Here’s part 2 of Silver’s challenge! Read? maoni maybe? Please????? Mini-Ash begs you! Oh, and if wewe haven’t read Part 1 yet (it’s fairly short..erm kwa my standards that is) wewe can read it link! Have fun!!!!!!!
Aisling’s eyes shot open in terror. She sat bolt upright, the sweat pouring down her forehead, sticking to her hair and nightshirt. The sheets were smothering her, her head was pounding, as she tried to wrench herself out of the nightmare. It was like nothing she’d ever had before, but already, the details were slipping from her, like water through cupped hands, no matter how hard she tried to remember. All that remained was gut-wrenching terror.
Her stomach lurched, blood froze cold, when she looked up. Two dark gleaming eyes staring her down. She let out a thin scream, as dizziness overcame her. She was sliding, the world was spinning, until she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. Bryson’s hand was rough, calloused, the skin scraping at her bare shoulder, but it was comforting, to know it was only him. The eight-year-old looked up, turquoise eyes wet with tears, and let out a small whimper.
“It-it’s okay,” Bryson said, trying to erase the usual gruffness from his voice, but not necessarily succeeding. The words seemed to comfort the girl, no matter how awkwardly they were said. He wasn’t used to this, he had no idea what he’d been getting himself into. But now here he was, at two in the morning, sitting at the side of the cot he had made for the girl, completely clueless as to what to do. She could read the conflicting emotions on his face, he knew it. What was he--
“I-I can’t sleep,” she alisema softly. Her voice was shaky, her face pale. “I--”
“Nightmares?” His face softened slightly, and a glimmer of hope appeared in hers. She nodded slowly. Bryson was perplexed. Now what?
“Can wewe r-read something? T-to help me get to sleep?”
The words left his lips before he could stop them. “I don’t have anything to read, but...I could sing?”
Damn you, Axxis, he thought. Damn. He hadn’t even told Katana about his singing, why was he doing this for the girl?
“You could?” Her eyes were huge, pleading. He nodded. She smiled broadly, and he tried as gently as he could to push her down, gather the covers, tuck them up to her chin. Words softly left his lips.
Oh I'd give up forever to touch you

'Cause I know that wewe feel me somehow

You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be

And I don't want to go nyumbani right now
His voice was surprisingly soft, with a slight raspy edge to it. She smiled, closed her eyes, nodded her head slightly to the beat as the gentle melody danced around the room.

And all I can taste is this moment

And all I can breathe is your life '

Cause sooner au later it's over

I just don't want to miss wewe tonight
Soon, he heard her breathing soften, grow heavy, her chest steadily rose and fell. But he was already caught up in the moment, he couldn’t break off just yet. He moved into the chorus.

