Ch 1

Her breathing strengthened as moments passed. Szayel nearly threw down his syringe and quickly scribbled into his notebook

Three seconds, full breathing weak pulse.

He watched her intently. Szayel gripped her hand as she began to breathe strongly, her bruised chest heaving under the white cloth he had laid across her out of some sense of courtesy. She breathed hard as to clear her lungs. He saw her eyes flicker under her eyelids as she gained consciousness.

A swell of pride and concern filled him so completely at once, he couldn't quite focus. He held his hand beside her head as she twitched. Her eyes fluttered open, staring into his, clear and green. As the air touched her eyes, they changed color slightly, and yellowed. Her pupils constricted against the harsh light, she didn't seem as if she had been able to see him with her new eyes. He wanted to speak to her, communicate and determine her intelligence, but he had no idea what to say.

"Can you hear me?" he asked

Her eyes followed the sound of his voice and found his face.

"yes." Her voice was clear and warm, but hardened with anxiety and detachment.

"im going to take your pulse, now, record your vital signs for a moment. Do you know what that means?" he asked, his voice nearly trembling with excitement and joy.

"Yes," she responded quietly, her breath faltering.

"Calm down, breathe. I won't hurt you," he added anxiously. She wasn't strong enough to handle excitement yet, he could see. He took her wrist gently in his hand. Her pulse beat quietly under her skin, and while the speed was normal, it was still weak. He noted this in his notebook as he took a long, tube-like instrument from a nearby drawer. He held the small single earbud to one ear and laid the flat, drum like end onto her chest. The echoing of her breath rang in his ear.

"I need a better listen, this might be cold," he whispered to her as he pulled the thin white material off her chest. She lied still and motionless even as the cold metal of his modified stethoscope pressed against her bare skin. The whisper of her working heart and airways was louder, more powerful. He took the instrument off of her and pulled out the earpiece.

"I'm worried about your reflexes. Did you feel anything when I touched you?"

Her lips parted but hardly a sound came, "Yes."

He watched her for a moment, her breathing resumed normally.
"My name is Szayel Aporro Grantz. We're in my home in Hueco Mundo, in a laboratory. I made you," he explained.

She breathed for a moment. "Do I have a name?"

"Not yet," he admitted. He did not want to have a name for her if she were to fail. It would only have made matters worse. "What should I call you?"

His mind rushed through names as he watched her. He had already made and created names for hundreds of creations, but none of them seemed to fit her. She was different than them in nearly all ways. Adriana, Alda, Cira, Coleta, Consula, Isi, Iratze, Nelia, Olivia, Azua, Belina, Emilia, Sierra; thousands of various names clouded his mind. All his fracción had Spanish names. It would be appropriate to name her with one also, but none of the names quite fit. He put it out of his mind as he continued to examine her.

She was nearly entirely naked, spare for the thin white gauzy material across her lap. Her body was perfectly formed and white as porcelain, but marked in large red and purple welts and bruises from the constant prodding and pricking of needles she had undergone before she awoke. Her bandages had been removed moments before and parts of her skin were white and moist from the contact of the bandage. Blood crusted along swollen wounds where she had been punctured ceaselessly. Healing cuts along her limbs where her muscles and ligaments had been re-connected and strengthened dripped old blood caught in scabs. Scar tissue rippled through her skin. Every crease of her skin was filled with some sort of blood or slimy excretion from reactions to chemicals used in her creation.

He gently took her hand. Her blood had begun to warm her skin, her muscles were less stiff. He massaged the muscles gently; they gave way tenderly under his fingers. "Do you think you can stand?" he asked.

She sighed and stared at him questioningly.

"let me help you. Let your body move as I direct it," he ordered smoothly as he pushed his arm under her and sat her upright. Her upper half alone was heavy and limp. "Hold yourself upright," he muttered, straining. He shimmied his shoulder under her arm and close against her trunk to support her. "Can you move your feet ?" he tapped her toes with his other hand, "these are your feet."

Her toes wiggled. "Good."

Szayel removed the white cloth that lied over her lap and tossed it onto a vacant edge of the metal gurney. "Ok, I need you to stand."

She weakly twitched her leg and moved it toward the edge of the table. "Good, come," he prompted. She moved slowly and awkwardly like a broken wind-up. Finally, she had both legs hanging over the table. As she put both feet on the ground, her weight was felt on both legs for the first time. Unable to handle the strain, her knees gave, one leg sprawling out straight outward banging her foot against the lock on the gurney wheel. The lock snapped open as her body crashed into the metal surface, bringing Szayel with her, and sending the table rolling from under them. A horrible metallic clash rang through the sparse room as Szayel grabbed onto the rolling table with one hand and braced his new experiment close to his body. The table turned until the lock on the other wheel forced it to stop. He dragged her and himself upright, supporting himself on the metal edge.

"ok, just lean on the table, don't let your foot touch the wheel!" he ordered as he held her up with his shoulder. He quickly bent and grabbed her from under her knees and pulled her into his arms. She grabbed her arms around his throat perhaps a bit too tightly. He gently pulled her arms apart slightly with one hand and wrapped both arms around her to let her know she was secure. "Relax, I won't drop you," he muttered carrying her off, " I need to get you washed and clean. You look a mess. We can't have anyone seeing you like this," he smiled. She buried her head between her chest and his shoulder, shaking terribly as he carried her frail shell behind a door at the end of the lab.