Welp, yet another plot bunny that I had to write. I can't tell you where this one is going guys (this would spoil the whole story and everything!), but I can tell you that it is gonna be good and about 75% my own ideas. The general plot follow Into Darkness, but most of the actual writing and things that happen are my own.

As with any of my fanfics, I hope you guys love it! Tell me what you think in a review. They let me know if I'm heading the right direction or not.

And hey! I actually proofread this one and did some editing. Isn't that insane!?

Kisses!

MD

Disclaimer: I do not own Stark Trek or any part of the franchise. I gain nothing from writing this other than creative satisfaction.

PROLOGUE

The first thing she could ever remember was the emptiness of a medical room. The chill of the mechanically controlled air. The absolute silence only broken with the sound of her own breath and heart beating strong and sure in her chest. The tang of an industrial-grade disinfectant. The mask for these chemicals with artificial citrus.

It was… disorienting.

One moment her mind was dormant with a heavy sleep, and the next instant awareness closely followed by the onslaught of sensory overload. Confused and frightened, she warily opened her eyes.

The walls were bare and white. Clean. Sterile. She could see minute crack in the paint from across the room, microscopic and almost lost in the slight texture left behind from the paintbrush. She hated them instantly. The cool, metal table she was lying on glistened in the fluorescent lights that made her sensitive eyes flutter in pain. There was a door in the corner off to her left, and one on the wall above her head. She was, she quickly realized, naked. A quick cursory glance over her skin told her she was uninjured. In fact, she was perfect. Not a single scar or cut on the ghastly pale skin. And she was small. Tiny, in fact. A child. Her heart beat quickened with her tension, loud as an alarm in the stillness of the room around her. There wasn't even a clock mounted on the wall. She was the only source of sound with all her breathing and shuffling. No indication of where she was, why she was here, or to what end. She didn't know why someone so young was being kept prisoner like this (because this room definitely felt like a prison), but she mentally shrugged with the knowledge that she would have to find out eventually, and she'd cross that bridge when she got to it.

Coming to this conclusion, she finally noticed the physical needs of her body she had been suppressing in her examination of her surroundings. Hunger for one, as well as a near-crippling thirst. But the most pressing was the need to relieve her bladder. Clenching her legs together uncomfortably as the full force of this hit her, she pushed herself to a sitting position and looked around frantically for a bucket or anything that she could use. There was, much to her dismay, nothing, making her growl in frustration. Her only hope was behind one of the two doors. The drop off the table was more difficult than originally anticipated, if only because her legs weren't used to her weight and buckled beneath her.

The door in the corner was a failure. She could only reach the handle from the tips of her toes, but it didn't matter because it was locked anyway. Wincing from the pain in her abdomen, she rushed over to the second door and sighed in relief when it opened to another clean room. There was some kind of chair in it made of porcelain on top of a bowl full of water, and a taller bowl with a metal spigot and two handles on either side. 'Toilet and sink' her mind supplied, though she couldn't recall having ever heard the words before. Their functions were simple to grasp and their size catered specifically toward someone with her height (or lack thereof), and much to her relief, she was able to take care of her business without further delay.

When she was finished washing her hands, she stood in front of the previously ignored mirror to find out what she looked like. Her face was still round with the fat of youth, and she seemed to be naturally pale, though under these appalling lights, she looked pasty. Her prominent cheekbones and button nose were painted with a litter of freckles. Her mouth was small but full. And her eyes. They glowed a bright, metallic silver, full of curiosity and a quiet strength. She could see the peeks of something lying in wait below the bland inspection and the sparkle of her irises. The color was even more shocking against her jet black hair, falling in light curls over her shoulders. Her lashes were long, and she had a cleft chin and defined brow.

She objectively concluded she was very beautiful for one so young and would only grow into this with age.

Blinking at her reflection once, she turned and left the bathroom, but froze when she noticed a man sitting calmly in her room in a chair that hadn't been there a few moments before. There was a small, rather short table next to him, and another empty chair. She looked over him warily, shocked that she could heart a soft thumpthump-thumpthump from across the room. It was, she surmised, his heartbeat.

If his white coat was anything to go by, he was a doctor of some sort. His hair was salt-and-pepper, slicked back by a comb and greasy hair product that smelled positively repugnant. Wire frame glasses perched on his tired face, only starting to show signs of age. His eyes were narrow and dark, angled slightly up, and his nose was flat. He wasn't thin, but neither were his clean-pressed clothes too tight. She wasn't sure because he was the first person she'd ever met and there was no data to prove she was a good judge of character, but… he did feel too threatening. And despite her own gradually slowing heartbeat warning her against engaging him and leaving the safety of the bathroom, she couldn't help the feeling of hope. Maybe this stranger could shed some light on who she was, why she was here, where here was, why she was missing the first few years of her life, and who were in those first few years.

