A/N: This chapter was definitely one of the harder ones to write, but it was also my favorite one to work on. As Chloe progresses on with the experiment, you can see how her thoughts are taking on a more darker side. The experiment not only affected her physically, but mentally as well.

Please review and thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: I may be an obsessed fan, but I don't own Darkest Powers.

"Don't give in,
To their misery.
Their shadowland,
Their shadowland of forgery."

When I woke up, I was free. Free from restraints. Free from embarrassment. Free from all doubts. Free from being who I was before. And boy, I never knew freedom could feel so... controlling.

Jolts of intensity seized my full body, almost as if I was being electrocuted, but it was a pleasing kind of pain. My whole being was aroused. Each shock brought increasing amounts of confidence into my body until I felt like I was an entirely different person. I didn't want it to end, not if it changed me into someone flawless, someone complete. It was the drug and I was the addict.

When it finally did stop, though, I went through the suffering part of my "alcoholic-like" compulsion. My head felt like someone was thrashing it with a sturdy metal hammer, beating and beating away, no matter how bad I was screaming at it to halt. My body, my arms in particular, felt as if they were on fire. It was apparent that my face was hot, too, because I could feel the temperature difference between my tears and my skin. My blood burned as it raced throughout my body. 'Lord, make it stop, please,' I whimpered.

Dr. Davidoff came over and tugged the wires off my wrists and my head. He whispered a "good job" then went to look at a monitor on one of the machines. He puts me through Hell and then just leaves me here, laying on a table in the middle of a room? I half-snorted, half blew a gust of wind through my snuffy nose. At least the people here had class.

Dr. Davidoff was studying something on the screen, results I guessed. I couldn't see too well. My eyes were blurry from all of the crying and fits of rage, as if at any second my eyes would just fall out from the inside of my skull and tumble across the floor, lying there for anyone to see... anyone to avoid. Same could go for the rest of my body parts. Disembodied. Still. Lifeless. Dead.

Thoughts of deceased, fleshless bodies flashed through my mind. Heaps and heaps of dead, rotting corpses tossed in a mound, waiting for somewhere to go. Or more accurately, as I have learned, someone to free them.

They shot up from their pile, a cracking noise splitting through the air. Necks being snapped back into place. Spines unwinding. They started walking forward, direction unknown. They were kneeling over, plummeting to the the ground every step or two. While attempting to rise, one of the skeleton's arm got caught in anothers ribs, pulling and pulling until finally the arm shattered, leaving the hand still stuck in the middle of the carcass. It was a gruesome thought and caused the bile to rise in my throat. I swallowed it down though, and my vision vanished as fast as it came.

Dr. Davidoff nodded his head at the screen and then strode in my direction. He came over and smiled down at me, one meant for encouragement but only sent chills down my straight spine. He reached down to my wrists and fumbled with unfastening my shackles. When he finally did get them loose, I could see streaks of red on my skin where the bindings once were. I flexed my hand back and forth to try to get my blood flowing and my wrist pliable. It was extremely stiff from the motionless silence, as was the rest of my body.

I rose up from the table steadily, my back refusing to uncoil. After multiple tries, I eventually sat up, my legs still fastened. My back cracked, but finally agreed with my decision. Dr. Davidoff was working with detaching my ankle shackles when he began to speak.

"You did a real good job, Chloe. I'm impressed." He glanced at me to see how I was grasping the situation. I refused to look him in the eye, my stubbornness completely showing through. He resumed with what he was saying, "Do you feel... alright?" I nodded, although I wasn't completely sure how I felt. "Would you like a glass of water?" I shook my head instantly, my grungy hair swinging in front of my pale face. I didn't need him, not after what he had put me through. All trust was lost for everyone. I had to be independent. I must.

I swung my legs over the side of the table and stood up. All blood rushed to my head, causing me to sway from side to side. I propped my hands up on the table to keep from falling. My leg muscles shook vehemently as if they were going to collapse. My limbs suddenly felt numb like they weren't even there. I was exhausted and frail and vulnerable. I couldn't stand any longer, I just couldn't. And I didn't. I fell to the floor, my head just barely missing the metal table. I dropped on my legs, causing more and more pain to shoot up through my body. A piercing scream escaped my mouth. I couldn't do this.

Dr. Davidoff rushed to my side and helped support me by putting his hands under my elbows. They felt tremendously hot. Or maybe I was just exceedingly cold. I brushed his hands off and sat up by myself. I placed my hand on my forehead. It felt like ice.

Just then, my emotinal poise disentregrated. My head fell into my hands, the tears already pouring down my face and into my lap, leaving my jeans soaked. My body was in synch with my breathing, both heaving in and out simultaneously. I couldn't stop crying, couldn't stop the tears. I was of no importance, of no use. Why couldn't I just make it end? I was a wreck, a mess. A failure.

