fic: #882 fabray, quinn
title: #882 fabray, quinn
fandom: glee
prompt: torture
medium: fic
rating: r
warnings: AU, involuntary medical experiments, violence, torture, imprisonment
summary: a day with participant #882 fabray, quinn. it could be worse.
Quinn Fabray knows she could have it worse.
She is a blond American girl, seventeen years old, with pale skin and shoulder-length hair. Standing at 168 centimeters weighing 52 kilos, she is what a girl her age should strive to be. Her nose is petite and her smile is stunning with eyes changing from hazel to green in the different lights of day. In the notes of her journal it is written that Quinn would be a very suitable carrier of children.
Every morning, she is awoken at six o’clock by the alarm ringing through the entire clinic. At that time she would get dressed in the assigned red dress, step into the corridor and line up next to her dorm mates. Even though the time would only be six fifteen, her hair would be pulled up into an immaculate ponytail.
After a short signal, the doctors and their assistants would step into the corridor. The girls would be sorted into groups of three and taken to their separate testing rooms. First, they walk through the scanner rooms. Quinn Fabray would walk through a metal detector, and then she would be photographed for documentation, measuring her length and weight. Lastly they would take a blood sample to test for any health issues. She was never sick, of course.
The other two girls in her group are never sick, either.
The youngest is Santana Lopez, also seventeen years old of Puerto Rican decent with long dark hair. She is slightly shorter, standing at 165 centimeters weighing in at 51.5 kilos, also a number the clinic is more than pleased with. Her eyes are dark and she is a very physically capable girl despite her slim appearance.
Lastly there is Brittany Pierce, the only one of the three born at the clinic and also the eldest. At eighteen years old, her long hair is strawberry blond and her eyes are a piercing blue. At 174 centimeters, she towers over the other girls despite her low weight of 50 kilos. Her body is what the clinic would like to call a near perfect specimen, although she has since a long time ago been labeled damaged goods. She is lucky she is not dead.
After the three teenagers have been thoroughly examined, it is seven o’clock and the day will begin.
Today it is Thursday, and Quinn lays completely on a table for eight hours. An IV is hooked into the bend of her arm so she is not prone to disturbing the experiments due to a lack of nutrition. Above her, there is a screen. All this young girl has to do is stare at the screen. The images vary. Sometimes, there is only colors. Sometimes there are letters. Sometimes there are people. Sometimes there is only flashing lights. To her left, there is a very large computer. It reads and documents her physical responses such as how and why her eyes blink, muscle spasms, hormonal outlets and body temperature.
Of course Quinn cannot look, but she knows that to her left, Santana is drinking different nutrition drinks in search of what would be the perfect substitution for certain types of food. To her right, Brittany is sitting with her hands in a sterile field while every five minutes they are doused in bacteria and different gels to find what substance is most effective against which bacteria.
At three o’clock, the alarm rings again.
The three girls are stripped down and ushered into a decontamination shower before they are taken to the gym. There, they run for three hours to make up for the inactivity during the day. Like the doctors always say, it would be a lot messier to run this clinic if their participants were unable to walk themselves places.
Quinn thought it was hilarious the clinic referred to them as participants, but after all this time locked inside this building, she has a hard time finding anything funny anymore.
The experiments are not the worst part.
Quinn was taken at eight years old, so her memory of her family and friends were becoming vague. The outside world is a strange concept to her now, even though she longs for it more than anything else. It was such a long time since she actually felt the sunshine on her face rather than through barred windows.
These things are horrible, but it is not the worst.
The worst part is dinnertime. Around seven o’clock, after they have been showered and dressed, they are taken to the canteen. Girls are served and seated first in accordance to age. Then there are the boys.
It is devastating to see.
The boys are the primary focus of experiments at the clinic, mostly for researching biological warfare, medicine and gene manipulation. Boys of all ages walk in perfectly quiet lines, weathered, mute, broken and battered. Most of them are underweight, mentally and physically damaged. There are five with severe burns all over their bodies that cannot walk on their own anymore, and they are wheeled around by assistants in white coats.
It is sad, but not quite as sad as the little ones.
The youngest has caught Quinn’s eye several times, which brings to mind a cruel irony. His name is Finn, and at a mere age of five, he is still taller than boys twice his age. The brown eyes, perpetually glazed over, staring into nothing have been blinded after several abortive attempts at creating a cure for a certain gene mutation resulting in loss of vision or death. Quinn has never witnessed what has been done to him, but his trial room is across from the showers. The times she has heard the boy screaming and sobbing are countless. Memories of his cries haunt her at night, tortures her and she cannot even imagine what is would be like to be that little boy. Quinn can’t look at them, or she can’t stomach her food, which will result in uncomfortable and sometimes painful medical examinations.
Santana catches her eye, and subtly lays a hand on her thigh, rubbing soothing circles. Brittany gives her a sympathetic look before spacing out again, staring into nothing. It is of little comfort to her, but it is better than nothing. The aching in her chest goes down, if only a little.
Quinn swallows down the last of her food, and is escorted back to her room where she is shackled down and falls into an uneasy sleep.
