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Prologue

Wailing sirens broke her from her stupor, the man slamming into her from behind freezing abruptly and muttering an irritable, "What the fuck?"

Her emerald eyes flitted to him briefly, before returning to the door, curious and concerned. She wondered what the cause for alarm could have been and if it had anything to do with her daughter. Red lights flashed wildly and men and women dashed past her room, heedless of her presence - or the man's - behind closed doors.

He moved then, the accompanying sound of his zipper allowing her a breath of relief; he moved around the table to which she was currently strapped, stuffing his crumpled dress shirt back into his waistband. He peered through the window in concern, glancing haphazardly at her and muttering, "If it's that little bitch again, he's gonna punish you. You know that, right?"

He called her that word, the one she hated, and she struggled with all her might to free herself from her restraints. But they were made of stone, like her bed, hard and unyielding; well-picked for her and her particular talents. He sneered at him, eyes narrowed in anger, and vowed, "Soon."

He huffed out a laugh, shoving the door open and spoke derisively, "You say that every fucking time and I'm still here."

He disappeared from sight, not even having the decency to cover her back up, and she hissed once more, "Soon."

But she had more pressing matters to attend to than her own modesty; something had happened and it didn't have to do with her. If it wasn't her, it must have been her daughter. She struggled once more, cursing under her breath, desperate to dislodge the heavy helmet from her head, to free her hands from their tomb-like holds.

Screams echoed through the halls and her heart pounded in her chest. She needed to free herself, to save her girl. With a sharp inhale, she twisted her wrist, bones snapping from the strain. She felt them shift as she pulled her left hand free. Reaching over her head, she felt around with a wince, searching for the panel she knew lingered there. She punched and pressed with trembling fingers until she found the lever she had sought.

Pushing it away from her, she grinned breathlessly as her restraints slackened. She removed her right hand from its hold and pushed the crushing helmet away from her head. Shuffling down the bed, she swept her stark white hospital gown down over her backside and pushed away from the cold stone. She kicked the lashes around her ankles away and stumbled momentarily on her feet.

When she was certain she wouldn't pitch forward onto the ground, she made for the door. She hadn't heard it click, indicating that he had locked it behind him. He wasn't typically so sloppy - in his work - but it worked to her advantage.

She would have wiped herself down, retrieved a pair of pants to cover herself better, but her daughter was quite possibly in danger and she couldn't waste time worrying about something so trivial. She tested the door handle with her uninjured hand, a slight grin tugging at her lips when an electrical current didn't course through her body at her touch.

Without a thought, she opened the door, slipping out into the hallway and heading for the cell in which she knew her daughter was kept. On high alert, her eyes darted this way and that, her free hand raised in front of her defensively in case she encountered any of Brenner's men. Preferably the madman himself, but his lackeys would do.

Several unfamiliar scientists dashed down the corridor ahead of her, heedless of her presence when they passed her; she didn't bother with them, though she certainly would have liked to. Her daughter was her focus and she could not waste anymore time.

The alarms hurt her ears, but she did her best to ignore them, approaching the girl's cell at a determined jog. As she neared, three men in military uniforms came into view. They raised their guns at her, screaming unintelligibly; she simply raised her hand, a stream of blazing, blistering flames emitting from her outstretched palm. The men were engulfed in an instant, their shrieks filling the air, their guns falling uselessly to the ground.

She stepped over their charred corpses lightly, easily, and continued on her way. Her daughter needed her, she knew, and she wouldn't stop until she found her. If Brenner had hurt her, hurt her more than usual, she would kill him this time. She promised herself that.

But something told her it wasn't just the girl this time. They wouldn't be so terrified, she thought, not if it was just her. The girl was strong, more powerful than anyone who had come through the facility before, but there had never been such a strong reaction to anything she had done before.

She reached the cell, a whimper escaping her as she stared at the small, empty room.

She wasn't there.

Spinning on a heel, she ran, searching the halls and screaming for her daughter. She had to be there, somewhere. There was no way for her to get out, not unless Brenner let her out, and that was never going to happen. He had been very clear on that front.

But she wasn't there. In the room where Brenner liked to do his experiments was a frightening scene; black gooey vines stretching ominously along the western wall, across the floor and ceiling. It looked almost as though there was a hole in the wall, amid the mess, but she didn't focus long enough on it to be certain. Her eyes turned to the sensory deprivation tank and she fought the memories that struggled to come to the forefront of her mind.

It was broken. Shattered. Water had spilled across the floor and tiny, wet footprints trailed to the door.

She followed until they dried up, leaving her with only half an idea of where the girl might have gone. With a frustrated growl, she raked a hand through her short, chocolate locks, peering about and panting, her heart in her throat. Where was she? Where could she have gone?

Closing her eyes, she calmed herself some and focused on the thought of the little girl. She would have tried to hide somewhere, somewhere small, unnoticeable. Her feet led her down winding halls, her eyes ever vigilant for any sign of the girl, or Brenner, or whatever his men were fleeing from.

It didn't take long for her to find her way in the basement, to an exposed drainpipe. It was small enough for the girl to fit through, and her if she tried hard enough. With only the slightest amount of trepidation, she slipped into the pipe; she had to believe her daughter was out there somewhere and she wasn't leaving her behind in the hellhole she had been born into.

With a steadying breath, she fled.

/

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