I do NOT own being human, and any of its characters. All I own our my OCs
Her chest heaved; she tried to take in air. Huge gulps of air rushed into her lungs. Tears dripped from her eyes, they slide down her cheeks, cooling down the heat there. She's in pain, her lips were quivering, she's hunched over, and everything shook. She looks up. Wide, feral eyes darted across the room. The light overhead was bright, beating down on her. There wasn't any furniture in the room, just tile floor and cement walls. There is a lone door. Wooden, shut, with a brass knob. She had tried to open the door, wobbled the knob, and banged on it with her already bruised knees, but it just wouldn't open. Perhaps it's just painted a wooden color and texture to trick her, or perhaps she was just to weak to even make a dent in a simple door. She pushes her forehead to the ground. The cold cement floor causes her to shiver. She sits on her knees. Then she screamed.
She screamed, and screamed. For help, for anything really. The animalistic screech continues to pass her lips and then she is gasping for breath again. Before she repeats.
The light turn off, the room is enveloped in pitch-blackness. Someone from the outside must've turned it off, or was it just a cycle to let the screaming girl know that it was now night. She still screams, now in the dark. She gasps, and goes again and again, and again.
Her voice has gone hoarse; her screeches turn into small hiccupping whimpers. She is alone. In the dark. She curls in on herself; little droplets start to form on the ground. She closes her eyes, squinting hard, and she hoped that this is just a dream, a terrible nightmare. She opened them, and no. She bites her lip, and squinted again trying to stop more tears that threatened to spill over. She tries to fall asleep, calming herself down, like she did every time that, that light turned off. It was night; she needed to sleep now. Slumber comes to her reluctantly as her breathing eventually evened out.
What she didn't know was that two floors above her, there was a group of gentlemen in business suits talking about her.
"Welcome gentlemen," Hank said, as he shook each individual hand. Making sure it was a firm handshake, and he meant business.
He walked to the head of the long conference table the other head was still empty; the rest investors were already in their seats. Hank nodded to each on of them, and sat in his own leather chair. It squeaked at his movement.
"Well gentlemen, tonight you will see our newest project." He clutched his hands, elbow leaning on the wooden table. The investors lean in to hear what Hank had to say. Hank grinned, he had them at his fingertips, and Quinton hadn't even walked in.
"What's that Mr. Reynolds?" a suit asked.
"Gentleman, We take'em, brake'em, and train'em. That's our motto. And our formula for the perfect bioweapons," Hank stated, leaning back in his chair, "Monsters gentleman, monsters that thought they could be human."
Murmurs ensued through the room. 'What did he mean by monsters?' 'Is he nuts, he sounds like it was a kidnapping' 'I wonder how powerful they could be, we could use these as spies' 'super soldiers, natural killers, monsters'
The oak doors slammed open against the wall. Their murmuring had stopped, Mr. Quinton Klein walked in. Broad shoulders, chin up, not a single hair out of place, he marches with the grace of a practiced king. Quinton Klein, head of Wizards Weaponry stands behind his chair at the other head. All the investors could do is stare; the presentation is about to begin.
Yay, nay? Should I continue with this? Don't worry it will pick up the next chapter. ~ BD