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Description
Nevermore
Indomitable, emotionless, she sits in the small room her eyes downcast. She barely moves in her relaxed position in the uncomfortable plastic chair. Each word she speaks with sincerity, truth but most of all indifferent. She refuses to meet the police officer’s gaze, but answers the prying questions with little thought.
The officer grows exasperated. He is getting no where with this case. Everything the girl says fits together with precision, a perfectly thought out plan. The girl makes no allusion to have not been at the scene, but she stoutly refuses to admit she was first to strike, or with what she committed the crime.
Murder. That was what the girl had been bought in for. A man in his early thirties had been brutally killed in a suspected brawl with the girl. Grainy CCTV footage caught the scramble between the two, although bad quality stopped the police gaining much knowledge of what ensured. A fight had taken place and the man’s body slumped to the ground in the position it was found in two hours later.
Deep slashes had been carved across his abdomen, severing several vital organs. Bones had been smashed in the scuffle and six tattered holes pierced his shoulders, ripping right the way through his ugly frame, three on each shoulder.
No weapon had been found. No traces of DNA, or none that matched any human other than the deceased.  All they had to go on was the footage and the girl’s own admittance to being at the scene. Forensics agreed that the time of death had been at a similar time to the brawl, but without the damning evidence of weapon or DNA there was nothing to convict the girl with.
She did not seem smug about her actions though. Neither did she show remorse or regret. She simply gave the facts and nothing more.
A heavy sigh escaped the officer’s lips. It was late and he was getting nowhere. Already the sky was pitch black and the white slither of a moon illuminating the clouds. Slowly he stood, his own chair scraping horribly against the floor. Carefully he informed the accused that he was leaving her to dwell on her own thoughts for half an hour while he took a break. The girl nodded silently, uncaring.
Once the officer was gone, the girl became completely alone in the room. Security stood outside the door waiting in case she should escape, not that she had any plans to do so. She raised her absurdly neon green eyes for the first time that evening and glanced at the table. A tiny tape recorder whirred, recording their conversation and now anything she chose to say in her confinement.
‘Nice try…’ She thought darkly, lowering her eyes once more.

While the girl may have seemed cool and level on the outside, inside her mind was reeling with the impact that inner turmoil had left behind. Something inside of her had died that night, her thoughts were no longer the jumbled mess they always claimed to be, the humour, the passion, everything was gone. Her mind felt the aftermath of a city blazoned with war, rubble, a skeleton of it’s former self, but still grasping onto it’s spiritual strength, although desolate.
That morning’s early events had shook the girl’s world. Her perception of everything so much clearer, so much more calculated. No longer did it mask the mistakes in gold and ivory, making it appear like nothing was wrong. Now, it was blunt. It saw the mistakes for the abominations they truly were.
Strangely coloured eyes looked down at her body, taking in the skin she wore, the muscle structure than ran hidden underneath. Complex, intricate. She knew everything about the human body, how it worked, how the mind willed it. She knew it all, and how to destroy its very nature. The girl’s wandering eyes hesitated on her arms, mismatched with rows of scars, some more predominate than others, some barely there, having been sewn up with precision and care. She closed her eyes, hesitating, before finally giving in on herself.

The officer finally appeared in the small interrogation cell once again, placing two plastic cups upon the table that separated him from the girl.
The girl seemed not to have moved. Although her head was cast down, unnatural eyes peered from beneath the blood-red dye of her fringe, watching his every move. Still her arms were folded across her chest, although now she had dragged her swarthy coloured jacket over her body, concealing her arms.
The officer motioned to the cup closer to the girl, indicating that the steaming coffee was hers to drink. She shifted, leaning forward. A small red trickle of a stain could be seen gracing her upper hand as she reached out, mostly hidden by the cuff of the heavy, woollen garment. While the officer noticed this it did not register.
She leant back, silent as ever, grasping the mug of putrid instant caffeine in her lithe hands. She took a sip, the taste was foul, bitter on her tongue as it slid across the muscle and down her gullet. Still, she was thankful of the gesture.
The officer sighed audibly, glancing at the tape. He wondered if anything had been caught on its recordings, if the girl had mentioned anything in his absence. He would listen and over view the whole conversation again later.
Once more the officer began his prying questions, repeating some of the old ones in a futile attempt to make the girl trip up in her alibi. Each of her answers was sturdy, a perfect web of details. The officer already knew he was going to get no where with tonight alone.
Time passed slowly, minutes falling away into the abyss that was the past. The dark liquids in the plastic cups had been drained long before the officer saw it fit for them to retire for the night.

