She could just feel them coming. It was cold... and she was sore again. Her hands clasped tightly between her thighs, she hoped they'd pass her by. For a second she hoped they were there for someone else... what an awful thing to think. She huddled as far into the corner as she could. The cold brick pushing into her, pushing her at them. Now she could actually hear them. The low grunts and half chuckles were getting closer. He was getting closer. All this fuss over her, and those like her and there was nothing she could actually do to stop them. If her body hadn't already given up and gone limp she might have smiled. It felt like a long time that she'd been in this cold, dark place, but she still remembered what it was to smile. Even when she'd been on the run there'd been times when she could smile. There'd been times...
"The Doc wants this one now." A guard says as he unlocks the door.
"You're a pretty one, aren't you sweetheart?" The other commented as he lifted her from the ground. The guard was surprised at how little she weighed. She'd lost so much weight since she arrived but that didn't worry him. He put her back down to her feet, the first guard supporting her from under her arms. The second guard lifted her prison dress and grabbed at her vagina. His brutal fingers grasping and probing. The girl was used to this by now and didn't even resist.
When they were each finished the guards took her out of the cell and down the long, long corridor. They half pulled her half carried her along, her head lolling tragically. She pushed out with her mind, but all she could feel was the guard's sweat and eager penises. She vomited on herself.
"Oh fuck! What a filthy bitch, eh mate? Christ." The taller guard said disgustedly.
"If that's the worst that happens to her today then she's a very very lucky little bitch." The other said in low tones.
"Guess so, Frank."
"You think... you think she knows what we're thinking?" The taller one asked after a few more steps.
"Nope. The Doc says she's an empath. She's not strong enough to read our minds. Wouldn't do her any good even if she could."
"An empaff?" He rolled it round on his tongue, trying to imagine what this young girl must be.
"Fuck, Mike. Empath. Empathhhh. It means she can feel what we feel. Emotions, feelings. Shit like that." Frank explained.
"You reckon she could feel us... back there, I mean?"
Frank's head whipped round and gave Mike a look like a thousand thousand tonnes of frozen ice. It was enough to silence Mike.
The three stopped at the metal door at the end of the corridor. Frank swiped a card and the door opened. A man at a long desk filled with monitors and a computer nodded and waved them on. Frank's nose twitched trying to expel the stench of the girl. It was a futile attempt. He was stuck with her (and Mike) for at least the next ten or fifteen minutes.
The girl was bundled into the back of a military issue vehicle and the doors shut on her once again. The two guards got into the front of the vehicle and pulled away from the parking lot.
"You ever think about them, Frank?" Mike asked, his head flicking away from the road and to his partner.
"Think about who Mike?"
"Them. The telepaths. My old lady hates 'em. She hates that we work with 'em. She reckons they're gonna take over my mind or something." He chuckles at the thought.
"Yay, for small victories," Frank lets slip out.
"How many you reckon there are?"
"Dunno. People say that they were around long before anybody cottoned on. Like that one," he says as he points to the cabin of the vehicle. "That's why sometimes you pick up ones that're a bit older. Mostly they're just kids. The bigshots scan newborns and take them for education if they're positive. They're freaks Mike. Abominations. We catch them, fuck with 'em a bit then the science guys destroy them. And we are better off without them."
"Of course, Frank. Fucking freaks."
Much to Frank's pleasure, they arrived before Mike could piss him off any further. When Mike opened the door to the back of the vehicle the girl dove straight at him, bundling him over and into the dusty ground. The girl was up before anyone would have suspected and had taken one step in her glorious escape when the butt of a gun turned the world black then white. The girl crumpled to the ground next to the disoriented Mike. Frank sighed; he was definitely going to request a new partner. This dumbfuck was going to be the death of him. He slung the gun back over his shoulder and lifted the girl over the other one. He left Mike picking himself up out of the dirt and proceeded to the building's grim doors. At the door, Frank looked over to a metal plate. In its reflective surface, Frank could see a distorted Mike coming towards him. It reminded him of those old funhouse mirrors at the circus. He positioned himself in front of it and there was a click as a photo of his face was taken. A whir as the computer checked it against the records inside the facility and a hiss as the door itself opened. Into the funhouse we go, he thought to himself.
At another long reception desk he indicated he was there to see Doctor Petroff and they waved him, Mike and the package over Frank's shoulder on. Down more long corridors they marched, the two guards saying nothing to one another. Mike still embarrassed by what had occurred outside and Frank too disgusted with his partner's amateurish mistake to even contemplate speaking to him. Petroff was waiting for them outside the theatre.
"Inside. On the slab." Petroff ordered. There was an economy in the way Petroff spoke. The two guards knew there'd be no conversation and did as they were supposed to, each hoping the Doc wouldn't ask them why the girl had blood and vomit all down the front of her dress. He did and they explained weakly what had happened in each instance, minus how all this began. Frank felt a small bead of sweat trickle down his neck as he considered what would happen if Mike messed up and what they were doing to the prisoners was discovered. Before he could build an image in his head they were dismissed, leaving the girl and the Doctor alone.
The guards had tied her wrists to the operating table, or the ‘slab' as Petroff liked to call it. Petroff looked her up and down before sliding over to a workbench at the back of the room. From the workbench's drawer he pulled a metal hipflask. He twisted the cap off and contemplated the contents. Turning and glancing at the girl, he lifted the hipflask to his lips and took a healthy swig. The Doctor pressed a button on the mini-disc player on the bench. He was used to being recorded by now. The higher-ups liked having audio records of these sessions and he tended to forget each session as soon as it was done anyway. On the bench were numerous tools. Some of them were surgical implements, the kind you might find in any operating theatre in any hospital. Some of them... well, some of them were being put to a more creative use in this operating room than what they were originally intended for. One of them gleamed and called to him. He picked up the saw and crossed back over to the girl on the slab. By this point the girl had regained consciousness, however she hadn't said anything or even struggled against her restraints.
"Name." His tone was officious and to the point.
The girl's eyes moved slightly towards him, but she still didn't make a sound.
