The Winged Girl XII

There had been many moments in Quinn's life, in which she'd considered giving up. Completely.
At nine years old, a wiser girl than most, younger Quinn had managed to uproot a tile from her cell floor, and had hidden her finding under her pallet. A sharp edge of metal: glinting mercilessly, the voice of temptation - one quick slash would give such relief. Nine year old Quinn thought often of the implement. It was the first thing she thought of when she woke up - the thing with which she could prevent herself from having to rise to another day of torture - and the last thing she thought before she slept. Quinn would often wrap small fingers around its length when settling to sleep - it was a safety blanket. A devastating one, but nevertheless one she came to rely on.
Seventeen year old Quinn, years later, years wiser, battle hardened, was glad she'd resisted the temptation. But, she was not about to bow to a pair of egotistical winged brothers who thought they could use her as a weapon. Quinn was done being used. She'd left that behind in the laboratories.
She had a trick up her sleeve: no numbers. It made possibilities suddenly limitless. Always before, she had assumed her life would be taken by the whitecoats: a taser sting from which she wouldn't wake up, a concoction killing her swiftly. Now, she had the upper hand: her days were not immediately limited. The boys' were.
'Quinn.' Cole sounded hoarse as he took in her rejuvenated appearance. 'You look...'
'Clean.' Drake cut in, leering at her.
Quinn pushed her unease to the furthest corners of her mind. Sneering at them, she shrugged. 'It's called a bath, you should try one some time,' she wrinkled her nose, conjuring up some imaginary smell as if it emanated from them.
'I see you've also grown a backbone.' Drake ran his eyes over her appraisingly. Cole just seemed speechless.
'You wanted to see me?' Quinn recited a mantra in her head: cut to the chase, don't give ground.
'Oh, of course. Cole and I have spoken. We need you, Quinn. You have valuable assets which we need to use in bringing the whitecoats down.' Drake's demeanour screamed fake sympathy and Quinn fought the urge to snarl. 'I know you don't wish to help, but... Don't you want to help others in your situation? There are others you know.'
Quinn had known this was coming.
'Yes. I know. And I'm sure, especially since the pair of you have wings, that you two will have every capability you need to extract them. You don't need me. You don't. I'm not reliving those horrible years, I'm sorry.'
Drake must have solely believed in his persuasive powers, for after this second rejection, he snapped. Gone was the faux sincerity, the appreciative glances. His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowed and he looked altogether mean.
'Perhaps it hasn't been made clear how things work around here, Quinn. I'm in charge,' he took a smooth step forward. 'If I say jump, you jump. You do as I say. That's how things work.' He took another stride forward, gradually closing the gap between them.
Quinn stood stock still. Expressionless. Poised.
'Okay? And if I say fly?' Drake smirked, the twisted smile looking ugly on his striking features. Quinn wondered how she'd admired him so unabashedly before. 'You fly. Get it?'
Quinn didn't miss a beat.
'No. No, I don't. I'm not your puppet. I'm not your weapon. I'm not your THING.' Quinn stepped forward, arriving nose to nose with him.
A quiet chuckle, distinctly female echoed about the room, bouncing off the ruined furniture and random, miscellaneous items.
Quinn's head flew around, taking note of the quiet surroundings. Drake had frozen, and his lip was quivering slightly. He has retreated a little, and Quinn could feel a little victory from that. Cole, too, had gone statue-still.
'Didn't I tell you, Drake? Cole? She's like her mother. She doesn't play nicely. She doesn't do well under management. She likes to BE the instructor.' The voice was spookily close, but Quinn still saw nothing, her sharp, avian-enhanced eye sight doing nothing to assist.
Then, suddenly, a tall, willowy woman stood before Quinn, in front of Drake. her features were sharp: long nose, cutting cheekbones...
'Hello Quinn. I'm your mother.'