She didn't quite understand the charm of these playgrounds. They were just piles of painted rust inhabited by jubilant children. Just heaps of metal and dirt squared off from the rest of the world—untouched by the hand of reality.
She could not say the same for herself. Reality had taken her into its arms, groped and prodded and invaded until its presence permanently marred itself into her skin.
Perhaps it was the slides she couldn't admire—spiraled and long—like the frayed silk of her hair. Or the jungle gym that stood as tall as she did, posing a challenge for anyone who dared approach it. Maybe it was the sky, clear and blue—a reflection of her own eyes as she studied the children. It could be a number of things, really.
But as she looked on the playground and caught sight of a little girl, bright-eyed and even brighter grinned, she realized it was the freedom. The freedom that children of The Apex had been blessed with. The freedom people of such high a number took for granted. The freedom to never once have to worry about being captured. Experimented on. Violated.
Must be nice.
She delighted in the flurry of wind that blew the hem of her free-flowing dress to the sky, because it lured the eye of a man. A man who had made an unknown enemy. A man who had made himself a target.
He hoisted himself up on the swing set, pushing his daughter so high she almost snagged a piece of the sun in her tiny fingers.
But the man, with all the excitement of a dog in heat, snapped the chain of his daughter's swing to an abrupt stop when he saw her—motioning for her to go play with the other young Nines.
She suspected he was thinking of doing a little playing of his own.
He swaggered over to her carrying an unlit cigarette and overblown ego. She glanced to her left at the clear as day NO SMOKING sign plastered on the park gate and rolled her eyes.
They never do what's right.
He sidled up next to her. "Nice weather we're having," he puffed out around the butt of his cigarette.
"I thought for sure better small talk would exist by now."
He chuckled, the sound grating. "But it has been very nice weather for me. Gave me a little peek at something I thought I'd like."
She grimaced, unsurprised by the impudence of men of The Apex. Men who took from everyone, even their own people. He leaned a little closer into her space—the spicy stench of smoke clogging itself into her nose.
"That's definitely no way to talk to a lady," she played along, and the man wrapped an uninvited arm around her waist.
"Well..." he dragged, taking a final swig and blowing the aftermath into her face before dropping the cigarette to the ground. "There's only one reason a low number would show up in a family setting looking like this."
He rubbed the hem of her dress through fingers that had never seen a day of hard labor. The clothes she had her men steal off the corpse of that Three were proving to be quite the disguise.
"And by the state of these rags, you can't be much more than a Three." He gripped her waist tighter as he spoke. The stale of his breath made her eyes water.
"I guess that makes two of us then. Because there's only one type of man who would even dream of coming onto a lady when his daughter is playing just over there," she sighed, gently nudging against the hold that kept getting tighter on her waist. His hand gave enough for her to make a few slow steps away from him. He prowled behind her—eager.
"Looks like we have something in common is after all," the man said.
"Mutual disgust?" she asked, eyes scanning the area, wondering if she would find concern on the faces of the other children's parents, but she was met with turned backs and unassuming gazes. She picked up her pace.
"Just the opposite, actually," the man chuckled sadistically, as he snatched her arm, with a force double the strength of the grip he had on her waist—jerking her toward an old shed that stood on the outskirts of the playground.
It was shrouded by overgrown trees and sun-cast shadows. Secluded, but right under everyone's nose. He covered her mouth, likely anticipating a scream. It didn't come. The stupid smirk on his lips signified his pleasure with her lack of resistance.
She knew there was no point in making a scene. People this privileged didn't have it in them to be a hero.
He kicked open the door and threw her inside. She swayed on her feet, pretending to steady herself before she purposefully tripping on a garden hose slithering across the floor—landing in a messy nest of them.
An assortment of wrenches and hammers decorated the walls of the shed, and just above their heads was a bent cylinder that looked to have belonged to the stairs of the playground at some point.
She did not get to take in much more of her surroundings before he was on top of her. She squirmed beneath him, but not with enough force to push him off. Not enough force to scare him away.
"Stop. Don't do this," she said half-heartedly, but he sneered and dragged her hand lower.
"Don't you think we've gone a little far to back out now?"
There's always one. And repulsive as he might have been, deep down she was glad he had shown his true colors so quickly.
"What about your daughter? I'm sure she's looking for you." she said, trying to sound as out of breath as possible.
"Oh, we'll be done here long before she notices I've left."
He lifted her up with little struggle and pushed her back against the tools on the wall. Metal and splinters jut into the smooth skin of her back, but she did not register any pain—just increasing adrenaline and irritation.
"You don't want to do this," she sighed.
"I'm certain I do."
The man gripped at her dress, forcefully trying to pull it down as she clung to the fabric to hold it up.
They're all the same.
He placed a wide-mouthed kiss on her neck and clutched on her sleeve.
Just a little further. A little more.
He ripped the sleeve of her free arm down just enough, and a cold, merciless shackle snuck through—clasping itself around his neck.
The man startled, gripping the foreign object, trying to pull it off.
"Didn't take you for the Mare type," he sputtered, gripping at the collar.
So the higher numbers do know about us?
"Definitely took you for the scummy type. But I'll admit, I did have a little help finding you though," she said, seething. "All of you men are the same." The collar around his neck tightened.
They are all just like him.
A cement-induced chill caused the shackled limbs of a younger Luci to shake within their metal clutches. With a slide, the cell door opened, and she raised her head to the sound, but not her eyes. She tried to draw her knees closer to her body, but the shackles on her ankles prevented it.