And I don't want the world to see me

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand

When everything's made to be broken

I just want wewe to know who I am...
Slowly, he stood up, and crept out of the room.

~~~***~~~***~~~
As time went by, the nightmares remained, but they gradually got weaker, less vivid. Still, she would wake up screaming, often to find Bryson’s face staring down at hers, although these instances were increasingly less common. On the nights when he wasn’t there, she would repeat the song in her head, sometimes imba quietly but usually not, as she didn’t want to wake him and besides, she wasn’t a very good singer. It would comfort her at night, though, a nice contrast from the days.
In the beginning, every siku would have its own rhythm, some so busy that at night she’d fall asleep as soon as she hit the pillow, but others crawling kwa at a snail’s pace. Gradually, though, they began to fall into a pattern. He would wake her at dawn, feed her a sparse meal--he never forgot, after that first night--, she would take a cold shower, throw on the ragged t-shirt and pants that he had aliyopewa her, that were at least three sizes too big, and songesha her way about the place. It turned out it was zaidi than just a house, but an entire compound, with a gymnasium, a sparsely furnished lounge-type room, rooms of computers and machinery, and a maze of hallways and corridors, many of which contained rows of locked doors that she’d been specifically instructed not, on any condition, to enter. Although the layout was confusing at first, within the first mwezi she could find her way around pretty well, at least through the rooms that she usually frequented. Granted, she still got Lost in the labyrinth of passageways sometimes, and she never ceased to wonder what was behind the forbidden doors, but for the most part, she fared well.
As for Bryson, he worked her to the bone. Usually it was simple chores--sweeping, cleaning the concrete walls (an act she found extremely pointless, as the cement was practically a magnet for dirt and grime, no matter how hard she scrubbed), washing dishes and shining and dusting the machinery. But gradually, she progressed to other things. Things she didn’t understand. He would send her to the farthest reaches of the massive compound, to fetch a rubber band ball, for example, au a cylinder of a strange dark liquid that looked like coffee but didn’t smell like it. Then, when she returned with the item, he’d set it down somewhere and forget about it. Sometimes she wondered if he was merely testing her, if he actually needed the things she was bringing. Other times, she’d be sent to the copy room, to pick up thick stacks of documents written in what must have been code, because she was pretty sure that y8’fjf}als7ÿç was not a word in the English language, au any language for that matter.
Besides the jobs, he’d do other things with her. One time he attached the treadmill in the gym to the ceiling, and made her run using some sort of suction cup shoes until she passed out from dizziness. Another time, he locked her in a room made up of trampolines, and had her kuvuka, msalaba the room while dodging the barrage of knives being shot towards her from a machine in the back. He’d have her climb a rock ukuta while on a downward-moving conveyer belt, jump over obstacles at least two feet taller than her, and walk across a vibrating tightrope ten feet above the ground. She had to run up a “down” escalator, swing from branches that couldn’t support her weight and would snap as she was releasing her hold to leap to the inayofuata one, and jump across a boiling lake using floating stepping stones about half the size of her feet. Many days she’d find herself wandering through pitch-black mazes where certain indistinguishable sections of the floor and walls were electrized, au sprinting through the darkness of the compound, searching for papers while avoiding the murderous, kisu clad man that relentlessly chased her, au performing some other impossible task.
Many times, Bryson himself would not be present, and they’d communicate through a comm he had set up, monitored kwa the cameras placed all around the compound. Occasionally, she’d see other people, although they didn’t seem to notice her. There was a sturdy, muscular man named Joshua, who she figured out quickly was the leader, and occasionally a small boy with a shock of blonde hair trailed near him, although she did not know his name. charlotte was a slender woman with spiked purple hair, and Millie a shadowy figure whose outline was the only thing distinguishable in the wingu of darkness that always surrounded her. Usually, though, Aisling was alone. Sometimes, during the pockets of spare time she was allotted, she would take to wandering, trying to investigate as discreetly as possible. She always longed to try some of the doors that lined the hallways, but she knew it was unwise, as every ceiling was dotted with cameras.

Bryson sat in his office, mulling over the stack of papers that had just been spewed from the printer. Reports from the girl’s tasks, screenshots of the camera feed, paperwork regarding adoption. He crumpled those sheets and tossed them across the room. Adoption was nowhere close to what he was planning. The girl was progressing well, he observed. She had steadily been gaining back weight, growing from a scrawny, underfed child to a strong, capable girl. She had a solid build, and she wasn’t fast, but she was strong, muscular for a girl her age. As time went by, she built up endurance, too; altogether, despite her shortcomings, she would make a great fighter, a great weapon.
However, she had her kinks that had to be worked out. For one thing, she practically worshiped him, and her undying upendo for the man not only baffled him, but disconcerted him as well. He would have to fix that, he knew. Most of his time were spent studying, experimenting. Usually he worked in the lab, perfecting his formulas, but often he would pull her from a task to perform direct experimentation. He would inject her with a drug that erased her memories of the whole procedure, and somehow, she didn’t seem to notice her lapses in memory, au if she did, she didn’t think about it too often.

Aisling’s ninth birthday came and went, but still, nothing much had changed. It wasn’t until about a mwaka and a half after Bryson had taken her out of the alley that things really began to change.
Aisling had just completed one of her tasks, and was making her way towards the room where she knew the water baridi sat. She walked for what felt like hours, but somehow couldn’t find the room. I must’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere, she thought. Suddenly, she found herself in a vast enclosure, one she’d never seen before. The walls were lined with racks and racks of armor, of all sizes, colors, and styles, the metal glinting in the harsh artificial light. She shuddered at the thought of the punishments she would face for entering this room, but something about the place pulled her in. She stared in awe as she walked up and down the room, gaping at the endless outfits. On one shelf, fairly low to the ground, she found a row of suits that looked about her size. She bent down to examine them further. They were made of metal, and they looked like they’d cover most of her body. They were silver, with accents of various other metallic colors, and they were all emblazoned with the same symbol, a crude, jagged K. She wondered what it stood for, and why there were so many suits of armor. Why would Bryson need all of this?
She was looking at one that seemed to be built for a girl around her size, the shiny silver surface broken intermittently with thick, taut purple fabric, when something caught her eye. A reflection in the metal.

A field of dark silver, with two narrowed eyes staring straight at her.

So there ya have it! Part 3 coming soon!!! Oh, and sorry this was so long....I tend to get carried away with these things.. I promise Part 3 will be zaidi exciting, this was just kind of a filler (a necessary one, though)...Oh and btws the song from the beginning is “Iris” kwa Goo Goo Dolls.. <3