evanna
"Well, this is some fuckery. What's the number again?" Julian asks Bernard as they fill up what looks like an old pen with a needle-like point. It's attached to an even more ancient-looking stereo that doesn't even play music anymore with a bundle of what looks like uncoordinated wiring.
"7303E," the leader answers, and I roll my eyes.
"Don't you think that's a bit obvious, if they ever figure out my name? Statistically, people tend to choose aliases that are in some way similar- or related to- their given names."
Bernard shrugs. "I don't think I comprehend your annoyance at a four-digit number and one letter out of twenty-six."
"Well, E sort of screams Evanna, doesn't it?" Julian answers, a grin on their lips.
Bernard gives his companion a poisonous look. "Fine. Change it, then."
"We'll change it to a Z," Julian announces, not allowing me to have a say in it. I don't mind, though - a Z works better than an E, anyway.
Bernard throws his arms up in an exaggerated complaint at the choice. Julian ignores him. "'Kay," they mutter. "This is probably going to hurt." That's the only warning I receive before Julian turns the stereo player on and begins the procedure of stabbing into my skin with an ink-laced needle at an impossible rate of jabs per minute. I clench my jaw to endure the pain, and that makes Julian smile. "Hey, did the toughness fly out of the window?"
"Shut up and focus on what you're doing before I end up with a hideous black mark on my skin," I snap.
Julian's still smiling as they ink out the first 7 of my made-up tattoo. We'd decided a fake one would be better than none at all, and the combination possibilities were so great that there was a chance that nobody had taken my number yet. Bernard has declared that the guards that patrol the streets have every right to ask any passersby to show their tattoo, so it could cause us considerable problems if I didn't have one.
Unfortunately, what had arguably saved my life earlier is not improving my chances at survival now. As Julian moves along, the skin they've just inked blisters, turning a blotted red colour- and then, every trace of ink and infection or wound simply... vanishes. Julian pauses for a moment, in shock, and then removes the needle from my skin, watching as the black 3 on my arm dissipates too.
"What- the- fuck-" Julian manages. It's like they're struggling to breathe.
"Interesting," Bernard comments. He appears calm, but I know he's putting his guard up again.
"I believe the scientific term for it is rapid multicellular regeneration." I answer, standing up. I walk over to the sofa and sit down on it, looking somewhat bored at their surprise. It's to be expected- after all, I look like any other human being, so their bewilderment is perfectly understandable, I won't deny that.
They're both looking at me as though I am an extraterrestrial being. I suppose that's not entirely untrue. "Stop gawking and help me figure out a way to expose the ink that's underneath my skin," I say sharply.
"What are you?" Bernard asks. His hand reaches behind himself. Julian stands up and takes a step back, veering towards him. Idly, I inspect my fingernails.
"I don't know that myself," I admit, "although I think the better question to ask is whose side I'm on."
"Whose fucking side are you on, then?" Julian seethes. I assume they think I've betrayed them in some sort of way. I can't blame them for it.
"Careful, Julian," Bernard warns.
I laugh. "I'm not some wild animal," I start. "And just because I've got a heightened thinking process, faster metabolism, and better thermoregulation does not mean that I was created by the government."
"Except you were," Julian breathes.
"Fine then," I answer sardonically, "it does not mean that I'm on their side. Better?"
Bernard appears confused, but Julian doesn't seem to notice. Before he can say anything, Julian speaks again in an indirect response. "Answer the question."
"I am neither on your side, nor on the government's side- however, rest assured, the both of you. I hate the government with a... burning passion, you could say."
"So- you're on our side." Bernard's tone is laced with skepticism.
I execute an admirable eye-roll and emit an exasperated sigh. "Just because one despises the government does not mean that they must absolutely be on your side."
"Then you're with the Government," Julian answers flatly.
I force another, irritated sigh out. "For god's sakes, do try to see something other than black and white!" I lash out, losing my temper. "Not everything is this or that! There is some grey, you know."
"I'm afraid we won't be able to let you leave this facility."
"This facility?" I scoff. "What you have here is no facility, it's a collection of underground shanties and half-dead people that all believe in one cause," I finish. Bernard looks offended, but there's still some suspicious anger left. "Besides, if I'd have wanted you two dead, you wouldn't be standing here right now. I'm not who you need to fear." Although you should probably be more careful around me. I can get out of control, I muse to myself.
"Fear?" Julian looks perhaps even more insulted than Bernard. I'm not surprised - Julian's flaw is that they think that being afraid of nothing will be what will help them fight and survive. We'll have to fix that, at some point.
"The government is the real enemy. President Malcolm is your enemy. I am not," I say, and give them both an expectant look. "Well? Are you going to help me with this tattoo, or am I going to have to just do everything myself?"
After a moment of hesitation, an unconvinced Julian gets up, a box of matches in hand. "I think we're going to have to burn it out."
Brilliant.