely within a padded cell. Daine Sarrasri, a victim of a terrible riot, had snapped when her mother had been killed right before her eyes. The girl had gone feral, ripping and tearing with her nails, screeching at everyone. Finally, they had to tranquilize her, before she really killed someone. When they had transported her into the mental institute, she was still a little bit wrong in the head, but in a different way. Her eyes were perpetually glazed over, and she was unable to function unless told to do so. From time to time, she would be lucid, but those were few and far apart, and most of them were only when a male came near her, and involved hysterical noises and tears. One month had passed, and yet still nothing had changed. Lindhall Reed didn't have to be a genius to know one thing: Something had to be done.

Daine POV

This was one of her rare moments of lucidity. She relished the feeling of having control over her own body. Hesitantly, in an almost childlike manner, she looked at her fingers. Long slender, strong and calloused, they were the fingers of a person who worked hard. But then her eyes caught a finer detail. Her fingernails were not encrusted with dirt, as appeared upon first glance, but instead were coated with blood. She looked at them in horror. How had blood gotten there? Then it all came rushing back. The mob, the terrible anger…the box she was trapped in. A bitter fear coursed through her body. She launched herself at the wall, feeling her hands meet plush material. Her hands roamed across the walls, searching for a latch, a handle, anything to get her out of this madhouse. But she found nothing, and her fingers left only rust-brown stains on the pristine walls. Then a single petrifying thought raced across her mind: What if there isn't a way out? As soon as the thought flashed across her head, she felt her mind once again retreat into herself. Faintly, she felt her body hid the ground with a thud, and was transported back into the past, to that horrifying day.

One Month Earlier

Daine bit her lip, waiting for her mother had come back. Dinner was on the table, her homework was completed, and even the pots and pans were already washed and stacked up in a small cupboard. Mom was always busy, being an only parent, but she was usually home by six. It was eight. She bit down harder as she paced over and over again on the worn oak floor in front of the table, worrying. Suddenly, a long bang rang across the house as Sarra ran in, soaked in sweat, her auburn curls sticking to her forehead. "Oh, God Daine, run!"

Daine stared at her incomprehensively, confused. Sarra grabbed her hand, and hoisted her up just as the front door burst open again. Daine snapped out of her shocked state, as mother and daughter both ran for the back door. Shouting and screaming came from the front door, loud and raucous.

Daine and Sarra were fast and healthy, but both could not outrun the mob, powered by anger and hatred. The people surrounded them pulling them down, swamping them in a flood of bodies. And then the horrors started.

Daine screamed and screamed, but it seemed like no one could hear her. She fought and punched, but soon eight burly men restrained her, and she could only kick and cry. Sarra was punched, beaten, and abused brutally, and Daine could only watch. Daine's mother was a strong woman, but even she could only take so much. After what seemed like an eternity of hell, Sarra froze, and started coughing, her lips turning a crimson red as her blood stained them.

Daine stood in mute horror as her face was sprayed with blood. She could only watch as her mother shuddered, once, twice, and went limp. The people around her cheered. They cheered at her mother's death. Deep inside her, some primal instinct kicked in, and she saw a film of red. She screeched as she wrenched free a hand, impossibly strong in her almost-insanity. Her nails, fairly long since she hadn't trimmed them in a while, slashed across one man's face. He screamed as he went down, clutching his eyes. She lashed out in every direction, clawing and kicking.

Men and women went down before her wrath. She looked frightful, sprayed in blood, with the eyes of a rabid animal, not a human.

Her hair had gone wild, standing around her head almost life a halo. Faintly, she heard noises. Later, She would remember them as police sirens, but at the time, she didn't care. She punched, and bit people, and refused to stop, even when the front door opened.

Men in black clothes came in, and took away the filthy murderers that she had beaten up. Then they turned to the corpses. She was already crouched down, panting as her wild eyes summed these men up, and she once again went berserk as they touched her mother's corpse. And so it started again, her brutal fighting. Finally, one man shouted something and pointed a silvery device at her. She felt a prick, and then her world swirled, and went black…

Back to Present

Men in odd white costumes had taken her into an odd place that smelled funny. They poked and prodded, and stuck things in her arm to black her out when they needed to. Then they had sent her into this room. It was white, all white, and with padded walls. She hated it. It was like a cage, and cages were terrible things. And so her world had become the world of an animal, full of disjointed thoughts, and the simple urges to eat and sleep, spaced only with brief moments of lucidity. This was what Daine Sarrasri had become.