Fourteen
Cy Densham
She opened her eyes and looked from the jumpsuit down her arm to the soft skin at her wrist and the ink pushed under the surface there.

C7E0014

She didn't know what the shapes meant, but they felt like home.

A sharp tug on the chains dragged her through the door, her red hair thrown into her face.

She knew this was the end - even if the clang of machinery and misery of cold laughter woven together hadn't destroyed all hope, she knew at her core that fate's plans for her ended here. Despite this her head was high and her chest proud -- she would face this with honour and dignity.

She stood and stared at the distant figures in front of her as the chains slackened around her waist. One looked at her briefly, paused, and continued working, head hung. The other didn't seem to notice her.

Stillness; Silence.
She steadied her defiant stance, biting down on her own teeth.

A loud, abrasive noise and red light did not prepare her for the agonising pain as hot metal tore through the flesh of her thigh. She stumbled, regained her footing, took a sharp breath in and stood her ground in time for her shoulder to be ripped back as she was hit again.

The onslaught lasted one minute and twenty seven seconds. Her tattered body, without the structural strength to hold her weight, collapsed inwards, her soon lifeless head cracking on the concrete floor, dying eyes transfixed on the figures ahead.

"Hmm. Still standing after half a minute? Poor. Maybe it is worth using the larger calibre."

The chains dragged the shredded corpse along a crimson red trail, into the pit.

"Next."

"…Why do they never run?"

"It's how they are, can't have them moving about during the tests."

The doors opened and a red haired girl in a perfectly fitting jumpsuit stepped, wincing slightly, into the light. She studied the ink on her wrist as the fluorescent display above the door flicked over:

C7E0015

back
These works are available under a Creative Commons licence.
Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share-Alike