Author's Note: Just thought I'd take a brief couple of hours to write something a little different. This is, for now, a one-shot. However, I may do a few more chapters if there is enough demand for it. I have a couple of ideas for different chapters. Basically this fic is meant to tell the story behind certain tattoos Jack has. Enjoy.
Inks
One: The Girl With No Name
Harsh artificial light beats down upon my tightly clenched eyelids, shining through them to show me an angry red roadmap of blood flowing through the flesh. I stifle a groan as I turn away from the light, trying to avoid being blinded when I finally do open my eyes. The last time I protested against the sudden awakening they thrashed me with their cruel batons, striking my face until my eyelids were puffed up too much for me to even willingly open them. They had then taken great pleasure in guiding me into objects I couldn't see, putting me through tests that would have been difficult for those who still possessed their sight. Their laughter echoes in my head as I rub one eye tiredly.
"C'mon, Zero. Time for 'breakfast'"
The harsh guard has no name, or at least none that I have learned. In my mind, I take to calling him 'Wrong-eye', thanks to the lazily drooping left eye. The left side of his mouth is always twisted downwards in a perpetual frown, his right side moving all on its own.
'Breakfast', as Wrong-eye calls it, is a series of sudden, sharp pains in the small of my back as needles as long as my finger are jabbed into the muscle there. I resist for a second as two strong hands grab my shoulders and try to force me to lay down face-down, but a baton strikes the back of my head, making the room reel. The next thing I know, the faint pains of the injections vanish, but are replaced by an all-encompassing pain as an even bigger sliver of metal is forced into the bone marrow of my spine, the pain so intense that the scream that tries to tear its way out of my throat is locked in place. Muscles lock up, refusing to allow air to move into my lungs or for my eyes to even blink to clear the floods of tears that blind me. Through the roaring agony, I hear Wrong-eye mutter something that he finds immensely amusing, followed by his guttural laughter as he leaves by the door he came in through. I do nothing but lie there in agonising torment, too sore to even roll about in reaction to the pain.
Eventually, the pain fades from paralysing to merely unbearable. I finally release the scream that has strangled my throat for so long, enjoying the feeling of deflating my lungs so completely. Once I run short of breath, I draw in yet more air to release it in the primal roar once again. I remain absorbed in this activity long after the pain goes away, chasing it away with noise like a tribal villager chases a wild beast away. Maybe if I scream long enough, the pain will never return.
Finally, my mind grows fuzzy, robbed of oxygen for a little too long. I stand unsteadily, taking a couple of dizzy steps. The first thing my gaze falls upon is my desk. A small smile tugs at my lips. My desk. Mine. The surface is overflowing with pictures, all hand drawn. Most of them are the pretty blue lights I can summon. I draw the different shapes I think of when I want the lights to do different things. The rolling wave, like a mass of water spilling from my cup across the desk, capable of blasting anything out of its way. The bubble, a shield that I try to use to keep the guards away. It never works, though. I always get tired and they put me back in my bed. I tried drawing something else, before, but the guards just took it away and tore it up. After that, I got mad. I made the lights chase the guards away. One of them fell, his arm bent in the wrong way. But then I got tired and they beat me. After that, the scientist in charge told me I could only draw if it had something to do with what they were doing to me. So I draw the lights. But I still have a couple of little bits of the first picture, two corners and a middle bit that one of the guards dropped. When I'm supposed to be asleep, I pull them out and put them together in different ways, imagining the picture that used to be there.
I go over to the desk, grabbing a bit of paper and some pencils. I slide under the desk and start to draw. My mind spinning, I draw a long, jagged tear across the page. I picture how it would work on a guard, ripping him in half like that guard ripped my picture apart. The thought makes me smile, a warm feeling flowing up my fingers and toes until it reaches my heart.
Some time later, 'breakfast' takes effect. A fire starts in my spine, spreading through all of my bones. My fingers go stiff, while my vision narrows until I can only see a small tunnel in front of me, the rest of the room replaced by blackness. I cry out as I try to crawl back to my bed, my limbs not working right.
