Title: Disengaged

Author: Razielim Vampiress

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Stu had said that once they got underground, everything would be fine. She'd always known it was a load of crap! She grimaced as she unloaded a full clip into an advancing grub from behind her boulder. The Stranded were quickly being over run by their surprise attackers. The pistol clicked empty, and she knew she was screwed as she fed her last bit of ammo into the greedy firearm. She ducked her head out of cover to try to get in a quick headshot, but was shocked to see the drone running dead at her. Before she could react, the Locust was on her, and everything went black.

dis·en·gage [dìs-sin-gáyj]

To mentally disconnect or become uninvolved: to mentally separate yourself or somebody else from, or to become uninvolved in, a situation or difficulty

A soft moan escaped her as she became dimly aware of noise outside her cell. It was muffled, barely heard through the impossibly close metal walls enveloping her. It startled her. For so long she'd heard nothing but her own shallow, ragged breath and the quiet stupid moans that would occasionally fall from her slack, scarred mouth. Time had long since slipped away. She didn't care, not anymore. As long as They didn't come back, didn't harm her again. What was left of her reacted to that, to the tattered recollection of how it felt to hurt. She could scarcely remember anything else. The pain was ever-existing, persistently gnawing at her emaciated figure. Half-formed thoughts would sometimes slip into her cognizance, but would quickly fade away into the ether, utterly forgotten. Just like her.

Already she had lost herself, who she was and where she had come from. Why was she here? Why must They hurt her so much? Garbled words echoed around in her head; 'resiliency to pain' ... 'a human breeder' ... 'genetic capabilities', all meaningless to her now. They tore her open, spliced her up, then piece by precious piece dismantled her again; she existed only as Their living jigsaw puzzle. She could recall a fleeting moment when she had looked down at herself, truly looked down upon the masses of mottled bruises, infected sores, and messily stitched up gashes winding up her arms and legs to hide beneath her clothes; Inane laughter had bubbled over her lips as she raved madly, "Now I even LOOK like a jiggy!"

But that was before They took her voice. She had had a voice once. She was sure of it, because in the beginning she would scream and curse until her throat rebelled and ruptured. She would cry until there was nothing wet left in her, but it made no difference. It just went on, with no sign as to when it would end. There was a name… a very important name… that she would shriek in her insanity, as if, in that one word, she were pleading to some merciful angel for deliverance in her time of derangement. Looking back on it, however, was like peering through fogged glass. The name was simply no longer there. Or… was it a thing? The faintest cry issued forth; it hurt even to remember now. She didn't want to hurt anymore. No… no more… Tattered memory once again dissipated into the ethereal psychotic haze, and dissolved from her consciousness.

The burst of gunfire from beyond her confines barely registered. She merely stood staring into the pitch dark. A brief trigger, a flash of…something. Fear. Deep-rooted, primal. She knew it well. A shard of recollection suddenly presented its ugly self before her mind's eye: He had dragged her out of the cell by the roots of her hair, holding her close to his hulking form. She couldn't bear to look at the damn thing, and when he roughly turned her face towards him, it was impossible to hide the cringe of disgust and dread. His massive hand tightened its grip in her hair as the fingers of the other traced a fresh scar on her collarbone. A wide grin split his hideous white face, revealing jagged yellow teeth, "Pretty scars." The guttural drawl sent a sharp shiver down her spine, and her frightened whimpers quickly turned to agonized howls.

Having retreated deep into herself, she was wholly disengaged, and thus oblivious to the sound of ripping metal as the door was hacked open from the outside. Light suddenly filled the black void she was caught in, and a voice filled her numb senses, "Maria!" So different from the harsh and grating speech she had become accustomed to. Her sight, however, had become maladjusted. Even the dim light outside was too bright, the figure too blurry to make out. Her blighted eyes were glazed and unfocused as she stumbled forward on stick-thin legs, the deteriorated muscles no longer able to hold up her body's weight. She was just so tired, so sore, so… hollow. The figure caught her just before she could drop to the ground. He was saying something to her, something she didn't quite catch. His hand was soft and warm as he cradled her gaunt cheek in his palm, but the sensation was lacking. She couldn't respond even if she'd wanted to.

His voice was pure heartache, his expression overflowing with desperation, "God dammit, it's me, Dominic! It's Dominic."

His pleas had no effect. They literally went in one ear and out the other, but… Dominic… was that the name? Was he the thing that she had cried out for so fervently amidst the torrent of pain and madness? Dominic… the name pulled itself up from the dregs of recollection. She felt no joy attached to it, no profound sense of love and gratitude. Her reservoir of emotions had long-since been bled dry. She could only gaze at him with soulless eyes. Her empty silence spelled it all out for him.