[center][h2][color=goldenrod][b]"Parkinson" - Subject 332[/b][/color][/h2]

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[color=goldenrod][i]Parkinson.[/i][/color]

What a strange word to have in mind the very second one would be born. The only clear term, clear image the blonde would have as she weakly stumbled out of the stasis tank she had apparently been 'birthed' from. Her eyes were half-shut, barely capable of coping with the lighting of the room, all the while her body would appear to shiver in various spots as if her being could barely withstand its own weight. 332 was very skinny while being above average in height for a female. Her boney figure being quite distinguishable from the rest with her skin-tight suit. Her long hair sagged over her face, leaving only portions of her slightly plump cheeks and tired eyes to be seen by the outside world. But she could clearly see everything around her, every single little bit of detail. 

Weird shapes were surrounding her, mobile objects that resonated but a single word in her mind, one that would become as clear as her assigned name once she full captured such frames. 'People'. 'A person'. Where and how she knew these words were a mystery, but upon seeing concrete proof of their existence, being able to mold shape into her blank mind, made said word appear as obvious as the sky being blue - which ironically would be something she'd barely understand as well. 

The introduction of a specific authority figure was being made, some woman in a peculiar coat. That was strange, all these 'people' around her all wore an identical uniform, but she did not. Nor did these other 'people' standing guard behind glass widows and various exits to the large Iron Maiden quarters. It was as peculiar as everyone have different colored hair, skin, eyes ... As Parkinson focused on all of those and taught herself the basics of the human anatomy, the whole speech made by the good doctor would have flown over her head. Most of it, anyway, a few details such as them being made here, experiments to become weapons and so on. While certainly alarming terms that sparked irrational and misunderstood worry in her, the countless amount of input from her surroundings dampened the effects of the dire news they were recently fed. 

But then it hit her. Not an idea or a suddenly spark of brilliance. It felt as though some had actually hit her; an acute, rising pain in her head. Just a minute after her 'birth', she'd finally be exposed to the side effects of her very existence, an effect so deeply ingrained in her anatomy that the collar couldn't restrain it. The chronic headaches were already having their effects on her, prematurely provoked by the overwhelming amount of stimuli, knowledge and overall conglomerate of emotions she experienced in such a short time. She did not whimper or even make a peep, as if it was something her body had already grown used it. 

Nonetheless, her distress was visible on her expression and Parkinson could only stand still for a brief moment after her first step. Index and major finger pressed on her temple, she attempted to at least soften her throbbing skull's pain. Barely efficient, but still better than another, she could at least walk without an constant spike in the pain occurring each time her foot stomped on the metal floor. 

The visit felt like it lasted hours; Parkinson was already sick of it, sick of walking, sick of listening, it hurt her head and she couldn't focus anymore. It was awful really. And with pain, more irrationality took over, and thoughts of violence already emerged. Of course, because of her build and more mature predispositions, she'd be more bark than bite. It didn't prevent her from wanting to slap a bitch though. 

In the end, she remembered what the rooms were called but barely recalled what their use was, even if every single term she'd heard would have the definition laid out in her mind. She simply couldn't picture any of their utility without experiencing that. That and Hercules' name. Speaking of which, he was very tall! A lot of the 'boys' were actually taller than her, while all the 'girls' were shorter than her. Well, the one girl and Boomi that is. Boomi fit the criteria of girl, as such she could only label her as such. 

But as the tour ended, very, [i]very[/i] disruptive and nerve racking voices would echo through. At this point, Parkinson would just sit down on one of the many benches near the gym they had visited, palm set on her forehead as the searing pain raged one. 

[color=goldenrod][i]Complain. Complain. Complain. I hate this complaining.[/i][/color]

All this hostility, this whining, this anger in the males' voices, they irritated her like nails on a chalkboard. One in particular annoyed her more, and not just that, he'd also deliver her one of the most unsettling, queasy feelings that coupled horribly with her head pains. That man, his appearance, it wasn't like theirs. He looked awful, repulsive, non-human. While the term 'monster' wasn't what roamed in her mind, she clearly felt frightened by this being. He wasn't like them, as such, she didn't like him nor wanted him near her. The other man, however, wasn't exactly enjoyable either, but at least he stood up to the one who started this all. 

"[color=goldenrod]Can you all just ... Complain elsewhere. Your voices, I don't like them ... Right now.[/color]"

Her eyes squinted at both as her british-like accented voice growled, though her eyes would be quick to escape the monstrosity's gaze and would focus more on the normal GHOST. Nonetheless, the delivery of her reply was obviously quite clumsy. Telling people she didn't like their voices in this specific time wasn't exactly the most expected of things, and made little sense in retrospect. But the message was clear, their bickering was bothering her and compromising her health. 

[color=goldenrod][i]Complaining about their complaining voice ... They made me complain, I hate this. I want them out, NOW.[/i][/color]