It had been exactly a week since Christina was brought here. She'd been counting the days and nights, along with the tiles on the ceiling and the cracks on the wall. She was kept at sweltering temperatures and she had no energy to do anything but lie there, and contemplate. She thought about her mother, and how worried she was. A tiny, tiny part of her was glad that her mother would finally be forced remember that she had (and had lost) a second child and hopefully would be feeling bad for not treating her daughter better when she was around. But this was still quashed by the enormous mountain of sadness at having her freedom taken from her. Nothing for compensate for the current hell she was living.
The meals the scientists brought to her were dry and tasteless. They talked as if she was deaf and so she was often able to gauge what was going on in the wider facility. It was the only information and contact she received from human beings in a day, so she relished in every shred, even if it was from her kidnappers. Whenever they entered - usually bearing food of some sort - they would chatter away and Christina would lie on the table that she knew as her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling and listening to their conversations. She heard one relaying to the other why Christina's food was so dry; "Dr Hagueson reckons that water's a key component in ice see - reduce that, and you reduce the subject's strength. He's trying to keep her exposure to water to a minimum, just in case". She had learnt no longer had a name outside of 'the subject'.
They also talked about other subjects, which always piqued Christina's interest. Apparently they'd just brought in a kid who needed to be tethered down, for fear they would fly off - 'Peter fricking Pan' they liked to call him - and a younger man that had something to do with metal. Despite Christina's constant disorientation, she found herself filing away these titbits of information, surprised to hear that there were others like her, other 'subjects'. They might be useful later - if she even lived through to a 'later'. At this rate, she'd barely make it through the month. She was beginning to feel weak all the times, and it felt like she slept constantly. The heat made her feel sick and she found herself withdrawing deeper and deeper within herself.
The worst parts were the interviews, which took place at exactly quarter past four every afternoon. She could monitor Dr Hagueson's approach by the clicking of his polished shoes on the corridor outside her cell and he was almost always accompanied by Dr Granger, who merely stared at her with his beady, rat-like eyes. The questions were relentless and required her to describe every minute aspect of her childhood that, at first, she had refused to do. However, after a little persuasion - involving a few punches from one of the guards, that gave Christina a bloody nose and a split lip - she eventually began to respond flatly to whatever they asked. They were mostly interested in how she was brought up, her parents, whether she had siblings and if they had developed any similar traits. She answered truthfully - even to the degrading questions, such as describing Victor's kiss in detail - but they always seemed to leave disappointed.
They took blood sample and urine sample from her every few days. She didn't even flinch when they stuck the needle in her arm anymore and when they held out the jar, she took it wordlessly. She did as she was told. She no longer was Christina - the girl, who had her own mind - but instead, the Subject, who was merely the scientist's toy. After seven days, though, something interrupted the schedule.
"Come on," Dr Granger said, opening the door and gesturing for her to walk out of her cell. Christina just stared at him dumbly. She was being allowed out?
He cleared his throat and she hastened, stumbling unsteadily on her legs which had grown unaccustomed to walking. He walked slightly behind her, jostling her down the corridor and barking sharp orders of where to turn and which door to go through. She complied, marvelling at somewhere that wasn't her three-by-three meter cell, and nearly tripped when he pushed her through the last doorway into a cavernous hall. The floor, walls and ceiling were all the same sterile white she had grown to hate, but red lines - the most vivid shade of scarlet; her eyes drunk up the colour that they had been deprived of for over a week - formed large, room-sized boxes on the ground. Dr Granger led her over to a box in the corner. He gestured for to stand on a red cross and pointed a tiny glass on a podium approximately ten meters away, barely visible behind the white background. It was less than half full of water.
"This is the training room," Dr Granger explained, "It is the only area of the compound you are allowed to use your abnormality. And only when requested by a member of staff. Others may enter and be tested by their own scientist teams but you are to ignore them and focus on your task, understand?"
She nodded vacantly.
She understood.