Lamb and Canines

Processing...

The lifeform in the turqoise liquid formed.

Processing Complete.

Substance turned tar. The lifeform layered in fleshes expanded, absorbing the others within the remaining pods.

RED SPARROW maintained a twisted emblem, history and reputation. Their handling of mutants have had been disregarded by M.E.A '(Mutant Extermination Army)', especially ever since the government changed as of recent, from M.E.A to W.P.A '(Worldwide Protection Army)'. One facility survived W.P.A's hard hand: a laboratory amidst anicent mountains and forest, on a planet far from the main galactic routes. A poorer part of the world, an underdeveloped hideout for many mutants; many perfect specimens for Red Sparrow to -- quote, initiate, unqoute.

One repetitive morning, two guards craved some lost fun. Without notifying the lead scientist, they opened the vents to Root's cell and to Project Revelation's #07:17's confinement chamber. They led the subjects through the vent system, certain parts manually closed to create a straight-line path, bringing them to the cafeteria: an indoor prison backyard.

Two towers faced each other on the corners of the arena. The iron doors on the right opened first. The one the guards called Root stepped out. Head held high. Back arched.

She was as skinny as if only her dark-brown skin latched on bare bone. Her expression -- moreso impassive rather than alive. Her thick curly hair, of light brown color; it fell to her ankles. All the small girl had for wear was a patient’s gown. Dirty, full of spots of substance…. Full of strangers' sperm. Big purple patches ingrained all around her masculine body. On her branch-like arms, her trunk-like feet, especially her thighs. On her strong jaw, her rough face, especially her leave-like mouth. And on her lean, roots-like back, especially her butt cheeks. Dead and dry leaves kept staying stuck through her hair. She nipped at one, reassessing her situation.

A third guard complained to the initially bored two, who had set that play up: ‘The little boy doesn’t stand a chance against a Revelation.’ He pointed to the one they called Root.

‘He’ll have some damage, but nothing we cannot handle. / Of course we will seize the Beast before it eats him as well.’ The two voices and sentences overlapped.

‘What if he suffers too much damage?’

A lack of reaction.

‘What if he is no good to pass around anymore?’ That, the two guards protested. ‘There are plenty others to satisfy us.’

Size. The size of the gates on the right was very small. Only an infant could crawl through. She watched, ignoring the very loud conversation the guards kept having.

The only reason she willingly stood there was because they promised, promised they would leave her alone at night for the following three cycles. If she won. If she grabbed the Meal -- as they called it -- before the other mutant kid, who shall have been let out into the arena. She would finally have a moment of peace. An opportunity.

And the small door opened wide. The hysterical giggling and nervous laughter of the guards echoed throughout the arena.

The smart restraints around her wrists and joints taken off beforehand, the girl took position, opening her palms, ready to use her attributes. Collar around her throat itched; one smart restraint ready to zap her.

A guard came to the railing above what should've been two under them. Above her.

‘You have not eaten in weeks, perhaps, in months! This is the only ration left for this cycle! I doubt it’ll be enough for the two of you. You could try to share. If you can.’ The guard threw the piece of sheep. A large part of meat, likely extracted from a thigh. A squishing sound. A squelch.

Squash and Splat. The meat had long hit and plopped against the ground in the middle of the arena. Yet the sound… The sound continued, lasting longer.

‘It is yours for the taking!’ The guard yelled.

That was all the girl needed for her to sprint as roots grew around her palms. Starting from her veins under her thick skin and ending over her overgrown fingernails. Beaten, dirty lime nails.

The air got kicked out of her lungs. Knees buckled and her slipping ankle twisted.

Buckle. Twist.

She hit the floor with her ass and watched how in a swift move, a pile of -- something -- exited the small door and slid, all the way to the meat. And before the girl they called Root could near it, that -- whatever -- grew. Reformed, as if a blanket octopus had risen into a kid. Into another child.

Another, smaller girl. Another… mutant (?) girl, her curly hair a pastel, cherry pink that veiled her. White, big and round eyelashes. Pink, thin eyebrows made of scarce hairs, a contrast to her green skin with creases in between. She had vitiligo, some parts of her body ivory white. Grey eyes with milk white swirls within and a couple extra pairs of white globules right under. One pearl, eye looking oval sat between her eyebrows: ‘Hello,' A growl made out of thousands of breaths left the girl; The Beast.

Red pupils met gray crowns for big eyes. In the flavor of their crimson light. The roots over Root’s hot hands came to a halt. What was she supposed to do to the beast? The seemingly fluid girl. Mutant girl? No. She proved something different.

The wooden elemental, mutant girl supposed death would suffice. It would certainly save her the trouble of nightly visits: where her mind disappeared, before it returned to a sore, numb body, unusable after the overworking of it. And the abuse, of course. Yet, death never came.

And The Beast still looked. Hovering over the piece of meat. She stared, at the one called Root in name of casual derogation. Then she glanced down. Then up. And then down. Head tilted. Body tilted. And she opened her mouth to release a sweetly beautiful voice, an army of harmony.

‘You - red. Me swallow - bone.’

To the guards’ disappointment and the detriment of their fun and amusement, the lambert clothed Beast shared the food with the wooden, Elemental mutant girl. She stayed in place, letting The Beast girl rip the meat off the bone and pass it in her lap: ‘Chew.’ A line split her jaw to her long earlobes.

Ever since meeting the beast girl, the one they called Root could not erase her from the broken mind. The glimmer of respect The Beast offered her played in her head whenever the guards stripped her of her clothes, dignity and health thereafter; whenever she heard the dying screams of other experiments; whenever the doctors sedated her enough to be somewhat numb, too little to avoid the pain of the blade, needles or inappropiate medicine.

