𝒜𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓆𝓊𝑒 𝐿𝒶𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒
𝒲𝑒𝓁𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒩𝑒𝓌 𝐻𝑒𝓁𝓁
…Inferior beings. Scum. Human wastes…
The silence inside the transparent truck holding no less than at least twenty teenagers, ranging from late teens to near-twenty years old, was disturbing to the black-haired young woman dressed as if she had been picked straight from a metal concert. It wouldn’t actually be a wrong guess, as Angélique was still clothed with the garments she was wearing on the day she was arrested, a few days ago, at the deadly concert she had given. Ever since she was held in custody by Québec’s Regional Security Police Corps, she never had a change of clothes during her stay behind the bars of her temporary cell, not even once they had given her the chance to wash herself as well. Likewise, the same occurred when she was transferred to the foreign military unit that had come to pick her up after a few days the jury deliberated on how to handle her situation.
While most seemed to be annoyed by the jokes constantly told by the scar-faced young man, Angel was welcoming the breaking of this unbearable silence. While his voice did not completely erase the existence of the whispers ushering vile words at the corner of her mind, it was enough to at least drown them out.
…Fool. Buffoon. Idiot…
The eventless roadtrip to god knows where with peers bound all together with chains and magic-suppressing cuffs eventually took its toll on the tired young rockstar. It didn’t look like so because of the shades Angélique was still wearing, but her eyes were black not because of the mascara and eyeliner (she already cried out whatever make-up she had been wearing) but from exhaustion. Not only she did not changed clothes nor was given much to eat, but the young woman was not given much rest, always woken up as she was on the brink of sleep by some assholes guards who just wanted to see a Subnatural writhe in pain.
Eventually, unable to resist the call of dreamland, Angel dozed off into sleep, her exhaustion finally getting the best of her, and the troubling whispers muted by the voice of her joking peer. At first, no one could really tell the rocker girl was indeed sleeping because of her shades hiding her closed eyes, but a light snore betrayed her just as her head had fallen onto the shoulder of a turquoise-haired girl probably not much younger than the sleepyhead on her shoulder.
“They all deserves it.” Angélique muttered in her sleep, just before waking up as the truck that was carrying its prisoners to their new home stopped.
Waking up with her eyes watering down her cheeks, it took a moment for a confused Angélique to realize what was happening. Removing her shades to wipe the water off her eyes and to see more clearly into the darkness of the early morning, the young woman could distinct two figures fighting not too far from where the truck stopped. She had seen the news to only know by name and their abilities the two women fighting off monsters. She could remember well Prism, the laser-shooting Precursor, and the golden-lit one named Sparrow. To have them mobilized so early in the morning, surely something huge was coming. And indeed, it was. Huge creatures, like the ones from her nightmares, appeared one after the other, however quickly dispatched by the duo of Precursors.
…Traitors. Lapdogs. Sluts…
While her past self admired the Precursors for all of their hard work into helping humanity survive, a feeling of disgust now overtook her quite recently when she had heard that the “Original 10” were yet just more powerful puppets controlled by USARILN to save their sorry asses. Those ten individuals had the power, they could do everything if they wished to. They could even save the others suffering a pitiful life of slavery and meaningless sacrifice from the hands of the Regulars higher-ups. But they only were satisfied with their bigger freedom, and answered whenever they were called, like good little dogs. The very thought of it, mixed with the whispers’ incessant taunts, infuriated her. As much as she’d like to scream her way out of this transparent cage and punch them right in the face, she couldn’t. She could only sit and bide her time, for now.
The custom-made company of trucks soon hurried off the area when the path was made clear. It didn’t take long to arrive at destination after their short stop. For the remaining of the roadtrip, Angélique did not doze off into dreamland. She was being kept on edge by the current events, with her ever-growing frustration boiling inside. The more they approached the heavily-guarded complex, the more anxious Angel was becoming. It did not help that the guards that were accompanying them had their weapons pointed at the group of teenagers slowly getting out of the truck and ushered towards a big empty room.
After waiting for a while, a woman came in and explained the situation everyone here were facing, with a rather smug and taunting demeanor. On this earth, the director of USARLIN East was probably the last person that the young singer wanted to deal with. Her reputation had already been made by the news, and nobody wanted to have to be under her iron fist. Gods above, just how much did Angélique wanted to take off her shades and throw them at the bitch who was now pointing her gun at the group of Subnaturals, as if to attest to her superiority.
…Slut. Whore. Bitch...
Just when she would want to scream her face off, the guy drinking what smelled like coffee talked some sense into the group of newly arrived “students”. For some reason, the words he had spoken putted some more ease into Angel’s mind. Be it from pure logic, survival instincts or some other unknown factor, she didn’t know, but her anger repressed and remained at an annoyed level. True, there was not much they could do right now, except accept a quick death right off the bat, should they want one. Truthfully, was there a point to live anymore, now that she was branded as one of those psycho maniacs? From now on, she would be living here as a slave, until she turns mad and be put down like nothing short of an animal. But despite that, there was this strange drive to stay alive, to see things through, stay alive and do something about this whole mess.
…Lapdogs. Ass-kissers. Boot lickers…
Watching as some decided to retrain from speaking, while hearing others speaking their minds, Angel felt like she, too, needed to voice her opinions on that matter. Instinctively, she had abruptly stepped away from the young woman who managed to slip out of her restraints, and the words spoken started to sound accusatory towards the institute that would soon become their home.
…Slaves. Prisonners. Hostages…
“We’re just like wild animals to them! They don’t care who you are, how old you are or where you come from! We’re monsters. Monsters to be tamed and disposed of, nothing less.” Angélique replied vehemently to the athletic Indian-looking young woman.
In truth, the dark-clothed young rockstar had nothing against the girl, but the situation they were facing, with the growing animosity intensifying by the seconds only made her more angsty. By now, Angel was baring her teeth and the frustration that had pent up since the last few days began erupting. This small episode of lashing out had a surprising positive effect on Angel, making her a bit more focused on the current matter. She had to thread carefully if she would want to avoid being shot on account of being too frenzied.
“However, that doesn’t mean I won’t cooperate. Just… give me some work to be done so I can’t think too much about it. Hell, I admit that I’ll even do like the poor fuckers out there this morning and help in saving your Regulars’ sorry asses if I don’t get shot at before then.” The metal angel spitted with hatred as she shot up a hidden glare towards the Director underneath her shades.
Hypocrite...
