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Anya blinked into consciousness painfully, fighting the urge to go back to sleep along with the onslaught of bright, shimmering lights which forced her to stay awake. She was cold, and frightened, but she knew that this wasn’t wrong, exactly, but rather exactly where she needed to be. Where she had been for as long as she could remember. Home was the only word for it, Anya guessed, although it held none of the warmth and stability which she was sure should come with the word.
There were hands on her then, forcing her chin up roughly. Anya whimpered, squinting against the harsh white lights. It was so bright that the face of the adults around her was slightly obscured but their thoughts were loud enough that their appearance didn’t matter in the slightest.
Any more and it might kill the child…
There are plenty of street urchins to use up.
I should say something.
I’ll be sure to put in a request for more quality stock. All of the other experiments have failed besides number seven, this girl. What about her makes it so that she can withstand the -
Anya held her hands over her ears and cried, shrinking back into her chair to escape the voices, but they followed her. There were three adults in the room and only one, the youngest man, seemed to have any concern for her wellbeing. Not that it shocked Anya. Out of ten test subjects, only she had survived the later stages. To the doctors and nurses it was a mere inconvenience, a hassle to obtain more subjects. One, two, three, four, five, six, eight, nine, and ten. That was all that they were to the doctors. But Anya remembered each name and face more vividly than the numbers connected to them.
One had faded the fastest, a timid boy named Jakob. He had been bald when Anya had met him, but his eyebrows were thick and black and bushy. His hair should have been too, but the chemical baths had stripped it all away. Jakob had been older than the others, and his quick demise had led them to find younger test subjects. Anya had heard them say that the more development the brain had yet to endure, the more they could mould and shape it into what they needed.
Number two and three were twins, Elise and Elizabeth. The only way to tell them apart was with Beth’s gap-tooth, but you rarely saw it because she rarely smiled. Rarely had any reason to, really. Four was another girl calle Rona, and her eyes wandered strangely. Anya suspected that the doctors had confiscated her glasses along with her other personal items. Rona hardly ever spoke, which was fine because number five did all the talking for her. A boy no older than four with wisdom far beyond his years. His name was the only one which Anya struggled with, because he would always switch between Daniel and Danny depending on his mood. Anya liked Daniel more; he was quieter, more forgiving. Not that any of these children owed the world forgiveness.
Six was the youngest, a boy who set the ideal age parameters in stone. Enzo was only two years old, barely able to speak his desires and used to sit there and cry and point until one of the nurses took pity on him and gave him an injection which would send him to sleep. Three was too young and Jakob had been too old. All of the other children - Anya included - were somewhere between five and seven. That was the appropriate age, apparently. The thought made Anya’s tummy hurt.
Anya was seven, and Kim was eight. Kim had last the longest, after Anya, and her smile was always wide despite everything which had happened to her. Anya had liked Kim. It still hurt when Anya saw her empty crib at night.
Nine and ten were siblings again, a boy named Ty and his elder sister Alexis. She tried to volunteer for any experiments which Ty had been put forward for, but her brother didn’t seem to appreciate the gesture; all he did was cry, which was actually much better than the silent staring he did when Alexis died. He was never the same after losing his sister, and the doctors seemed to see that too. It wasn’t the experiments which took him, as was the case with every other child, but something else. Something lonelier. Anya hoped that wherever he was, Alexis was there too. She thought they should always be together. That was what family was for.
Not that she had any experience of that, really.
The nurse strapped Anya’s arms to the uncomfortable metal chair, not meeting the young girl’s gaze.
I can’t look them in the eye. If I do, I’ll feel sorry for them.
It was a mantra chanted in the nurse’s mind, so Anya closed her eyes and stopped trying to beg to be released. It had done none of them any good before, but then none of the other experiments had worked . Anya was different now, but the doctors didn’t know how much. Anya had to keep it that way. She got the feeling the gap in their knowledge was the only thing keeping her alive.
“You know how this goes.” The older doctor, the one who saw her as dispensable, looked over the rim of his glasses at her. “We will stimulate your gift with electrolysis until we see a difference in your ability. Do you understand?”
Anya swallowed thickly and nodded. They had stuck sticky pads to her forehead on both sides, with more on her neck and her chest. Wires snaked out from each joint, and Anya was held in place with tight leather straps.
The metal chair was made for adults, and Anya felt the back looming over her. Everything was so very big and so very difficult to understand; Anya just wanted to be somewhere safe and warm, with a family in a home like she had heard other children speaking of.
“Mama… Papa…” Anya whispered to herself, trying to hold the tears back and failing.
The doctor stopped writing on his clipboard and set it down on the table next to the machine which Anya didn’t understand. As far as she could tell, all it did was bring her pain.
“There are no such people in this world for you, zero-zero-seven.”
And then he pulled the big, red lever and Anya’s tiny, vulnerable body was engulfed in waves of white-hot agony.
Anya was still screaming when she woke up. The room was dark, and cool with the average chill of night, but the memories of her time at the institute were still fresh in her mind and that was overwhelming for her young mind. It was only when the door slammed open that Anya felt calmer.
“Anya! Anya, are you alright?” Her mama arrived first, as she always did. She was stronger and faster than papa, but equally as concerned. When he skidded into the doorway, shirt rumpled with sleep and hair sticking up at odd angles, mama was already on her knees by Anya’s bed, clutching the young girl so tightly against her chest it was almost suffocating. Anya didn’t mind though; she knew firsthand that there were worse ways to die than by being loved too strongly.
Papa was by her other side, his hand on Anya’s knee, reassuring and grounding. “Did you have a scary dream?”
All she could do was nod. Explaining the memory would force her into speaking about her telepathy, and that was not something she was willing to do yet.
There are no such people in this world for you, zero-zero-seven.
The words used to haunt Anya, as she moved from one orphanage to another, being too broken for any family to truly take her in. This mama and papa were different though. They were broken too. And she wasn’t patient zero-zero-seven anymore, but Anya, a proud member of the Forger family. Anya clutched onto her mama’s nightdress with one hand, resting her other on her papa’s cheek.
“Anya was feeling lonely, but Anya knows there isn’t anything scary when mama and papa are here.”
Papa smiled at her, taking her small hand in both of his large ones.
“That’s right, Anya. We’re here to protect you.”
“Always.” Mama affirmed.
Anya pretended not to notice the flash of doubt in papa’s mind, of how everything would change once his mission was complete. She would deal with that fear at a later date, because right now she had a home which was always warm and parents who were always loving. And that was all a child, somewhere between five and seven, really wanted. And peanuts. But she would get her papa to buy them for her tomorrow, anyway.
Her mama slipped into the bed next to her, a tight squeeze but Anya didn’t mind much. Mama shared the blanket with her, unlike papa, so Anya was grateful that he slept on the floor, his head resting on the mattress by her feet, prepared to jump into action if she had so much as a scary thought.
Anya felt like crying again, but she was too peaceful, too wrapped in love. It made those memories truly feel like a dream, and Anya wasn’t afraid of them anymore. When she slipped back off to sleep, Anya dreamt of living in a big castle with nine other children, each with parents who scored a perfect one-hundred, and her own mama and papa, who definitely deserved a score higher even than that.