Where do you run when there’s no one to guide you? What if you don’t have a home, or a friend, what do you do then? Run, just run, and don’t stop running until you’re dead. But I can’t, I’m confined to a life in a cell, I’m a guinea pig to them, nothing more. I’m the only one that’s worked all these years, and yet I still can’t manage to run. I don’t know why, but I can’t and god have I tried.

            “254, focus!” he snaps. “You were doing so well with your concentration just a minute ago.” He was growing impatient, you can hear it in his voice and it bothers me to no end. Why do people grow impatient, they act like they’ve never done it themselves. I bother him, he bothers me, and it’s just a lousy, endless cycle. “Are you even listening?”

            Opening my eyes, I glare at the brown haired man on the other side of the laser grid. He’s glaring back over the rim of his glasses. “You see, I would concentrate if I didn’t have you yacking in my ear every five seconds,” I answer in an irritated tone. My face is emotionless as I watch him, not letting him get to me, or at least attempting.

            The brown haired man just pulls up a chair in front of the grid. “254, you have to cooperate with us. You have so much potential that we can show you how to use. You’re a miracle child, sweetheart,” he coos to me, an overused attempt to win me over and make me listen.

            “A miracle in one man’s eyes is a tragedy in another’s,” I deadpan, now staring at the metal wall in front of me. I hear him sigh in frustration on the opposite side of the room, something I’m all too used to him doing.

            Upon glancing at him, he’s got an intrigued look on his face as he asks, “You consider yourself a tragedy, why?” From one lecture to the next, things never change with him. He thinks calling me sweetheart makes me like him more, makes me feel closer. I’m not sure it’s possible to be more mistaken.

            Before answering, I consider how to confuse him with wording or at least just shoot down whatever he’s trying to get me to agree to. “I don’t. I am not allowed to consider anything but what you program me to. I’m not a tragedy; I’m a part of the system you’ve got set up here, a pawn to you if you will,” I explain to him.

            The man just crosses his arms, lips drawn into a tight line. I’ve gotten to him, I can tell. He’s shaking his head in fake despair. “254, you’re not a pawn, you’re my daughter. We care about you here, you know that,” he assures me with a small smile. I glance down at the small prick marks going up my arms. Seems that all the needles and restraints over the years are a sign of compassion.

            “You are not my father; you’re an experimenter, a mad scientist. Fathers don’t lock their daughters in holding cells until their next “treatment” period,” I accuse him, anger building up inside me. I can feel sparks between my fingers. They’re rather small, nowhere near as big as they can grow to be, but dangerous none the less. “I’m an experiment to you! The only one that worked, and that’s the only reason you’ve ever “cared” about me. You only worry because I’m the greatest accomplishment in your life, the only one to ever work!” I’m yelling now, bubbling hot rage taking over as the sparks begin popping louder and getting larger.

            He stands from his chair, a mix of fear and cruel excitement on his face. He knows what happens next, so do I. I’m too far gone; I can’t stop it now and he knows that, and he’s going to fuel it. “I am your father and I do care, sweetheart. Of course you’re an experiment, but you’re perfect.” I zone him out cringing after that, fire burning in me upon hearing the word.  “Your mother was interesting of course and loved you as much as I do, but she was a failure.” His tone turns dark. Perfect, failure; he can’t live without one and can’t live with the other even existing.  

            “She wasn’t a failure! She was more perfect than you could ever dream of being. She was my mother, my only family, and she was beautiful!” I scream in rage. A piece of my brown hair falls in my face and I watch it turn black, leading me to assume my eyes are now red to match. There’s heat on my hands and when I look down, there’s fire surrounding them and I’m ready to charge at the man before me.

            Before it can start, it all ends as a rip of electricity courses through me. Every hair standing on end, not a nerve left untouched. The black hair in my face turns a honey brown as I fall to the ground in a paralyzed state. When I land, the cold, metal floors cool my searing skin. I stare at my wrist lying in front of me. It hurts worse than any other part of my body due to the electric cuff on it that keeps me from using my powers.

            “Silly girl, you should know better than that; using your powers in here,” he taunts, a sick smile on his face. I hear buttons clicking until the laser grid falls and footsteps advanced towards me. His feet stop feet from my face and he kneels down. “Don’t worry, 254, you’re the greatest miracle ever made,” he assures me, bringing his hand over to tuck the stray hairs behind my ear. His hands are freezing when they touch my skin, but I can't stop him.

            I stay paralyzed on the floor for what seems like hours. The man left moments after I was electrocuted, probably to do research or go experiment on some other poor kid. Little shocks occur every now and then in random spots, but small aftershocks are what I've always assumed they are. I just stare at my shaking hand for the whole time.

            It’s not much longer until I get enough feeling back in me to get up and hobble to the small bed in the corner. Sure it feels like pins and needles on literally every inch of my body, but that only means that it's working again. Not that that’s necessarily a good thing for me in the long run, but I’ll take. Let me elaborate by just saying, it’s better to be dead than surviving another day in a cell here.