EXPERIMENT
-
GENRE
ANGST
-
WARNINGS
DEPICTIONS OF ABUSE AND GUNS
-
RELATIONSHIP
NONE
~★~
107 sat in her cell, knees to her chest. She felt weak. Well, weaker than usual. The scientists liked to keep her weakened on Kryptonite so she couldn't fight back.
Dr. Blackwell-- Herman, not Maryann-- walked into the cell, holding a clipboard.
"Hello, 107," he said with a smile. He looked like a wolf convincing a sheep it was harmless. 107 shivered. "How are you feeling?"
107 looked up, making eye contact as she was taught. "Good, sir," she said hoarsely.
The man nodded. "Good, good. Now, can you come with me? We have some new tests to run." He held out his hand, which the little girl took.
The pair walked to a soundproof room, where the experiments happened. 107 was used to it by now. The poking, the prodding, the testing to see what hurt and what didn't. Sometimes, if she was really good, Dr. Blackwell gave her a lollipop.
"Sit down right there," Dr. Blackwell commanded, pointing to a chair. 107 obliged. "Now, don't move, no matter what. Okay? Don't move."
One of his assistants walked in. "Are you sure about this, sir? What if this goes wrong?" He held something in his hands, something 107 didn't recognize.
Dr. Blackwell waved a dismissive hand. "It won't matter. 112 is a week old, now, and healthy. We can afford to lose this one."
107 cocked her head. What were the men talking about? 112? 'Lose this one'?
Suddenly, a hand was in her hair, moving her head back straight. "What did I say, 107?" Dr. Blackwell asked coldly.
"Don't move," she whispered, closing her eyes. Ignore the pain, ignore the pain, ignore-
He let her go. "Good girl. Now, stay still. I'm going to leave now." With that, he left the room.
His assistant fidgeted nervously. "I'm sorry about this, kid," he said, pointing the object he held at her. He pulled a trigger on it, and something came flying from the barrel, hitting 107 square in the chest.
It bounced away harmlessly.
"What-" 107 began, only to be cut off by another shot as the assistant stepped closer. She would later learn that she was shot with a gun. She was invulnerable, unless Kryptonite was involved.
Again, the bullet bounced away. The assistant took another step and fired.
This happened over and over. The bullets left no marks, save for bruises on her chest and shoulders where they hit.
Finally, the assistant was right on her, the barrel of the gun to her head. The metal was cold on her skin. She wanted to shiver, but remembered Dr. Blackwell's warning. She sat still.
"I'm sorry," the assistant said again, before pulling the trigger one last time.
~★~
DJ looked in her mirror, touching a spot on her forehead. She didn't scar easily. Kryptonian genes. But, from all her years in the lab, she ended up with a few scars.
One of which was from the gun test, as she called it. A near perfect circle.
She hated it.
She hated all reminders of her old life. The scars, the tattoo, even her hair. That's why she dyed it blonde. That's why she always wore sleeves. That's why...
"Lois?" DJ called out. "Do you have any foundation? I'm out!"