"You look like you've gained some of your strength back," a foreign voice said, as its owner crouched down into her space—a paper cup in one hand and a large pill in the other. It's another Techromancer, she assumed. The one without the clover.
"I know you've always had a hard time swallowing, but I need you to take this for me," the person—a man—said. The timbre of his voice was soft, kinder than one would expect to come from someone holding her captive.
He extended the hand holding the pill toward her face. Her lips tightened as she sucked them toward her teeth. She turned her head away.
"Now don't be like that. I don't want to have to get the rod for you," he warned, gentle as ever. Luci's head shot up at that, but her eyes rested on the stubble of his chin, unwilling to look the man in the eye—to show him any sign of respect.
She unclenched her lips, making way for him to push the pill inside her mouth and force her head back by her hair. She swallowed, choking on the back edge of the slide—the ghost of the pill still present in her throat. The cup appeared at her lips. It was water. She drank to clear her throat of the feeling.
The man placed the cup on the ground next to her knee, his hand slowly closing the gap between the two—resting on her bony kneecap. She jerked away from the unexpected touch.
"What do you want? Isn't the testing period is done for the day?" Luci asked hoarsely, hoping the question would mask the horrible feeling rising in her gut. He gripped her knee tighter.
"You're in no position to question me about testing periods. I'll test you at any time I see fit," the man bit out, and this time she looked up into his eyes, only to find them filled with a despicable determination.
He wasn't the usual one, the Techromancer with the clover in the junction of his thumb and pointer finger. But that Techromancer wasn't too far out of sight. He stood beyond the walls of her cell, minding his paperwork—uncaring as this Techromancer's hand traveled up her thigh, beneath the thinness of her hospital gown. Luci's eyes widened at the action but quickly drooped—overcome by a sudden weakness.
"Oh, good. It seems to be working," the man said under his breath.
"What's working? What did you give me?" Luci slurred.
He gripped her thigh and drug her closer to him, grabbing her other leg to create space—his face twisted in sadistic glee.
"Nothing you need to worry about. In a few moments, you won't even remember you took it."
She attempted to fight his hands off of her, but her limbs were weak and numbing by the second. She blinked a few times, trying to clear the blur from her vision.
"Help, please, he's trying to—" Luci began, trying to get the Techromancer with the four-leafed clover's attention. He glanced over at her for no longer than a second—unbothered.
The pang of betrayal was unexpected when Luci watched him walk away. In all her time trapped here—captured—she had created a trust between herself and the clover-stamped Techromancer. A trust that wasn't built on care or mutual like, but on civility.
Though he'd played a part in keeping her trapped in this place, he'd never harmed her—never did anything more than what she assumed was his job. He even shared parts of his own life with her during the tests—told Luci about his daughter. He treated her closer to human than anyone else in that underground lab did.
But now he had left her alone, at the mercy of someone who would never see her as anything more than a test subject. He made it clear in the way he whispered, "No one has any obligation to help someone like you. Someone disposable. Meant to be used until there's nothing left. Don't waste your breath."
Luci willed herself to thrash, but the action translated to the sluggish rattling of her limbs. The man chuckled darkly, seemingly amused by her attempts to evade him.
When she heard the sound of an unbuckling belt, she begged for her mind to fade out of consciousness. She didn't want to be awake for it. But she didn't exist in a world that cared about what she wanted.
"Now just relax," the man said, sickeningly sweet as he...
"...raped me. And while he was taking all there was to take from me in that life, he thought, why not take more? He put his hands around my neck and squeezed. And took. And squeezed. And took... until there was nothing left. Until I had nothing left to give him," Luci heaved, her collar ever-tightening around the Apex man's neck.
"And I died, and one would think that would have been the end. If I had stayed dead, I could have been at peace in nothingness. But I came back... like this." Luci gestured to herself—frantic. "Broken, because I never got the time to heal my wounds. Powerless, because I didn't have a second more to live to build myself back up. But worst of all, I'm empty. I'll never get back what HE took from me. Empty because the only way I can fill this void—the only way I can survive now—is by feeding on the likes of you."
"I'm sorry that happened," the Apex man croaked against the material clasped around his neck "but I..."
"Everyone's always sorry when they're caught. When they realize they have something to lose. When they realize sorry isn't enough to change how I feel—to give me back what he stole from me. To erase what they tried to do to me," Luci said, a smirk growing on her lips. "And then, well, they get scared. Much like you are right now."
Luci's eyes shifted a shade darker than death, as she started to unravel the man—Jackson, the name Jazara gave her. The name of a repeat offender.
"What are you doing?" He panicked, unable to stop what's coming next.
"Cmon now. Don't fight it." Luci grinned as the strands of his flesh—his DNA—twined through her fingers. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? You were asking for it, weren't you?"
Eating him wouldn't sate her on a biological level—wouldn't replenish her power. He didn't have the right genetic makeup for that. But it would satisfy her—calm her need to remove an evil like him from existence.
"You don't have to do this," he pleaded, quivering in the unwavering grip of Luci's collar as the flesh of his arm unraveled completely.
"Oh, now that sounds familiar." She put a finger to her mouth, pretending to ponder on something. "As an unwise person once told me, I'm certain I do." She fed the threads of his being into her mouth, relishing in his horrified screams until they died out of existence like the rest of a miserable life.
Luci stared at the empty shed of his clothes on the floor, more than pleased.
His daughter will be better off without him.