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Snippet #2056700

located in The Lab, a part of The Outside, one of the many universes on RPG.

The Lab

You came back, we are glad you we finally have our property in our hands.

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Character Portrait: Aramay
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Aramay

The lack of activity was very, tolerable, at first. Since it meant that there were no experiments, tests, restraints or bright lights being shoved in her face. It gave her time to sleep, to heal and not waste her energy over the now trivial concerns such as hygiene or taxes. Her body now had time to adjust to its unusual new dimensions and additions. The sensations were still strange and foreign but they no longer overwhelmed or hurt the senses. It took time of course before that happened and a fair amount of it was in a catatonic state while completely curled up in the corner. The five stages of grieving became the only thoughts that passed through her mind and that was also beckoning towards the side of rare.

One thing that she did happen to take notice of was the fact that her body didn't constantly complain and ache like it used to and the fever that persisted in her system didn't give her as many grievances though it still lingered like a bad taste. Once the physical anguish and mental pain numbed themselves sufficiently did she start to move around again. Previous memories of her being outside of the complex started to grow as foreign to her as her own body. They did however keep her from going into a sort of hibernation completely. They also encouraged her to bring back old habits. Listening to anyone that walked by, observing the cell that she was being kept in, familiarizing herself with her surroundings in hopes that she would actually be able to better prepare herself to look for when anything was out of the ordinary.

Aramay yielded to the idea of looking at herself save for the unintentional glimpses. With no other stimuli to really busy herself with there was only so much she could do to ignore what was right under her nose. She couldn't simply look down, she had to close her eyes and turn her head towards that direction similar to how someone would prepare to look at something that they knew they couldn't simply observe on a whim such as a burn victim. The grime couldn't hide the mutations she had suffered and endured. In fact it made it even worse because she wasn't even sure how much of it was dirt or if it somehow was actual skin. The claws on her hands and feet looked infectiously wicked. A simple flick and she likely would cause someone to run the risk of getting a staph infection or make the healthiest doc or scientist there go septic. Better yet, with a few scrapes against any part of the cell would yield a small but noticeable amount of material to come free without much wear to show on those claws as a result of it. They were getting long anyways and she needed a reason to wear them down. But before she decided that reason she wanted to better understand what she could do now. Without prompting from scientists or obstacle courses.

For several hours she re-taught herself how to walk. There was no way that she could stand up straight with that spine of hers but she could coil herself up and jump rather high and likely rather far as well. She started to etch divots into the walls to climb up, down, sideways. Leap from one set of divots in one wall to another set across the room. The first few times she missed with a small sense of embarrassment that somehow lurked into the back of her mind. In no time she was becoming rather, inventive with how to occupy herself. There was no guide that came with her mutations so learning them with the aid of only the small space she was kept in proved to be an interesting challenge. Even humorous if she was being observed while left to her own devices. The only things that were still big concerns for her were having to deal with the lights and her, tail. Both were still sensitive to the point of burdening or hindering her progress. She could swear that the appendage was still growing, taking its sweet time and providing people with a nice weak point to be exploited. At least for her eyes she could learn to use the muscles around them to consciously pull that protective membrane over her light-sensitive eyes before looking out the small window into the hallway. She still couldn't discern anything more than moving shapes and the differences between bright and dark areas. Any other details were still fuzzy at best if not completely blind to her altogether.

In the end her mind focused on one thing, she couldn't stay there forever. She wasn't going to wait to be rescued because there was no reason for her to believe that she would be. Before long, underneath all of the other noises that could be heard, there was a scratching at one of the doors. Repetitive but not pleading, more rhythmic, deep, long, ceaseless, scrapings of something set literally working on getting itself free.