My God …. This is annoying … I can write 10,000 words .. and in 2 months I can top a 60,000 word story which has been around for almost a year … lolz, anyows … responses to your most interesting questions:

BloodJemini: This story probably takes place before and upto Bioshock … can't say naymore otherwise it would give away certain things … lol, but lets just say certain events will also come into play as well.

Hero's Valor: If I told you that … then that would ruin the tale … but lets just say it will be very interesting … *thinks* I haz ideaz now … lol, but lets just also say it will make for good reading … and some seriously badass moments.

As for myself … my funds are a little low at the Moment (I hate other peoples birthdays), but ASAIC (As Soon As I Can) I am going to buy Bioshock 2 and play that as well … because it looks cool.

Now would you kindly read on … please? Not like you have any choice in the matter … not unless you WANT to lose your liver *pets Chico meaningfully*

"The Artist reflects the world as it ought to be, not as it is damned to be by some spasm of the lower mind. But I shall not censor. The park is Lamb's property. However... if the case we are building against her proves true - I will return with a sledgehammer." – Atlas Ryan

Loneliness was something she had grown to accept, being alone no longer bothered her as much as it had, now what bothered her was … the feeling.

It crawled across her skin, caressing her skin, her hair, her flesh with its rough, invisible hands with the strangest of touches. Her stomached retched, her head rung, her fingers itched, her joints ached and her heart fluttered weakly in her chest, still not recovered from its previous strains.

One of them would bring her food and water sometimes, she wasn't sure what time it was, just that the familiar sound of footsteps outside generally indicated a meal. The food however, seemed to turn to ashes in her mouth every time she tried to eat, or becoming so cold and solid it couldn't be bitten, the water boiling away, or freezing in the cup as it touched her lips.

Then there was the pain from her stomach … it was like being stabbed with knives, big, throbbing, burning, icy stabs of splintering pain which spread like electricity across her body, through her veins and cells and dirty nails and raged hair. Torturous, horrific, lancing pains which boiled and lanced and zapped through her organs, making them feel like they were being reduced to so much putty.

There was no such thing as sleep, time just seemed to tick by, merged into one, every time she even closed her eyes to link, there would be another surge, and more pain and more blood and ice and fire and ashes.

Her skin bled profusely as sharp, needle-like icicles burst through the pale flesh, which turned a chilling blue at the sudden, painful cold, spreading their chill to anything they touched at a whim. At the same time, the ice would melt, painfully tearing itself from her skin, to be replaced with a burning feeling, which crept up her arms, scorching and searing the skin and flesh around her hands, as bright blue flames sheathed her hands in their flaming fury, charring her clothing to ashes. Every time she came near something metal, the electrical energy flowed through her, burst from her body and fingers and hair with a loud ZAP!-ing sound, which echoed around the room like a roar.

It was … a painful process, a human body, even a genetically fucked-up one, isn't designed to take that sort of energy discharge, at any voltage, and to say that it is excruciatingly painful is an extremely large underestimation. It was horrific.

And then there was the other side effects, the blue and the green and the red, seeping from her pores, mingling with her tears, dripping from her exposed skin like some sick, diseased slime, in the periods between fire and ice. She was trembling all the time now, a continuous, fearful quiver which made her hands shake, and standing nearly impossible, all she could do was … curl up on the floor, there was no way to stop the pain, yet know way to predict its coming, there was no sequence, no set pattern of appearance, no method to its madness, it was random as chaos itself.

She was numb, neither through cold or heat but some twisted combination of the two which drove her sense of feeling slowly towards the point of corrupt and gibbering insanity.

She wanted Mister B, now more then ever, he would know what to do, he … he could fix this, all of this, make her better again, then … then they could go save more angels, lots more angels, enough to … but where was her needle?

She look around frantically, panic of previous occupation surging through her, somehow lifting the veil of pain and weariness from her mind and her sight for a brief moment, before the Reality of her situation smashed down on top of her, her legs buckling, driving her to her knees as another wave of pain flooded her sense, taking any hope she had held, even for an instant, and boiling it away with an almost unyielding fury that only nightmares could comprehend.

