The Frankenstein Effect
Shadowlady
robbijo2000 at yahoo dot com
R
Drama/Dark
Archive: Yes please, pretty please.
Summary: The X-men have created a monster they can’t defeat.
Continuity: Post X3
Chapter One
The cold impersonal grey of the walls surrounding Rogue did little to block the sound of screams penetrating the darkness. Curling tighter around herself Rogue shivered, praying for a merciful and quick death even as she realized it would probably be a long, drawn out, and painful experience.
In the few days that those on the Junior team had been locked within this prison, she’d experienced the brutality of guards who cared nothing about their prisoners of war. Instead she had routinely been beaten, electrocuted, stabbed, and hosed down with some noxious smelling substances.
Still, Rogue knew she was lucky. She’d heard Kitty’s screams every night, and heard Jubilee begging for death in her mother’s tongue and knew without a doubt what it was that was happening to the young woman. It was a fate she knew she’d been blessed not to have, a perk to having toxic skin. The guards had believed her when she said nothing – not even latex could prevent contact.
“Please God, let us get out of here,” she whispered sobbing slightly as her cell door opened and a guard stepped in followed by another, and yet another. Swallowing harshly against the rising bile in her throat Rogue watched as they flanked out, their prods in plain view even as a young, pretty blonde in a white lab coat filled the doorway.
“Since I know your skin is highly toxic, I’ve layered up. Hold still and maybe this won’t hurt so much,” the woman snickered as two men grabbed Rogue and held her steady while the woman approached and jabbed a needle into her hip.
A moment later Rogue lay heaving on the floor, her body wracked by icy chills, and an acidic, almost metallic flavor coated her mouth. Choking and spitting Rogue absently wondered why she couldn’t hear Kitty’s screams any longer.
Lost in the daze of the drugs within her system, Rogue lost track of time. Instead her life became a sadistic ritual of beatings, drugs, and experiments. Somehow the knowledge that they’d managed to manipulate her own body so that they could insert ‘moderations’ into it barely disturbed her. Instead she spent hours giggling to herself as she stared at the surgical scars that crisscrossed her hands. Now she had something else in common with Logan.
Rocking back and forth and mumbling indistinguishably Rogue glanced up sharply at the sound of boots on the hard concrete. With an indifferent shrug she went back to her rocking, her voice scratchy and unwilling to work properly as she hummed along with the voices in her head.
The sudden blinding light that crashed out over her cell floor and into her eyes had her hissing a warning even as she glanced up. It wasn’t time for her nightly beating, and the woman with the needle had long since gone, although perhaps it was time for her ‘shower’ she thought before shrugging indifferently and hissing another warning – ready to fight just on principle.
“Boss, another one’s here. Looks young, probably no more than twenty five, and female.”
“Any obvious signs of abuse?”
“Bruises, scars, fresh cuts,” the man ground out with an angry shrug, “Seems to me she’s been worked over pretty well.”
Stepping into the cell a dark haired woman with long, flowing curls eyed Rogue as she sat hissing and growling at them. “Find me the records for this cell.”
With a quick nod the man moved off, silently, obediently. As soon as he was gone Rogue snapped at the woman and retreated away from the light. The sound of leather creaking as it was moved did little to disturb Rogue’s growls, rather it was muted out by them.
“Poor thing,” the woman hunkered down on her heels, “Well it’s time to step out of the darkness kid, I’m gonna take you home.”
With furious growl Rogue shook her head and backed ever further away, “Not allowed.”
With a familiar looking expression in place, the woman rose to her full height and glanced behind her, “What’s the verdict?”
“No indication of sexual abuse,” the man said holding a chart. “But they’ve got her pumped full of something called Diacoderine.”
“What the hell is that?” the low snarl held fury and curiosity.
“A mind control drug. Looks like they’ve also done a few implants, and tried tweaking her mutation a little.”
“What’s the mutation?”
“Lethal skin. The other two girls were a lot luckier than this one.”
“If you call being repeatedly raped lucky,” the woman snapped before jerking her long duster off, “Wrap her in this and bring her. Sedate her if you have to.”
A moment later, a quick, nearly painless prick of a needle, and Rogue was tossed over a leather clad shoulder. Her last vaguely clear thought was that at least Jubilee and Kitty were being transferred as well as she sat them hustling behind her ‘captor’ as they moved through the hallways.
Sitting at the heavy, scarred wooden desk she called her own Helen Creed stared at the darkness, her mind tangled around what she’d witnessed again. In a move as old as time itself she’d done what needed doing and following the intel from one of her ‘employees’ she’d raided a nearby lab.
The few mutants that were being held there were all in bad shape, most having suffered sexual abuse for as long as they’d been there, others were treated like lab rats and had endured endless ‘improvements’ at the hands of the military.