Moments later, the pain vanishes, allowing me to stand. It is at this point that I look out of the window for the first time. I gasp.
The world is full of people! Little people, small just like me! Guards move about among them, watching over them. The little people cluster together, mouths moving in a semblance of talking. Some paly with toys, some draw, others sit and think.
I pound my fists on the glass, trying to draw their attention. None look up or even glance in my direction. It hit the glass even harder. I howl out, trying to get one of them to even look in my direction. My fists begin to turn red and purple, bruising from my attack on the window.
Suddenly, just when I had almost given up hope, a girl looks up at the window. Her brow creases in curiosity, and she stands. She walks over to the window, and I stop pummelling the glass. My eyes moisten as she stops in front of the spot where I am.
She tilts her head to the side. I wave. She tilts her head the other way. I mimic the action. She pulls a face, tongue sticking out of her mouth while one eyebrow lifts up and the other one stays still. I laugh and try to copy this, but cannot get the eyebrow to move. I settle for sticking out my tongue as far as I can.
She lifts a hand to the window, moving a fingertip across it slowly. I follow with my own finger, mirroring her actions. Finally she places her palm flat on the glass, and I do the same. I can almost, almost, feel the warmth of her skin through the glass. I smile at my new friend. Eventually, slowly, she does the same.
All of a sudden, one of the guards is standing next to her. He grabs her roughly by the shoulder, hauling her away. All around, the guards begin laying into the children, thrashing small bodies left and right with their batons. One points at me, shouting, and then returns to beating my friend, the girl with no name. I flinch in fear as the door behind me opens, allowing the scientist to walk in. He looks at me, looks at the window and the scene beyond, and then back at me with flat, empty eyes.
"Come now, Zero. We have work to do."
~o~0~o~
The next day, I awoke to see the children again. I pounded on the glass, trying to get their attention again. Not one of them looked up. I kept going until my fingers cracked and my hands bled, sobbing as frustration and loneliness gave way to despair.
My heart leapt as I caught sight of my friend, but she avoided looking at me, her face remaining fixed on the floor. My attack on the window gained new fervour, but no amount of screaming or punching could get her to look at me.
My heart thumps in my chest as I slump against the glass, leaving a trail of blood where my hands touch it. Tears streaming down my face, I move back to my desk, slip underneath it, and sob.
The door hisses open, allowing the scientist to enter once more. He looks at me, regarding my tear-streaked face with scorn.
"Why don't they look at me?" I ask him. Surprisingly, this is one of the few occasions he answers.
"Because they despise you, Zero. You got them hurt yesterday."
"I didn't do anything!" I protest. Did I? Did I do something that hurt the girl with no name?
"Yes, you did." He contradicts me. "And now they hate you. They never want to look at you again."
My heart shivers weakly in my chest, a crushing weight pressing down on it, as he forces me to stand, eager to get on with today's tests.
~o~0~o~
The next day, I look out into the rest of the world, but there are fewer children. I look around anxiously, but the girl with no name isn't there. Where is she? WHERE IS SHE?
I try beating the glass again, but nobody looks at me. I keep trying, every day, always ignored. I never see my friend again.
In a fit of rage, I storm over to my desk one day, retreating under it. I grab one of my pencils, and tear the sleeve off the medical gown I am forced to wear. I push the sharp tip of the pencil into my skin, leaving a black trail behind as I scrawl out an image on my own body. In minutes, I am done, and the girl's face stares back at me from my own arm. In places the skin has been pierced, allowing blood to flow freely.
The scientists took away my pencils after this incident, not allowing me to draw ever again. They wash off the black marks and patch me up with Medi-Gel, but they never quite manage to make the angry red marks go away.
~o~0~o~
Subject eighty-six never understood why the guards got so angry at her for playing with her own reflection. They broke her fingers, just to teach her a lesson, and then went about making sure every last child knew not to take an interest in the big mirror against the far wall. Even now, when all of the guards are occupied with the other kids, she is too timid to even glance in that direction.
