Fic: A Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots (Chapter 4)
A Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots
Author: Dela26
Rating: PG-13 for language, sexual content, and the dark, psychotic mind that is Elle Bishop
Summary: Or, The Lost Bishop Files… Elle-centric. Prequel to Electric Firefly and Just Another Day on the Job, though you don‘t necessarily need to read them to enjoy this fic.
Author’s Note. This storyline has been stuck in my head all freaking summer long. I tried to get this up in time for the Heroes Live Journal Big Boom Challenge, but am only half way done and real life got in the way. Experimental piece of mine, trying out different writing styles and this is the perfect opportunity to play around. Un-betaed. Reviews=love.
Executive Operations Meeting Minutes.
“Elle Bishop has made appearances in many of my dreams throughout the years.
And in each version, she plays a different role.
Patient. Company agent. Prisoner. Daughter. Leader. Traitor. Mother. Victim. Reformed savior. Lover. Ruthless killer.
The unifying thread in every vision, is that she is a broken, live wire that is a threat… A threat sometimes towards the Company…to me and members of my family…or to the greater good…but mostly a threat to our end game.
It is my belief, and therefore my vote, that Elle Bishop needs to be executed immediately.”
“Did you ever think that to the nuts inside, the peanut is like their whole universe?
------I mean, they could fall in love and never be together because the shell separates them.
------So close, but their cruel prison- the shell - keeps them apart.
------It’s so sad!
------How they must hate their cruel master, The Shell, caring despoiler of legume romance!
------And then one day, They’re free!
------And it’s like, 'let’s dance, you hot salty nut.'
------Crazy nuts, huh?
------Nuts, get it?”
The new therapist is scribbling notes frantically on his small yellow pad-o-paper. After a moment, he clears his throat and asks softy, “What do you think you have in common with the peanut?”
“Wooooow. I mean, come on, it was a story about peanuts. Peanuts! Don’t read too much into it, doc.”
Diary transcription.
Dear Diary,
Hello. My name is Elle. I am nine years old.
My Daddy says I am special.
“I can’t hear you…My ears are still ringing from the beating. Music…in my head.”
It hurts to talk, my lips are large and swollen, missing teeth. And a broken jaw doesn‘t help much either.
The doctor repeats herself again, this time I read her lips. “My job is to help you.”
“Ri-ght. Who said that I needed any help anyways… you docs are all the same.”
Blood trickles down my forehead, into my left eye, blinding. My hands are bound, I can’t wipe the liquid away. The lack of control is….so fucking irritating.
“I’m here to be your friend. An ally.”
“Wasting your time.”
She changes the subject. “You did not follow protocol.”
I snort. “Obviously.”
“And we need to make sure that you are re-programmed.”
Like a robot. The thought makes me giggle, but I stop immediately. The laughter brings pain in my abdomen.
“But you need to behave yourself. Prove your allegiance before we can send you back out.”
The doctor watches me steadily, “Don’t you want to make your daddy proud?”
Well, that was below the belt.
“You bitch!” My body flails around like an epileptic in attempt to claw her eyes out, but the chains keep me well contained.
My vision blurs from the over-exhaustion, and I feel like I’m traveling down a tunnel.
When I regain control, my lips are moving. I realize that I have been talking for some time, but my mind clearly doesn’t know what my mouth has been doing.
“The medicine you’ve been given will help you heal very quickly. It will make you groggy…sleepy. We’ll talk when you wake.”
Blackness swallows me up as I fall down the rabbit hole.
I wake up to find myself in the place that bad agents go when they die. A place that collects defective operatives.
They pick my brain.
They wind me up.
They find out what makes me tick.
Tick tock.
Turn back the clock.
The doc…makes me talk.
Telephone recording:
“Why me?”
“Because you’re the best.”
“I swore that I’d never go back. Not willing, anyways.”
“I remember. But this is an emergency. If you don’t come here and defuse the situation, I’ll have no choice.”
“There are always choices, mate.”
“Not here, not now. I write my report and they’ll execute Elle Bishop as a dangerous, uncontrollable special. Unless you tame her, Elle won’t see her ninth birthday.”
Using the child’s name twice in a row- manipulation, a tug at the heartstrings. It worked like it was suppose to.
“Bloody hell. I’ll come. It will take me a few hours, but I’ll be there.”
“Thank you Claude.”