"Sit," he commanded, startling her. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion when he gestured to the empty chair, because yes that had been a clear command, and she didn't much like the feelings that came with it. In fact, you might say that she rather hated being told what to do. It went against a near instinct, compulsion, whathaveyou, to be the one to give orders. Not take them.

From where she stood, she could see some folded cloth she assumed were clothes, but made no move toward them. The man frowned when she didn't walk closer and scribbled some notes on a clipboard before fixing her with a hard gaze.

"I have neither the patience nor time for dawdling, child. Now sit." She stiffened at the harsh tone, but conceded to him and made her way to the seat. It would be unwise to anger someone in a position of power over her, no matter how much she hated that position was there. A white t-shirt and sweat pants in her size sat waiting for her, and she slipped them on under the man's watchful gaze. He waited until she had climbed into her chair before he spoke again.

"You've been asleep for nearly four years, and yet you're moving around already, and even figured out the bathroom on your own. Impressive." She wasn't sure what she was supposed to say, so she opted to keep the silence. "You must be hungry." Her stomach growled loudly in agreement. She cocked her head at the strange tug she felt in her abdomen, the heavy emptiness and how it made her hands shake and her head dizzy. The man nodded, and made another note in his papers before standing. She tensed, watching every flex of his muscles, every shift in weight in case he would try something. However, he simply walked to the locked door and stepped out as easy as pie. He was gone for precisely 3 ½ minutes before he returned with a tray bearing a bowl of hot something, a glass of a bright yellow-ish liquid, and a bottle of water. He set it down on the table (the perfect size for her young frame) in front of her and resumed his seat.

"Your body has never eaten before, and as such is not acclimatized to food. For now, nutrient-enriched oatmeal is what you will have along with a small glass of juice until your stomach can handle richer foods. Eat and drink slowly, but have as much as you like," he informed her. She hesitated before nodding and clumsily reaching for a piece of metal with a flat, curved end. She assumed it was to help her eat as the food was too hot to handle with her bare hands. 'Spoon,' her mind supplied again. Her first attempt with the… spoon failed, making her and the man frown. Her second try was perfect, though she misjudged exactly how hot the food was and burnt her tongue. She used the brightly colored juice to cool the hurt, and her eyes widened at the explosion of flavor. The oatmeal was bland and flavorless, but the juice was sweet and tangy at the same time. Smooth and slightly frothy with bits of pulp stuck to her tongue and lips. The man chuckled at her look of wonder.

"You like the orange juice, then?" he asked. She blinked at him once and nodded. The man chuckled again as if expecting that answer and let her finish as much of her meal as she could. When he returned from disposing of the dishes, she felt lethargic from the tight but pleasant feeling in her stomach. She could tell by the set of the man's jaw that formalities were done with and they were coming to the heart of his visit with her. The reason why he was truly here. She tensed in preparation.

"My name is Doctor Noonien Singh," he started, his hands folded together in his lap, "and you are my latest creation." She stared blankly at him. What did he mean 'creation?'

"Yes, you were created. Using my very best crop, in fact. I have high hopes for you." She cocked her head at him, unsure of what to make from this. She could tell he expected some sort of emotional response from her, but truly she felt nothing on the matter. She was this man's creation, and by extension, his property. She had no parents, no one to worry about being lost in her forgotten memories (that she now realized never existed). She had been created for this man, and whatever purpose he deemed dire enough to artificially forge a life. The man watched her face, wrote, and clasped his hands again.

"Now that you are awake, your conditioning and schooling will start in three days. You'll be moved to your quarters later today, at which point you will also be shown around the facility. Do you understand everything I've told you so far?" She nodded.

"Good. Do you have any questions?" Yes. She had a million. Why was she made? What did he mean by conditioning? Were there others like her? What was her purpose in life? How old was she? Did she have a name? What did he mean crop? Did she in fact have parents that had agreed to something like this? What did he want from her right at this moment in time? What was the best way to keep him appeased so he continued to feed her and cloth her? She pursed her lips, all these thoughts flying around her mind while he waited patiently for a response of some kind. Finally, she settled on something simple, a good building block and the first answer crucial to the rest of her life.

"What's my name?" Her voice was soft and lilting, melodic. But strong. She could feel the contained power in her words, the command, and underlying tones that just screamed Alpha. Was that what she had seen buried in the mercury when she was looking over her own reflection? The man's eyebrows raised as if he were surprised by the question, but he looked down at the papers in front of her for the answer.

"Emrys," he said. "Your name is Emrys."

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Peace.