A Bit Of Fanfiction: Lost

[Apheli0n_]

Hello there and I am glad you are reading this! It's my first post here so it's exciting! In any case! I got inspired to come up with a bit of a backstory for my Warframe. I fell in love with her the moment I started playing, so I wanted to get her fleshed out a bit. I tend to role play a lot, so such things matter for me -- why I started writing; and because I am experimenting with a new style, but that's beside the point! Without further ado, here are the first and second parts, hope you like it!

P.S. I am sorry about the black text: I have no clue what causes it, or how to fix it. If anyone has suggestions I'd love to hear them.

 

 

 

I awake, yet again, in this grey cell. I have been locked in here for what feels like eons. I see again the cold flat walls that surround me and I truly wonder how long I have been here. I don’t know, it is a question I cannot answer – I do not know neither when I was put here nor do I have any way to tell time. It is all a blur – a blend of minutes, hours, days – that seems like one ceaseless stream of events, one after the other, with no possibility for respite or conclusion. I stare with empty eyes at the walls, at the cameras in the corners, and crave freedom from this place, from the torment I am being exposed to. I do not know how I got here, I don’t remember anything, nor do I know why they keep tormenting me like this, but I know one thing for sure: I will slaughter them all.

    My fists clench tightly, involuntarily, at the thought of my captors; my claws dig deep into my palms and I can hear the droplets of my own blood fall heavily on the metal floor. The sound deafens me as it rips the still, grave silence of my cell – it sends my thoughts into a rampage and I cannot control them. Anger, blood, kill, revenge, escape; I want to tear this place apart, I want to break free, to slaughter everyone who stands in my way and find those responsible for my captivity and torment. I cannot think of anything else.

    Blood keeps hitting the floor, like a bell the sound fills the room and my mind starts to cloud, a red mist falls in front of my eyes and I am suddenly on my feet. With my claws still buried in my flesh I hit the walls around me, scream and yell in anger and despair. Every fibre of my muscles flares up and I bring all my strength down on these walls; it is no use. My claws leave gashes in the metal, my fists dent and bend it, but there seems to never be a way out. No matter how much I punish these walls for containing me, their stoic prison remains wrapped around me like the suffocating embrace of a snake, slowly squeezing the life out of me.

    My anger is extinguished, however: in an instant the implants on my arms and the collar around my neck sedate me, no paralyze me, and I fall on my back. I stare at the ceiling, at the blinding white lights, with unblinking and bloodshot eyes as my mind keeps racing – the thoughts of murder and freedom tearing me apart while my body refuses to move. My emotions do not subside, but the inability to move only makes things worse: I cannot lash out at the walls, I cannot relieve myself of these emotions by hitting my prison. No, I can only lie here and let them eat at me from the inside while I wait for the paralysis to pass.

    I wish I was sedated.

 

 

The door to my right opens, after an amount of time I cannot possibly tell, and one of those bulky, square-headed humanoids enters my cell. I cannot see his face, but I can tell he is staring at me with sick satisfaction, happy with my internal torment and the fact he is here to take me away. So it is that time again.

    With little effort he picks me up by the hair and brings me up to the blue visor of his helmet, speaking in a language I cannot understand. I learned, though, that it is just the helmet distorting his words. I can understand those whose faces I can see, so they will be my prime targets when I break free. He puts me under his arm, still paralysed, and carries me out of my cell: it is the only time I can see where I am.

    There is only blackness in the windows, with millions tiny flames that dot the void. We are in space and this only makes my escape that much harder. But I will find a way and I will leave nobody standing. The corridors he carries me through are lined with metal and I can hear his heavy footfalls clang against the floor with each of his wide steps: it deafens me, but I quickly get used to it as the walk from my cell to the experimentation lab is a long one. I dangle lifelessly in his grip and can see my claws dragging the floor, leaving shallow scratch marks in the metal. He is talking to himself, or to someone on the other end of his comms, but I cannot understand him. I can understand the sinister laugh and the glare he gives me from behind his visor, however. He disregards me after that and keeps chittering with whomever he is talking to but the end of the hallway comes closer and closer and he has to put me down soon. I have seen these floors so many times I can tell how far I am from my cell and how close I am to my imminent torment. I hear the hissing of a door opening and the loud exclamation of my tormenter. I don’t care what he says, I refuse to listen to him as I am tossed on the table like some test animal.

    His wide black eyes stare at me and I in turn stare back: his face is stretched back against his skull with clamps and pins, while his teeth are crooked and made out of corroded metal. He grins at me with such excitement and joy, but neither of those seem pure; twisted is a better word for what is expressed on his face – twisted and malicious like a child that has just been allowed to rip off the head of his own sister. Fortunately for me – I am actually not sure if this really is fortunate – he needs me alive so he never does anything that may kill me. He says something to the peon that brought me in and I can hear him leaving the room with the door hissing closed afterwards, but I never take my eyes off of my tormentor. He keeps grinning and rambling incoherently, to himself, as he checks the tools of his trade: blades, pokers and claws, all manufactured with the sole purpose of bringing me agony and suffering. I have been on this slab so many times, I simply cannot bring myself to care enough to feel pain.

    Then it begins.

Edited July 18, 2014 by Tyrael89