01-08-2012, 01:35 PM
Zehira couldn't believe what was going on. She stared at the monitors in the security center of Endevour, her clipboard falling out of her hands and clattering to the floor. Watching Rain kill the guards was abomidable, the scene horrific - but the worst part was watching her own ward, small Nikita, escape behind her.
Something the Japanese scientists had started years before was a sort of surrogate parent program - fathers and mothers, scientists, would foster the Diclonius, try to train them to think that being tormented was beneficial somehow. It rarely if ever worked; Zehira had seen that firsthand when she'd worked overseas. She'd transferred here with a number of them - her ward Nikita being one of them - and while 'Niki' had been renamed "Snowflake" by the Americans, the name hadn't taken. She adamantly refused to answer to it or to any of them, only responding to her "mother."
Seventeen years old and small framed, Nikita had been a very tame subject among the unenhanced Diclonius; responded well to tests and was quite docile when Zehira was around. But whenever the blond woman wasn't around, something changed. Kita's eyes would dilate, she would freeze in place, and stare at whoever was left behind with her. But she had never attacked; simply had strange episodes where she'd laugh and laugh and laugh in the silence of her cell. Sometimes two voices could be heard - Nikita's quiet, scared voice, and another voice - a woman's, but darker, angrier, violent, telling Nikita to attack the guards. But the voice always went away.
Now, Nikita, wearing raggy pants and a plain white shirt Zehira had gifted her as a treat for being so complacent during a recent fairly grueling test, was making her way through the destruction Rain had waged. She had a wide-eyed Thousand Yard Stare, didn't seem to even acknowledge the gore around her as she found the exit, and she stopped at the exit. Her escape had been simple enough; the guards had been more concerned with Rain escaping since she was the one killing them all. Nikita was too docile to attack.
Zehira watched her ward walk through the door and stare outside, bloody footprints a trail behind her, and Nikita turned around. Zehira's heart stopped; the face was wrong. The smile was vicious, the eyes hard and full of malignant glee. But it disappeared and Nikita was back to her terrified, docile state, and she bolted like a startled deer when one of the guards twitched post-mortem.
"... We find Snowflake first. She... she is least likely to attack. Rain can wait."
Nikita winced as her feet scraped against hard concrete with each slam of her soles against the ground, running as fast and as hard as she could into the city slums. She managed to circle around and dove into an alleyway, sort of bodyslamming a dumpster as she did and collapsing near Lonnie. She sobbed and curled up into a ball, her hands covering her horns and her tiny frame shaking. She wanted Mom; Mom never hurt her, always made her feel better after the scientists tested on her. Mom wouldn't... Mom was... where was Mom?
The voice in her head just snarled at the thought and receded away.
"Owie," she mumbled; her feet were aching horribly and she twisted her leg a bit to inspect the bottom of her right foot. She'd stepped on glass at some point and her foot was now bleeding, the bright red a contrast to the darkening guards' blood.
Diane Eleanor heard the alarm and just pulled her pillow over her head. The thirty year old loathed daytime when she had migraines - at least, she thought it was daytime. She'd been laying in bed for so long, she had no idea what time it was. Her fiance Larry Copzer was quietly reading in bed next to her, his headphones on; being blind, he both read the braille on the pages and listened to audiotapes. It helped, apparently. She pulled on his arm a bit after finding it, and he tugged one of the speakers off his ear.
"Can I have some more of that spiked cocoa you make? It helped last time." Her voice was muffled and he smiled at her, rubbing her shoulder.
"Of course. Captain or Smirnoff?"
"Whichever had the mulled flavor. Was kinda smokey." She whined a bit and buried her head deeper into the bed, though at this point that was rather difficult. "We need thicker curtains. I hate living in the Divide, those stupid alarms are so loud."
"We'll be moving next week, love. We're already packed up, just waiting for the furniture to arrive at the new place and we'll be right as rain."
"I know." She sniffed and peeked out at him; the dim light of the lamp was even too much for her and her eyes watered, but she just squinted to deal with it. They were both vibrant redheads, both tanned, and both enjoyed golf. She still wasn't sure how he played so well and he was also ridiculously good at cards.
Oh, well. She was glad for him; if not for him, she'd have stayed in Vice at the police station, never caring about the next day. Because of him, she'd finally slowed down, relaxed; and she'd requested a move in department as well, after a close call - not on her part but his. He'd been her partner; but a car crash and head injury took away his sight, she wanted to be there in case he needed her and working in Vice was a bad idea if she wanted to stay alive in the long run.
He came back a little bit later with a hot mug of his spiked cocoa, and she sat up to drink it despite her swimming vision. "I love your face."
"I love yours too." He kissed her on her one scarred cheek; a handful of lines marred it, a very narrowly missed shotgun blast from a traffic case a few years before they met. "Get some sleep, alright, Di?"
"Mhm." She settled back against the headboard, hands clasped around the cup and her eyes shut.
I stare at the girl in the mirror: T-shirt, torn up jeans, no beauty queen.
But the way that you see me, you get underneath me, and all my defenses just fall away, fall away.
I am beautiful with you, even in the darkest part of me. I am beautiful with you;
Make it feel the way it's supposed to be!
You're here with me: Just show me this and I'll believe I am beautiful with you!