Surrounded by stone walls and darkness… so dark. Alone. Silence… but not completely. There were far to many people around for it to be silent for someone with enhancements. Those sounds were merely a buzz in the background. Unable to try to focus on the mundane sounds of people shuffling around the long hallways, the slamming of doors, or hushed conversations of breakthroughs. Even the aircrafts that seemed to periodically take off and land close enough for the walls to shake ever so slightly and the vibrations to be felt through the floor.

No, they were not so lucky in being able to switch their focus completely. Their focus always came back to the screams, no matter how hard they tried. The sound of screams echoing and bouncing off the walls of the… place. Where ever this place was. Hell came to mind. Not that they ever believed in a deity or they didn't think they did. They couldn't think much really. No. They wouldn't think. Thinking led to questions and they led to pain. Like the person they could hear screaming, they had likely asked a question. Or maybe the guards were just bored. A passing feeling of pity spread through them, but was quickly pushed away. There was no room for pity in this place. Strength. That's what they needed. Strength and courage. A scoff left their mouth. They held their breath, waiting for some sign that they had been heard and their punishment was coming. 'Speaking is a privilege, one in which you have yet to earn' Her mind supplied the heavily accented words on replay anytime they made noise by mistake. Their mind reeling back to the punishments received anytime they had spoken without permission, they could almost smell the burning skin caused by the branding iron, or the crack of a whip against their back. Pushing the dark memories away they forced themselves silent. Stay silent until you received permission. Not like they gave permission…

The cell remained silent, and thankfully so did the halls close by. As the seconds ticked by, they released the breath they had been holding, shoulders dropping slightly from their scrunched up position with relief.

Shaking their head with a grimace lost to the darkness. Strength. Courage. No there was little of that left in them. Only dumb stubbornness and hope. God how pathetic. No one was going to come rescue them. They were alone, and reminded of that fact often by the handlers/guards. No one knew they were here, knew they were even missing. They'd been alone long before becoming imprisoned. They didn't think about their birth parents often. It was pointless. There were no happy memories, if there were any, they didn't hold onto any of substance before they died. No. Murdered. They had been murdered. They had been only young, barely 7 years old. They had fuzzy memories of an argument between a man in a suit with a funny accent and the police officers that had been alerted to the shouts and gun fire from the neighbours. The memories were a point of irritation for them and had been since the actual event had taken place. They knew they were arguing about them, but not why. The memories of the events that lead to the then child being under the table with tears streaming down their face and bile rising up their throat, fear clenching in their stomach had long since been deeply embedded into their brain. The hushed argument between man and women, their parents who had poorly hidden fear and anger on their faces. The sound of wood splintering at the door to the kitchen and rough hands shoving them under the table that was never used. Then more arguing. Words that couldn't be processed through the blood pounding in their ears, a dull throb on their temple from the bump they had taken when being forced into their current hiding place. Silence. An eerie calmness. Two loud cracks in quick succession breaking the quiet. Bodies as if in slow motion fall to the ground with a thud, rivers of crimson bubbling from mouths open in silent screams and scarlet puddles forming from the gaping holes in their chests. The body closest to you turning their head but before you can see their face. Bang. Their head falls to the side, your mother's eyes staring, unseeing into your own that blur with tears that have yet to fall. A hole in their once smooth forehead, more blood pooling on the floor beneath them. Watching in grim fascination as the river of red spreads, soaking into clothes, staining skin. Somewhere in the back of their head they take note there was a fourth shot, but couldn't remove their eyes from the empty glazed eyes of the women that was supposed to be their mother.

The sound of their own harsh breathing pulls them out of the waking nightmare. Recognising the panic attack they were having they tried to control their breathing. Harsh gasps turning steadily to deep breaths. Dirty fingers rush to rub their equally dirty face, trying to hide the evidence of the tears. A strangled laugh escapes…

They silence themselves to listen, and hope the empty stillness remains, releasing the breath they hadn't realised they were holding. They try to think about something happier. A laugh threatens to come out again but they manage to hold it in, only a harsh exhale from their nose escaping with a shake of their head. A passing thought that they were falling into complete madness before that to was pushed away.