She keeled over, feeling herself hit the marbled floor with a small thunk!

Something grabbed her forcefully by the arm, its pale, clammy fingers and dirty nails digging into her arm, dragging her upright. She felt herself claw at them, trying to free herself, and there was the hum of machinery and the faint zap of electricity merging dangerously with water. All of this was identified at panic speed and fed into her tiny mind at a hundred miles an hour, her childish, useless finger tired miserably to free themselves from the snake like grip of the pale fingers which dragged her towards that fear.

"No, no, please papa Suchong! I don't wanna go on the table, no, no, nooooooooo!"

Her voice sounded younger … how much younger, she couldn't tell … everything was just one … big, disintegrating blur of thoughts and ideas and illusions and stuff which blended together into a fantasy of Reality which did not exist except in the fragile remnants of her conditioned insanity.

Then it was like the demons of Faustus descended upon her. Faces, so many faces, ripped and bloodied and broken and violent and savage, with broken and torn limp, crude weapons and claws and hooks and pipes and a macabre assortment of clothing, all piling on her, wanting her, tearing at her skin, her hear, her eyes, her stomach, goring and spitting and shooting and savaging and pillaging and looting and raping and a hundred, thousand different other horrific events, no longer angels but demons of the foulest nightmares, the dregs of hell brought back to torture the mind of their 'savior'.

She clawed at her stomach with her gnawed, dirty nails even as they had, she … she had to get it out … they … they had … had … put it inside her, her precious, her, her precious baby in her stomach … she had to keep it alive, she had to, it was hers all hers and no one else's, just hers and Mister B's, and he would protect he- … but where was Mister B, gone, gone, off cheating with some other little girl and the thought of it made her grind her teeth and her hand spasm a little, oh how she would love to turn the one responsible into an angel for stealing Mister B from her, he was her Mister B, no one else's, just hers, they were friends, partners, he cared for her, so, so, so much and now … now he was … now he was … gone.

"MISTER B!"

Even as she woke, soaked in a cold, damp sweat, that name was on her lips, screaming itself out into infinite silence. Her heart gave a massive shudder in her chest, almost as if to burst again … and then relaxed calmly back into its usual rhythm, timid as a mouse.

Her eyes were wide, frightened, as the horrendous nightmares slipped away gently, their tendrils of control gently being shoved away by Reality's placid expression of a little hope. Her chest was heaving, big, deep gasps, she felt … damp? … yes, damp, very damp, especially in the corners, which made her shiver slightly, she felt both warm and cold at the same time, warm blood and cold, cold sweat colliding despite the white barrier between them which should have kept them apart.

She felt tired … but this was a different sort of tired, not sleepy tired, she had …. She had been sleepy tired before … this was more like … tiredy tired, the sort of tired you feel after waking up really early after a really late night … and yet … it seemed to make her head feel really light and fluffy, like cotton-candy … mmmm … cotton-candy … she was hungry, very hungr-

Almost as if to answer of her thoughts, there was a sharp click, and the sound of rusted metal screeching in protest as it was shifted from its comfortable old position to a new one, one which it did not want to be in at all, Open.

A chill breeze swept into the room, carrying with it the thick smell of brine and salt and … something else … something she couldn't identify … but she ignored it, mainly because she was feeling woozy again … very, very, ve-ry woooooooo-zy … and then, almost on a whim, she nodded off, despite the burdening curiosity which had suddenly overwhelmed as to who had come for her … maybe it had been Mister-

But before she could finish that thought, she was unconsciously asleep.

The next awakening was much more … peaceful. There was no sudden feeling of being dragged into wakefulness, or forcefully awaken with a shake or something more volatile, it was a calm, complacent way to wake up, under her own free will, it was an enjoyable experience … and she felt very refreshed … but … she wasn't sure … had she felt this feeling before? … a feeling of … freedom-ness? … she felt as if a great, heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders … but there was something she was forgetting … someone … but she couldn't quite remember who … someone very important … what was his name, it began with … wait! … she wasn't sure what it began with, but it was important. Elle shrugged to herself, whomever they were, they would probably find her eventually, life was like that.