The trio of girls that had been on the lowest level had endured some of the worst, some of the most horrific treatment. Tank had indicated that one of the girls had been so badly used and abused that there was a better than ninety percent chance that the girl would never be able to have sex again – something that right now the girl showed no remorse over. The other had lost an eye, part of one nipple when what appeared to have been a ring had been jerked out, and had scars that ran up both legs from the knees.
The third however was by far the worst case of drug abuse she’d ever seen. The poor girl was so dependent upon the drugs, so used to a daily injection that Tank had been giving her shots of painkillers and placebos just to keep her quiet. The scars that littered her body were surgical, not sadism, a tell-tale mark of the ‘improvements’ that the military had thought to give her.
The file had been a rather interesting, if infuriating read and Helen glanced at it on her desk, open where she’d left it. Closing her eyes she could still see the blank look in the girl’s eyes, smell the desperation of a mind being eaten alive by its own insanity as a means of escape. Oh no, if she had her way she’d make them all pay, make them all regret taking the innocence and youth from so many just like they’d done to her second youngest son.
Turning from where she sat she glanced up onto the mantel to a framed painting that had been in her possession as long as she could recall. It had been a portrait that she treasured, the only outward sign of a life cut short – with a hint of a grin she nodded her head at it, “Well old man looks like we’re doing some good now. If only we could keep things going like this,” she spoke softly, lovingly to the image of a husband long dead.
“Hey Momma,” the soft, sultry tone had her turning to her office door to smile at a small, dark haired, brown eyed young man.
“Yes Edward?”
“Uh that girl with the streaks is sorta awake. She seems to be coming out of the drugs.”
“Thank you,” rising Helen moved quickly toward the door. Pausing only long enough to ruffle the young man’s hair in an affectionate grandmotherly gesture she strode purposely down the hallway to the medical ward.
Slipping into the room she paused, the sound of sobs loud in her ears, “What’s going on Tank?”
“Streaks has started to come down from the drugs,” he pointed to the bed where the young woman lay sobbing. “She’s experiencing withdrawals.”
“Can you make her more comfortable?”
“No, she keeps sobbing, and muttering but I can’t understand what she wants.”
“Any idea on what you can do to make her comfortable without pumping her full of drugs? Something more that you could do with the placebo perhaps?”
“Give her a hit of your blood might work. It’ll help offset the side effects but since I know you don’t..”
Raising a hand Helen moved toward the bed a slight frown crossing her face at the softly murmured word escaping the girl’s control.
“Logan, Logan, Logan.”
Biting her lip, Helen moved closer to the girl until she was standing next to the bed. Leaning over until she was a hair’s breath away from her she sighed, “Where is he kid? Tell me.”
“Logan,” the girl whispered sadly, her voice thick with tears, “Just want Logan. You aren’t real.”
Smiling sadly Helen shook her head, “I am real. Tell me where he is kid and I’ll get him.”
Eyes too old to be in such a young face turned to face her and she swallowed at the bitterness and the agony within them. “I won’t tell you where he is. I won’t let you hurt him again. You can do whatever you want to me, but you’re never gonna hurt him again.”
Nodding Helen stood up and patted her arm where it lay under the blanket. Turning to the tall, broad chested man staring at them she smiled softly, “Find where the girls came from. Inform me at once of anything you find.”
Tank merely nodded and watched the older woman disappear out the door. As she did many of the days spent in the under ground prison she called home, she was dressed in jeans, sweater, boots, only those who knew her well could see the telltale signs of the many years she’d lived, the careful steps of someone who’d walked in the shoes of more than one class of people.
The slight graying at her temples, the lines about her eyes and mouth, the infrequent frailties that came with age, the often spoken word or phrase that spoke of another time, and another place were all indications of a life that had been long and hard. Still she moved with the grace, and stealth her mutation had endowed her with. Now was one of those times, the proud stance hid the crushing weight of loss within her soul from all who eyed it.
Shaking his head Tank turned back to his patient before slipping from the ward and heading down the hallway to where two other young women, scarred and battle weary sat clinging to each other for strength and for understanding.
Entering the room he noticed the way they both tensed and moved away from him, their gazes distrustful and angry. The one called Shadowcat glared openly at him, her face marred by several long, jagged fresh scars that raced from her temple to her jaw, her hair shorn off leaving scabs where the shears had cut too deeply. The other a slim, likewise scarred Eurasian girl sat eying him coldly with the one good eye she still possessed as he closed the door and moved to sit in a chair.
“Morning girls,” not getting a response he sighed softly, “Your friend is doing much better. I think she’ll be up and moving around within a few days.”
