It was dark

Dark Beginnings

Disclaimer: I own the story, Selene, the doctors, generals, etc. Logan/Wolverine, all Marvel characters and all things found in the Marvel universe belong to Marvel and the outstanding Stan Lee. This disclaimer applies to the entire story, as I don't plan on becoming CEO of Marvel before its completion.

AN: This fic is a LoganOC. I don't plan on involving any of the other X-men at this time, except for the occasional reference. Reviews are welcomed and encouraged. Flames are discouraged. Saying, "you suck" doesn't help anybody, but constructive criticism is always welcome and taken into consideration. I'd love to hear your ideas (who knows, maybe you'll think of something I haven't considered yet and I'll throw it in the story! But you won't know unless you review!).

"Speech"

Thought

It was dark. It was so dark. It had been dark for so long. She missed the color green, birdsong; the soft summer breeze- was it even summer anymore? - anything more than the reverberations of hollow footsteps in cold, empty halls. One of the guards tugged her along as she tried to resist, tried anything to prevent what she knew was inevitable. Her breath became ragged as she neared her destination; she knew all too well of the pain that awaited her when her journey came to its end. She would have cried out, but she knew it was no use. Even if her parched throat could scream for help, there was not a soul in these empty halls who would come to her rescue. She was alone. She was so alone.

Days? Weeks? Minutes? How long had she been here? In the midst of the confusion, torment, and violation, there was no sense of time.

The guards suddenly stopped. She heard a creak as a heavy door opened. Her urge to scream was renewed as she crossed the threshold. She knew what that creak meant. Once again, she would be strapped down to a cold table, hands cloaked in cold rubber would probe every inch of her, needles would pierce her skin and fill her veins with their terrible concoctions, and the archaic speech of faceless doctors would pierce through her dark perception. This day, two voices stood out in particular.

"What's wrong with her?" A harsh voice demanded.

"Nothing permanent, sir, our task force was less-than-gentle in her retrieval and she was temporarily blinded." A more timid one replied.

"She's been like this all this time?" The harsh voice grew more frustrated.

"Yes, sir, but not to worry, the surgical procedure went off splendidly and she should begin to regain her sight in the next few weeks. Her brain just needs to remember how to see." The timid voice explained, hurrying to cover his tracks.

"Fine. Is she ready, then?"

"Nearly, sir. We will have completed her final introductory treatment within the next four hours."

"Very well. You know what to do."

"Sir, are we sure about this?"

"We've been over this, doctor. Don't question me again." The voice was eerily calm.

The horrendously creaky door opened again as the severe voice took his leave.

"You heard the general, let's finish up and bring her over to number 458-25-243."

Another needle and more gloved hands passed over her flesh. Fire filled her veins and lit up her every nerve in unending torment. Even as these diabolical devices pulled away she was granted no reprieve; the worst was yet to come. She knew not what it was, whether some electricity, radiation, or unknown terror, but it magnified all her pains tenfold. Every bone cried out against the waves of anguish, every muscle was strained as it tried to pull loose from the agony, every organ churned and protested as the torture continued. After an eternity of unbearable pain the torment finally ceased, leaving a throbbing, seemingly permanent ache in her every fiber. A moment later, exhaustion overtook her. The pain faded all too slowly as silence invaded her perception. There, on the cold operating table, experiment number 20159 slipped into oblivion.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sound crept back into her awareness. She was standing again. Or, upright, at least. Her muscles were strained beyond use, every ounce of her energy had been used in the arduous experimentation; she could not even stand on her own. Thus, a pair of guards were hoisting her by her arms and carrying her through the frigid halls.

The troop stopped in front of a substantial metal door that creaked open with an even fiercer shriek than the lab door she had been accustomed to. The guards were silent as they shoved her through into a closet-sized enclosure. Lacking the guards' strength she leaned against the wall opposite the door for support. The door slammed shut behind her and she started to panic. This was not her usual cell. Was this a new torture they had devised for her? To trap her in this God-forsaken box? Her claustrophobic fears were short lived as the vary wall she leaned upon was revealed to be another impregnable metal door.

The door slid open and she, once again lacking support, fell to the hard floor of the enclosure. The door slammed shut behind her and struggled to sit up and attempt to survey her new cell. It was a welcome change to her previous cell. It was much warmer and lacked the maddening perpetual dripping noise that had tormented her from an unseen pipe. She assumed that it was small and sparsely furnished, perhaps twelve by twelve feet and holding nothing more than a small bed, toilet, and crude sink, as her old cell had been. She sat crumpled on the ground for a few moments before a shuffling noise caught her attention from across the room. She was not alone.

Slow, deep breathing was accompanied by a nearly silent footstep. The figure was barefoot and, to her terror, making its way to her side of the cell. She tried to scream as it came toward her, but it was no use. She flinched as thick, hairy arms snaked their way around her body, lifted her from the ground, and pressed her against a warm, firm chest. She lost herself for half a moment as she reveled in the contact; it had been so long since anything not covered in rough cloth or foul rubber had graced her skin. Realizing her situation, she tried to struggle, but she was still too weak. Her light slaps and kicks were barely bothersome as the figure carried her to the bed. The instant he took his arms away she tried to curl up in an attempt to defend herself from whatever debauchery the figure surely had in store. She waited several moments, but when no attack came she turned her head and tried to discern his motive.

Rushing water greeted her senses and a moment later a small dish was gently placed in her hands. She drank greedily, no longer caring about whether or not she could trust the source of the cool water and reveling in its sweet taste. After a few moments her quenched throat managed to scrape out a few short words.

"Who are you?" she rasped. Her voice shocked her. It had been so long since she had heard her own voice, yet the sound that passed through her lips was disturbingly different from that which had bubbled forth in laughter and song a few months before.

The figure took the now empty bowl and refilled it.

"My name is Logan. I'm a prisoner here, same as you." He replied as he handed her the bowl again.

Used to relying on her ears by now, she concentrated on the contours of his voice to gather information about her new cellmate. It was low and coarse, the voice of a soldier who had seen more destruction than any should be subjected to, quiet, the voice of a friend who had loved and lost more than any deserved, yet strong, the voice of a man who still held more spirit than any under such conditions had the right.

She started to ask another question, but her concentration wavered. Her energy was spent. She tried to keep a grip on the dish in her hand, but it fell hopelessly to the floor. She began to treble violently as she fell back onto the hard floor.

"Whoa, kid." Logan started as he jumped up to catch her. "Come on, stay with me," he continued as he shifted her back onto the bed. Her convulsions receded as he covered her in the thick blanket and she seemed to drift into a more serene sleep.

"Huh, I didn't even get your name." He muttered as he turned away from the bed. The moment he turned his back he heard a shuffle and a sleepy moan.

"Selene," she mumbled as she drifted off.

"Selene, then," a small smile made its way across his face as he walked back across the cell and settled in a corner for his night's rest, ready to answer the many questions that the morning would undoubtedly bring.