Title: Fan Art 0016
Author: The Person Behind My Mask
Pairings: 03/09 hintage, 04/OC, and possible 09/OC
Rating: PG-13 (for kissing and cursing and what not that I write in this fic)
Warnings: Possible Mary-Sue action here, not sure, the story is about me.
Genres: General/Romance/Angst
Disclaimer: Ok, I usually like to be very witty in my disclaimers, but I'm not in the mood. ::sigh:: So here you go, I don't own Cyborg 009, I just write fanfics about it cause I'm depressing and I wish I had a life, sound good? K.
Summary: Claire Willins, an average 16-year-old American girl, is kidnapped by the secret organization of Black Ghost and made into a Cyborg by the name of 0016.
Notes: Ok, I'm up to my ears in bunnies, so if you know a muse needing a writer, please, I'm begging you, send it in the opposite direction of me, k? I hope you enjoy the fic. I love reviews and hate flames. I do, however, accept CONSTRUCTIVE criticism. There is a difference.
Chapter 4: Cry of the Captive
The room was dark. She could feel a light blanket over her. It was cold, very cold. Her eyes hurt and her head was spinning. She felt her skin prickle as chills ran through her blood like ice. Finally, after finding that she had the power to, she opened her eyes. The room was small furnished with only the bed in which she laid, a chair, and a desk with pen and paper. She noted the camera in the upper right corner of her room but knew it was to far from reach to destroy.
"What's going on?" She groaned, bringing an ice-cold hand to her head and wincing. Eventually, she managed to stand, finding herself now wearing a thin white loose shirt and pants. She looked up at the camera, clutching her arms around her shoulders. "I'm guessing you want me to live right? Well, then do me a favor and get me some warmer clothes and heaven forbid, give me a damn pair of socks!" Claire screamed, tears in her eyes. "You bastards!! What the hell? Why me?" She cried. She turned away, sitting down at the desk and staring down at the blank pages. She hadn't been able to write even though a million things were running through her head. The only things she really wanted to write now would never be able to help her. She wondered when her family would realize she wasn't in Japan. She questioned if the man had lied and that the real Mr. Winston is looking for her. Her eyes painfully scanned the empty sheet. She felt her feelings amount until she was a crying mess. She climbed back into the cold, light, and uncomfortable bed. She wanted to sleep forever, or at least until they went away. She didn't know what to do and she hadn't seen anyone or any sign of life.
When she woke up later, she found cloths piled on her desk, a larger comforter spread over her, and a tray of food. She first ate the food, her stomach screaming its complements. Then she pulled the warmer clothing on top of what she had already been wearing. She pulled on her socks and wrapped her arms around herself, balling up in her bed. She rocked slowly, humming, warm tears washing over her cheeks.
A/N: Ok, not much longer than the last...but longer none the least! Poor me! X.x I feel bad about torturing myself like I do...oh well. ::shrugs::
Author: The Person Behind My Mask
Pairings: 03/09 hintage, 04/OC, and possible 09/OC
Rating: PG-13 (for kissing and cursing and what not that I write in this fic)
Warnings: Possible Mary-Sue action here, not sure, the story is about me.
Genres: General/Romance/Angst
Disclaimer: Ok, I usually like to be very witty in my disclaimers, but I'm not in the mood. ::sigh:: So here you go, I don't own Cyborg 009, I just write fanfics about it cause I'm depressing and I wish I had a life, sound good? K.
Summary: Claire Willins, an average 16-year-old American girl, is kidnapped by the secret organization of Black Ghost and made into a Cyborg by the name of 0016.
Notes: Ok, I'm up to my ears in bunnies, so if you know a muse needing a writer, please, I'm begging you, send it in the opposite direction of me, k? I hope you enjoy the fic. I love reviews and hate flames. I do, however, accept CONSTRUCTIVE criticism. There is a difference.
Chapter 4: Cry of the Captive
The room was dark. She could feel a light blanket over her. It was cold, very cold. Her eyes hurt and her head was spinning. She felt her skin prickle as chills ran through her blood like ice. Finally, after finding that she had the power to, she opened her eyes. The room was small furnished with only the bed in which she laid, a chair, and a desk with pen and paper. She noted the camera in the upper right corner of her room but knew it was to far from reach to destroy.
"What's going on?" She groaned, bringing an ice-cold hand to her head and wincing. Eventually, she managed to stand, finding herself now wearing a thin white loose shirt and pants. She looked up at the camera, clutching her arms around her shoulders. "I'm guessing you want me to live right? Well, then do me a favor and get me some warmer clothes and heaven forbid, give me a damn pair of socks!" Claire screamed, tears in her eyes. "You bastards!! What the hell? Why me?" She cried. She turned away, sitting down at the desk and staring down at the blank pages. She hadn't been able to write even though a million things were running through her head. The only things she really wanted to write now would never be able to help her. She wondered when her family would realize she wasn't in Japan. She questioned if the man had lied and that the real Mr. Winston is looking for her. Her eyes painfully scanned the empty sheet. She felt her feelings amount until she was a crying mess. She climbed back into the cold, light, and uncomfortable bed. She wanted to sleep forever, or at least until they went away. She didn't know what to do and she hadn't seen anyone or any sign of life.
When she woke up later, she found cloths piled on her desk, a larger comforter spread over her, and a tray of food. She first ate the food, her stomach screaming its complements. Then she pulled the warmer clothing on top of what she had already been wearing. She pulled on her socks and wrapped her arms around herself, balling up in her bed. She rocked slowly, humming, warm tears washing over her cheeks.
A/N: Ok, not much longer than the last...but longer none the least! Poor me! X.x I feel bad about torturing myself like I do...oh well. ::shrugs::