The girl was shown her cell for the night, rough hands pushing her in before pulling heavy locks across the door, bolting it closed. The room was small and white, just like anyone would expect, an uncomfortable bed rammed up against the wall, a toilet at its foot. Moonlight streamed in through the barred windows, making the dull room seem even whiter in its glow.
The girl blinked once or twice, freakishly coloured eyes shimmering in the cold light of the moon. She stood there, staring into nothingness for a moment, although the length of that moment was unknown, a minute, an hour, gazing into the emptiness before her, gazing into the abyss of her mind. She broke from her trance suddenly, pulling the heavy jacket from her arms, tossing it with precision onto the cell bed. Slowly, she let her gaze fall onto her now bare arms. Thick gashes spanned up both arms from wrist to elbow, still seeping blood where the liquids had not began to coagulate and flesh begin to sew itself together. Such a neat wound. For a wound of its severity made only hours ago it was looking surprisingly clean and well. The girl smirked to herself, flexing her fingers on her left hand, causing more blood ooze sickeningly from the healing wound.
In the safety an privacy of her cell the girl could give in to herself as much as she wanted, for as long as she wanted. ‘Give in’. It was a weird phrase for what she did, for sometimes, occasionally it had been vital for her to act so. Sometimes it had been. Sometimes. But since the brawl earlier, somehow the impressiveness and essentiality of it faded away completely. The thrill was still there though. That awing sensation of metal against skin, of machinery and Science at one with the human body. Knowing that the tender love and care that was put into your work was finally a reality.
The girl grinned, somewhat psychotically, but also with pride and honour. She tensed the muscles in both of her arms, the way she had done numerous times before, and allowed the shimmering blades to unfold, slipping from beneath the network of muscles and nerves. Three of them from each arm, each blade on her left curved upwards, those on her right curved downwards. Claret liquid dripped from the freshly opened wounds, sliced so precisely from the keen edge of the metal. Deadly weapons, hidden weapons. They would unfurl from their position close to the bone, ripping skin and exposing themselves like spiny plates of a lizard. Only more dangerous.
The girl struck a stance, closing those haunting eyes that were just as unnatural as the weapons she sported on her arms. Slowly, with grace and precision she began to move, a listless dance, swinging her arms in low arcs and taking a tentative step backwards. She paused, briefly, arms held at her sides. There was a faint but sickening noise in the short space of time, as identical, yet larger, blades burst from the side of her calves, neatly slashing her flesh and ripping the worn jeans on her body. Still poised, as unmoving as a rock, a devious smirk flicked on her lips, eyes still firmly shut. Once more she took up her dance, replacing its elegance with blinding speed. Her arms rotated in sharp arcs, slashing at thin air, moving upwards, downwards, each movement unpredictable. She whirled her body around, allowing low kicks, high kicks, roundhouse kicks to join in with the flurry of meticulous arm actions. A destructive kata at inhuman speeds and executed with accuracy equally as alien.
It was over in minutes. Had any small number of people been standing in her vicinity they would have been torn to shreds or battered beyond repair. The girl was half crouched in the centre of her cell, every muscle tense, her left leg stretched out behind her, the fingertips of her right hand brushing the cold floor. Not a sweat was broken. Her heart pulsed at a normal ate and her breathing was deep and unhurried. If anyone else had even attempted such a complicated sequence of movements they would be panting for any oxygen their lungs would receive. Raw power ran through the girl’s, albeit altered veins. Raw, undiluted, modified power.
Gently she opened her eyes and let out a heavy breath through her nostrils. Blood trickled down her arms and legs, running over her digits, creating a little network of red streams. Calmly she rose to her feet, releasing the tension in her muscles and allowing the elaborate blades to click back into place, hidden once more.