The doors to the lab open, admitting the chief scientist and his aide. The scientist looks about with a stony glare.
"What's the next series of scheduled tests?" He asks his aide.
"First iteration of PergNim, sir." The aide responds.
"How many do we need?"
"Thirteen."
"Alright."
The two scientists walk among the children, inspecting them. They point to certain ones, and the guards begin separating them off from one another. Finally, the lead scientist points at Subject Eighty-Six. She trembles as she is led away with twelve other youngsters, leaving the lab. As she is guided away, she can't help but glance at the forbidden mirror, wondering what's in store for her now.
~o~0~o~
"Report."
The aide hesitates for a moment before responding to his superior's demand.
"The, uh, the PergNim experiments did not go as planned, sir. Subjects showed a considerable increase in biotic potential, but died soon after. Their nervous systems couldn't handle it."
"How many dead?"
"All of them, sir. The thirteenth subject, Subject Eighty-Six, died just two hours ago."
"Begin work on the next series of experiments. See if we can encourage adaptation to the modifications in the subjects." The lead scientist said coldly, completely unmoved by the loss of thirteen children.
"Right away, sir."
"Good. Was there anything else?"
"Yes, sir." The aide replied. "Collins wanted to inform you that the two-way mirror is working according to plan. Zero has shown the expected emotional responses, and he expects to start seeing the results of such emotional duress on biotic potential very soon."
"Excellent. Inform the Illusive Man of our progress."
"Yes, sir."
~o~0~o~
~Present Day~
The Normandy hums quietly, coasting through space. I sit one my cot, leaning back against the vibrating bulkhead with my eyes closed. It's… peaceful. Peaceful's good, for a little while. After that, it just gets fucking bo-ring.
The Commander's off on some suicide mission or another. Helping the Cerberus dickhead from the armoury sort out some daddy issues or something. I don't really care. All that matters is I'm not needed, so I get a couple of seconds to enjoy my own corner of the ship.
I open my eyes, looking about warily. I thought I heard… probably nothing. Maybe the bucket-head upstairs clomping about in that stupid suit of hers.
As my eyes rove about, they catch a shining metal panel in the wall. A strange thought whirling about in my head, I stand up and walk over, looking at my own reflection. For a moment, I am looking at the girl with no name, and she stares back at me accusingly.
You did this to me. She yells out silently, her sullen stare saying more than words ever could.
Self-consciously, I reach for my arm, rubbing the skin where the tattoo of a nameless woman stares out at the world. I remember the day I got that one. I wanted to make the red marks from my own pencils a bit more noticeable, and had that Salarian tattoo artist paint that image on me. Gave me a chance to do a better job than I had the first time around, while I was at it. Now, the Girl With No Name travelled everywhere with me.
The reflection continued to stare at me accusingly. I felt a knot of anger in my gut, and reacted without thinking.
With a scream, my fist flew out, boiling with biotic power. The panel crumpled, denting inwards and destroying the reflective surface.
There were hurried footsteps, and an opaque purple mask with two glowing points for eyes behind it appeared at the top of the stairs. Bucket-girl stared at me inquisitively.
"What the fuck are you looking at?" I yell.
"N-nothing." Her soft accent purrs. "I just wanted to make sure you were-"
"Get the fuck out of here!"
As the Quarian quickly retreats, I turn to stalk back to my cot, rubbing my arm subconsciously. My fingers run along the face of the friend I never knew. Locked in thought, I sit down and try to distract myself by looking through those files the Commander gave to me. Maybe I'll find what I'm looking for this time…
Author's Notes: Hope you enjoyed this! It took me a little out of my comfort zone, as i've never written from first-person perpective before. It's also a challenge to get into the mind of someone as complex as Jack, especially in her childhood, something we only have her fragmented memories and a couple of vid recordings to tell us much about.
Please, let me know what you think, whether you'd like to see more, any criticisms and so on. Also, bear in mind I had the idea for this fic exactly two hours ago. I apologise if it isn't as polished as it could be.