She opened her eyes sharply where she heard a small, sharp snap! … the sound of something being broken in half … something dry … She blinked rapidly, her eyes whirling momentarily in her sockets as they flared back from the bright artificial light, despite how din it was. There was another small snap! This one made her jump, mainly because something long, golden coloured and smelling very nice, was suddenly thrust in her face, but ... she couldn't see it properly, it was like she was still tired, everything was still a little blurred

"Breadstick? … freshly made?" a voice asked curiously, the small object now identified as a 'breadstick' quivering a little, and it was only now that Elle began to notice the fingers wrapped around the other end, pink ones, with childish, polished nails. She blinked, then, tentatively reach her head forward and took a small biting motion in the general direction of the long object with, and felt her teeth meet something crunchy. In a manner similar to that of a squirrel n a nut, she nibbled … the taste was … new, dry, yet filling … and there was a strange aroma in the air which made her stomach give a small growl hungrily, and she heard a small laught issue from somewhere out of her bare spectrum of vision, but she could see a formation of colour moving somewhere to her left, causing her to blink owlishly to try and see if she could clear her vision, but to no avail.

"Hungry?" the voice was definitely female, but it was strange … she hadn't heard it before … that meant that she was new … or old … whichever did matter to her, but she felt a slight kinship with this person, her blurred appearance shifting its position slightly.

Elle nodded eagerly, and took another small bite of the offered breadstick. It was at this point that she realised that she had held down, strapped to the same rotating table which seemed very familiar to her, secured by what felt and seemed to be several long, thick straps, enough to stop her moving, but not so constricting that it hampered her or was painful … which explain why she was feeling a little numb in places. She thought this over as she chewed the remainder of the dry substance identified as being a breadstick, before swallowing it with a small amount of gusto. She felt a small warm hand gently pet her on the shoulder.

"I'll see what I can do" the voice said, and she heard a small amount of soft footsteps, light upon the floor, as they gently lead away from her, and Elle felt alone again, but that was only temporary, in the same moment that one person seemed to leave, another person seemed to enter. This one was a man, he had that feel to him, but the voice was one she recognised all to well, she tracked his blur across the room as he hobbled from the area where the door was, to the tables, picking something up, he approached where she lay, looking at her as far as she could see, with great interest. Then she heard the sharp rap of a pencil tapping on metal, catching her attention. His accent was familiar … but his name … Engrish … no … English … eys that was it .. or … that's what they'd called him.

"Hello? … Miss. Elle? … can you hear me?" he said, making a small waving motion, Elle nodded, her expression confused … why should she not be able to hear him … duh! She tried to ask him this but … she couldn't … no … yes … she couldn't … if she could have she would have touched her throat, but se couldn't, all she could do was mouth soundlessly.

English looked up from the chart he was holding in his hands, his blurred figure appearing somewhat intrigued.

"I'm afraid that you won't be able to talk for a while Miss. Elle, the surgery you received has several affected the muscles in your voice box" he peered at her curiously, then wrote something on the chart "and apparently your eye sight too … hmm … may have to get that checked" he muttered as he replaced the chart on the table and walked over to her, gently touching the side of her neck with two fingers, his touch was cold.

"Well you seem to be just about all better Miss Elle, apart from a little malnourishment and dehydration you seem to be normal" the last word came out a little hesitant … reassuringly hesitant and she cocked her head to one side curiously, as he turned back to his chart as if to note something else, before he looked up at her, muttering something.

"… probably nothing" he said quietly as Elle felt the straps around her chest beginning to loosen as English untied them. When the last, thick strap left her body, Elle stretched, feeling the muscles enjoy the feel of movement, however in that single moment, the small girl had something else on her mind, as her small arms wrapped themselves around his waist in a strange gesture of thankfulness, it was at that point that she realised she was crying … why was she crying? … was she happy? … yes she was happy, and she felt mute tears roll down her cheeks as a friendly hand rested itself on her shoulder. The tall Englishman knelt down, bringing himself down to her levels, and gently removing her tears with a small kerchief of which he had produced from somewhere within his voluminous lab coat.

