The sun barely peers behind the horizon when Marinette is awakened by being dumped into her cot. The men briskly exit and slam the prison door with little care for her own convenience. Her head pounds from the torture she had received hours before and now from the lack of care of her well-being. It isn't like it matters anyways; she is, after all, just the experiment. Her body aches and the area of puncture throbs faintly of the piercing of the shot. It remains within Marinette almost like a tattoo—immovable, inexorable. She hates the feeling.

She turns her head towards the window to watch the sunrise. Resembling a spilled paintbox, purples melt into ombré oranges and pinks, filling the sky in a kaleidoscope of colors. The sun, an egg yolk, gradually climbs its way higher and higher into the sky. Marinette is thankful for the window; it provides her with the company of the sky. As a child, she was fond of sunrises. She reminisces fond memories of watching sunrises on her Papa's shoulders just an hour before the bakery opened. A smile finds its way onto her lips.

Two years have passed since she has seen her parents. The fear and uncertainty they have endured since her disappearing is a weight she bears daily; the painful truth behind the situation is masked from them. It isn't fair that they never knew their own daughter was Paris's heroine who sacrificed her life daily. She has kept it secretive to the present moment. She didn't exactly have a say in who could know her identity and who couldn't. Tikki's orders were stern: no one could know her identity. Still, a certain melancholy resides within Marinette. Her parents awaken every morning with the assumption that their daughter ran away from home—that she is likely dead. How odd they must feel! It was perplexing for their sweet-hearted daughter to disappear without reason. She loved her family. It almost seemed as if she dissolved into the atmosphere—as though she never existed. No signs of her disappearance occurred and no signs of her existence remain.

Marinette lies stilly for some time, fumbling with bitter thoughts. She hates self-pity. However, with what else is she left to do? There is absolutely nothing she can do besides think or cry or just stare at the ceiling.

The silence is deafening. Ringing in her ears, it prolongs for hours and hours with intermittent rumbles of the air conditioners clinging against the wall. The air brushes her hair onto her cheeks, and dark strands fall before her eyes. Finally, gradually, she falls into the lonely abyss of slumber.

***

A series of shy knocks echo down the stretching corridor. Nervously tucking her velvety bangs behind her ears, her posture straightens as the viewing-hole slides open. A steel blue pair of eyes quickly inspects her before parting the door to allow her entrance.

"Enter."

Flattening her slacks, she enters the room warily before sealing the door. She adjusts the glasses on the bridge of her nose that serve almost as a curtain between her and him.

"Sir, we cannot force the chil—I mean, 8075 to terminate an animal," she practically cries as soon as she ensures the absence of any other person in the room. Her eyes meet the floor. "8075 has refused numerous times, sir. I have high doubts that she will ever agree to termination."

His stern blue gaze narrows. He slams his balled fists petulantly to the metallic desk he is seated behind.

"I know very well that she cannot," he fumes. He bites his lip, disinclined to admit his incorrect assumptions. "She possesses healing abilities," he pauses, allowing a moment of silence to soak. "And he can destroy anything with a mere touch."

Her eyes widen. She knows anything she suggests includes a possibility of rejection; but kidnapping the boy seems far-fetched. Although 8075 is in their possession, the boy, to his own luck, escaped before they could take him.

"Sir, we could continue...different tests on 8075," she alludes, attempting to stray the approaching conversation. "We have different things to try."

The man just smirks, pressing his long fingertips together. The look stretched upon his face causes her to squirm. She adjusts her glasses, creating an excuse to look away. He seems so much taller than her despite the fact that he is seated and she is standing; he reflects a towering tree swaying against the wind and she is a mere field mouse scampering below him. She quickly glances at him, and an alarm blares in her mind as she processes the dangerous look apparent in his cold blue eyes. The stare is a chilling one; one that signifies scheming.

She despises the treatment of 8075. Although she yearns to end the torture, she knows she cannot. The thoughts of the punishments she would endure send shivers down her spine just thinking of the possibilities. But she isn't sure how much longer the girl can take the suffering before she breaks. And she knows that every human has a breaking point.

