~*~The Safe House, Book One: Surging Fire~*~
PART ONE: WHITE WALLS
"Better run, girl."
That was my last memory before the life that had been created for me, when I was alone in a field and a man wearing dark clothes came up to me, bound and gagged me, and stuck me in the back of a van. That van took me to a dark and scary place, that was all I knew. Nothing about this place was fun. It was like a laboratory and a hospital combined into one sick, demented building.
None of us had any recollection of how we arrived in the facility, or why we were there in the first place. It was a dismal prospect, lifelong capture, because that was the one thing that was constant: You would live here, and ultimately die here, too. There was a great possibility of a shortened lifespan. You got minimal food and water and you were subject to all kinds of crazy experiments and tests, and you were often examined as a specimen, rather than as a human.
When I first met Lord Doctor (the man supervising this whole operation—no pun intended—we called him such since we didn't know his real name and he abused whatever power he had), I honestly did not remember anything leading up to the ordeal, besides what began that morning.
I was woken from a deep, restless sleep by the prep team. Lord Doctor liked all of his specimens to be nice and beautified for examination, and the prep team was in charge of making sure that we appeared as such. I was taken out of bed and put into a bath, where they washed my hair and soaked me in aromas that would be pleasing to him. I smelled like nothing short of a spring meadow.
After that ordeal, they made me look beautiful, as best as they could, anyway—yet natural. They curled my hair in free ringlets, painted my nails a clear lacquer (after trimming and filing, of course), shaped my eyebrows, applied mascara to my lashes, and shaved the rest of my body of all hair. I felt as though I were a pig being prepared for slaughter; certainly, I had no idea what was about to befall me.
I was presented on a table before Lord Doctor and he looked at me with a blank expression, the same that he had when examining all of us specimens. He looked at me with that sick look in his eye, and I had to lie on the table emotionless. I had to be as blank as he was; it was a rule. He did not like people who did not conform to his rules.
He looked at the clipboard at the foot of the table—if such a thing could have a foot to it—and nodded, repeating the word 'hmmm' over and over again. It was starting to become tedious work, since I was entirely naked. He took hold of one of my arms and bended it this way and that, becoming more and more enthusiastic with each bend. The clipboard still in his hand, he asked, "It is number 067, am I correct?"
"Yes," said one of the prep team members. "We think it is around twelve to fifteen years."
It. Just a constant reminder that we were never truly safe or even thought of as completely human. I was very definitely female, and just taking one look at me would have told you the same thing. But to them, I was an object to be adored and observed, and possibly tampered with.
No, there was definitely no 'possibly' about it, what with the way that Lord Doctor was eying me and nodding and smiling. He looked at my charts and muttered how he had never seen such a perfect specimen for this kind of procedure. That sent chills down my spine; he was going to operate on me, and soon, it seemed.
And he already knew what sick thing he was going to do to me.
I don't know where this idea came from; I have a lot more written on my computer if anyone is interested, but I don't know if I really like it because it reminds me a lot of a cross between the Hunger Games and Maximum Ride. If anyone is interested, though, I'll keep posting it. Please review?