Quietly, at ease once again now she had exerted herself of her built up tension, she padded over to the hard bed and sat herself down on the lumpy, undesirable mattress. She sighed wearily, pulling a long, thin surgical needle from her jean pocket, and then a small reel of strong, black thread. She ran the needle across her tongue, a crude way of sterilising the instrument before threading the jet cotton through the eye. Carefully she pierced the skin on one side of the gash on her left arm, pulling the needle through the skin and then through the flesh on the other side of the wound. She pulled the gash closed, looping the thread around so that she could pierce the skin next to it. Methodically she worked her way up her arm, stitching the wound with all the skill and precision of a top surgeon. It stung a little, sewing her skin, but not as much as unsheathing the blades did. Still, she learned to live with and endure it.
That was the source of the scars that ran up and down her legs. The more prominent ones where from when she had first implanted the blades and was not so skilled in the art of surgical stitching. Now, however, she could put even the greatest surgeon to shame with her precision, knowing that the scars would fade to nothing.
It did help that she had enhanced healing. That was relatively new. Her wounds would heal in minutes, if they were minor or a few days if they were as severe as those on her arms.
She snapped the thread, having put the stitches in both her arms. Placing the instruments down for a moment she pulled her jacket over her body once again, hiding the black thread in her arms and the bloodstained skin. Then she rolled up her torn jeans and began work on her legs, stitching them as carefully as she had her arms.

The girl was full of changes, of experiments. It was not like she had been taken by a secret organisation and operated on against her will, nothing like you read in Science Fiction books. No, the cause of her modifications was her fascination of the human body, and her equal fascination for improving it.
The first modification had been her blood. She had heard about the pigs that Scientists had created that glowed in the dark. It was that initial newsreel that sparked her interest. With help from a few enthusiastic friends they had performed a similar set of experiments that caused her own blood to be UV reactive. Hell, that modification had gone down well at the nightclubs.
She could barely remember all of her modifications. Another earlier one had been making herself immune to many poisons by a weekly injection of small dosages of those poisons. A much more recent one had been switching some of the tendons and muscles in her legs to metal various other materials, increasing her jump height, speed and running endurance. It was a concept she had conceived after seeing the invention of the ‘kangaroo-legs’ and was similar except in was under her flesh not outside it. Other modifications included heightening her senses with various implants of DNA and chemicals, or experiments that required not invasion of her body, such as blindfolding herself for hours to give herself an extra perception of the world.
Her latest development was her eyes. That explained the odd colouring, but that had been unintentional. By careful experimentation she had made her eyes more susceptible to light without making daylight painful. In short, she had managed to create night vision. It had taken many long hours of solo research and a lot of practise before she could begin the work, which had been painful but non-the-less successful.
Self experimentation. Yes, she performed all her operations alone and on herself now, since her original group of friends and help had left in far of her outright obsession for the changes. Still, she had continued in her work alone, keeping herself and her bizarre operations secret from her family, friends and especially the law. What she was doing was no doubt illegal, but she also feared being put away for insanity, away from her work, or into some kind of unit where people would look at her, observe her experiments and make her a puppet for Scientific research. In her mind, if they wanted the information she had, they had to go get it themselves.
Only now, after the fight and her accidental killing, did she begin to realise what she had had done to herself. Only now did she see what her actions had made, what her knowledge had gained and put into diabolical use.

The girl snapped the thread for the final time that night, pocketing her implements. Rolling down her trouser legs she lay back on the bed and stared at the white ceiling. Her mind felt empty right now and her eyelids heavy. Despite whatever experiments she carried out on her body she would always have her human needs. Within seconds her closed, her breathing deepened and she fell into a deep, coma like sleep.