"There there little one, there there. Its okay now, you're safe now" he said soothingly, gently touching her hair with one hand, before she eventually released him, looking at his blurred face with a sad smile on her face.

English stood back up, tucking the kerchief back away in one of his pockets, he gently took her small left hand in his right one, smiling a small smile at her, he gently lead over to a chair, which he held her onto to, reaching into one of his pockets he pulled out a ball of material, which he made a curious motion with, which seemed to divide into two almost like magic, all the while whilst she watched the blur with fascination, he looked up at her with a slightly amused expression on his face.

"Have you ever worn socks Elle?" he asked, selecting one of the two pieces of material in one hand and rolling it in on itself so that it formed a small ring, Elle shook her head.

She felt his slightly cold touch again as he rested the ring of material on the point of her toes and began to roll it up her foot, she immediately noticed the temperature difference, it was like someone had placed a pool of warm water on her foot, it felt nice and soft.

"You've never worn socks before … ever? … didn't your feet get cold?" English question as he began to do the same thing to her other foot.

Elle shook her head again, and gave a warm shudder as she felt her feet enveloped with warmth … and softness, she liked that feeling of softness, it was nice nice, not weird nice, nice nice nice.

As Elle hopped off the chair, English gently rested his hand n her shoulder and guided her out of the door, into a dark corridor. There was the tang of metal in that air, and the scent of brine was even stronger here, but she could feel a warm sensation in the breeze, heat was coming from somewhere. Guided by the Englishman's hand, she gingerly made her way down the corridor, feeling a feeling of dread and nervousness building in her chest, a good feeling though … well .. more like a good-bad feeling … she wasn't sure.

After a few moments of walking, she emerged into a large, cylindrical room, the wall were lined with huge cases of books and their shelves, as well as a thick, thick coating of dust in places, which made her nose itch badly, the floor was carpeted in some strange red design and the room was lit with an intricate chandelier which seemed … familiar.

Passing through this room, she found herself in an elaborate living-come-dining room. One side of the room was dominated by a massive, old-fashioned wood fire, within which a fire roared, surrounded by a semi-circle of a combination of sofa's and chairs which were mostly unoccupied. The other side of the room was dominated by a massive, ornate table, carved out of wood, but its surface was scratched and the wax had faded or been rubbed away in places, now only a shadow of its former splendour.

English guided her over to a chair nearest the fire, where she relished the heat, seating herself in a plush green chair which had the strong stench of perfume on it, which felt very soft indeed. She snuggled herself up in its green comforting grasp, enjoying the feel of the heat from the fire, it was … comforting … familiar? … yet comforting, and she just felt herself beginning to drift onto sleep when she felt something rough poke her in the side of her neck. Blinking her blurred eyes awake, she found her sight was a little better now, the blurs were still blurry, but not as blurred, at least this time she could make out the person on the other end of the breadstick.

It was a girl … with long, billowing black hair, which cascaded behind her like a river until it reached her waist with ease. Her eyes were a silver blue, hinting mischievousness and a hidden maturity. She was dressed in a small, long-cut skirt made of some hard-wearing material, and a boys formal shirt which had had the long sleeves trimmed off so that they were much shorter, around her neck she wore a small flute on a string. She sat, cross legged on the arm of the chair, staring at Elle as if she was some kind of angel, in one hand she held a breadstick and the other was resting on the end of one of her feet, which were clad in some kind of slip-on shoe, colored black, upon which her tiny fingers drummed nervously.

"Ohayo Gozimasu Utsukushii!*" she said, with a mischievous smile, taking a bite of the breadstick which she had poked Elle with, and chewing it with the utmost innocent mischievousness.

* a cookie to the person who can guess what that means