Blobby shapes wiggled back and forth in dim gray color, colliding, mixing, reforming… They danced to and fro, the blotches slowly resolving like the painful focusing of a Cassegrain telescope. Color swam in as soon as the brightness was reduced. But the place was virtually gray, white and silver…looking very aniseptic. The vision was still fuzzy, as she realized she was in some sort of pod, peering through glass.
She could feel the closeness of her environ choke and press on her, cutting off her air. She quickly unlatched the pod and threw it open, gasping a quick ingress of air to keep herself conscious.
Smiling cooly at the liberation, she made a mental note that she was apparently claustrophobic. She pulled herself out into the room. Her smile flickering somewhat as her long-nailed hand came to her head. 'Something of a strain? Just head-rush.' She thought. It was near that time that she became aware of the people around her and their motions.
"Where are we?" Came an alarmed voice.
She quickly ignored the other voices to conclude her own answer to that very question. Was this where she was supposed to be? Did she live or work here? Her plain meager patient/subject uniform of white garb quickly eliminated those possibilities. The small question of who she even was flitted about in her skull, but she shooed it away as if it were a fly.
The scientist began talking, but she both heard and didn't hear what he said. She was still investigating with a non-plussed look. Her eyes eventually came to rest on the room beyond the scientist. The beast with long conical talons lay prostrate in death, still vicious, still assaulting with it's wicked and hateful form…like something torn from a nightmare. The bodies and the massive piles of gore and tossed aside parts were scattered away up and down the room.
"Now, for convenience's sake I will give you a marker, and write the numbers from 1 to 14. Here, pass around this marker, and write the number somewhere on your clothes. Unfortunately right now I don't have better clothes to give you."
She watched the mark pass from person to person, each marking obviously their number's Roman equivalent upon their clothes. Until it ended to the girl next to her. The girl seemed pretty cheerful and optimistic about the situation, which made one wonder if she fully realized the ordeal at hand. She had pert lavender hair and deep blue eyes. She seemed sprightly and undaunted by harrowing lay of her surroundings.
The girl, ignoring the efforts of the others in keeping with the Roman numerals scheme, clearly marked a cheerful "8" upon her shirtsleeve. The circuit of events left her with the designation of eleven. But the action was so out of scheme that it caused her to ask:
"Why did you write it like that, hun?" Eleven asked, her voice a deep feminine voice, hiding a small melodic accent.
"The roman numeral for eight looks just like seven. Can't have anyone mixing us up!"
Eleven smiled in a small way and took the proffered marker. Resolved to be a rebel too, she marked "Eleven" clearly across the chest of her shirt with the marker. She stepped across the cold floor and handed the marker back to the scientist and then marched back to her place among the newly awakened.
'Nothing seems more absurd than super powers, but if everything is as it seems…we'll need them.'
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