Light flooded the tiny cell as morning crept on. The police officer who had taken the girl in and interrogated her the night previous was to sign her release forms this day. He had listened to the recording of their conversation numerous times and there was nothing that could condemn this girl to the murder. He knew that it would be continually looked into for months to come and no doubt the girl would be bought in again and again, but there was nothing she said that gave her away. As the question of the murder implements still remained. The girl had been unarmed when they bought her in and the blurry footage seemed to suggest she had been unarmed then also. With a sigh he unlocked the cell door and beckoned the waiting girl out. With her same passive motion as the previous night she stood and followed the officer out of her cell, down hallways until they were in an office.
The police officer sat down behind a desk, pulling out and placing files and papers in front of him. The girl just stood nearby, silent and motionless. He glanced up at her, before picking up the nearest biro and beginning to place black ink onto the white paper.
“Sarah Caine, you realise even after this release we will still probably be calling for you?” He said, using the prisoner’s name. She nodded, emotionlessly replying the affirmative, red and blue hair bouncing as she moved. The officer let out a heavy sigh, returning his gaze to the forms. A cool wind blew in from the partially open window, striking the girl’s face. She could still feel physically, even if not emotionally, she thought dully, allowing her eyes to observe the city through the murky glass.
“I don’t understand…” The officer sighed, reclining in his chair, having finished filling out the form. “The murder weapon… Forensics can’t figure out what it is, and I suppose you don’t either?” No point in wasting time with idly chit-chat when a fraction more interrogation could be used. The girl stiffened slightly, the first sign of emotion the officer had seen. Without facing him, she began to speak.
“I do.” She replied, quietly, passively. The officer blinked at her reply. Not the one he had been expecting. He must have been asking the wrong questions last night.
“Well…  What is it then?” He asked, leaning forward, crossing his arms on the desk. The girl stayed silent for a while, the officer waiting attentively.
“Are you sure you want to know?” She asked quietly, barely a whisper. “You want to see the fruits of deranged labour? See the tool that Satan himself could have forged? Understand what diabolical and inhumane creation was the cause? Accept the consequences that this knowledge yields as I had to?” She said slowly, dangerously.
The officer frowned. The girl’s words were confusing him but non-the-less.
“Yes. I do.” He replied, watching the girl. A grim expression crossed the girl’s face.
“Very well…” She whispered; closing her eyes as an all too familiar clicking noise was sounded.

It was half an hour after the girl’s signed release that anyone went into the small room where the papers had been signed. The girl had handed her papers in at the desk at left promptly, disappearing into the streets. That was the last the police would see of her in years. When they finally would catch up with her again, she would have dropped her birth name and created an entire new existence for herself, living in even more seclusion and secrecy than she did before. She would still be heavily modifying herself and offering, for a price, her services of surgery and modifications to those desperate enough.
When someone finally did enter the office, at first glance things looked normal, on second glance the female police officer saw blood pooling from underneath the desk. Confused and intrigued she walked forward, peering behind the desk. The sight almost made her physically sick. The body of the case’s officer lay sprawled, blood pouring from open wounds on his chest, his face an expression of both horror and awe. The woman screamed, alerting the rest of the building of her gruesome discovery.
Others rushed in to see what had caused her to scream, and upon seeing the corpse realised. The police unit was frantic and scared. Even after pulling in forensics and investigators, no one could tell what had ensued in that room, or, indeed, who or what had killed one of their members. In fact, the only clue was a scrap of paper with something scrawled on it in cursive, blue ink. But that paper was mislaid, caught by a gust of wind and dragged through the window to be lost and destroyed in the surrounding city. Had anyone seen it, had anyone read it, they would have seen an altered poem written by an altered girl, that simply spoke the truth.

What is done is done and I was blind with my mutated imagery of mankind,
Unknown mysteries of human frame and soul I did explore,
Perverted experiments I did create, yet morbid realisation struck of late,
For those ‘improvements’ to my body I did adore,
Oh, those devilish, grim, malign, improvements I did so adore,
Made me human… Nevermore.

