The Mimic

169

Y/n watched as the pair walked away down the dim hallway. Young y/n's bloody footprints left a perfect trail, a perfect guide to where they were going, but y/n didn't need them. As much as she hated it, she knew the facility like the back of her hand. She knew every twist and turn, every room and cell.

However, just before the pair disappeared around the corner, the little girl glanced back in y/n's direction (so did the man in the suit, but she was far too fixated on the younger version of herself). Even from so far away, y/n could tell that she was looking at her, and it just made the anger inside of her bubble up even more. Big watery eyes and a heart that was supposed to be pure. She was oblivious. A young child manipulated by him. Forced to trust the man that murdered her parents. It was sick.

She wanted to put a stop to it. She wanted to put a stop to all of it. She didn't care about Bruce's rules anymore. That poor child had centuries of torture ahead of her. Centuries. All because of that stupid man.

She was going to kill him. She was going to kill him in cold blood. He deserved it.

*****

"You have a big day tomorrow, so make sure that you're up and dressed as soon as your light turns on, okay?" The man in the suit grinned, leaning in the doorway of y/n's room. It was a perfect little room, nothing like the disgusting cells in the rest of the facility. It was a complete imitation of a child's room, except for the fact that there were no toys. The man in the suit didn't want any distractions, and toys were known to bring emotional attachment. "Goodnight, princess." He cooed, switching off the light before he stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

As soon as that door slammed shut, his smile dropped. It was all an act. All a façade that y/n used to believe. He acted like a person that had just finished an eight-hour-day in customer service, but he hadn't. He'd spent his day manipulating a child into murdering people. He'd spent his day instructing his guards to torture and kill people. He'd spent his day giving a child enough nightmares to last a lifetime. He didn't deserve any sympathy. Especially when he never even got his hands dirty.

He hummed quietly to himself as he begun to stroll away from y/n's room, but he didn't walk very far. He only walked into the room next door. You see, y/n needed constant monitoring, and the man in the suit didn't trust anyone except him to do so. Even as a child, she was strong, and that was made pretty obvious by the way she had killed four people with nothing but a small dagger and her bare hands. She was his little princess, his perfect weapon, and he wanted to keep it that way.

The room that he had entered was small, far smaller and dirtier than anyone could have expected for such a sophisticated man. It was a complete mess. There was a large desk pressed up against the wall, and it was almost impossible to see the actual wood of it. Papers, files, photos, and coffee stains littered the surface, all focusing on y/n. A large, two-way mirror was on the wall above the desk, looking directly into y/n's room. The rickety chair beside  was small and worn, definitely seeming to be pretty uncomfortable. A small, old bed had been set up on the opposite side of the room to the desk. It didn't even have a mattress cover, just a few thin blankets. Several versions of his suit lined the small closet, and the bathroom attached to the side of the room just seemed to be even more disgusting than the facility itself.

It was all an act.

He wasn't sophisticated. He wasn't rich. He was a disgusting, power-hungry man. He craved control, so he decided to prey on a defenseless child.

The man in the suit let out a tired sigh as he locked the door behind him, slipping the key into his pocket. He strolled toward his desk, carefully pulling his gloves off to reveal clean hands. There wasn't a callous in sight, neither were there any dirt or cuts. Pure privilege. He'd never had to work a day in his life. He folded the gloves in a methodical way, setting them in one of the many drawers in his desk. His eyes stayed fixed on the two-way mirror the whole time, just able to see the silhouette of young y/n in her bed.

She had her socks on her hands, pretending that they were puppets as she quietly talked to herself. Her voice changed with each character, more high-pitched for one of them, and a deeper tone for the other. It was bittersweet. She still had her childhood innocence.

The man in the suit smiled fondly at how innocent young y/n was. She was completely oblivious to everything. She had only been in the facility for two years, and she trusted him completely. It was amazing. Of course as she grew up he'd have to crack down a lot more on discipline, but for now he knew that the best course of action was to lie. She didn't need to know that she had just murdered four people. It was better for her to simply know them as monsters.

He rested his hands on the back of the rickety chair as he watched y/n, hunching over slightly. His head tilted to the side, trying to listen in on what she was mumbling about, but she was far too quiet for him to hear. However, before the man in the suit could move another inch, he felt something cold on the back of his head.

A gun.

His breath hitched ever so slightly, letting go of the chair as the stood up straighter. A normal reaction would be to scan around for the best weapon to use - hell, as the leader of the whole facility it was expected for him to have a weapon in the room, but he didn't. He didn't try and retaliate, he didn't do anything. A small, sick smile begun to appear on his face, followed by a condescending laugh.

He knew who it was. Of course he did. He saw that guard in the hallway. The one frozen in place, staring at them with a dumbstruck look in their eyes. He wasn't stupid. He knew everything about that little girl playing with her sock puppets. He knew every little mannerism, from the way she stood to the way her head tilted to the side. She hadn't changed.

"Hello, princess."