Like every time she falls asleep, like every time she wakes up, her last and first thought is: it could have been worse.
fandom: glee
prompt: torture
medium: fic
rating: r
warnings: AU, involuntary medical experiments, violence, torture, imprisonment
summary: a day with participant #882 fabray, quinn. it could be worse.
Quinn Fabray knows she could have it worse.
She is a blond American girl, seventeen years old, with pale skin and shoulder-length hair. Standing at 168 centimeters weighing 52 kilos, she is what a girl her age should strive to be. Her nose is petite and her smile is stunning with eyes changing from hazel to green in the different lights of day. In the notes of her journal it is written that Quinn would be a very suitable carrier of children.
Every morning, she is awoken at six o’clock by the alarm ringing through the entire clinic. At that time she would get dressed in the assigned red dress, step into the corridor and line up next to her dorm mates. Even though the time would only be six fifteen, her hair would be pulled up into an immaculate ponytail.
After a short signal, the doctors and their assistants would step into the corridor. The girls would be sorted into groups of three and taken to their separate testing rooms. First, they walk through the scanner rooms. Quinn Fabray would walk through a metal detector, and then she would be photographed for documentation, measuring her length and weight. Lastly they would take a blood sample to test for any health issues. She was never sick, of course.
The other two girls in her group are never sick, either.
The youngest is Santana Lopez, also seventeen years old of Puerto Rican decent with long dark hair. She is slightly shorter, standing at 165 centimeters weighing in at 51.5 kilos, also a number the clinic is more than pleased with. Her eyes are dark and she is a very physically capable girl despite her slim appearance.
Lastly there is Brittany Pierce, the only one of the three born at the clinic and also the eldest. At eighteen years old, her long hair is strawberry blond and her eyes are a piercing blue. At 174 centimeters, she towers over the other girls despite her low weight of 50 kilos. Her body is what the clinic would like to call a near perfect specimen, although she has since a long time ago been labeled damaged goods. She is lucky she is not dead.
After the three teenagers have been thoroughly examined, it is seven o’clock and the day will begin.
Today it is Thursday, and Quinn lays completely on a table for eight hours. An IV is hooked into the bend of her arm so she is not prone to disturbing the experiments due to a lack of nutrition. Above her, there is a screen. All this young girl has to do is stare at the screen. The images vary. Sometimes, there is only colors. Sometimes there are letters. Sometimes there are people. Sometimes there is only flashing lights. To her left, there is a very large computer. It reads and documents her physical responses such as how and why her eyes blink, muscle spasms, hormonal outlets and body temperature.
Of course Quinn cannot look, but she knows that to her left, Santana is drinking different nutrition drinks in search of what would be the perfect substitution for certain types of food. To her right, Brittany is sitting with her hands in a sterile field while every five minutes they are doused in bacteria and different gels to find what substance is most effective against which bacteria.
At three o’clock, the alarm rings again.
The three girls are stripped down and ushered into a decontamination shower before they are taken to the gym. There, they run for three hours to make up for the inactivity during the day. Like the doctors always say, it would be a lot messier to run this clinic if their participants were unable to walk themselves places.
Quinn thought it was hilarious the clinic referred to them as participants, but after all this time locked inside this building, she has a hard time finding anything funny anymore.
The experiments are not the worst part.
Quinn was taken at eight years old, so her memory of her family and friends were becoming vague. The outside world is a strange concept to her now, even though she longs for it more than anything else. It was such a long time since she actually felt the sunshine on her face rather than through barred windows.
These things are horrible, but it is not the worst.
The worst part is dinnertime. Around seven o’clock, after they have been showered and dressed, they are taken to the canteen. Girls are served and seated first in accordance to age. Then there are the boys.
It is devastating to see.
The boys are the primary focus of experiments at the clinic, mostly for researching biological warfare, medicine and gene manipulation. Boys of all ages walk in perfectly quiet lines, weathered, mute, broken and battered. Most of them are underweight, mentally and physically damaged. There are five with severe burns all over their bodies that cannot walk on their own anymore, and they are wheeled around by assistants in white coats.
It is sad, but not quite as sad as the little ones.
The youngest has caught Quinn’s eye several times, which brings to mind a cruel irony. His name is Finn, and at a mere age of five, he is still taller than boys twice his age. The brown eyes, perpetually glazed over, staring into nothing have been blinded after several abortive attempts at creating a cure for a certain gene mutation resulting in loss of vision or death. Quinn has never witnessed what has been done to him, but his trial room is across from the showers. The times she has heard the boy screaming and sobbing are countless. Memories of his cries haunt her at night, tortures her and she cannot even imagine what is would be like to be that little boy. Quinn can’t look at them, or she can’t stomach her food, which will result in uncomfortable and sometimes painful medical examinations.
Santana catches her eye, and subtly lays a hand on her thigh, rubbing soothing circles. Brittany gives her a sympathetic look before spacing out again, staring into nothing. It is of little comfort to her, but it is better than nothing. The aching in her chest goes down, if only a little.
Quinn swallows down the last of her food, and is escorted back to her room where she is shackled down and falls into an uneasy sleep.
Like every time she falls asleep, like every time she wakes up, her last and first thought is: it could have been worse.