Dr. Davidoff awkwardly patted me on the arm. I lifted my head. "Chloe, stand up. I know you don't want to go through this and I don't blame you. You don't know what's happening and you feel lonely, but it plays with your emotions. I should know. But, I'm sure it's nothing a little water can't fix." And before I could argue, he sauntered out of the room and up some stairs to fetch me some water. I didn't need water. Why wouldn't people just listen to me?

I sniffled but then wiped my face on my sleeve. I felt my legs once again go numb, but this time because they were tucked under the rest of my body. I shifted around to face the table and grabbed ahold of one of the supports. I bolstered myself up slowly and carefully. Another fall could cause some serious damage. After a couple of minutes had passed, I was fully standing up, but my arms remained glued to the table, not wanting to fall again. I was stronger than that. Much stronger. Keyword: was. I wasn't the same as I was before; I had changed. I didn't even know who I was anymore.

After a while, I had finally gotten used to my legs. My head was improving also. It didn't hurt as much as it did earlier. I wasn't completely healed, but I wasn't defenseless, either. At least I could fight back if I wanted to. Even if I was weak, I could always result to using my necromancer powers. Raising a little zombies here and there wouldn't hurt and- No. I couldn't do that. Never. I wasn't going back. I wasn't a monster.

I glanced around the room. Machines beeped in the distance. Dr. Davidoff hadn't came back yet. Maybe now was the perfect time to look around a bit.

I forced one foot in front of the other, reminding myself that if I stopped I wouldn't able to start again. Just keep going. You need to check on the others. Forget about the pain. And it was true. As much as my body ached, sitting around moaning wasn't getting me anywhere. My bare feet shifted across the chilling floor. It felt slippery and slick underneath my feet, as if I was walking on pure ice and not a floor. One wrong move and it would crack and I would plunge through the pit, falling and falling for centuries, waiting for the rescuer that would never come. My analogy frightened me, but what if it was true? Would I ever be saved?

I meticulously made my way over to the machines. There were about four of them, each carrying a different set of results. Snake-like wires were strung from machine to machine, connecting each of them together. The one I was mainly looking at had CS typed in the top left corner, which I assumed stood for 'Chloe Saunders'. I tried interpreting what it had displayed -all of the lines running up and down- but had no such luck. I wasn't a crazy scientist for a reason.

I moved on to the other side of the room, not wanting to spend all of my small amount of time on something I could not decode. On the opposite side of the lab were dozens of test tubes and syringes, all aligned perfectly on a metal table. They were made up of multiple colors; a rainbow of liquids and DNA. I picked one glass tube up and revolved it around in my fingers, cautious not to let it slip and break. As I was rotating it, the liquid kept inside sloshed around the edges, like the ocean on a stormy day. I wondered what I could be carrying; what it represented and how hard someone worked to get it. I could have been holding the genes of the Queen of England for all I knew. Then my brain switched gears in terms of my thinking process. A more rational thinking process. What would Dr. Davidoff be doing with the genes of a Queen? Was he trying to turn her into some mutant creature, just like he did with previous subjects? Oh, I had to do something. If I didn't, an entire country could be on the line, could become a complete and utter anarchy. I wouldn't want to be the one to blame, now would I? I smiled to myself. I lifted up the test tube in my hand and poured the mixture inside a nozzle that contained a mysterious red liquid. The red fluid now altered into a deep purple-ish color. I snickered to myself. Good luck getting that back, Davidoff.

After that bit of mischief, I made my way over to an object hanging on the other side of the room. It had held my attention ever since I woke up, but I didn't want to be caught staring at it, as Dr. Davidoff might get suspicious. But I was suspicious... and I was alone.

On the wall facing my jail-of-a-metal table was a mirror. And not just any ordinary mirror like one would keep... it was a shattered one. Cracks wrapped around and covered the entire surface while shards of glass were absent and gone amiss. It was distorted and useless, but it still hung proudly on the wall. It reminded me of how I felt. Pathetic. Misshappened. Yet I was still used as an experiment, as a tool of flaunting.

I swallowed my self-consciousness and brought my thoughts back to the mirror. It was like looking at something out of a haunted mansion. Just as creepy... and just as intriguing. But even more eerie was my reflection.

When I stared back at myself in the mirror, I couldn't help but let a small gasp escape my lips. My hair gave the midnight sky a run for its money. It was pitch black, with no gloss, no shine, no nothing. It hung loosely on my shoulders with not a single hint of bounce to it. It just sat there resting, tattered and scruffy, like a dog's fur after it gets back from taking a long swim. I wasn't the one to usually care about my appearance but this brought a couple of tears to my eyes, which were now dull with no shimmer. To make it worse, my skin was as white and pale as a vampire's. I couldn't find the difference between my skin and Edwards, even if I tried. Lifeless and tedious. Just like my eyes, which were sunken and accompanied by dark bags. I looked dead. I couldn't have possibly been looking at my own reflection. No, it was someone else. It wasn't me.

