MOTHERS

◙seven◙

"It's happening?"

"It's happening."

The whispers surged through her in tandem with the power slithering into her veins. Every second, with every breath she took, she felt the energy growing, securing its hold in every cavity of her body. The vibrations up and down her legs, the shock-waves into her neurons; they made her jittery, on edge, but she had to keep her cool. She couldn't show them just how much power she was developing, and exactly what she was able to do.

She didn't know what she was able to do, not yet. All she'd been aware of was that she'd receive powers, in time; it was her birthright. It was what she was made for. What her body had been created for: to house a great host of powers that would enable great glory to her and her people.

But who are my people?

Most of her internal queries received replies, but not that one. The whispers she'd been hearing lately had purposely been mum on that topic. But she wasn't stupid, and she knew deep down, the answer was evident. She had no doubt the folk watching her twenty-four-seven on their special cameras weren't her family, her people. They looked like her, they talked like her, some might say they even dressed the same way, though they wore white lab coats over their clothes. But they weren't the same, weren't made of the same stuff. They were weak, where she was strong. She'd proven that much already.

Her super-strength had come to her a while back, but she'd only had the urge to manifest it recently. Throwing items against the metallic door, banging on the walls, scratching at the plaster, tearing at the tiles; she'd been close to revealing the bones of the room, the electricity concealing inside the walls—electricity that was preventing her from getting out. She'd left a glowing imprint on the door, a message to show that she had more in her, more power than they'd ever know. But she didn't want to get out, not yet. That wasn't part of the plan.

Obtaining her powers—that was the plan.

"You'll soon know what you're capable of," the whispers had said, and they'd been saying on repeat since the instant she'd first opened her eyes. A pale, boring gray ceiling had been the first thing she'd seen, a stale dust scent the first thing she'd smelled. She'd touched her damp forehead, tasted the salty sweat from where she'd wiped it. And then she'd sat up and found the camera in the upper corner of her room, directed at her.

Watched, always watched, always on display. That was to be her life down here, but the whispers had reassured her it wouldn't always be.

Every now and then, the people in lab coats visited her. They delivered strange food on porcelain plates, with water in metal goblets, and small dishes of colorful pills to take. She obeyed, she ate, she drank—but only because the whispered voices in her head told her to. The pills made her feel dizzy and as if her tongue were made of cotton, but she took them, every time. And when the lab-people escorted her out of her room, with a blindfold on, she never resisted them. She was taken to a large, dirty, yellow-tiled room that was padded on one side, and covered in obstacles on the other. Things to hop over to test her agility, heavy things to pick up to test her strength, tracks to race up and down to test her speed. Testing—that was what they were doing, and the whispers told her to oblige all of those steps, too.

"Heed their requests, for now. In time, they will make you stronger."

But soon enough, the visits from the lab-coat people were less frequent, and they only spoke to her through an intercom. They slid her meals in through a magical slit in the door that opened and closed. They had little to no contact with her at all. She wasn't taken to the special training room anymore, and was provided instead with books to read—which she realized she had no trouble reading despite having never learned—and with a device called a television, that she could use to watch silly people do entertaining things on a small screen.