Tails of Change [Revamping!]

31) Cube 28

[Author's Note:

X-Men Characters in this Chapter:

OC Characters in this Chapter: _____("Girl"), "The Man From the Dark Room", Dr. Gabriella Keys, Random NAMUH Solicitor, NUMAH Man 1, NUMAH Man 2, NUMAH Nurse Woman

(You'll find out names later =P)

*Italicized words are either German words or English words with a more Germanic spelling. Any words that are dissimilar to the English version (or a bit out of context) will have a translation appearing here:

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{11.8.2020} Revamped! New material!]

Miles away at an anti-mutant research facility, two men chain a girl to a concrete slab. The room, as always, is pitch black, except for the dull glow of a single, exposed bulb hanging two feet above her by its power cord.

While Sorin and Kurt had been celebrating their graduation, the girl unknowingly missed out on a graduation of her own. Unaware of the year, let alone the month or the day, she remained ignorant of the events of the world outside the walls she was kept. If she had had the opportunity, she would have graduated, for she'd always been a straight-A student, but the truth is she hasn't been to school in years. Not since the night the National Anti-Mutant Unified Hypaspists, or NAMUH, picked her up. They believed "mutant" was a disease and that they were the shield of humanity. NAMUH's "mission statement" to the public was that they did scientific testing in order to find a cure for "mutant-ism". She'd heard a lot of their ridiculous ramblings and terminology since she'd arrived. Regardless of their mission statement, she knew most of them simply hated mutants, and that their public face was only a facade. What they really did was kidnap any mutant they were able to and experiment on them. Sure, some of those experiments were scientifically based, they took regular blood and urine samples from her, but some were torture.

She knows she's been in NAMUH's possession for years, exactly how many she's unsure. She had tried to count the days at first with the pattern of her waking and sleeping, for she had no window, no shard of sunlight to measure a day with, but after her first visit to what she came to call The Dark Room, time became a stranger to her. There was only wake and sleep. Sometimes it felt like she slept for days, sometimes only minutes, and always she woke to the artificial lighting in the anti-mutant cube they kept her in, or to The Dark Room.

The anti-mutant cube was on three sides a transparent material. Not glass, or at least a special thick glass. She'd tried to break it, which had only resulted in an injured fist and throbbing foot. The top, back, and bottom of the anti-mutant cube, was a strong, black substance. Every mutant at NUMAH's research facility lived in a Cube. Hers had the number twenty-eight in bold, black letters painted onto the front panel.

She is naked, always. The mutants that live in the Cubes are not permitted clothing. Only the mutants in the special, hospital-brand, testing rooms are allowed clothes, as these are the rooms the public gets to see to uphold NUMAH's facade. The only item she wears is a metal collar, locked around her neck and geared with technology to suppress her mutant powers. She hasn't been able to use her powers in so long, sometimes she forgets she even has them. But her mutation is more than the powers that are suppressed. Upon her head sit two small horns, and protruding from her spine is a long, tough-skinned, shimmering black tail, with a spaded tip. When her manifestation occurred, she'd been in a lot of pain: physically, mentally. She only vaguely remembered those feelings now. Back then, everyone in her life had turned from her. Her family called her a devil, a product of sin, and cast her out. Not one of them had accepted her mutation. Without family, she turned to her friends for a place to stay, but there too she was abandoned. Some of her friends had parents who reacted much the same as her own had, and even if her friends had disagreed with them, she could not stay. Some of her friends were visibly afraid of her and slammed the door in her face. She'd stayed with a friend for a few days, covering her horns with a hat, and carefully wrapping her tail around her waist, which she hid with a baggy sweater, until the friend's parents had received a phone call from another parent who had turned her away. Shortly after, her then-friend had ripped the hat off her head and berated her for lying. She'd been expelled from the house immediately, her measly bag full of a couple changes of clothes and a few mementos tossed onto the porch next to her. Again, a door slammed in her face.

After all her bridges had burned, she loitered around public spaces where she could. Anywhere it was free to be. Parks and fields. Social lounges, libraries, churches, when she needed a roof over her head. She slept during the afternoon hours, because it was safer to find a comfy chair in the library and pretend she'd fallen asleep reading than it was to crash at a homeless shelter. She went into homeless shelters and soup kitchens in order to get free meals and take showers. She was doing okay, she'd thought, but she had no idea where to go from there. Any aspirations of going to college, getting a degree and a job flew right out the window when she'd mutated.

So when a man from the NUMAH research facility set up a stand outside the homeless shelter and rattled on about NUMAH's mission to reverse mutations, to make a cure and a vaccine, to prevent people from suffering from the "disease of mutation", when he gave a spiel about needed volunteers, needed mutants, of course she signed up. Two days later, she met with a woman, who introduced herself as Dr. Gabriella Keys, walked her though the mission statement again, and explained what they were looking for in the blood and genes. She thought nothing of the injection that Dr. Keys gave her.

When she woke, she woke in Cube 28. Her clothes and belongings had been taken from her, and an anti-mutant collar had been fastened around her neck. Slowly, over what she assumed was several days or weeks of time, she came to the realization that Cube 28 was a dead-end street for her life. She would never leave Cube 28, never see the outside world ever again. No one would be looking for her. No one cared. She wasn't even sure there was anyone who knew she was still alive or gave her a second thought. She'd moved on from the people in her past. She meant nothing to them and they meant nothing to her anymore, but every once in a while, she thought, maybe one person would've been nice. One person to notice she was missing. Once person to care enough to look for her. Unfortunately, there was no one. There was only Cube 28. This was it for her.

After her first trip to The Dark Room, she'd wished Cube 28 was it for her.

The man waiting for her then, and now, is dark, in appearance and in temperament. His hair is black, maybe a deep brown - the lighting makes it difficult to discern. His skin is tanned. At moments when he moves, his shirt, always black like the rest of his ensemble, shifts. And she can see a distinct line between shades of skin tone just above the waist of his pants.

Today, whatever day it is, he is looking at her with hatred, which she feels is a default setting for him. His hand grips her neck, the sleeve at his wrist tickles her and makes her want to gag all the same.

He doesn't speak. He doesn't need to. He's not after information, and he has no need to relay any to her. She is here for him to use as he pleases.

Sure, he used to say things like "You belong to me now. You will obey me. I own you." Etcetera Etcetera. But she's been here long enough that that has faded. She knows what he's going to do, the fun in the reaction is all gone for him. He knows she isn't going anywhere, can't break free of her restraints. So there's no need for words.

He pushes her chin higher with the crux of his hand and moves his face so close to hers she is unable to look at anything but his eyes. She knows not to close her eyes; that makes him angry and makes him hurt her more. So she holds his gaze.

She can hear the sound of his zipper. Today will be a quick day then. A moment later he thrusts roughly inside of her. After he sees her reaction to this, he lets go of her face and she is able to stare off into the darkness, doing her best to mentally take herself away from him and this place.

When he is finally done with her, when her body hurts inside and out, when she can no longer keep her eyes open from the swirling mixture of pain, violation, and exhaustion, he leaves. Two men and a woman come in. Same as before. Same as always. The woman injects her with the substance that makes her complacent. Then the men unchain her and trudge her off to the shower room, where they watch as she washes The Man From The Dark Room off of herself. When she is clean as she can get and dried off, the men march her back to her Cube and she collapses on the thin mat, rests her head on the old pillow, and pulls the scratchy blanket over her, grateful for the only things she can be grateful for.

At least she has some sort of sleeping place.

At least she gets to shower.

At least she gets food.

At least he didn't hit her today.