Description
Nevermore
Indomitable, emotionless, she sits in the small room her eyes downcast. She barely moves in her relaxed position in the uncomfortable plastic chair. Each word she speaks with sincerity, truth but most of all indifferent. She refuses to meet the police officer’s gaze, but answers the prying questions with little thought.
The officer grows exasperated. He is getting no where with this case. Everything the girl says fits together with precision, a perfectly thought out plan. The girl makes no allusion to have not been at the scene, but she stoutly refuses to admit she was first to strike, or with what she committed the crime.
Murder. That was what the girl had been bought in for. A man in his early thirties had been brutally killed in a suspected brawl with the girl. Grainy CCTV footage caught the scramble between the two, although bad quality stopped the police gaining much knowledge of what ensured. A fight had taken place and the man’s body slumped to the ground in the position it was found in two hours later.
Deep slashes had been carved across his abdomen, severing several vital organs. Bones had been smashed in the scuffle and six tattered holes pierced his shoulders, ripping right the way through his ugly frame, three on each shoulder.
No weapon had been found. No traces of DNA, or none that matched any human other than the deceased.  All they had to go on was the footage and the girl’s own admittance to being at the scene. Forensics agreed that the time of death had been at a similar time to the brawl, but without the damning evidence of weapon or DNA there was nothing to convict the girl with.
She did not seem smug about her actions though. Neither did she show remorse or regret. She simply gave the facts and nothing more.
A heavy sigh escaped the officer’s lips. It was late and he was getting nowhere. Already the sky was pitch black and the white slither of a moon illuminating the clouds. Slowly he stood, his own chair scraping horribly against the floor. Carefully he informed the accused that he was leaving her to dwell on her own thoughts for half an hour while he took a break. The girl nodded silently, uncaring.
Once the officer was gone, the girl became completely alone in the room. Security stood outside the door waiting in case she should escape, not that she had any plans to do so. She raised her absurdly neon green eyes for the first time that evening and glanced at the table. A tiny tape recorder whirred, recording their conversation and now anything she chose to say in her confinement.
‘Nice try…’ She thought darkly, lowering her eyes once more.

While the girl may have seemed cool and level on the outside, inside her mind was reeling with the impact that inner turmoil had left behind. Something inside of her had died that night, her thoughts were no longer the jumbled mess they always claimed to be, the humour, the passion, everything was gone. Her mind felt the aftermath of a city blazoned with war, rubble, a skeleton of it’s former self, but still grasping onto it’s spiritual strength, although desolate.
That morning’s early events had shook the girl’s world. Her perception of everything so much clearer, so much more calculated. No longer did it mask the mistakes in gold and ivory, making it appear like nothing was wrong. Now, it was blunt. It saw the mistakes for the abominations they truly were.
Strangely coloured eyes looked down at her body, taking in the skin she wore, the muscle structure than ran hidden underneath. Complex, intricate. She knew everything about the human body, how it worked, how the mind willed it. She knew it all, and how to destroy its very nature. The girl’s wandering eyes hesitated on her arms, mismatched with rows of scars, some more predominate than others, some barely there, having been sewn up with precision and care. She closed her eyes, hesitating, before finally giving in on herself.

The officer finally appeared in the small interrogation cell once again, placing two plastic cups upon the table that separated him from the girl.
The girl seemed not to have moved. Although her head was cast down, unnatural eyes peered from beneath the blood-red dye of her fringe, watching his every move. Still her arms were folded across her chest, although now she had dragged her swarthy coloured jacket over her body, concealing her arms.
The officer motioned to the cup closer to the girl, indicating that the steaming coffee was hers to drink. She shifted, leaning forward. A small red trickle of a stain could be seen gracing her upper hand as she reached out, mostly hidden by the cuff of the heavy, woollen garment. While the officer noticed this it did not register.
She leant back, silent as ever, grasping the mug of putrid instant caffeine in her lithe hands. She took a sip, the taste was foul, bitter on her tongue as it slid across the muscle and down her gullet. Still, she was thankful of the gesture.
The officer sighed audibly, glancing at the tape. He wondered if anything had been caught on its recordings, if the girl had mentioned anything in his absence. He would listen and over view the whole conversation again later.
Once more the officer began his prying questions, repeating some of the old ones in a futile attempt to make the girl trip up in her alibi. Each of her answers was sturdy, a perfect web of details. The officer already knew he was going to get no where with tonight alone.
Time passed slowly, minutes falling away into the abyss that was the past. The dark liquids in the plastic cups had been drained long before the officer saw it fit for them to retire for the night.