One (un)fortunate day, the guards brought her to a dead corner, away from the surveillance devices. It was next to the scariest chamber, at the very back of all the cells. The walls shook there and as luck had it, an unexpected breach let The Beast slide out an arm like a tentacle of many flesh pieces and skins and teeth; she sliced in half all the ones nearby... except her, the girl they called Root. Even heavily drugged, the opportunity could not be missed.

While all were distracted to contain The Beast to its’ prison, the Elemental mutant sneaked past them, sliding under closing doors, sprinting past people too frightened of the opening chambers, of the Beast unleashed, to pay “Root” any mind.

She jumped from the railing of a watch tower, landed in trees, disjointed an arm.

So she ran. She ran. Ran, ran, ran, ran! Bam! She hit a wall: a force field closing in the area. The girl screeched, nailing, scratching, hitting. An useless display of desperation.

Despite it all, luck struck once again. A stranger’s panicked tone shushed her.

Intruders.

The disembodied voices kept telling her she had bigger limbs, a bigger body, therefore she would have to "mature" and cooperate.

Six layers of brick, six layers of iron walls, six layers of thick glass -- of windows never used. The microscopic cameras... #07:17 heard them turn online or offline whenever another child from afar played too roughly in the other side of the "house" (how she knew the facility to be). Sleepless silence.

They didn't dare come near. None did.

All sensation #07:17 has ever experienced was the cold of metal surfaces (her very existence rotted the brick and reached the iron layers) and the slippery wetness of food she was granted. Yet, as of late, her many rows of teeth and fangs... all under the surface of green - snow white skin and boneless meat... they itched.

White, fin shaped and long ears twitched whenever the voices would murmur about a child, one they compared to her. About one they called Nil #0000. About the one who never screamed, the one who spoke to the underneath. Many gossips came and went.

At times, Nil #0000 would cause bends in the iron house: crooked ceilings, tilted floors, stretched walls. And earth sprinkled through. Her entertainment would be bits and pieces about Nil #0000, whenever #07:17 moved in ways the voices would latch on to with childish excitement. No other child or guard have seen the one correlated with #07:17. She craved for a glimpse, of the only one alike herself, of the one the voices called a second anomaly. #07:17 has not sighted any like herself ever since her birth, where the first thing she processed with the gift of sight were the piles of her siblings' cadavers, of bowels and molten limbs. Of jollity. The voices cheering.

Of... no-one.

In one moment, when the night lights of her chamber were on, chaos erupted. Muffled roars, screams, wind, bangs and explosions.

The house shook. Before #07:17 made sense of it, the gates to her little space groaned. They opened, a crease, before malfunctioning. Gunfire echoed. A lot. She crawled and peeked through to be greeted by a silhouette. Alike a squid, she squeezed through and jumped the silhouette. Mindful of granting them more moments to live, #07:17 stood in the bridge position, hands besides their head, feet spread around their legs, her main body suspended over them.

'I'm not a threat! It's me!' The one they called Root -- the girl named Wangi pleaded. 'I am here to return the favor, not harm you.' Palms open, body slack.

#07:17 blinked. She stepped off and began crawling back to her enclosure.

Wangi protested, stepping between her and the gates. 'You will be better off with us.'

Her head tilted, drinking Wangi in. A little bigger from last time #07:17 sighted her: back broader, jaw stronger, voice deeper. And scars, notable being the italicised "X", face center: 'I'm here to help, to free the children from these monsters. You understand?'

#07:17 finally turned her head to their surroundings. The bare hall of the facility was soaked in blood, the iron in flames, the roof collapsing in and their ground hosted trails of bodies, of guards. She returned to Wangi, who said: 'You can trust me,'

#07:17 pointed between them. 'Favor.'

Wangi nodded. That nod was all she needed to coerce the other into a wish making. She led Wangi to the place where the walls bent most, to the chamber of her one entertainment and sensation bringer.

'Project Nil #0000?' Wangi read the digital plate, putting away her wooden lasso and returning her arm of flesh, bloodied.

'Free,' said #07:17, squinting from... yet another sensation... like a lightbulb turned on within her cavities, roaches in her belly.

Wangi shook her shoulders, opened a communication channel from her earpiece and inquired for backup. #07:17 had self earned her long awaited glimpse.

Five mutant people and a human old man took Wangi and #07:17 outside the very last RED SPARROW ilegal laboratory. The Elemental mutant who could manipulate air carried Nil #0000 on his back. The woods were cold and wet. Humidity brought a sugar rush to her, walking behind Wangi and many steps away from the rest of the group. Nil #0000 owned a smaller, frail body. Bandages, stripes, a surgery gown and a river of thick, brown hair covered half of it. Her skin all purple spots, black cuts, stitches and rashes. #07:17 wished she could absorb the weird lesions off Nil #0000′s being, which had no place or belonging there, on the yet another child.

Wangi bid farewell to the others, Nil taken away with them. At the time #07:17 had not known the notion of protesting, thus she let them leave and complied with the insistent Wangi by staying by her side. Wangi took her far, farther than she ever felt her presence reach. If she were another, perhaps the experience of nature (which dried under her touch), fresh air (which bittered with her every breath), animal sounds (who scattered at her arrival) and birds singing (fleeing after) would have compelled her. Yet the one they used to call The Beast only noticed the humidity.

Cold, a familiar notion. A serene bringer in the mind at best, a biting isolation at worst.

Wangi ushered her, tidied and direct. She followed the other until they reached the end of ground: a coast. Wangi brought her to a tall thing the other embraced, body sagging. ‘This is my home. Feel welcome.'

#07:17 was brought to a new house, soon to be her secondary home. A lighthouse.