InsaneJournal

Trigger warnings for nonconsensual medical procedure and cranks being cannablistic assholes


The TVs and other viewing devices flip on and the camera shows a little blonde haired blue eyed girl, maybe four or five years old, sitting at a kitchen table coloring a picture. Her eyes are red-rimmed from crying and she sniffles occasionally, working intently on her artwork as a little blonde haired boy comes into the room.

He crawls up onto the chair beside her and wraps his arm around her shoulders. "It's okay, don't cry."

"I miss mom," she whispers, leaning into the hug and dropping her yellow crayon.

His face falls at that but he hugs her tighter. "Me too. But it's okay. You've still got me and Dad."

* * *

The scene changes, revealing a slightly older blonde girl, maybe six or seven now, and she's hiding in her closet, huddled in the back of it in the dark, arms wrapped around her knees and head pressed against them as her little body shakes.

"...and when I find you I'm going to eat your fingers in a sandwich!" a man is screaming somewhere outside the closet. There's a loud crash and she flinches. There's another loud crash, and this time the sound of breaking glass. "Slice 'em right off with this glass from your fucking music box! You hear me, you little brat? I'm gonna have you and your brother for dinner tonight!"

The camera shifts just as the blonde boy from before comes into the room, holding a baseball bat. He swings it and hits the raging man with it, knocking him unconscious. "You won't touch her. Oi. Come out, we gotta leave now."

After a second the closet door opens and reveals the tiny girl, face tear-streaked and pale as she emerges, darting out and wrapping her arms around his waist tightly. "Why does daddy hate us?"

"He doesn't," he whispers, hugging her back briefly before grabbing her hand and leading her toward the door. "He's just sick. He doesn't mean to say those things. But we gotta leave before he wakes up."

"Where are we going?" she asks uncertainly, biting her lip.

"Somewhere safe," he promises, giving her a small smile before tugging her out of the room and away from the unconscious man on the floor.

* * *

The scene shifts again and the camera focuses in on a colorless gray room with a lot of medical equipment.

"Are you sure she's ready for this?" a man wearing a white lab coat questions, brow furrowed. "She's young."

"Her age doesn't matter. She's smart," a woman with long dark hair answers.

"We aren't supposed to be using anyone under 14," another woman points out even as she makes some notes on a chart, not looking up. "That's what we agreed on."

"Do you really want to listen to her screaming for her brother constantly for the next two years?" The woman arches an eyebrow. "She's disrupting the other potentials."

"So we're going to throw her into the trials early because she's an inconvenience? She might not survive a week." Now the man sounds frustrated.

"You're underestimating her."

"And you're the one who decided to name her after a poet and not someone with more...clout."

The woman looks thoroughly annoyed now. "Sara Teasdale was a very talented poet. It fits her. She's not like the others."

"Yes, well let's hope she doesn't share the poet's ending as soon as she's thrown into the fray," he responds wryly.

A second later two men dressed in pale green scrubs comes down the hall, carrying a blonde girl between them as she struggles to get free.

"Get off of me! Let me go! Where's my brother!? Where is he? What did you do to him? I'll kill you!"

One of the orderlies laughs at the threat. "Don't worry. You won't be missing him soon, Sweetheart. You won't be missing anything soon."

Sara's eyes go wide with fear and she begins to struggle harder as they carry her into the medical room. She manages to break one hand free and she lashes out, raking her nails down his face and drawing blood.

"You little bitch!" They drop her none-too-gently onto the exam table and she immediately bolts off of it, making a run for the door only to be grabbed back by the orderlies while the doctors watch passively.

"Sara," the dark-haired female chides softly, disappointment in her voice.

"That's not my name!" she says angrily, glaring at her.

She sighs softly and nods at the orderlies, who force her back to the table, holding her down while the man in the white lab coat uses metal restraints on her hands and legs to keep her from moving.

"You can't just do this to people! Where's my brother? Where is he?"

The woman gently smooths some hair out of Sara's face. "Shhh. It'll all be over soon, Sara. All the pain will be gone."

If that's supposed to soothe her, it has the opposite effect. She yanks her hands hard against the restraints, surging up off the table as much as she can and screaming obscenities.

