Running • Iggy

Trapped

The 'training' was more like torture. It started simple, actual training - teaching me how to shoot a gun. Teaching me how to shoot a moving target. They taught me how to throw knives. Taught me how to break someone's arm. Then, someone's neck... on an alive target. Then how to shoot a live target... a hysterical little girl who kept running back and forward, sobbing for her mother. When I refused, I was strapped to a metal chair and they tore out my hair in fistfuls and pulled some of my fingernails off. Then, that sort of pain was daily. Torture experiment after torture experiment. They forced me to put down failed experiments in my free time. Forced me to guard the young experiments still growing in the lab.

It was beginning to get harder and harder to stay sane. I would stare into nothingness at night, blood still coated under the fingernails that were growing back or already grown. My hair was growing back too - faster than I thought possible. It was already long enough to be shaved into a pixie cut, and it had only been a month.

Jeb would visit often. Talk to me like nothing had ever happened - ask me about the flock like I would answer. I would turn my back to him and ignore him until he went away. I hadn't spoken since the day I made the deal, I found no need to.

Honestly, I began to lose track of time after the second month passed. Then the third, fourth, fifth, sixth... Before I knew it, two years had passed in that god-forsaken place. The scars indented in my skin were ugly, almost uglier than the stripes covering my body. The blood packed under my fingernails turned them dark. I was trusted more now, at least. They effectively found a way to destroy my will to fight. I would occasionally watch the outside world from the one window the building had.

"1230." A scientist walked up to me, nodding when I turned to face him. "We've got an extermination job in 11C. Do you mind?" His voice was so trusting. Of course he trusted me - I was one of their guards. Duh.

I walked down the hall and turned to the left, making my way to 11C. I could hear talking from an observation room - 9C.
"She's coming along nicely. The serum is making months feel like years."
"So, 2 years?"
"Almost 3."
"Wow. That's why they're so trusting of her, huh?"

I continued walking. That serum sounded interesting. I knew of the serums they had been working on. I stepped into the room of 11C, where a single child struggled against chains, tears in his eyes. He was maybe 11 years old. I traveled across the room, lifting a gun absently.

Months feel like years, huh? I found myself thinking as I emptied the chamber and grabbed some new bullets. I preferred to set up my guns myself. I began loading the bullets as I wondered how that would feel. Being here for almost 3 years myself was hard. What if someone had been here for a year, would they feel like they'd been there for 12 years? Did the serum speed up aging too, or just time?

I twisted wrong and let out a grunt as the healing wound in my stomach from 3 years ago ached. I put the chamber back into place and tested a shot against a dummy. The kid let out a scream, his white wings wrapping around him in fear. They reminded me of...

Wait, what was I thinking about?

I stepped over to the kid, kicking his side. He let out a yelp as he fell over, before sobbing louder. I wished he would stop. I barely got to sleep most nights, so I had a headache. Actually, I'd gone the past few months without a blink of sleep.

As I aimed the gun at his head, the kid's grey eyes widened with horror. His brown hair was shaggy, covered in dried blood and dirt. I wonder if this kid got Punishments too.

Wait... What are Punishments?

I clicked the safety off, letting out a breath as I braced myself for my gun wound to start hurting...