"8075, awaken."

Having grown quite fond of the ocean of piercing silence, the monotonous buzzing of a human voice is quite alarming. Fluttering open her heavy eyelids, the noirette allows the dewy sunlight to leak its way into her vision. Immediately she regrets her decision; the warmth causes her eyes to sting, and she winces, recoiling in groans.

"8075, awaken."

She frowns now. Clearly, she is awake. And the name '8075' leaves a certain distaste in her mouth. It makes her feel inhuman.

Pressing her hands to the stiff bed, she stretches her limbs. She sighs. She had slept good that night, and a good night's rest is a seldom occurrence in her case. She toes the cold floor, and shivers erupt down her spine—the luxury of shoes, unfortunately, isn't an amenity here. Then she flattens her gown so it falls slightly above her knees. Making her way to the voice, she looks to the cold-faced man whose gaze pierces her from the other side of the iron bars that separate them.

"Come," the man orders. He shoves a key into the lock and the door swings open.

She wonders why they use keys and iron bars for her particular enclosure; it seems ancient.

He leads her down a white hallway, and she follows silently, keeping a watchful glance on that regrettable weapon, the syringe, in his back pocket—

She shivers, shoving the approaching memories away.

They turn left, left, right, and then left down the winding corridors. Finally they approach a large door and the man enters some code into the adjacent padlock—she pays no mind—and he enters, using a brisk hand to motion for her following.

She hates this place. It reminds her of a dentist's office with the general metallic seat beneath a looming spotlight; the heavy odor of antiseptic poisoning the atmosphere; the numerous machineries decorated in rainbow arrays of buttons; and her least favorite part—the glass wall that encloses it all so they can watch her from their little compartments outside, like white-powder-faced people seated in an opera watching a dainty little performance as they adjust their spy glasses and take notes.

And she, the performer, puts on a show for them, the audience.

A woman with raspberry black hair secured in a bun hands her a cup of unfamiliar liquid and gestures to the empty chair.

8075 settles into the seat and takes the liquid from the woman's hands. Her throat burns as she gulps down the substance. Hacking, her hands reach for her throat, as if placing them there would cause the bitter taste to recede. The bun woman says nothing but scrawls something across the clipboard her pale fingers so tightly grasp. For a moment, a sympathetic look crosses her face as she watches; but it is so brief, it disappears in seconds.

8075's eyes widen as a door slams open and two men carrying a giant cage enter. The men topple left and right, shouting curses at one another as to contain the cage's content. They drop the cage to the floor in a booming echo, and she knows exactly what they want her to do. Standing, she trudges to the cage, not once paying mind to the numerous pairs of eyes glued on her. Bending to her knees, she peers into the cage to meet the filmy eyes of what appears to be an injured animal.

The creature cowers in fear as she gently wraps her fingers around an iron bar. Its green eyes glow in toxication, black fur levitating up its back in prickles. Sensing its imminent fear, she looks away from the cat and towards the bun woman. The bun woman nods in a approval.

8075 closes her eyes. Parting her fingertips, she gives a deep inhale. Her chapped lips part to murmur, "Miraculous...Ladybug."

The energy jolts through her veins like a rapid deluging through a dam, powerful and pounding through her body, igniting her mind and innermost soul. The chills tremble down her limbs, intricately winding their way through her rib cage and to her rapidly beating heart. Her bluebells, coated with a rheum of that bitter drink, fly open to impale the wide-eyed gazes around her. The sternness on her face does not waver as glittering red sparkles lace their way out of her palms and onto the meowing cat.

The cat hisses as the red magic coats its fur and swirls around its body. A cloudy gust, and all dissipates; the cat blinks in utter confusion, resorting to licking its paw, mewing in satisfaction. All wounds that once decorated its fur are now completely healed.

All around storms an avalanche of claps. The bun woman offers a tiny smile, but 8075 turns her gaze away. She does not delight in their praise; a feeling of disgust toys with her conscience. As a matter of fact, if she could, she decides, she would shut them all up with a flair of her fingertips.

But she can't.

And that would be all of her excitement for the day before she is shoved back into the cage to be reused as their guinea pig.

Settling into the semi-warmth of the thin sheets, she gives a sigh. They had given her a plate of bland food, and she inhaled it with ease. But the eager lust of food plagues her empty stomach, and she longs for the long-forgotten taste of sweet chocolate eclairs.