The female doctor reaches up for a large mask that's above the table and presses it down over Sara's face. "Sara. WICKED is good," she whispers.

"She isn't sedated," the male doctor points out. "We should wait."

"I'm tired of waiting. Start the procedure," she responds evenly, fastening the mask on her face.

He purses his lips and presses a button on the machine. Wires suddenly protrude from the mask and slither into the blonde's ears. Clicks and hisses begin in the room and she's screaming now, not in anger, but in terror; in pain.

"We should've sedated her," the man mutters, standing still beside the table as she twists around, screaming, tears leaking from beneath the mask even when it all becomes too much and she simply passes out from the agony.

"She'll be fine. What doesn't kill us..."

Moments later, the wires are pulled back into the mask and one of the orderlies undoes the restraints before lifting her up and carrying her to the box, dumping her inside.

"Good riddance," he mumbles, shutting the door and locking her in.

* * *

"What the hell is this?" a brunette girl demands, picking up a piece of the food Sara's prepared for that night's dinner.

"It's deer," she answers, sounding uncertain. Almost nervous.

"It's burnt." The girl's mouth twists in disgust. "Again. God, Sara, you're so useless!" She heaves the burnt meat at Sara's head, but she ducks and it misses her, but just barely. "No one wants to eat this crap."

"Then maybe you should figure out how to cook for yourself," Sara snaps.

And just like that, the other girl turns over the table of food, knocking the blonde to the ground. "We all have jobs to do. You don't get out of it just because you're younger than the rest of us."

Sara glares up at her and slowly rises to her feet, keeping an eye on the other girl, fully aware that the others are gathering around now, too. "I'm not trying to get out of anything."

"What's going on?" A dark skinned girl pushes her way through the crowd, and sighs as she looks at the mess. "Someone better clean this up." Her gaze focuses on Sara and then she looks at the brunette. "Lose the attitude, Beth. She doesn't know what she's doing. It's not her fault."

"None of us knows what we're doing, but she's the only one here who isn't pulling her weight," Beth responds evenly. "I vote she spends the night in the pit after she cleans this mess up."

The other girl sighs heavily, looking reluctantly between them. "Sara, you have to do better," she says quietly. "We have a limited amount of food here. We don't know that they'll keep sending it up at all."

Beth folds her arms across her chest, clearly unhappy then watches as the other girl heads away. She turns her attention back to Sara. "You're lucky Harriet's the one in charge and not me. I'm watching you."

Sara says nothing as Beth turns and heads away. Then she closes her eyes for a moment, struggling not to cry before she begins to pick up the mess.

* * *

There's a spear in her hand as she runs through dark tunnels, behind the rest of the group. They're gaining ground behind her and she pushes herself to run just a little faster.

She's not a runner. She's never been a runner. Beads of sweat have broken out across her forehead and on the back of her neck.

"Come back here pretty girl," one of them snarls. "I'm hungry."

"We're all hungry," one of the others, this one a female calls, following up with maniacal laughter that sends a chill down Sara's spine.

She doesn't stop. She can't. The group is too far ahead, the cranks are too close behind.

Sara pauses long enough to grab a couple rocks from the ground, turning and heaving them back toward the cranks, nailing one right in the face and making him howl in pain. There's a moment of satisfaction but it's so temporary she barely feels it before she hurls the other stone and hits a woman in the chest. They're all pale and sickly looking, blood staining their clothes and hands.

She runs again, realizing with fear that she's even farther behind her group now and she's exhausted. She can't keep going much longer. She shrugs off the pack she's been carrying on her shoulders, heaving it behind her in another attempt to slow them down, hoping they trip over it, trip over each other. Maybe buy her a few more seconds.

And then someone's grabbing her left wrist, tugging her hard into another tunnel. A surprised sound escapes her as she finds herself facing a whole new group of Cranks with the others already crowding into the tunnel behind them.

"Well well well, what do we have here? Looks like WICKED has started delivering meals," the man says with a twisted smile as he slams her back and into the wall. "Too bad there's barely enough to go around."

The screen fades to black as she begins to scream.