𝐻𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝑒 𝑔𝑜.
The second I stepped into the cafeteria all eyes snapped to me like spotlights. Eyes like cameras stationed at corners of the room swivelled to catch the tiniest of movements. The horrible flashing lights of attention swung into view as silence stretched across the space, the echo of the noise that once was now just a distant memory. I found myself surrounded by a deep rooted feeling of fearful awe, painted on the faces of all that could behold me in my glory. Frozen in a parallel of time, they waited with baited breath for me to acknowledge their existences as I took in their reverence with sharp eyes. 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓀𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒾𝒻 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂 𝓉𝑜 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝒾𝓉. I smirked and with the slightest decline of my head, the ruckus resumed.
The rumours of my brutality, stories of my rage, and tales of the terror I could inflict were all part of the reasons why I was regarded as royalty. Held in the highest esteem, being given whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, just to ensure they didn't incur my wrath was fun for the first few years. But as I grew older, it became more and more of a burden. The loneliness was a demon I couldn't escape in a place like this.
Resisting the urge to sigh, I walked up to a white, rectangular box shaped machine and scanned the tattooed code on my wrist. My face, name and maker all appeared on the screen before me as it dispensed my meal: rare steak, boiled peas, grilled potatoes, gravy and a tall cup of apple juice. Looking myself in the eye, I smirked. 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓃'𝓉 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉.
Swiftly picking up the tray, I walked over to my seat at the table in the center of the room. My table. No one ever sat here for fear of me. I'd know if they did. The room was completely white: tiled floors, stone ceiling, line lights, tables and benches aligned in perfect order. The type of clean and organised that makes you want to scream. Home sweet home.
In this 'home', there were about a hundred other Prototypes at any given moment, each one assigned to a bunch of scientists tasked with the creation of another survivor. Another me. Baring that objective in mind, it's easy enough for our relationship to fall into a category of jealousy as they are constantly compared to the make and model of me, Subject Xero, regardless of the subject number they are. I am the mould that would pave the way to their survival. My value was immeasurable in comparison with theirs so I didn't even bother to make friends. How could I? The way I excelled in my academics, my strength, my power: they knew I was the queen of these parts. Unfortunately this monarch has no friends. Attachment brings nothing but pain.
If I'm being completely honest, most of them tiptoed the line between adoration and loathing, with some caught in the clutches of lust, none of which a healthy friendship was compatible with. So, as hard as it is, I'd rather live in solitude than hang with people that only wish to take my place, leaving me down in Zone 23, waiting to be discarded. It didn't help that the faces kept changing either. No one lasts longer than six years, they tend to scrape four. Five if they're lucky. 𝘖𝘳 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺. Their deaths are slow and painful, like machines grinding to a halt, their organs fail them, until their skins turn to sand and their blood to ash. Only for the cycle to start again on another test subject.
𝒯𝑜𝑜 𝒷𝒶𝒹. 𝐼𝒻 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉. 𝒢𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎'𝓇𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒶𝓈 𝓈𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓁𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝑜𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓅𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝑒.
Sighing softly, I focussed my thoughts back to my meal and tucked in, savouring the flavours of the red meat on my tongue. The smell alone had eyes wandering wistfully to my plate, as I tore into it like an animal. 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉'𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎'𝓇𝑒 𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔? A sludgy brown paste slopping in a bowl met my keen eyes as they finally strayed to my surroundings. I almost snorted at the ghastly sight. 𝐿𝑜𝑜𝓀𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁𝓎.
As I felt a gaze become more piercing, I gripped my fork tightly. Someone's eyes felt like spiders crawling down my back; the hair on the back of my neck going rigid in response. My knuckles turned white around the metal utensil as it quickly gave in to the pressure of my fingers. 𝐼𝒻 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝒶𝓎, 𝓌𝒽𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓃'𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝒻𝒶𝒸��? I could hear her voice from a mile away, sharpening my senses to a razor tip. Past curiosity and into envy's territory her inquisition travelled, into unknown lands that should be left alone.
A cough.
A mutter.
A giggle.
Rage.
I slammed my fist down onto the table, the dented ceramic cutting into my soft tissue. The sound ripped a hole in the noise, a gasp, and silence falling like clouds across the sun ensued. Eyes swung in my direction once again but this time, trepidation held the place of reverence. Rising violently from my bench, I stormed over to the voice with a face of stone, my temper a tempest.
Rage.
My veins angrily strained against my skin as my blood ran a cold mercury, the silver slipping into my eyes as I closed in on my target. As I loomed over her back, I watched her friends' faces turn a pale frost. I have a nasty habit of bringing the weather with me, but in that exact moment in time, I was thankful for it. 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝒶���𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓎 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝒻𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓇𝒾𝒶. 𝒞𝒶𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓈. 𝒱𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃, 𝒥𝑒𝓏𝑒𝒷𝑒𝓁. 𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔𝒶𝓁𝑒. The shroud of shadows that I wore like a cape, settled over their table. The culprit slowly turning to face me.
Rage.
"Got something to say to me?" I slithered, carefully calculating my next move. The low hum of my voice curled seductively around the words, the threat hung like a guillotine in the silence. Tightening the leash on my liquid power, I struggled to stay in control.
Fear, painted on her face in red velvet, filled the air with the sweetness of cake for the split second she let it take over. Steeling her gaze, she squared her shoulders and straightened her back. A posture that spelled trouble for her in the near future - challenge.
"Sorry, do I know you?" Her voice was as smooth as a frozen lake's surface, but I could see the cracks along the edges. The indifference in her gaze was one I hadn't seen in a while, the perfect blend of arrogance and innocence that made my blood boil. Staring me down with a provocation I couldn't resist, I loosened the rope.
