1 YEAR LATER
A young girl sat in a chair in a completely white room. She was no older than sixteen. Her black hair, so black it was almost blue, was braided over her left shoulder, her stormy grey eyes scanning the room. She wore a white tank top and matching white pants with nothing on her feet.
She watched closely as a man in a lab coat came into the room, rolling a machine in front of him. It had switches and lights, several wires coming out of outlets. The girl's fingers nervously gripped the arms of the chair as her heartbeat sped up.
The scientist positioned the machine beside the girl's chair, not looking at her as he began to set the machine up. A man in a military uniform came in shortly after the scientist, followed by a ginger woman wearing formal clothes.
The woman's short heels clicked on the floor as she strolled inside. She studied the girl in the chair, the girl doing the same to her. The woman felt slightly unsettled by the young girl's dead stare, but her mouth twitched into a smirk. The less the girl knew the better.
Both the woman and military man watched as the scientist strapped the girl's wrists and ankles to the chair. Once she was secure, he placed a cap with a dozen wires connecting it to the machine on the girl's head. Her jaw clenched and her chest heaved as she started to panic.
"Wipe her." The military man spoke, his accent thick and Russian.
The scientist shoved a rubber mouthpiece into the girl's mouth and turned to the machine. He pressed a few buttons, lights turning on above them. The scientist sent a glance to the two people behind him before flipping a red switch on the machine.
Electricity shot through the girl's body, starting from her head and going all the way down to her toes. Muffled cries ripped through her as her back arched off the chair. Her fingers gripped the arms so hard her knuckles turned white.
The veins in her forehead, neck, and arms protruded as she strained against the leather straps trapping her. Her body convulsed so hard that the rubber mouthpiece fell out of her mouth. She screamed-
Macon jumped awake mid-scream, sweat coating her body. It made her hair and clothes stick to her damp, hot skin. Her head was still swimming with the memories of the dream and she felt like her heart was going to beat out of her chest.
Gears turned and the metal plates of her arm shifted into place as she propped herself up on her elbows, still trying to catch her breath. She remembered how heavy it was when they first put her new arm on her. The woman grabbed her phone and looked at the time.
3:57am. She knew she wasn't going to be able to sleep.
Macon stumbled out of bed and to the bathroom, flicking on the light and turning the sink on.
She dipped her hands, metal and flesh, under the faucet and splashed water onto her clammy face. The cold water cooled her burning skin and she sighed in relief.
"You're ok, Macon. You're ok." She whispered to herself as he ran her flesh hand down her face. Macon leaned on the counter and looked at herself in the mirror. Her grey eyes looked empty with dark bags underneath. Her raven black hair was a bushy mane as it fell around her shoulders. It was so long it almost fell past her hips.
Her baggy t-shirt was drenched in sweat, along with her sleep shorts. Macon brushed her hair out of her face and decided to take a shower.
After turning the shower on, she stripped out of the clothes and stepped under the water. She let out at gasp as the cold water sent a chill up her spine. The woman washed her body and hair, careful not to get it caught in her spaces between the metal plates that made up her hand.
She tried to focus on the cold water and not all the past memories poking at the back of her mind. It was best she not think about it. It wouldn't end in anything good if she did.
Macon quickly dried off, dressing in a plain white t-shirt and some boxer shorts. She threw her wet hair up in a towel and trudged to the beat up refrigerator in the corner of her apartment.
It was a basement floor apartment that was closed off due to renovations. She scoped the place out for a few days and realized no one was working on it so, she decided to lay low for a while.
Macon rummaged through her fridge and settled with some bread and jelly. Her breakfast was quiet, consisting of her reading the newspaper she got at the gas station last night after hustling some drunks at pool.
It was about a year after Macon escaped the British Men of Letters after they sent her on a particular mission. To attack two hunters that had gone rogue. The mission failed and Macon managed to get away without anyone going to find her.
The British Men of Letters couldn't eliminate the targets without their main weapon, their test subject One. They looked everywhere and couldn't find her. Kind of a bite to the ass when you train someone their whole life to go unseen and then, they're just gone, right?
They retreated back to England, but never stopped looking. Macon remembered the pair of hunters, but very vaguely. Just a pair of green eyes and shoulder-length, brown hair, but they didn't belong to the same person.
Macon shook her head and straighten out of newspaper. She shouldn't be thinking about that anymore.
Her massive Maine Coone cat, Nikolai, strutted into the apartment through the broken window above the sink and jumped onto the counter. He purred as he rubbed his head against her metal shoulder.
"Nikolay, ya dumal, ty ubezhal." Macon whispered in Russian as she stroked his back. The grey cat's tail swished and he watched her with golden eyes, pupils dilated.
Her cat was one of the only things that made Macon feel human. He was something she could touch without him shying away in disgust. She could truly talk to him, instead of keep all of her feelings inside her head. That never helped.
Macon fed Nikolai some canned cat food and stepped outside to have a cigarette. It was nasty habit, but frankly, she didn't care.
There were a lot more dangerous things coming after her.
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Nikolay, ya dumal, ty ubezhal - Nikolai, I thought you ran off.
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hiya! this is just a little filler chapter so everyone kinda knows what's happened to macon. enjoy!
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GASOLINE | S.W.
Fanfiction"You can't wake up, this is not a dream. You're part of a machine, you are not a human being." Macon Krisnikoff, also known as the Shadow Hunter, is an experiment. Trained since a child to defeat supernatural creatures, she is death on two legs. She...
