A/N: This chapter is pretty hardcore, it's not too gruesome but it's a little. And it's just a prologue, so it's skippable.
Screams are a weakness, the involuntary effect caused by the intolerance of something. Screams show just how vulnerable people can be, they are the byproduct of fear. Screams are motivators, they are fueling and, at times they are burning with rage. But in the end of the day, screams are nothing but a weakness. Silence on the other hand, may be timid and seemingly weak, but isn’t it always the silent ones that are the most dangerous?
This is not a good place, for screams echo throughout here. This is not a nice place, for it is filled with monsters. This is not a wonderful place, because at times it can be hard to determine just who the monsters are. This is not a delightful place, it’s a depressing one.
The monsters are cruel and they want her. They want her to act the way they say, do the things they tell her to do, and they would do everything in their power to do assert their dominance. They will push her to her limits, if it means that they will get the results they want, they will do everything short of killing her. They won’t kill her, because they want her, and also because they have an entire arsenal of stuff they haven’t tried. Everyone has their limits, it’s just a matter of time before she breaks.
She does not utter a single sound, not when the scalpel cuts go in too deep. She does not give a long loud piercing cry when she is in the battlefield, fighting the monsters that are vicious and full of rage. She is no match for those monsters, she knows how weak she is, but even so she refuses to give in. She refuses to give them answers, she refuses to help them.
There are others in her situation, others with equally melodious voices. All of them are random balls picked from a bag full of different ones and they are as different as they can ever be. There are no two people with the same qualities, but in an odd way they all are quite the same. She stands out, she makes an effort to do so. The others would wonder about her, but they have their own cuts to cry for. In an isolated place, with more conditions set for more isolation as this one, it is hard enough to care about oneself, let alone anyone else.
Some think that she is strong enough to resist, others firmly believe that she is weak. But, what these folks don't realize is that the strong and the weak are not as different as they make it out to be, in fact they go alongside really well. She can be considered both strong and weak, but she is neither of them. She is just broken, and that somehow makes her the perfect combination of strong and weak.
She used to scream, her melodious high-pitched sound rising with each sharp pain. Her howls used to be lovely, they were yielding results. They were enchanting, like the cry of a thousand year old extinct bird. She would screech every time she was back into the stimulation. They would echo mesmerizingly as the claustrophobic arms of the machine would snuggle her tight. But one day, it stopped. Then, she went silent, no sound escaping her throat in these moments of pure agony. She would talk, she would blabber incoherently, but she would never show any weakness, she would never scream.
She knows it is a hellish nightmare. One day, she would wake up drenched in sweat. Her heart would be racing too fast, almost too fast for her to handle. Her senses would be numb, her breaths deep, her mind broken, but the mere fact that she would wake up one day was more than enough for her to go on. Unfinished businesses awaited her as much as loving arms did. It was empowering her, it was showing her defiance to those blood-thirsty, power-hungry, heartless monsters. The rage inside her would make her strong, that’s a given, but what truly motivated her was not the rage but the mere chance of escaping that hell. She was going to do it one day, she was going to wake up in her own bed, smell the scents she was once accustomed to. The dream of that one day is powerful enough to keep her going.
She is aware, of her every move, and of their every move. She is studying them, as they are studying her. She is taking notes too, only hers are inside her mind, in a place where they cannot be stolen or erased. She is making progress with each passing day, unlike her captors. And unlike the monsters, she will one day succeed.
She doesn’t scream, she stays silent, plotting and planning. One day, she will escape, and she will forget about this horror. It would be nothing but a bad dream. She was never good at remembering dreams, anyways.
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