Ok, I've never written a Fan Fic before but here goes. I love Laura as a character and wanted to capture her vulnerable moments after she under went the Weapon X process. It's dark, but that's how she is. Please tell me what you think.
The pain is unbearable but it all feels so surreal, as if I’m in a stupor. I glance down my body. It looks like mine but it doesn’t feel like mine. I immediately seek the comfort of my claws. I long for the feel of the bone slicing open my skin. It is the only comfort I know. What protrudes from my fist startles me. I try to scream only but for naught because of the respirator secured on my face. I can’t take this anymore! My claws slice through the tubing surrounding me with ease and I hardly notice them slice through the glass that contains me. Falling to the ground I rip the mask from my face. Masked Hydra agents swarm around me, weapons ready to fire. What fools, those can’t do anything to me.
Finally freed from that cylindrical prison I take the time to inspect what caused my escape. The two claws of bone that once emerged from my knuckles were no longer. In their place is a pair of adamantium blades. I used to feel invincible but now I feel stronger, almost as if I am a god. Madame Hydra orders the guards to stand down. With superhuman reflexes I swing my right shoulder so that my arm my follow until my newly coated claws make contact. My claws slice through the man’s neck with an ease and precision I have never known. His limp body collapses on the floor and blood pools everywhere while his corpse finishes twitching.
Madame Hydra begins to congratulate me and tells me how proud she is. I ignore her. She is not proud. I am merely a pawn to her, a disposable weapon and once she has complete control I will no longer be needed. She honestly believes that a good reward means to be allowed to skip training and not complete any missions. If only she understood my hell.
I am escorted back to my cell block. Here is my prison and my hell. I lay on the ground as if I were a corpse until an hour passes. I can no longer stand the boredom. First I choose to punch the ways but this only frustrates me further. I resort to my favorite comfort, cutting. My healing factor is quick to act. No matter how long or deep the laceration I heal. I first start with small incisions. My claws glide over my forearm with grace. The skin behind my adamantium claw splits like the wake behind a boat. After a few of these lacerations I am bored. Soon I am in a frenzy. I am slashing myself feverishly everywhere from my calves to my face. There is blood everywhere. It is the only decoration I am allowed. As my eyes scan the walls and take in the various patterns I have painted on the walls I see the cameras watching me. Why do they do this to me? I walk to the corner beneath a security camera and attempt to sooth myself. Pulling my knees to my chest I begin to cry. I weep as if I had lost something, but what is it?