AN: Sorry that this took like forever. It was a combination of laziness and re-writing this chapter a dozen times that did me in. I tried a few different point of views for this chapter and none of them satisfied me, till I finally found the right one.
So here is the next chapter. Warning: Contains allusions to the torture and numerous murders of a child and character death.
Chapter 1: The Test.
The bright lights of her cell seemed to burn into her skull and the sensation only helped to remind her of the presentation earlier that day. She struggled to bury that memory, to lock it away in the deep dark recesses of her mind along with so many other horrible things she never wished to remember.
She still felt woozy, soft, vulnerable and exposed, the side effect of whatever tranquilizer they had pumped into her after they had shut the machine, oven, it had been an oven, off. The drug was still in her system and it made it hard, hard to forget, hard to fight against the memories that were still brimming at the surface.
It had been worse then drowning, worse then getting shot or getting stabbed.
The fire, the agony, the panic. Realizing that despite all her strength, all her powers and skill, there was nothing she could do. There was no escape, no target to take down, no enemy to kill. There was nothing she could do, but stand there and burn.
She tossed and turned in her cot, her limbs too heavy, her movements clumsy. The memories kept coming.
The fire. The pain. Men screaming in the observatory, though she couldn't hear them. Him, watching her, smiling down at her like a proud teacher.
There had been a moment, a piece of calm in her panic, a moment of ice that blocked out the fire and she thought, she hoped, she prayed, that that was it. That she was going to finally die.
It had been almost painless, slipping into the darkness. Painless and calm. A warm embrace, not scorching hot like the fire, but comfortable and like something she had never felt before. Peaceful. It had been oh so peaceful.
But she had awoken once more, the pain of reconstruction almost as bad as the fire before.
She struck down three men before she could subdue her, breaking off one of her bone claws in the process. But that didn't mater, it would just grow back. She would aways just grow back.
There was no escape. No warm embrace. No peace.
She let her tiredness and the drugs overtake her and when she dreamed, she dreamed of fire.
But she wasn't alone this time. He was there with her. Not the doctor with the eyes that reddened when no one but her was looking, the other one.
They had tried to make her as unfeeling as a gun, a weapon with no emotions, no thoughts of her own and while they had exceeded in so many ways, they could not take away her hate. Not for the doctor who tortured her and never, not in a million years, for him.
There was fire and he burned with her.
Good. She thought. You deserve this. You, not me.
But he tried to escape, tried to break free from their fiery graves, And she saw that could climb out too. Climb out and be free. But that would mean letting him go as well. So she wrapped her arms around him, pulled him back down to their deaths. It was for the best. They both had to die. That was the only freedom there was for her.
This was the third night in a row that Johnson had to stand guard outside the girl's, the weapon she corrected herself, cell. Beside her it looked like Nickels was about to fall asleep. He let out a great big yawn and leaned carelessly against the wall.
"You heard what it did at the lab this morning?" he asked and as always the fact that everyone called the girl ... the weapon, it, made her feel somehow uncomfortable.
"Yeah." She replied curtly. She had never been gladder to have been covering nights then when she read the rapport on what happened. She could have been the one who had her throat ripped out, or have a claw stuck in her sternum. Only one of those guards survived and he was still in a coma.
"I'm just sayin', I'm glad that it's on our side." Nickels replied, stupidly as ever.
It didn't matter how much they brainwashed the kid ... weapon, or how many training sessions they put her thought. After what they did to her, she would never be on their side.
A door slid open and Johnson straightened up immediately. Nickels didn't even bother.
She couldn't help but shiver when she saw the doctor enter the hall and she quickly looked away as not to have to stare into his eyes. Sinister was a too kind of a name as far as she was concerned.
"Good evening." He called out pleasantly, as he walked up to them, peering past them at the cell and it's occupant. "Any activity?" he asked.
"She has been tossing and turning for an hour now. Woke up a few times, a few seconds only." Johnson reported.
This seemed to please the doctor and he turned back to face them.
"Good, that means she'll be ready soon." The smile on his face only seemed to make him look even more sinister instead of charming. It reminded Johnson too much of some kinda of predatory animal.
"Ready for what?" Nickels asked bluntly, always ready stick his nose in other people's business. He stared at the doctor with half lidded eyes, clearly already half asleep.
"A test." Sinister grinned.
"Another one, so soon." Johnson blurted out without really meaning to. It wasn't up to her what happened to the experiments in this place.
"The final test." Sinister drawled.
And then, without so much of a warning, the doctor swung his arm out in a swift movement. Something flashed from his hand, too quick for her to see and next thing she knew it hit Nickels right in the throat, cutting off the profanity he was about the scream.
She had no time to react, to think about what was happening, but her experience with guarding the weapon had taught her to go with her instincts when in danger, to react immediately. She had already unclipped and drawn her handgun when Nickels dead body slid to the floor and the doc turn to face her.
Her eyes were not drawn to the knife he held delicately in his hand, but to his face, his horrible face and his horrible eyes. In the fluorescent light of the hallway they gleamed undeniably red.
"Drop it!" she yelled, her finger on the trigger as panic threatened to overtake her.
But Sinister just smiled that smile, all teeth and malice.
She fired. He threw.
There was a moment, a second only. When they both still stood and she could swear that his eyes turned even redder and all his humanity seemed to melt away and all that was left was pure evil. Then she slid down and the only sound she could make was a wet gurgle as she spit up the blood that was filling her mouth and throat.
Even though she knew it was hopeless she reached for her walkie, but Sinister snatched it away from her.
"Not yet." He whispered.
The pain wasn't that bad, but her eyelids were starting to droop and it was hard to fight against the tiredness that overcame her.
Sinister got up and keyed in his code into the cell door. It slid open soundlessly. Any other time she would have startled at the sight of her, the weapon, standing in the door opening, so close she could almost touch her, but Johnson didn't have any energy left for that. For a moment their eyes met and she shuddered at the emptiness behind the girl's eyes.
The girl didn't look at her like any person would, were they face with a dying human being. There was no empathy in those eyes, no shock, no concern. Her eyes were cold, calculating. One target down, one to go, they seemed to say.
And sure enough the girl stepped back, sliding effortlessly into a defensive stance, her fists clenched and raised.
Johnson prayed for the girl to strike, for her to rip Sinister to pieces. It would be justice, for her and Nickels and for the girl herself. Go on, she wanted to say, but the only thing that came out of her mouth was blood.
"I'm not your enemy, sweetheart. Not right now." Sinister drawled, looking completely unconcerned about the fact that he was facing the girl singlehandedly.
"Then what?" The girl growled.
She had never heard the girl speak before and Johnson was surprised by just how normal, how young she sounded. Slowly her eyes started to close, no matter what she tried.
"An ally." She heard Sinister reply and she could practically hear the smirk in voice.
Don't trust him. She wanted to scream at the girl as the darkness closed in around her.
"I am setting you free." Sinister added.
"This is a test." The girl replied.
The final test, Johnson remembered. Don't trust him. Kill him. Run. Run.
"Everything is. Escape this facility and you are free. I ask only one thing in return. Something I know you'll want to do regardless." His voice seemed to come from far away.
"What?"
"Kill ..."
You bastard. Johnson thought, the very last words that would ever cross her mind.