“Yeah? So? You think we owe you or something?” the Eurasian demanded weakly, her voice hoarse and over used, the red, harsh looking burns around her throat a clear indication of strangulation.
“No,” Tank shook his head, “The uh, the therapist will be here this afternoon. You can talk to her then if you like.”
Both girls shook their heads even as Tank shifted on his chair, “I know it’s hard to have to deal with it. Personally I think you’re very brave for surviving hell.”
A soft snort of disbelief was the only response.
“Uh is there someone we can contact? Someone who would be able to help you?”
“Why? If you want something why not just take it like the others did?” the soft spoken girl hissed, rage and fear warring in her gaze as it darted to him then away.
Rising Tank moved to the counter and began fussing with the plastic dishes and spoons sitting there, “If I wanted to take from you, I could do it and your mutations wouldn’t have any affect on me. I have no ulterior motives my dear, just concern for your well being.”
“Bullshit.”
Nodding Tank turned to face them, “Whose Logan?”
The shock and fear that crossed their faces had him wondering who the girls were so loyal to even as the Eurasian rose and walked toward him. Tensing slightly as she neared him he refused to budge, instead meeting her eye for eye, “Logan is someone who is going to kick your ass for hurting any one of us. Then he’ll shred this place and everyone he finds for what you’ve done to Rogue. You think we’re stupid, think because you’re letting us stay together in this room that we don’t know what you’re doing to Rogue? Get real you son of a bitch, we’re far from stupid.”
Nodding Tank eyed her carefully, “And just to be clear, what exactly am I doing to Rogue?”
“Exactly the same thing your friends did to us,” the girl snarled, “Now that you think you’ve found a way around her skin. We aren’t deaf, we heard what you were saying, talking about the adjustments and how they’d probably affect her skin. Only thing is now you’re gonna have to deal with someone who’s gonna make you all very, very sorry…before you die.”
Tank shook his sadly, “I see we’ve a lot of work ahead of us. I’ll leave you two to settle down, allow you time to regroup. If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask, there’s an intercom on the wall there, or you can find me two doors down in my office.”
Closing the door softly behind him Tank clenched his hands into fists and felt the fury that rumbled through him. Seeing the fluttering of the muscles in his forearms he sucked in a breath, forcing himself to calm down. There was no point, and no profit in tearing the hallway apart – not when there were humans out there that would suffice.
“Tonight,” he muttered before turning and heading for his office. He would work on his paperwork, update all the medical records until the therapist they’d hired for the girls arrived then he’d introduce them and leave the trio to work out their healing process.
“Afternoon Tank,” the soft, sultry voice, thick with a Scottish accent had the big man glancing up from his work to smile at the slim woman who stood in his doorway her arms crossed over her chest.
“Afternoon Rebecca, how are you? Did you need me to introduce you to your new patients?” Tank started to rise only to sink back into his seat at an upraised hand.
“I think you should tell me what happened to them before I walk into the room and start a therapy routine that may not work,” the tiny woman declared.
Nodding Tank leaned back in his chair, “Sexual mutilation, gang rape, foreign object penetration, from what I’ve been able to glean from them, and from what scarring there is a good likely hood that its not all vaginal, there may be sodomy. On top of that they’re both defensive, prone to sudden bouts of aggression followed quickly by depression.”
Nodding Rebecca sighed, “I’ve got my work cut out for me then. Is it a group therapy or..”
“Whatever you feel is better, if you’d like to speak to each of them separately; there is a small office you can use. You know where it is.”
“This is bad isn’t it Tank?”
“One of the worst cases I’ve ever seen in all honesty. Both girls are relying on the other for strength, and the third girl has become so addicted to the drugs they routinely pumped into her that she’s almost catatonic for the most part. When she does speak its mutters of names, of places, of things that make no sense with bouts of manic laughter thrown into the mix.”
“What did they do to her?”
“That’s the scary part,” Tank rose and began to pace, “I’m afraid for her ‘Becca, really truly afraid. She’s young, she’s got so much to live for and I can see it in Helen’s eyes that there’s something there I don’t know, I don’t understand. It’s almost like Helen’s waiting and watching to make sure that Streaks pulls through.”
“Helen’s like that with all the cases that come in here.”
“She’s not seeing a young woman on that bed ‘Becca, I don’t know what she sees but it isn’t a young woman scarred by the military’s love of experimentation.”
“Have you ever asked her?”
“No. I don’t know if I’m more afraid of the answer than the action.”
Rebecca nodded and shifted, “I’ll go see my newest clients.”
Tank nodded quickly and watched the therapeutic doctor disappear down the hallway. He only hoped that there was something that could be done, something that could reverse the destruction of three young lives.
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