Happy. Did they have anything happy to think about. They weren't certain. Sure, after their parents' death and being put into the foster care system of merry old England, they had settled pretty well. Staying in a group home wasn't to bad, being with their biological parents had proved that.

It was a reminder that there was little sadness in thinking they wouldn't see her parents again. They supposed they could even be happy about that. They hadn't been the nicest of people. They had always hypothesized that their murder had something to do with their work. They knew they were scientists, Biochemists. It took a while to piece together who exactly Simon and Laura Moore were and what precisely they had been researching, but they had done it. It was a burning need inside to have a reason for what had happened that night. For what they had done to their own child. Sometimes they wished they had left it well alone and just moved on.

That hadn't been an option. As soon as they had unlocked their memories from before their bio parents death, all the points started leading to the same answer. Me. ME. They were experimenting and researching me. There obsession with enhancing the human body the only reason they had had a child to begin with. It had turned out I hadn't been the first one. Simply the 'lucky one'. The lone survivor. There had been 6 before them. 6 dead siblings that they had never met. That had never been spoken of. Never remembered because they were never known.

Lost in the thought and memories that plagued them, they barely notice the sound of heavy footsteps slamming in the concrete corridors. The swiping of the badge to allow access into each section.

Sections away…

The heavily muscled man walked with purpose towards the cell a piece of stale bread that had already started to turn green and a paper cup half filled with water in hand. Automatically counting down the number of doors he had to scan through to get to the high security wing. Nodding at several of the guards as he passed them. Not really noticing that there had been fewer then normal on the route.

Upon reaching his destination he hesitated outside the door straining slightly to hear the mumbling of the prisoner. Balencing both cup and bread in one hand he swiftly unlocked the cell door swinging it open with a slight creak. Preparing himself for whatever was thrown at him. The prisoner in this cell has been known to be a handful. Not that if they got past the first guard, they'd be able to get past the second or third, fourth etc. The brawny man scoffed and shook his large head. Like this creature would get the drop on him. That was laughable.

Frank had worked for this… organisation one could say for a long time. His farther before him and his father before that. It was in his blood. So when a pathetic newcomer had tried to tell him what to do he had snapped the little fuckers neck and continued on. Sure, the rules were cell doors are not opened unless there were at least two guards but he could easily count as 3 so it would be fine.

This was Frank's first mistake.

Stepping into the cell he saw the hunched up figure of the prisoner backed into the corner like a wild animal, eyes darting but not really seeing mumbled words falling from cracked and bleeding lips. If he hadn't have been here when they had first been dumped in this cell he wouldn't have know it was a women. When she had first arrived and the drugs they had dosed her with had worn off her bright green eyes had been alight with a fury he had never seen. She had made demands to be released, which they had all laughed at… until she had taken out six of their men before they had managed to knock her out again with a tranquilizer gun. Back then, almost 2 years ago at this point, she hadn't been the pathetic thing she was now, well she hadn't looked as pathetic anyway. The then young teen was overweight, still had the chubby cheeks of someone who hadn't yet lost the puppy fat. Now though she was practically skin and bones, her bones sticking out grotesquely on her tall frame. Above average I height for a woman pushing 6 foot he'd say. Her once bright auburn hair full of long curls that bounced with every move now mattered and greasy to the point it just looked a dull brown. Body covered in dirt and dried blood and god knows what else. Stinking of Sweat and piss and the lingering smell of human shit that clung to her from being in this cage.

Shaking his head and letting out a huff. God he should be in a higher position then this! stuck as a fucking food delivery boy to the beasts in the cages. Scowling at girl still in the corner paying him no attention. 'hey bitch, eat and drink' he growled out his accent thick when forming the English words. No response…

Growling to himself, he put the bread and water on the floor of the cell and walked forward to kick at the pathetic thing in front of him.

That was his second and last mistake.