Fatal Fury Fan Fiction / Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction / Sailor Moon Fan Fiction / Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Sailor Rifts ❯ Chapter 3: Blue Hair, Grey Matter... About ( Chapter 3 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Sailor Moon/Rifts Crossover (Revised Edition) By Simon Woodington

Chapter 3: Blue Hair, Grey Matter... About

She awoke to find herself in a great deal of pain.

"Ah, good morning, how are you?"

She sat up, looked around, and ran a hand through her short blue hair.

"Pardon?"

"You're quite lucky to be alive," the voice stated coldly.

:Where is the voice coming from?: She could see no one around.

"Lucky?"

There was a sigh. "Take a moment to gather your wits, you've been
through quite the ordeal."

:Where am I?: She paused, gazing at the smooth white walls of the
room. There did not appear to be any way out, no discernible door.
:What have I been doing that might have brought me here?:

"Who am I?"

Another sigh; "We were rather hoping you could tell us that."" A
pause. "I suppose we'll have to start from the brick at the bottom.
First of all honey, you're not human."

"I'm not?"

"At least you understand that, that's a good sign. Lateral thinking.
Problem is, we don't know what you are exactly. Aside from what we
could tell from the cybernetics you've had in."

:Cybernetics?; she thought, getting slowly to her feet, :why do I know
that word?:

"What do you suppose about that now?"

She began to recognize stiffness in her leg, in the left side of
her... face. Without thinking, she touched her left cheek, then her
right. She felt less pressure on her left cheek. She pressed harder on
the one, then the other. Same result.

"Yes, it might feel odd. That would be because most of the left side
of your face is synthetic."

"What's synthetic?" Her hand fell away from her face.

"Fake. Synthetic is man made material, like plastic."

"Plastic!" She stumbled backwards, falling against the smooth wall.

"Calm down honey," the voice said flatly. "Do you have a name?"

She heard a mumbling as she scrambled up against the unyielding
whiteness of the wall. Trembling, she fought against the thoughts of
not being real.

"Dammit," the voice cursed. "The first thing she does after coming to,
is freak out. Doctor Lambert, we need you to sedate our blue haired
girl here," the voice observed in tones indicating minimal alarm.

She did not hear these words as they were spoken. Nor did she hear the
entrance of the cyber doc, as he approached her, needle in hand.

He spoke in whining tones; "Calm down, this will make you feel all
better now."

He reached for her, taking the upper portion of her left arm with one
hand. Something snapped, a frantic look passed over her face, like the
sudden flash of summer lightning. She stuck at him with her right arm,
a blind action, and her hand hit the doctor in the face, which cracked
open like a ripe melon. She screamed, and crumbled into a crying heap
as the body made a pool of crimson upon the consistently white floor.

"Cage! Get in here! Handle your flipping SDB will you!?" the voice
growled, no longer sounding quite so calm.

Two Dead Boys in heavy armor entered the room without hesitation. One
of them uttered a curse. The second, however, sounded as though he was
smiling when his dark voice left his throat.

"Rather more'n I thought," he noted as he reached over and grabbed her
by the neck, lifting her to her feet. She struggled and choked, but
did not seem to be aware of his words, nor the pain he was inflicting.
"Not that I mind."

"Glad you're enjoying yourself. Will you just get on with it and put
her out?" the voice snarled in controlled tones.

He glared upwards.

"Fine. I guess we'll just have to get it all the hard way."

---

The next morning brought bright light, in multiple sources. It felt
like a hospital; the cold air on her skin, the white ceiling, the
unemotional voices...

"She's coming around..."

"Good, just make sure you keep those sedatives pumping. That way we
won't have any more messes like the last doc who attempted to
administer."

"Right."

The world spun, dazzling in its brightness. It felt like the most she
could do to raise her finger.

"No, no, don't try to move, you've been hurt."