While I was still staring at the mirror in amazement, something happened. Something I couldn't explain. My reflection altered, changing into another form, but it wasn't far off from the original image I saw. My hair, first touseled, now shriveled up and fell out, leaving only patches of hair here-and-there. My skin was now desiccated and was so stretched out that it barely fit over my form. Wherever my bones weren't visible through my now translucent skin, they were prodding out of it, ripping through my paper-like flesh. My eyes conversed into two bloodshot orbs, almost as if they were lit on fire. My cheeks were hollow; my veins making thereself known on every angle of my face, popping out at the dozens. There was no heart beating in my thrashing chest, now overruled by fear. I wasn't just a zombie; I was my worst nightmare.

The door flew open and my head snapped in the direction of the loud interruption. Dr. Davidoff hurried into the room, water in hand. He saw my scarred and petrified face and immediately rushed over. When by my side, he gently tugged me away from the mirror, guiding me back towards the table.

I didn't hear what he said when he shoved the water in my face; I was too shaken up to make out the words. I couldn't get the thought of what I had just seen out of my brain. It was forever imprinted there, replaying itself over and over until I would eventually crack and go completely insane. Was this what Uncle Ben had gone through?

I grasped the glass filled with water in my hand but didn't take a sip. My voluntary movements were completely shut down, as were any of my coherent thinking procedures. Damn Davidoff and the rest of his crew. Damn them for turning me into this devil.

Wicked thoughts flooded my head and caused me to squeeze the glass with added pressure in my hand. It shattered -just like the mirror- and the glass and liquid contained fell to the floor. Shards of glass broke off and flung across the room. An especially big piece flew off and stabbed Dr. Davidoff in the hand, blood already starting to spur and pour down his arm and to the floor. He let out a train of profanities as he writhed in pain. An agonizing groan founds its way to his lips and echoed throughout the room. His eyes bored into mine and I saw what I expected: fear. I'd hurt him and he was truly frightened of me.

The tears once again rushed down my face. Maybe I was a monster.

I sprung out of bed for the second time in a row, my hasty heart beating uncontrollably. It felt as if I was experiencing déjà vu, but I knew that this was something entirely different. Yesterday when I had my nightmare, I was scared, but didn't think too much about it. But now, after having a second continuous one, I was completely freaked out.

Why was I having nightmares? Were they anything significant? And why was it like watching a soap opera where one picks up where the other left off? Shouldn't there be some variation?

The worst part about it was that I didn't have a single answer to any of these questions. Once again, I was left with a lot more questions than answers. Why couldn't any of this just be easy for once?

My heart was just beginning to slow down when a scrape at the window caused me to leap up again. My eyes shot to the window, but nothing was there. It was probably just a tree branch, Chloe. Get over it.

The only thing was that I couldn't. Not until that theory was proved to be true.

I slid my feet over the edge of my bed and stuck them into a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers. I tip-toed over towards the window, careful as to not wake up Tori. The window was on Tori's side so I had to be extra quiet. Besides the fact that I walked into a few objects -it was dim in the room since it was three in the morning- I did a good job at keeping silent... for the most part.

When I made it to the window, I inspected every area of space around the window- inside and outside. I didn't find anything that could have made the noise, though. No tree limb sticking out and leaning against the glass. No zombie that I could have possibly awakened in my sleep. Nothing. I debunked it as just my inner-jumpy self conjuring up imaginary sounds and was making my way back to bed when a squeaky noise reflected from where the window was located. I hesitantly turned around, already fearing the worse, when once again I saw nothing.

"Alright," I whispered. "I've had enough. Make yourself known. I wanna get back to sleep now." No reply.

I glanced over at Tori 'sleeping' on her bed. She was quite the mastermind, what if it was one of her tricks?

"Tori, if it is you making that noise, I swear-"

I was cut off by an earsplitting sound that projected from the window. It screeched and shrilled, only getting louder and louder by the second. My hands were shaken with fear; my eyes probably resembling those of a bug at the instant.

I gradually sauntered back over to the window, taking one step at a time. I was in no rush to see what was behind all of these midnight games. No rush at all.

When I got closer and closer to the window, my mouth dropped. W-words... they w-were being s-scribbled onto the glass.

The first letter was a scrawny H. My mind was going through multiple reasonings as to what this could be -it's just your imagination, it's not possible; something flew outside in the wind and landed against the window, making the allusion that there was actually someone there. None of them fit the situation. None of them fit because letters were still being arranged into the condensation. None of them fit because I knew that there was some spiritual being here in my room.

After about a minute or so, the letters finished demonstrating thereself on the window. All was silent, except for my inner-voice screaming, Get out of here!

Everything in the room felt wrong. I suddenly wanted to be anywhere else but here. I had to get out.

I twirled around and stumbled into the dresser. A few things fell off and clattered to the floor. Tori shot up in bed, now fully awake. She glared at me, but that quickly dissolved as she saw that I was trembling with fear. I quaveringly pointed to the window and the words now composed on the glass. Tori let out a deep gasp.

Because sprawled out onto the window were the words: Help Me.

A/N: Ahh... is that a cliffie I sense? :D

Who do you think it was that wrote that on the window?