"Sir?" She asks with heavy cautiousness, as one would approach an injured animal. "What are you proposing?"

The man just smiles.

"Nothing. But everything will fall into place, I assure you. Everything will fall into place..."

She stands there soaked in awe for a few moments. Not once has she ever questioned his motives or authority. But something deep within her, behind her glasses and beneath her stiff blazer, stirs a feeling of uncertainty. Something is going to happen, and she knows it will be disastrous. Years of reluctant obedience to his commands are uniform to her; she has grown accustomed to his requests, no matter how deplorable. For some reason, something is different about this time. She just cannot tell what...

"Run the scans. We will further our testing tomorrow to...rid of time," he dismisses her with a flaunt of his hand. She watches the ring adorning his finger shimmer as his hand flourishes. Shaking her head, she exits the room without a word.

***

"You're making a mess, Marinette!" A jolly cackle escapes the man's lips as watches his daughter attempt to bake.

Coated heavily in flour, sheepish Marinette can only shrug. It's her first time baking cookies; it isn't her fault that Papa asked for her help! Of course, she had said yes. She loves the sugary-treats, and after all, she's five years old. She has many years of experience watching her parents bake. It isn't as easy as she thought; the flour was hard to pour, and the dough was too thick for her to shape. She winces as she thinks of the scolding she'll receive from Mommy since her beloved-pink overalls are drenched in baking-residue. Maybe Mommy won't mind. It isn't Marinette's fault!

Tom presses a big kiss on Marinette's forehead, earning a cry from the girl. "Ewww, Papa," she tries to pry him off of her, "kisses are gross!"

Tom merely chuckles, sighing as he unties his apron and hangs it onto its designated hanger. "Alright," he grins, "that's fine with me. I won't have to worry about my little girl kissing any boys!"

"Papa!" She squeals, turning as red as a tomato. Boys are disguisting, and the thought of kissing one is worse than her baking skills! "Ewwwwwww!"

He ruffles her hair. "Alright, kiddo. I want you to watch the cookies in the oven for Papa, okay? They'll be done in ten minutes. Your mother is upstairs if you need anything."

Marinette nods her head with a huge grin on her face. The pride in her heart shines and she feels as though she won a medal. Papa wants her to watch the cookies, and that's a big-kid chore! She feels accomplished.

One minute passes.

Marinette is already bored to death.

"How long is fifteen minutes?" She mumbles, hopping onto the countertop. She kicks her legs back and forth, alternating between each foot. She pouts. She doesn't like the big-kid chore. She thinks about her dolls upstairs. Maybe she can go get one and play while she waits! Then she hesitates. Her overalls are ruined, and Mommy is upstairs. It would be a disaster if Mommy saw it.

So Marinette waits. She counts the rows of pretty treats and blows clouds of fog onto the display-case glass. Then she plays hopscotch on the tiles of the floor until she finds boredom again. Marinette groans. She does not like the big-kid chore.

Suddenly, a loud sound blares.

Sprinting towards the oven, Marinette grins. The cookies are finally finished baking!

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. BEEP, BEEP, BEEP.

Marinette's tiny fingers wrap around the knob of the oven. With a heave, Marinette yanks the oven door, trying to open it. To her dismay, it won't budge.

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. BEEP, BEEP, BEEP.

A sickening odor of smoke suffuses the air; it clouds and surrounds the pouting girl, and she hacks and frowns in realization. The cookies are burning!

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. BEEP, BEEP, BEEP.

No matter how difficult she pulls, the oven will not open. The smoke is flooding the kitchen, and Marinette begins to panic. Why won't it open?!

"Mommy!" She wails, raising her voice over the shrills of the oven. She doesn't care about the scolding she'll receive from the condition of her overalls; she wants the noise to stop! "Mommy, the cookies are burning!"

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. BEEP, BEEP, BEEP.

"Marinette!"

Marinette jolts upright to a horrifying sound: alarms.

Standing from the cot, her vision takes a moment to adjust in the darkness.

What is going on?

Sirens blare.

