Photo Finish

Feral

     "So you are going to stagger forward toward the door. It's gloomy, foreshadowing the event you'll be going through. Mind that you don't want to be there either. You're forced to go there because you don't want them to turn your baby sister into a killing machine like they did to you. Okay?"
     I turned to my manager as Matte sprayed the body paint onto my back. I smiled and nodded.  He reciprocated with a small tint to his cheeks.
     "Of course, and by the way, the writing for the movie is amazing. I had no idea you could write like that. You're really talented."
     "Oh, thanks. It got stripped a lot though, and a lot of it was rewritten, but I appreciate the compliment."
     "Done. Just let them dry a touch before starting, then the SFX girl can put on the blood and wound," Matte explained, spinning the chair around.
     I hopped out and pulled the top of my suit up, slipping it over my head. I fixed the crisscross collar and straightened my arm and leg guards. It only took the pigment a minute max to dry on both my hand and back. I followed Julian out to get the special effects makeup applied. I got cut by Falchion in the last scene we shot, so we needed a latex mold of a long laceration on my tattoo and lots of blood. It was quite interesting how she stuck it on. She brushed some white stuff on that dried the prosthetic on clear, then finagled the area to look gruesome.
     "Woah, you'd actually think I'd cut you!" Dae exclaimed in his usual muffled voice from the mask.
     I laughed. "Yeah, right? She's really talented." I looked in the mirror provided to me by the artist and examined my wound. "I didn't know this is how they did it. I didn't think it would look this real."
     "How did you think we did it?" Asked the middle aged woman with tools in her hand.
     "I thought it was all visual effects, like graphics. Like Godzilla or the Transformers."
     "Nope. Some of it is, but only if arms are flying off or the like. And even that has some cosmetics on it. Cool, huh?"
     I looked at the woman, awestruck. "It's so cool!"
     "C'mon, Yao, it's time to start. You remember what you're doing, right?"
     "Mad scientist scene!" I called back to the director.
     "Good job. Please take your place. Everyone, places!" He called.
     "Are you in this scene, Dae? I can't remember," I quickly asked as I walked to my place. 
     "No, I'm in the scene we're doing after this. You attack me again, remember?" He followed me closely with a smirk. "That's when we start falling in love."
     I flushed slightly. "Yes, I remember. Time to go!"

     "Augh!" I exclaimed, leaning against the cold wall of the laboratory.
     I looked up at the sign "IncredInk," disgusted. I didn't want to be there. My wings were disabled and I was virtually powerless. I couldn't fight back if I wanted to. I had no choice but to go back there. It made me sick.
     I took a step toward the vault like door before it opened for me. I staggered forward, falling into the arms of two men in white lab coats. The air was tense. I knew where I was going. They dragged me forward and into another room. In the center was an operating table, straps to hold me down at every corner. They hoisted me onto the edge, then threw a paper gown at me.

     "Good job! Change really quick and come back." The director called cut.
     I quickly changed and went back on set.
     "Move to the right a little bit and wobble back in. Reach your arm around like your trying to hold your back. Good. Action!"

     The camera panned over so I was in frame, subtly wobbling from side to side. The ties holding the gown together in the back rubbed my wound painfully. I fell into the table and climbed up onto it. The pain in my upper back was almost unbearable.
     The door across from me burst open. In the doorway was a thin woman, all skin and bone. Her face was long and attenuated. Her eyes were small and accentuated with bright, green eyeshadow and thick mascara. Her lips were pursed and beet red, as well as her hair that was parted in the middle and emerged like a fountain from her scalp into thick curls. Her dark eyes centered on me and her straight lips curled into a tight sneer. She lunged at me dangerously.
     "What have you done to my masterpiece?" She cried in a low, gravelly voice. She circled around behind me, then stopped. She gasped and placed her hands delicately on the flesh outside my tattoo. I could feel her long sharp nails digging into my skin. I tried to shimmy from her grip, but she tightened her claws into me.
     "It's Falchion. I couldn't beat him."
     "Then we'll have to fix you up. You'll defeat him next time, or else."
     "But I don't want to—"
     "Excuse me?" The woman asked, grabbing under my chin and tilting my head back. My eyes stared into hers. "You're scared. That will be your demise. You cannot fear, or else you will die. And you don't want that, do you?"
     "It's better than this Hell."
     "Dear, if there really is a Hell, you'd be stuck there regardless." She creeped around the table and stopped in front of me. "So it really doesn't matter whether you work for me or die. I'd just have to find a replacement. Your little sister showed promising results when we put her in a life threatening condition. She's a quick thinker. A perfect candidate."
     "Don't you touch her!" I screamed, leaping from the counter.
     I grabbed the front of her lab coat and switched places with her. I had her pinned against the metal table, my forearm wedged dangerously under her chin. She forced out a haggard cackle. I stared the tall woman down with bared fangs. She ceased her sniggering and smirked.
     "Don't get too worked up now, dear. We wouldn't want you going wild."
     "You wouldn't dare."
     "You're right, not yet. But, I could do it to your sister." She held up a walkie talkie from her belt. I gasped as she pressed the speak button. "Dr. Fredrick?"
     "Yes Dr. Rita?" A man asked over the device.
     "Fine!" I exclaimed, backing away hastily.
     Doctor Rita staggered a bit, dropping the walkie talkie onto the surface of the table and clutching her throat.
     "Now that's more like it."