***

"You know what to do," the bun woman crosses her arms, releasing a heavy sigh. She can sense the reluctance lingering in the atmosphere, the bitterness bound behind 8075's dull eyes. Attempting to be as sympathetic as possible, she softly rests her hand on the shivering girl's shoulder.

The icy blue stare jerks abruptly, two pairs of eyes now igniting in unspoken battle.

8075 nods.

"No," a stern voice echoes through the intercom above the door. "We want the subject to terminate the specimen."

Bun woman's glasses-rimmed eyes dart to the men seated behind the glass wall of separation. "You're serious?" Is all she can manage. Her eyes soak in the contents of her familiar clipboard, and she glances up in perplexity.

"But, sir—it says—"

"The material of the clipboard is no matter," the male's voice barks. "The subject is to terminate the specimen."

The bun woman adjusts her glasses, as if hiding behind them would prevent the unaccomplished duty from the necessary completion. But it didn't. The bun woman sighs, lowering her shoulders as she strides out of the room to leave a bewildered 8075.

"Terminate the specimen."

8075's eyes narrow to slits as the black cat's gaze meets her own. The same cat as the same before, she concludes; but this time, its pink nose presses through the bars to gently nudge 8075's fingertips. It invites her touch. Her breath hitches as the cat waits patiently under her palm, expecting to be pet. She hesitates. Timid blue eyes glance back at the men. She can feel their glares stabbing her shoulders.

Gulping, she cards her fingers through the cat's velvety fur, erupting a soft rumble from the satisfied creature. Its eyes open to reveal the pretty jade green irises that now welcome her.

A hand slams to the glass window.

8075 jerks her head back in horror.

"Terminate the specimen," the male snarls, "or we will resort to the syringe."

As if she was pricked with a hot iron, 8075 leaps in paralyzing fear. Her head twists from side to side, omitting the unspoken response—no, please, no.

The tears begin to welt in each corner of her eyes, and a wretched burn knots her throat. She hates crying. It makes her feel weak.  Prickling their way down her skin, the tears slide down her pallid cheeks and onto the tattered gown.

The cat meows. Its lovely green eyes, so familiar and so blissfully ignorant of the approaching doom, blink once and twice—

Retracting her hand, 8075 sighs; the cat meows once-more. Its head tilts. Why? it seems to ask.

"Y-you...know...I c-can't," she whispers, collapsing onto her knees. They ache from the collision but she pays no mind.

And she speaks in all candor; despite withholding the abilities of creation and healing, she lacks the capability to destroy items with a mere touch—a quality that her former partner did utilize. She decides that if she did have the catastrophic abilities, she would destroy these provisions in a flat second with no hesitation.

The scruples nag her conscience as she carefully eyes the cat. The green eyes, so vast and wide, feel like a mirror; reminding her of someone whom she lost. How could she possibly conclude the life of such an innocent creature? How could anyone murder the innocent? The idea causes her head to spin in dizziness and nausea—the familiar feeling of being the monster, the test subject. All at once the only sound audible is the steady pacing of her heart thudding against each corner of the glass room. A steady breath, and a murmur of the cat—

Curses explode all around and commands shrill in a succession of echoes.

"The syringe! Grab that syringe!"

Bolting upright, 8075's eyes widen. Suited men slam open the doors and trek towards her, making her feel so small. Frantic eyes meet the opposite doors, and she does something foolish—

She runs.

"8075!" A man growls, thrusting his muscular calves as rapidly as possible. 8075 has the advantage; her thin legs obtain an endurance that hasn't quite waned.

Knowing the approaching consequences, the pain drenches her heart and mind in flashing lights. As if they are warning her not to run, to comply, to halt her footsteps and throw her hands up in weakness. The longing for impunity, the thirst of vengeance, prevail the thoughts of fear. She loathes the routine schedules of tests, experiments, and the inequality; the blank stares as they record results, the addressing of her name as if she is a robot; the loneliness of her captivity and the deprivation of the life she once had and now lost.

"My name," she hisses, halting to a stop a few feet away from the men, "is Marinette."

Turning, she runs.

***

Hey guys! I feel like it's been forever since I've updated. But here's a new story :)))))) (I apologize for the short length of this chapter)

I actually originally planned to make this story years ago but I decided to use the base of the plot for Miraculous Ladybug and I have formed the whole story! I think you guys will like it! :) Prepare yourselves...for angst. Muahahaha.

More to come soon! Much love!

- lilacfrost021