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. BEEP, BEEP, BEEP.

Red lights flicker and reflect their lights down the hallway. They would be pretty, Marinette thinks to herself, like the lights Christmas tree—if only the pestering sirens weren't there. Marinette flings the chains around her wrists. Curiosity sways within her. The same question is in her mind, what is going on? She nervously sits onto the cot, taking a moment to observe what is happening. Alarms are sounding, but why?

Perhaps they are running a drill, she assures herself. Everything will be quiet soon and I can go back to sleep.

Marinette closes her eyes, attempting to avoid the cries around her. She concludes that they are likely performing a security check. She recalls occasions where each employee would evacuate, and they even allowed her to practice the procedure as well. They sprinted down hallways and exited out some door—she can't exactly remember—to a field of verdant. She remembers that green was so pretty. Watching the lights, she notes that never once have they ever performed a security check like this. But she persuades herself otherwise.

Her conclusion is swayed by a sudden interruption: a gun shot. Her blood runs cold.

Marinette leaps from the cot, eyes wide, heart slamming in her chest.

What is going on?! This isn't a test. This isn't a test. This isn't a test...

Marinette knew from the moment that she woke up in this prison cell that she might very well die in this exact prison cell. She cried for days and pleaded to be released, begged to be taken back to her family and home. She didn't ask for any of this to happen. It wasn't her fault. A sickening feeling worms its way into her gut.

Rapid footsteps pace down the hallways, concurring with each shrill of the alarm.

Her life flashes before her eyes. She thinks of mom and dad and...

I'm going to die. I'm going to die...

A heavy shadow overtakes the blinking of red lights. She slowly opens her eyes, hearing the sound of her heart beating and the sirens wailing and a shout.

"CATACLYSM!"

Her eyes widen.

An unfamiliar male with raven black hair strums his fingers across the iron bars and they fizz into inky corrosion. His emerald eyes narrow. "Get up," he orders darkly, striding into her prison cell.

Marinette blinks. Her mind cannot process what is going on.

Maybe I'm dreaming, she thinks. This isn't happening. Did he just destroy those bars? Who is this? What is going on? Many things, particularly two things, are strange to Marinette: contact with another human besides that bun woman and the leader, and the fact that this man just burned her prison with a touch of his fingers.

The male gives an impatient sigh. "We don't have much time. Trust me. Get up. We've got to go."

She glances at him and then to the chains around her wrists. "...What's going on?" She chokes, eyes fearful and huge.

Is this real? This is real. Isn't it?

She scans him.

This man seems dangerous. Unfamiliar and dark, he radiates a vibe of ornery—and whether or not she should trust him, she does not know. Why would she go with him? Where would they go? Why is he here? Her eyes gravitate to the gun in his hand.

"L-listen," his hands rise before him, " I know you're scared," he says softly. "But we've got to—"

"SEIZE HIM!" Four men slam open a set of doors and dart towards them.

The boy's gaze on her is unmoving even as he aims his gun towards the shouting voices. He pulls the trigger four times, not missing any of the four targets that lounged towards him. The gunshots echo down the corridors. This also frightens Marinette.

Noticing the fear in her eyes, a look of grief crosses his face. He shakes his head and slides the gun into his back pocket.

"Cataclysm," he says, placing both hands onto the chains that withhold her. She can only gape.

The chains collapse to the floor.

Her bewildered blue eyes meet his dull emeralds.

"Come on," he scoops her into his arms. "Let's go."

Everything passes like a blur. Everything happened so fast that Marinette's mind whirls in a blizzard. She didn't even notice the bullet that scraped her side. She doesn't know where she is going and who this boy is and if she will live or if this boy will kill her. She sees the ceiling turn into a large purple ocean speckled with diamonds—was the ocean always this pretty? Reaching towards the ocean, a heavy feeling causes her to sink. Is she drowning? Everything fades into black...

***

This was so badly written lol rip me. Working on three stories at once isn't easy. I've missed you guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Conversation starter: What do you think is going to happen?

Stay tuned ;)

- lilacfrost021