The girl was shown her cell for the night, rough hands pushing her in before pulling heavy locks across the door, bolting it closed. The room was small and white, just like anyone would expect, an uncomfortable bed rammed up against the wall, a toilet at its foot. Moonlight streamed in through the barred windows, making the dull room seem even whiter in its glow.
The girl blinked once or twice, freakishly coloured eyes shimmering in the cold light of the moon. She stood there, staring into nothingness for a moment, although the length of that moment was unknown, a minute, an hour, gazing into the emptiness before her, gazing into the abyss of her mind. She broke from her trance suddenly, pulling the heavy jacket from her arms, tossing it with precision onto the cell bed. Slowly, she let her gaze fall onto her now bare arms. Thick gashes spanned up both arms from wrist to elbow, still seeping blood where the liquids had not began to coagulate and flesh begin to sew itself together. Such a neat wound. For a wound of its severity made only hours ago it was looking surprisingly clean and well. The girl smirked to herself, flexing her fingers on her left hand, causing more blood ooze sickeningly from the healing wound.
In the safety an privacy of her cell the girl could give in to herself as much as she wanted, for as long as she wanted. ‘Give in’. It was a weird phrase for what she did, for sometimes, occasionally it had been vital for her to act so. Sometimes it had been. Sometimes. But since the brawl earlier, somehow the impressiveness and essentiality of it faded away completely. The thrill was still there though. That awing sensation of metal against skin, of machinery and Science at one with the human body. Knowing that the tender love and care that was put into your work was finally a reality.
The girl grinned, somewhat psychotically, but also with pride and honour. She tensed the muscles in both of her arms, the way she had done numerous times before, and allowed the shimmering blades to unfold, slipping from beneath the network of muscles and nerves. Three of them from each arm, each blade on her left curved upwards, those on her right curved downwards. Claret liquid dripped from the freshly opened wounds, sliced so precisely from the keen edge of the metal. Deadly weapons, hidden weapons. They would unfurl from their position close to the bone, ripping skin and exposing themselves like spiny plates of a lizard. Only more dangerous.
The girl struck a stance, closing those haunting eyes that were just as unnatural as the weapons she sported on her arms. Slowly, with grace and precision she began to move, a listless dance, swinging her arms in low arcs and taking a tentative step backwards. She paused, briefly, arms held at her sides. There was a faint but sickening noise in the short space of time, as identical, yet larger, blades burst from the side of her calves, neatly slashing her flesh and ripping the worn jeans on her body. Still poised, as unmoving as a rock, a devious smirk flicked on her lips, eyes still firmly shut. Once more she took up her dance, replacing its elegance with blinding speed. Her arms rotated in sharp arcs, slashing at thin air, moving upwards, downwards, each movement unpredictable. She whirled her body around, allowing low kicks, high kicks, roundhouse kicks to join in with the flurry of meticulous arm actions. A destructive kata at inhuman speeds and executed with accuracy equally as alien.
It was over in minutes. Had any small number of people been standing in her vicinity they would have been torn to shreds or battered beyond repair. The girl was half crouched in the centre of her cell, every muscle tense, her left leg stretched out behind her, the fingertips of her right hand brushing the cold floor. Not a sweat was broken. Her heart pulsed at a normal ate and her breathing was deep and unhurried. If anyone else had even attempted such a complicated sequence of movements they would be panting for any oxygen their lungs would receive. Raw power ran through the girl’s, albeit altered veins. Raw, undiluted, modified power.
Gently she opened her eyes and let out a heavy breath through her nostrils. Blood trickled down her arms and legs, running over her digits, creating a little network of red streams. Calmly she rose to her feet, releasing the tension in her muscles and allowing the elaborate blades to click back into place, hidden once more.

