4: Labs and such
You give me answers when I didn't ask
You keep bringing up my past
Always play the same old song ~~ Britt Nicole, Ready
Their base of operations was big, gray, ugly, and imposing. But I didn't open my mouth and say that. All the curses I was holding in would have spilled out. My mother had raised me better than that, and I wasn't going to bring myself down to their level.
"Where do we bring her?" Olsen's pal asked the Asian man.
"Lab."
That one word evoked unpleasant pictures of scalpels, shots, and horror movie devices. I snarled, trying hard to wrench my arms from the iron grip that encircled them. Evidently I did not get the strength gene from my father. His claws came dangerously close to piercing my skin as we walked –well, he walked; I was propelled –down a hallway to a spotless laboratory full of stainless steel equipment, two doctors, and an older man in a military uniform.
He had a disdainful air, and his graying hair wasn't a sign of weakness. My cat ears lay back, plastering themselves against my skull; I hissed. I knew a rattlesnake when I saw one.
He spoke. "Good job men." He nodded at the soldiers. "You can go. Zero and Victor, stay please." They left, but not before Olsen gave me a black look at whispered, "You're dead, mutie!" as he passed.
Once the door closed, the man turned to us. "Zero –report." Was that the Asian man's name?
"The girl didn't give us much trouble, Major Stryker."
He raised an eyebrow. "Much?"
"She jumped out of the helicopter, but Creed caught her before she hit the ground."
"Good. Doctor, where do you want to start?"
A woman with blond hair and glasses, wearing a lab coat replied, "Set her on the table, if you please." I hoped I was shooting murderous glances at everyone I could see. The 'table' was metal, and had strong leather straps for holding people down. I was clearly its next victim. A growl built in my throat, and I let it out, low and angry, warning don't you dare do what I think you're going to. The feral cuffed me of the back of my head and snarled behave or I'll make you.
"Get on," Creed told me. We were right in front of the torture device.
"No."
"Get on, or I'll make you."
"You do that," I retorted, sneering. With no hesitation, he picked me up as if I weight only a fourth of what I did and tossed me down on the metal surface, as the doctors hurried to strap me down. I thrashed and snarled, snapping at their hands whenever they came close. Finally finishing threading the straps through the buckles, they stepped back and the rattlesnake Major walked up to me.
"Let's start with something easy, shall we? What's your name?"
Staring balefully at him, I said nothing.
"We already know that your nickname is Val, but unfortunately a file was never opened at social services on you. So what's your full name?"
If he thought I would tell him anything freely, he was dead wrong.
"When were you born? We know you're around fourteen or fifteen."
No answer.
He frowned. "Fine. Let's talk about your powers."
Not hardly.
"What else can you do, besides growl and sport such unique ears?"
Like I'd tell you.
He exhaled angrily. "Doctor? Do you have any of the truth serum on hand?"
I snorted and spoke. "That stuff doesn't compel anyone to tell the truth. It just makes them talk too much."
"Ah, so you can speak." He looked thoughtful. "Doctor, take some DNA samples and run some tests." The woman slipped on surgical gloves and grabbed hold of my ear, scraping the skin inside for cells. Stop that! I hissed at her; it didn't hurt, but I didn't want her messing with me either. She also inserted a needle in my arm and drew some of my blood. I looked away and didn't fight that. I did not like needles.
The Major resumed my questioning. "Most feral mutants have some sort of regenerating ability to some degree. What about you?"
"No," I lied.
"She's a liar," the deep voice said to my right. I snarled at Creed, and he smiled at me with his fangs. "Face it, kid –I can smell the lie on you."
"Thank you, Victor," Stryker said. "Care to rethink your answer?"
I stayed silent, badly wanting to curse him out, and knowing it wouldn't do any good.
"Fine." Reaching over to pick up a scalpel off an instrument tray, he drove it into my upper thigh.
I screamed and thrashed, howling out my pain in cat. My leg felt as if fire was streaming up and down the length of it. When my breath ran out, I growled, loudly and deadly. But I could see that my body was doing its work, pushing out the foreign matter and rebuilding the muscle and tissue. Blood still stained my jeans, and the slice the scalpel made was still there, but the blade clattered to the table, gone from my leg. My chest heaved; it still hurt, and I was tired.
"Well, well," Stryker said in a satisfied tone.
"Is that what you wanted?" I spat. "To know what I can do?"
"Yes, in part. Where do you get this ability from?"
I didn't relish the thought of being stabbed with another knife. "Parents," I said finally.
"Oh? Which one?"
"Both."
"Your mother is dead, isn't she?"
"No, we only pretended to bury her," I snarled sarcastically, lashing out with all the pain in my heart.
"Who's your father?"
I stayed silent.
"Don't make this difficult."
"Why?" I said, too angry to care.
"Because this happens." He struck the side of my face, and I recoiled, hissing. "Answer."
"Ask him," I said angrily, turning my glare on Creed.
Thanks to my lovely reviewers! Please continue to do so!