"Get up", the Mogadorian guard commands, forcefully gesturing for me to move towards the cell door to begin more 'tests'.
"Six years and I've still yet to receive any sort of hospitality. Perhaps we can start with a 'please'?", I say, slouching farther down the wall at the back of my cell.
"I won't ask again.", the guard says angrily, reaching for the blaster strapped to his side.
"Very well.", I say, standing up in mock defeat. "Since you begged so nicely, I guess I must comply."
I walk down the hallway leading to the experiment labs, a path I've followed numerous times during my time at the Mogadorian hideout. I reach the door, that automatically slides upwards into the ceiling as I approach. I lean against the doorframe, waiting for my 'caretaker' to allow me entrance.
"Enter.", the Doctor orders. I don't.
"Take a seat, Sentrakh.", he says, pointing to the examination chair in the center of the room.
Before he realizes it, I step away from the doorframe, lunging at him using my speed Legacy, grabbing him by his throat and pinning him against the wall.
"Don't you dare call me by that name, you sick son-of-a~", I hiss into his face. What I didn't notice however, was the Mogadorian taser the Doctor had pulled from within his lab coat, slamming it into my chest. I step back, slightly jolted. The perks of being partially made of metal, I guess. Otherwise I would be convulsing on the floor, probably going into cardiac arrest.
"Take a seat.", the Doctor orders again, with barely controlled anger seeping from his voice. I scowl at him, but knowing that there's no use fighting it, I sit down. Years of a constant routine of examinations and tests tends to take the fight out of people.
The Doctor throws me the shock collar, the only 'accessory' I've come in contact with since being captured. It allows him to not only control my actions and my body, but lets him see through my eyes, although that's hardly helpful, considering who I am and all. A Mog guard walks in throws my head back against the headrest of the chair and fastens the collar to my neck.
What was I saying? Ah, yes. My eyes. I'm blind as a bat. My species, what translates to "Shadow-walkers" in English, lived on the planet Pharlahar, a barren wasteland of a planet on the surface. It's atmosphere had died long before the planet was able to fully sustain life, causing all plant and animal life to burn to a crisp due to the planet's proximity to the sun. My people lived underground, in dark tunnels known as the Hive. Well, at least until the Mogadorians showed up, killed the vast majority of my people, and left the rest to die in a nuclear explosion when they blew up the planet's core. I was evacuated on one of the only ships left standing after the first Mog invasion. The ship was sent to Lorien, an ally. At least, until I was evacuated from Lorien along with the rest of the Garde. I wasn't born with Legacies, but when I arrived on Lorien, I immediately began to develop them. The planet had gifted me with the power to avenge my people. When the Mogs showed up at Lorien, I was sent along with the other ten Garde to Earth. I, however, had no Cêpan, no inheritance other than the one remaining relic from Pharlahar, the Soul Reaver, a sword used by one of the planet's greatest leaders. When we arrived on Earth and the Garde went separate ways, I immediately began searching for the darkest recesses of the Earth. I found that the catacombs below Paris, France would do nicely. I lived there for about three weeks before the Mogadorians found me during one of their city sweeps. And that's how I ended up here, sitting across from a fake Doctor who probably wanted to stick a taser up my ass.
"Your vitals were very interesting during our last experiment, Eleven." the Doctor began, grabbing me back into the present. "Your stamina lasted for considerably longer than they should have. I found that this is due to the nourishment and muscle stimulants that your arm supplies to the rest of your body."
Right, my arm. Almost forgot. In order to separate the strong from the weak on Pharlahar, all of our youth would partake in a rite of passage to inherit the strength of the Hive. When a Shadow-walker turned ten years old, we would be thrown out to the surface to search for anything of value that the planet's surface could offer. We would not be allowed to return home until we brought something of value with us. During my rite, my arm was ripped off by a Krag, a lion with the legs, tail and claws of a scorpion and the wings of a falcon. Extremely hostile beasts native to Pharlahar's surface. When I returned to the Hive with my loot, a cracked stone helmet relic of a war raged on Pharlahar long ago, I was given sedatives and antibiotics galore to deal with the infection that had spread throughout my body and I was given metal transplants to cover half my abdomen and replace my missing arm. The metal was infused with Krystallava, a malleable liquid with mysterious properties to restore energy to anyone it touched. It also had self-restoration properties, giving Pharlahar an unlimited supply.
"Eleven!", the Doctor screamed in my ear, shaking me back to reality once again. "We have to have you prepared for transport into the front lines as soon as the invasion begins, so we must hurry here. Stop getting sidetracked."
"I'll do what I want, thanks Doc.", I spat at him. An then what he said finally hit home. "What invasion?", I asked.
"Our Beloved Leader, Setrakus Ra, is prepared to initiate the fleet that will wrest control of this wretched planet to the hands of Mogadorian Progress. And you, Sentrakh,", he says, drawing out my name, making me cringe, "will be out Harbinger.".
"Like hell I will.", I snicker at the Doctor.
"Your compliance is greatly appreciated.", the Doctor laughs. And that's when I black out.