:Hurt? I don't feel hurt. I feel violated:

"Wh-whu..." her mouth refused to form the words she wanted. Any words
at all. The blur of white and blue hovering over her refused to leave.
Not that it mattered.

:Why doesn't it matter?:

It came back to her in chunks, in fragments.

:Messy doctor?:

Hai, she had killed the doctor when he...

:Killed?:

... tried to inject her with something.

:Killed? I caused someone to die?:

Then the men in black suits had come.

:Good. I'm glad he's dead. Jerk:

They wanted to know why...

:I killed one of them too. They shouldn't mess with me. They don't...:

They wanted her to come quietly with them.

:They don't know what they're dealing with.:

Who is she?

:Night. I saw the darkness outside. I miss it:

Sarah Feldman had tried to get into her mind. Tried to reach into the
sealed depths. She succeeded.

"You were a Sailor?"

:...Long walking nights in the cool moonlight...:

"Not really. A Sailor Senshi. They are very different."

"So you were a 'Sailor Senshi'. Would you mind telling me what that
is?"

:...Jumping so high I could ascend two story complexes...:

"It's a warrior. A protector. We fought the NegaVerse. We fought the
creatures of the NegaVerse; Jedite, Malachite, Zoisite, Neflite..."

"Do you know that those are stones?"

:... Fighting for all I was...:

"Yes. The names are stones. The warriors we fought were not."

"Who are 'we'?"

:... 'was'?...:

"The Bishojo Sailor Senshi. Pretty Sailor Solders of the Moon. Sailor
Moon, Sailor Mercury, which was me, Sailor Mars, Sailor Jupiter, and
Sailor Venus."

"Do you know that those names are the names of celestial bodies?"

:... I fought. That's who I was. I killed the enemy...:

"Yes. But the Sailor Senshi were human."

"You speak as if you are no longer a part of that group."

"I'm not."

"But you are Mizuno Ami, from Tokyo."

:...Who was I?...:

"No."

Sarah adopted the complexion of a fleshless corpse some two centuries
old.

"She is dead."

They had been foolish enough to think that the sedative was strong
enough to hold her back. Foolish enough to leave her alone with the
D-Bee.

:It doesn't matter who I was. They don't know who they're messing
with:

Sarah's screams were not heard through the sound proof walls, nor by
the sleeping surveillance officer. By the time the cameras had alerted
security, it was by then far too late.

Who is this psychotic woman to murder a therapist?

:She is Sarah Night:

Reality flew by in blurs of consciousness. Snippets of awareness, some
violent, some crimson coated, others totally awash with pain. Each
time the same, or similar questions.

- Who are you? -

:I don't:

(want to tell you)

:know. Who I am now isn't who I was:

- Why? Who are you now? -

:I told you already:

- Why are you here? -

:Shut the hell up:

Blur of an already bloody glove. Pain snapped in her face.

- That's no way to talk to your saviors. Without us, you would be
dead, D-bee. Where are your friends. -

:What friends?:

Then the surgery. Sometimes they would beat her up, sedate her, then
take her to be operated on. Other times she would just wake up in the
room, lights shining down on her, blurring her vision, pain fogging
her senses, blood staining her reality. She continued to fight against
them, hold what information she still held within her, no matter how
hard they hit, or how deep they dove with their scalpels. Even then
they took her arm, she held firm. Through the many days of tears,
through the seemingly eternal pain.

They hoped to fetch knowledge from her DNA. Why not just take a blood
sample? They had. It seemed to them it would be curious to gauge how
the 'subject' reacted if they removed an entire limb. She reacted, to
be sure. So much so that even their strongest sedatives, on single
dosages (all of them), only managed to keep her from breaking down the
door. They could not stop her from breaking her bonds. At least, until
they used superhuman restraint materials.

Some of the genetic technologists found it humorous to count the
length of hours for which she shed tears, in a row. Others thought it
interesting to count the hours she had not slept. A small number were
actually sickened by the inhumane tortures, and prayed for her soul.