Life couldn't get more intresting

Life

Life couldn't get more interesting than this, or so she thought.
Cold, captivating, and cruel, 17 could no longer feel her fingers. Dense air was being blasted into the room of white and glass, like fog.
Doctors with clipboards and pen protectors. They continued to jot down notes, all plain black pen, no mistakes. Mistakes weren't allowed in the company. Mistakes weren't allowed anywhere.
That's why 17 was no mistake, she was perfection. She was Sherlock Holmes and Black widow combined. If the Breen were the strongest aliens in the universe, she was their enemy. If an Orion couldn't be charmed, she would. If Hellboy was a demon, she was Lucifer in the flesh, the Antichrist.
She was unstoppable, except to the humans. Humans with their fancy technology and evil souls. They could defeat, Black widow and The Breen with soldiers hyped up on Fire, Xeno-zip, the Queens spit. Humans could best Holmes with their DNA testers and scopers. Lucifer cowered at the sin of humans, and their want for money overpowered Orions, made their green skin pale in comparison to the lust in their eyes. Humans were the worst creatures, humans. Fahrenheit 451 was the Bible, to the lesser beans, it predicted the truth. Maze runner was her future. Grievers guarding each corner. They pointed their tails at her throat. She was powerless. A shell of a human. They caused her so much pain and yet she still strived to be one, who wouldn't. They created Jedi's and superheros. Pop stars and talking cats. They were epitome of imperfection and yet they did this. 17 passed out. A halo of white cloaked her body as the greedy fog seeped into every pore, freezing her in a cyrotube. And when she awoke Hydra would be waiting against an army of bugs, black bananas, monsters....Xenomorphs.
A sharp prodding blossomed in her arm then her leg and last her face. 17 jumped up, only to be tossed down by the weight of a canon taser. The eyes of Rodman Philbrick sneered down at her, prosthetic blue eyes and black plugs for hair. He was a business man and made sure she knew that each visit. "What the hell do you think you're doing!?"
She didn't answer, she had found out it was a rhetorical questions, ones you should never answer.
"I don't pay for you to sleep!! I pay for you to kill!!" He stood straight and motioned for the young marine to pick up the canon taser that 17 dare not glance at. It was moments like these she wished a Harpy would swoop down and end her. But the Greek Gods had no such ideas. "Get up!!!"
And she did. Standing at attention with eyes straight forward, the image ahead seemed to stare back with pity, her image.
The palm of his hand came down, sending her sprawling. She had found to just go with the blows, they didn't hurt as bad. Like Chana against the Nazis or Mr. Canis against the wolf. They all ended happy and the only thing she had with them was they ended, 17 would welcome her end. To coward to greet Charon herself.
Marines were surrounding them, most having already been on a mission with her, most. One of the Marines ran forward and gripped Mr. Philbricks arm. "Hit her one more time and I'll--"
"You'll what!?" Rodman sneered at the young man, probably just out of college, a butterball. "I payed for it! If you want a go at it, pay your own chips! If not, get out of my fucking way!" He ripped his arm away and tugged at the ends of the slim black suit, taking a breathe and spinning around facing the Jarheads. "Now, gentlemen. There's a nest of buggers near North, I want the hive desecrated and Jelly brought back. Bring 17 with you and bring me what I want! Is that clear!?" He waited for a response, but got none. He was not their commander, Second lieutenant Browne was. "You heard the man! Head out!"
They held back smirks and saluted. "AYE SIR!" Single filed they stomped past 17, who stayed on the floor. A pale thin hand was shoved in her face and if it wasn't for the deep voice she would have thought him a woman. "Let's go." The butterball from before, pity clear in his eyes as it had been in hers. There was always one like him and there always will be. They never help, but she accepted the hand and trotted after the Marines, avoiding Rodman, a man that sold Fire, he certainly lived up to the standards of humans, excelled them.
Outside was no different than the comp building they had emerged from. The pale doors sealed together. Visor protectors were layered on each window and signs of hazard were placed ten feet apart. Warding the people to stay from the center. The colony that surrounded the cold warehouse were people used to the harsh wind and volcanic heat. The people of Delta III.