Quietly, at ease once again now she had exerted herself of her built up tension, she padded over to the hard bed and sat herself down on the lumpy, undesirable mattress. She sighed wearily, pulling a long, thin surgical needle from her jean pocket, and then a small reel of strong, black thread. She ran the needle across her tongue, a crude way of sterilising the instrument before threading the jet cotton through the eye. Carefully she pierced the skin on one side of the gash on her left arm, pulling the needle through the skin and then through the flesh on the other side of the wound. She pulled the gash closed, looping the thread around so that she could pierce the skin next to it. Methodically she worked her way up her arm, stitching the wound with all the skill and precision of a top surgeon. It stung a little, sewing her skin, but not as much as unsheathing the blades did. Still, she learned to live with and endure it.
That was the source of the scars that ran up and down her legs. The more prominent ones where from when she had first implanted the blades and was not so skilled in the art of surgical stitching. Now, however, she could put even the greatest surgeon to shame with her precision, knowing that the scars would fade to nothing.
It did help that she had enhanced healing. That was relatively new. Her wounds would heal in minutes, if they were minor or a few days if they were as severe as those on her arms.
She snapped the thread, having put the stitches in both her arms. Placing the instruments down for a moment she pulled her jacket over her body once again, hiding the black thread in her arms and the bloodstained skin. Then she rolled up her torn jeans and began work on her legs, stitching them as carefully as she had her arms.

The girl was full of changes, of experiments. It was not like she had been taken by a secret organisation and operated on against her will, nothing like you read in Science Fiction books. No, the cause of her modifications was her fascination of the human body, and her equal fascination for improving it.
The first modification had been her blood. She had heard about the pigs that Scientists had created that glowed in the dark. It was that initial newsreel that sparked her interest. With help from a few enthusiastic friends they had performed a similar set of experiments that caused her own blood to be UV reactive. Hell, that modification had gone down well at the nightclubs.
She could barely remember all of her modifications. Another earlier one had been making herself immune to many poisons by a weekly injection of small dosages of those poisons. A much more recent one had been switching some of the tendons and muscles in her legs to metal various other materials, increasing her jump height, speed and running endurance. It was a concept she had conceived after seeing the invention of the ‘kangaroo-legs’ and was similar except in was under her flesh not outside it. Other modifications included heightening her senses with various implants of DNA and chemicals, or experiments that required not invasion of her body, such as blindfolding herself for hours to give herself an extra perception of the world.
Her latest development was her eyes. That explained the odd colouring, but that had been unintentional. By careful experimentation she had made her eyes more susceptible to light without making daylight painful. In short, she had managed to create night vision. It had taken many long hours of solo research and a lot of practise before she could begin the work, which had been painful but non-the-less successful.
Self experimentation. Yes, she performed all her operations alone and on herself now, since her original group of friends and help had left in far of her outright obsession for the changes. Still, she had continued in her work alone, keeping herself and her bizarre operations secret from her family, friends and especially the law. What she was doing was no doubt illegal, but she also feared being put away for insanity, away from her work, or into some kind of unit where people would look at her, observe her experiments and make her a puppet for Scientific research. In her mind, if they wanted the information she had, they had to go get it themselves.
Only now, after the fight and her accidental killing, did she begin to realise what she had had done to herself. Only now did she see what her actions had made, what her knowledge had gained and put into diabolical use.

The girl snapped the thread for the final time that night, pocketing her implements. Rolling down her trouser legs she lay back on the bed and stared at the white ceiling. Her mind felt empty right now and her eyelids heavy. Despite whatever experiments she carried out on her body she would always have her human needs. Within seconds her closed, her breathing deepened and she fell into a deep, coma like sleep.

