Experiment: The Ravager Code

Creation and Destruction

Pain. Real, drowning and brutal—seeming to never end.

Cold. The cold was as bad, the hard, violent ice that seemed to coat her body. Like frostbite invaded every fiber of her being.

Needles... so many needles... piercing her neck, her arms... seeming to always be inside her, injecting fluids that made her lose her mind.

Made her forget herself entirely.

Faces flashed by, blurred by the dizziness, some more human-looking, some strange colors that quickly became normal.

She had been selected by the man who had darkness follow him like a shroud. Having awoken in an empty metal box of a room, the strange man who was only referred to as "Sire" doing his best to ensure she—the Terran, as he called her—was lined up to enter the rooms that only contained the needles. The torture. The pain.

Those soulless eyes and cold hands that saw her as nothing more than an object to craft to their desire.

"My own scientists will oversee the process," The Accuser said, his voice deep and heartless. "See you do not fail, it would be a shame to make an example of it."

"I assure you, failure is not an option." Wyndham—Sire—replied, as sure and proud as ever. "You will receive your prize, I only ask for time.

Perfection. That's what this somehow was. This utter violation of a human being.

The most horrifying thing she remembered of the torment through the course of ten months was the needle that pierced her skull, the frigid feeling that burned and coated the most microscopic matter of her being with a lethal, violent impulse.

Her eyes flooded with a raging, glowing quicksilver, snuffing out any of the natural brown as her hair morphed into the same from the roots out, the whites of her eyes going a charcoal gray, opening wide and violent as bloodlust roared awake inside of her, claiming her, clawing down inside her and spreading like poison into her blood as it flowed with steel.

That, it seemed, pleased the cruel ones who watched her day in and day out.

When she was covered in blood that was somewhat hers from the last operation—but her hands and arms, her chest, her pale face, splattered with the blood of others and screaming in rage, her eyes and veins pulsing—that's when they were pleased.

Until she tried to fight.

That's when the Accuser had returned. When that blue glowing scepter had taken away any shred of will she had left. Had torn her mind away to serve only whoever was to be called Master. Its power nestling and cramming itself down into her bones. Into her soul.

A creature of utter obedience—and total destruction.

Barely human. Not that she was called one anymore.

But weakness remained, weakness that was attempted to be pried from whatever human part was left of her, the torture worsening as Sire began to grow anxious. Saying that he would perfect her or she would die. There was no other option.

They had torn her mind apart so much she didn't know what was real or not, her consciousness drifting back to the surface every so often when the constant pain and hunger became too much, but more often than not it was submerged into oblivion again, shoved back down and caged as much as her body.

She now listened to the scrape of her chains as she barely shifted on the ground, the last procedure wiping almost every drop of strength from her being.

Her cell was as cold as her body, as stiff and uncomfortable. The four metal walls barren all but the bolts under her feet on the grated floor, the welded ceiling.