A/N: It feels incredibly good to update. I think... deep breath now... I think I'm over my writer's block. :D And I hope I didn't just curse myself. But I've been writing something every day now since last Thursday or so. Anyway, here's chapter three. I'm gonna start using quotes, 'cause quotes rock. And Cypher, he'll be explained later. I apologize for his Matrix-esque name. At least he isn't Trigger or Blade (actual characters, for those who didn't know. Sigh.)

Chapter three: Addiction

"The beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart."

-Mary Shelley (Frankenstein)

Lilith

The needle gleamed under artificial light. I watched it with eyes that barely worked; bandaging and metal and wires framed my vision, hovered at my peripherals. I was numb, inside and out; plastic tubes pumped heavy narcotics into my system at an industrial rate.

But that couldn't put me to sleep.

The slightest trickle of fear ran through me, and then a steady circulation of excitement that would've sent their heart monitor into ecstatic bleeps, had they not drugged my body into steady compliance. Finally, that powerful surge of need that took control as I looked at their syringe. I wanted to be their lab rat, I desired the injections and the surgeries and the pretty white lights that would slowly be blinding me if their enhancements weren't doing that already. Rabid craving for more flooded ever sense and part of me wanted to shout at them to hurry it up.

And yet part of me wanted to tell them to drag it out. Part of me wanted to savor it.

I focused on that needle with every upgrade I'd ever received, sharpened it until its detail glinted in full clarity. The glass was marked with lines and numbers; it was a sterile and flawless prison to the opaque liquid harbored inside. Anticipation tingled at the tips of my fingers, as if I could gather the energy required to reach out and take the experiment upon myself.

I had no idea what it would do to me, but something naïve in my brain said that I needed this.

My limp arm was taken in someone's gloved hand. I observed with a sort of third-person detachment. I was much too pale; I could see every spidery blue vein that pulsated beneath my skin and weaved through flesh and bone. A tattoo, impossibly dark against the white frailty that was my wrist, marked who I was. What I would become. A thumb enveloped in Latex came down on the ink barcode, gripping me. I couldn't feel it, and with a sick sense of loss, as if I wanted the full experience of what should've been hell, I stared as they injected me. For a second my body felt hollow, a shell of my former self, but then the satisfaction washed over me like some sort of beautiful cleanser. I would've smiled. They'd taken that from me. I would've laughed. My mouth was deadened and shut. I didn't care; I saw them discard the empty syringe, drop my arm with gentle nonchalance. Inside, I was grinning.

One step closer to superiority. To perfection. If only they knew.

Cypher watches me as I speak, blue eyes wide. It's hard to tell if he's disturbed by my story or enthralled by it, but he's taking it in all the same. And to me, that's all that really matters. It's on the outskirts of Eden, the fringe of an obedient society, that you find people like him. People like me, the rebels and the runaways and the people who'll tell you not to drink the water. Not to watch the Network. To avoid the Core and to shut up, listen up, and then plan to rise up.

"So you wanted them to do that to you?" His voice is incredulous, those light eyes unblinking.

I'm not sure what I'd wanted. To this day my intentions are hazy, like I was a totally different person and now I'm attempting to understand her actions, not mine. Perhaps I was different then. I shake my head, and watch Cypher's eyebrows come together. He's trying hard to figure me out, but he'll never succeed.

"I don't think so," I say, hating how unsure this sounds. "I don't think it was me who wanted it. They wired me up and stuck tubes in me and drugged me. My guess is that..." I trail off, because I don't like the conclusion I'm coming to. I hardly ever like the end results of contemplation, so I focus on living in the moment.

"Is that it was their way of keeping the rat in her cage," he finishes for me, and then blue eyes meet dark green. I nod silently. This is something he's been waiting for, one more crucial thread to the web he's weaving. I want to tell him to be careful, that this stuff is easily knotted. Of course, he wouldn't care. It's been merely one cycle, and already I know him all too well.

"It worked," I tell him.

A smirk emerges on his face, and he takes my hand in his, turning it over to expose the wrist. It's a flashback, the resurfacing of the memory I've just recited to him. You can no longer see every vein, and I like to think that maybe my arms have gotten stronger, but the tattoo is still there.

"It worked, and yet…" Cypher traces one thin black line, and then a thick one. My barcode. "I think in some ways it worked too well." His fingers press down onto the center of it, as if taking my pulse. I hope he feels my heartbeat get stronger as all of those twisted memories float back. "It's not that I want more of their testing, but… somehow I need to get back to Genesis."

His nail digs into the tattoo, and then just as suddenly he drops my hand as if my blood has turned to fire.