Experiment of Fate ~ A Bellamy Blake story

Subject 0

"Let me out, please!" Isla Griffin's voice splintered as it echoed off the cold metal walls, her fists striking the unforgiving door with desperate fury. Her raw throat burned with every scream, but she couldn't stop. "I'm not who you think I am! Please!" Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks, blurring her vision as she slid to the floor, her body shaking with ragged sobs.

Through the tiny, grime-smeared window in the door, the silhouettes of figures in hazmat suits loomed, their faces obscured behind reflective glass. They were motionless, impassive, like statues. They wouldn't even acknowledge her. Her voice cracked again as she choked out another plea, quieter this time, almost a whisper. "Please... I'm not her..."

She wasn't supposed to be here. This was all wrong. Clarke—her twin sister—was the brave one, the clever one. Clarke had always been the one to stand out, to take risks, while Isla was content to trail behind in her shadow, unnoticed and safe. But now, here she was, locked away in a sterile room with cold walls that seemed to press in on her, suffocating.

Hugging her knees to her chest, Isla rocked herself in the corner, her tears soaking into the threadbare fabric of her pants. Thirteen years old. She was only thirteen. The floor beneath her was icy, her thin body trembling not just from the cold but from exhaustion, hunger, and despair. How long had she been here? Days? Weeks? Time had blurred into a shapeless haze. All she knew was the unrelenting silence broken only by her own cries.

The metallic groan of the door wrenching open made her flinch violently. A tall, broad-shouldered guard stepped in first, his face set in a hard scowl. Behind him, a man in a pristine white coat entered, his calm demeanor a chilling contrast to the fear that radiated from Isla.

"What do you want with me?" she stammered, her voice trembling as she shrank further into the corner. Her eyes darted between the guard and the doctor, searching for any sign of humanity, of compassion.

The doctor crouched slightly, his movements deliberate as he offered her a smile that felt more like a predator baring its teeth. "Oh, sweetie," he said softly, the saccharine tone making her stomach churn, "you have no idea how special you are. You're the key to everything."

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Isla's heart pounded so hard she thought it might burst. Special? What did that even mean? She wasn't special. She was just Isla. A kid. A nobody. Her mind raced, but she didn't have time to protest before the guard grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet. She stumbled, her legs weak from days of malnutrition and confinement, but they didn't slow down, dragging her down stark, fluorescent-lit hallways into the unknown.

The new room was larger but no less sterile, its walls lined with cabinets filled with instruments that gleamed ominously under the harsh lights. Isla's eyes widened as she was forced into a chair and strapped down. The cold bite of metal cuffs against her wrists and ankles sent a jolt of panic through her.

"No, no, please!" she cried, struggling against the restraints, but the guard's grip was unyielding. The doctor moved with practiced efficiency, prepping a syringe with a thick, dark liquid that made her stomach turn.

"This will only hurt for a moment," he said without looking at her, his tone almost dismissive.

The sharp sting of the needle pierced her arm, and Isla screamed, the sound raw and primal. Pain erupted through her body, and she convulsed against the restraints, her cries echoing off the walls.

That was the first transfusion.

The days bled into weeks, the weeks into months, and eventually, years. Isla lost count. She became accustomed to the sharp prick of needles, the hollow ache of her body as blood and marrow were drained from her daily. Her once vibrant skin grew pale and translucent, her limbs thin and fragile like glass. The bruises that mottled her arms and legs never had time to heal before new ones appeared.