Light flooded the tiny cell as morning crept on. The police officer who had taken the girl in and interrogated her the night previous was to sign her release forms this day. He had listened to the recording of their conversation numerous times and there was nothing that could condemn this girl to the murder. He knew that it would be continually looked into for months to come and no doubt the girl would be bought in again and again, but there was nothing she said that gave her away. As the question of the murder implements still remained. The girl had been unarmed when they bought her in and the blurry footage seemed to suggest she had been unarmed then also. With a sigh he unlocked the cell door and beckoned the waiting girl out. With her same passive motion as the previous night she stood and followed the officer out of her cell, down hallways until they were in an office.
The police officer sat down behind a desk, pulling out and placing files and papers in front of him. The girl just stood nearby, silent and motionless. He glanced up at her, before picking up the nearest biro and beginning to place black ink onto the white paper.
“Sarah Caine, you realise even after this release we will still probably be calling for you?” He said, using the prisoner’s name. She nodded, emotionlessly replying the affirmative, red and blue hair bouncing as she moved. The officer let out a heavy sigh, returning his gaze to the forms. A cool wind blew in from the partially open window, striking the girl’s face. She could still feel physically, even if not emotionally, she thought dully, allowing her eyes to observe the city through the murky glass.
“I don’t understand…” The officer sighed, reclining in his chair, having finished filling out the form. “The murder weapon… Forensics can’t figure out what it is, and I suppose you don’t either?” No point in wasting time with idly chit-chat when a fraction more interrogation could be used. The girl stiffened slightly, the first sign of emotion the officer had seen. Without facing him, she began to speak.
“I do.” She replied, quietly, passively. The officer blinked at her reply. Not the one he had been expecting. He must have been asking the wrong questions last night.
“Well…  What is it then?” He asked, leaning forward, crossing his arms on the desk. The girl stayed silent for a while, the officer waiting attentively.
“Are you sure you want to know?” She asked quietly, barely a whisper. “You want to see the fruits of deranged labour? See the tool that Satan himself could have forged? Understand what diabolical and inhumane creation was the cause? Accept the consequences that this knowledge yields as I had to?” She said slowly, dangerously.
The officer frowned. The girl’s words were confusing him but non-the-less.
“Yes. I do.” He replied, watching the girl. A grim expression crossed the girl’s face.
“Very well…” She whispered; closing her eyes as an all too familiar clicking noise was sounded.

It was half an hour after the girl’s signed release that anyone went into the small room where the papers had been signed. The girl had handed her papers in at the desk at left promptly, disappearing into the streets. That was the last the police would see of her in years. When they finally would catch up with her again, she would have dropped her birth name and created an entire new existence for herself, living in even more seclusion and secrecy than she did before. She would still be heavily modifying herself and offering, for a price, her services of surgery and modifications to those desperate enough.
When someone finally did enter the office, at first glance things looked normal, on second glance the female police officer saw blood pooling from underneath the desk. Confused and intrigued she walked forward, peering behind the desk. The sight almost made her physically sick. The body of the case’s officer lay sprawled, blood pouring from open wounds on his chest, his face an expression of both horror and awe. The woman screamed, alerting the rest of the building of her gruesome discovery.
Others rushed in to see what had caused her to scream, and upon seeing the corpse realised. The police unit was frantic and scared. Even after pulling in forensics and investigators, no one could tell what had ensued in that room, or, indeed, who or what had killed one of their members. In fact, the only clue was a scrap of paper with something scrawled on it in cursive, blue ink. But that paper was mislaid, caught by a gust of wind and dragged through the window to be lost and destroyed in the surrounding city. Had anyone seen it, had anyone read it, they would have seen an altered poem written by an altered girl, that simply spoke the truth.

What is done is done and I was blind with my mutated imagery of mankind,
Unknown mysteries of human frame and soul I did explore,
Perverted experiments I did create, yet morbid realisation struck of late,
For those ‘improvements’ to my body I did adore,
Oh, those devilish, grim, malign, improvements I did so adore,
Made me human… Nevermore.