A few hours and a lifetime ago, she had stood transfixed as a man gazed at the fire and stared into her soul, eyes piercing through her mask to see her pulse fluttering beneath her skin with the slow thrill of the chase. Now, she is frozen for another reason entirely.
Her skin stings from being thrown from the truck by an invisible force, and whenever she inhales, a broken rib pierces her side. A few minutes in her lab, and the pain would be locked away, buried either by a concoction of her own creation or the distraction of a far more interesting project. But it's unlikely that she'll live long enough for that.
The woman before her barely strains with the effort of holding an entire tank above her head, and Isabel's fingers itch to dissect her, to peel apart her skin and split open her organs to find out just what makes this woman so powerful. She had seen her once before, at the gala, and had dismissed her as just another worthless beauty. After all, this woman's face can stop a hundred men in their tracks, but Isabel's poisons can send thousands to their graves. But now, cringing like some wounded animal before her, Isabel can't help but be in awe of her.
She remembers the day she graduated from lab rats to human subjects. She had savored the feeling of her gloved hand on the control panel, of the mute desperation in the man's eyes as the gas trickled into the containment room. Years and years of experiments, each more twisted than the last, and the excitement has never faded. There is something exquisite in holding a life in your hand, knowing that your whims decide their fate. She knows that, reluctantly or not, the woman staring down at her feels this now.
Her mask, already broken beyond repair when she tumbled across the ground to land at this woman's feet, finally crumbles, falling apart in flakes of ceramic to reveal ruined skin pierced by slivers of bone. An accident, she'd called it in a voice like the first hiss of gas seeping into a room, and no one had ever questioned her. Why would such a brilliant chemist test her own experiments on herself? No one would have believed that she wanted to see if she could feel fear.
She thinks of the time she poisoned a room full of military leaders and barred the door before rushing to watch, eyes wide and fingers splayed against the window as if she could absorb their terror through the glass. But they died and she was just as empty as before.
Isabel makes no move to cover her face, just watches the other woman take her in. She expects horror, disgust, even hatred. She knows she looks every bit the monster she is.
But why won't the woman kill her already?
Isabel would have killed her in a heartbeat, would have sat beside her body and watched her twitch and gasp as that beautiful face contorted into something so hideous no man would ever touch her again. Maybe that's why the other woman will return home victorious and Isabel will die here, unloved and unmourned. Maybe she deserves it. What makes her different from all the people she's killed? What makes her better?
The woman stares down at Isabel, the tank suspended above her like an afterthought. She is at peace. There is pity in her eyes.
And, for the first time, Isabel Maru is afraid.