"You will." I smirked, licking my elongating fangs as a malevolent laugh bubbled up my throat. Darkness closed in on my expression when the girl's face morphed into one of boredom. Rattling a caged beast within my chest, I took in her every move as she sighed.
"Well, until then..." She trailed off, turning back around to face her friends, who had turned an even paler shade of snow. Flicking her braided white hair over her shoulder, she leaned her head against her elbow, propping herself up on the table as she took in the eyes around her. A caricature of innocence, under which a blatant disregard for authority and dismissal of power was drawn to my attention. Turning her back to me, like I was nothing but a child, was more than just disrespectful. It was treason. Everyone knows the rules.
Rage.
The red haze bubbled and burned like a pot of boiling water, scolding my hands as it spilled over the top. With a snap the rope had torn in two, a rabid, wild dog locked in on its target. I licked my lips at the blood lust rushing through my veins as my eyes flickered between states, juggling the urges and the voices, teetering between murder and maim.
"Cute. Let's try this again, shall we?"
Grabbing a fistful of her hair, I slammed her face, full force, into the ceramic. Blood spurted like a broken fire hydrant as I smeared it across the table's white surface. The sickening crunch bounced off the walls in my mind as her nose crawled back into her skull like a deflating balloon; her screams satisfied me to no end. Letting go of her flailing body, I resigned to stalk her, weighing up which appendage I'd like to break next, taking in the sights of her crimson. The scent of it wafted into the air like cheap perfume and I bathed in the delights of madness.
She cupped her nose, struggling to no avail to relieve the pressure in her head that was making her eyes bulge as she yanked at the bloody, broken stump of a nose that remained. Once again, she lost sight of the true predator in the room, her gaze finding me a second too late. Hands buried in the braids once again, I dragged her backwards off her bench, tossing her back into it like a rag doll. Her spine strained under the weight of cracked vertebrae as it connected with the corner, whimpers and whines now spilling freely from her busted lips. I giggled like a child in a dollhouse, as I spied my next target.
I wasn't always like this. It wasn't until my 12th birthday that I actually began to feel it. The shift. When they activated the serum, that was when I really started to change. Did you know mercury is poisonous to you? My very sustenance is toxic; those scientists, those humans, they knew what they were doing. The isolation from everyone, not being able to touch without my collar on, it was all done deliberately. What evil could possess someone to do that to another? It sure as hell wasn't me.
Tutting at myself, I shook my head. 𝒩𝑜𝓉 𝓎𝑒𝓉. Making my way over to her crippled form slowly as she attempted to crawl away, I gripped her neck tightly, forcing her to look at me.
"Now, I believe I asked you a question." I declared threateningly slow, crouching down to her height. The silence was only interrupted by my victim, the rest of them remained in their seats for fear of my attention. The atmosphere in the room could be compared to a held breath; they'd dare not make me repeat myself.
She shook her head as best she could, still holding her gushing nose, as fear burned in the air like candy apples. Licking my lips, I continued my onslaught.
"Name?" I demanded, drilling my eyes past her fractured exterior.
"Jezebel, your Grace." She garbled, choking on the blood dripping down the back of her throat.
𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒? 𝒩𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽. 𝒮𝒽𝑒'𝓈 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔.
"Listen to me, little J, and listen closely. I am only going to say this once." I whispered, moving in close her face. "You see all these Prototypes around you? Most of them were imported. Some were bought. Others were gifted to the Institute like you."
Her eyes flashed with pain, a hidden past lurking in the shadows of her eyes, but I ignored it. I was relentless. Target locked.
"Me? I was created, born and bred, here. All my life, all I've ever seen are these four walls. I've never felt the rain on my face like you have or breathed outdoor air like you have. Instead, of teenage drama and Justin Bieber songs, I was taught how to dissemble a gun, any gun, clean it and put it back together in under a minute. I was taught to kill, quick and clean. No traces. No fingerprints."
Her eyes snapped to mine as she finally realised the extent of the damage she had done. They slowly narrowed, feeling her penance closing in as I brushed her hair out of her face.
"Don't you think I've earned a little respect?" I said sweetly with a sick smile.
I broke her jaw.
In the blink of an eye both my hands were in her mouth and I ripped it off its hinges. Pulling. I could feel the bone begin to strain. Her cries and scratching nails only pushed me to pull harder. Until I heard it snap. Her screams sent shivers like centipedes down my spine as blood dripped down her immobilized chin. I licked it off.
"Never again, little J, or I will rip out your tongue and shove it so far down your throat, you taste the words." My whispers were deafening in the silent room, their tone calloused. The disjointed nature of the scene was jarring, as my smile never faltered while I delivered the final blow, watching every minuscule reaction of the girl like a hawk. Rising up to my full height, I maintained my stare. Crumpling further and further into herself, she shrank into a tiny ball, submitting soundlessly to my gaze. A satisfied smile crawled its way across my face.
"I rule these parts, little J. I'm the original, while you're the clones. I'm the lead. You're the extras. The only reason you're here, is because they want more of me." I whispered, turning her head to face the facts. She whimpered and struggled as the truth became a light too harsh for her to look at.
"I think they call that sloppy seconds, bitch. Tweet that."
And with a swish of my own hair, I turned away from her crying, whimpering, pathetic form crawling on the crimson floor and turned to a standing ovation. Walking to the exit, I watched them part like the Red Sea as I sauntered past their blurring faces.
𝐼 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓅𝓊𝓉 𝑜𝓃 𝒶 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓌.