Ceannlaidir Neach-Tàrrsainn - Capitol/D1 [DONE]

[sadniss everdeen]

Case File: SF003

/Picture of the Subject below/


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Basics

Gender: Female
Race: Caucasian
Age: Unknown. Estimate - 21
(note: it is quite possible she is years younger. this is not a fact)
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Subject 003 has undergone extensive testing for a cure to her illness
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While attempts at rectifying the disease has proved unsuccessful, the severity has sharply declined
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Commence thorough physical assess00100--
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Error. Detecting foreign access.
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Let's see here... this should be easy.
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Launching security measures. Standby.
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What? Come on, you piece of--
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Threat eliminated. Proceeding with standard proto000101101001--
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Better. Physical assessment? Hm. Might as well. Computer, proceed.

Subfile: Physical Report

The subject's eyes are the focal point of her face. Slightly almond shaped and darkened naturally under the eyelashes for both above and below the eye. While my eyes are gently slanted it's not enough to infer that I have Asian traits; it's just the way my eyes were shaped when I was born. However, they lack the protruding quality that many with her disease acquire early on in life. They are almost always serious and calculating which lends her a sinister quality, but are often blank and unreadable. A deep gray, they darken to coal black when you anger me. Slim eyebrows that are quite long, starting low near the bridge of her nose to arch higher as they progress. In addition, the furthest lateral of her right brow is pierced with a single hole. The single piercing in my right eyebrow is from when I jammed a needle through myself because they didn't want to risk my health. When a bone is broken the sclera flashes an electric or dark blue, depending on the severity.

give me a disaster
give me emergency

Bridge of the nose is narrow and fairly central on her features. It further accentuates the bony and approaching anorexic build of her face, despite the fact that she was evidently built to be small. Nostrils are of regular size, though an operation once had to be done to expand her nasal cavities after they collapsed inwards when she was eight. The operation was the first time (and certainly not the last) that I've been under the knife. Sometimes when its cold out, the bridge of my nose stings where they had to hammer and reset the bone, then placing the two metallic strips that I can feel when I sneeze. No scars visible from the surgery, though if you gently tap the place where the surgical pieces were inserted you will hear a metallic clink. They stretch from the beginning of her sinuses to the very underneath of the bridge, worn into the bone over time to reduce chance of fractures. Two slim metal rings from the right nostril and septum, gotten at an early age. Those were my first ever piercings, though I usually just put the one that goes through my cartilage.

stand me at the head of the crusade
without a remedy

003's lips are full, but kept set in a straight line. The pressure both thins them out and betrays no emotion on her face. Often painted black for unknown reasons (note: perhaps to go with the rest of her dark facade) the true color is a pale pink. She refuses to discuss why she keeps them rigid the way she does, but it is thought as a defense mechanism to make herself seem more severe. To be honest I don't care either way; the lipstick just adds to the overall apperance. Her tongue is pierced with one hole, we believe that at one point there was two but it has since closed up. Sometimes when she produces certain letters there is a clicking from where the metal hits the backs of her teeth.

I've gotten used to the clicking noise and find my mouth very empty without it. However, my teeth are something that I've tried very hard to keep right. Straight, white, and almost too big for my jaws.When she smiles it is crooked and off-kilter, but unique in her own way. I don't smile because people don't make me smile; but when I do, I get some small satisfaction that it makes them uneasy. Though rare, it eludes that she knows something you don't. Slightly unnerving.

show me to the shipwreck
show me how your bones shake

The subject's skin is strange. Extremely white and pulled taut against her flesh to the extent that you can clearly see the bones in her face and fingers. Though tight against her musculature it only lends her a severe quality if her eyes are narrowed and lips are pursed to accompany it. Often it just shocases how thin she really is, allowing nothing to hide under creases or wrinkles. While in this picture she appears slightly dark it's simply because of the dim lighting, her true color is pale and burns easily in the sun. Without imperfections or blemishes, we believe that an ancestor of hers would have perhaps been albino at one given time. What they failed to mention was that the underside of my arms are slightly uneven from the needles to draw blood. If I'm sick or am recovering the marks stand out and raise against the paperthin vein skin, making most of me rather unpleasant to look at. When recovering from an injury we have noted that it becomes almost transparent; the veins show from under her skin. It is uncertain whether or not this is from her illness, but it is being investigated. It doesn't tear easily but when it does it bleeds like there's no stopping, and it usually accompanies a break.

and when I'm at the edge of sorrow's blade
show me how a heart breaks

Subject's ears are regular of size but there is an astounding amount of cartilage in the shell, lending it a rigid quality that are reasonably close to her skull. Unknown why the ears are so dense (note: most probably because the lack of various other substances elsewhere in her body) but they seem to do nothing to impede her hearing; on the contrary, 003 appears to have above average listening skills, if she chooses to use them - though this is being disputed. It's quite possible that she simply doesn't hear us at all, or understand what it is we say. I understand what they say, I just choose not to acknowledge it.

In addition there are various piercings both in the lobe and shells of both ears, which must have been a difficult and painful process for both her and the piercer. I infact have six piercings in my right ear and five in my left, each a rather tiresome process that involves much deliberation on the confusions of how to proceed. Once I tried to do that myself like with my eyebrow but quickly found that even a scalding needle is much too weak to puncture the tough substance of the shells, I have to ask for help.

be steady on your feet
no matter the trouble you meet

Black hair roughly three to four inches long, it is streaked with red and gray. Most of my hair is about a finger's length away from my scalp; naturally jet-black and straight, though it curls occasionally. Her bangs are the only part that are relatively lengthy - perhaps taking after some of the trends in the darker Capitol residents - but are usually swept aside either away from her face or over one eye, which fall down to her cheekbone if pulled straight. It often looks mildly oily due to often hidden and mussed look that her jacket creates; in reality it is of normal texture, appearing windswept but soft if her hood is thrown back. If she wishes the bangs can disappear into the rest of her hair, leaving her face exposed. Strangely I can mold it with just a swipe of my hand; with just a pat it'll lay flat and close but run my fingers through and it'll instantly spike up in all directions.

lions make you brave
giants give you faith

The bone structure of her face is very peculiar. Her forehead tilts gently and is relatively small to gives way for wide temples and a sharply sloping jaw that meets to a rounded chin that, while noticable, isn't flat enough to be called stubbed. The build of my face translates to the rest of my body. Small, almost bird-like in apperance with smooth bones that press against their confines. Back of her cranium extends slightly and curves in at a shallow angle to create a slight ledge on the back of her head, unnoticable when her hood has been thrown over. But the strangest thing of all is that her cheekbones are extremely prominent below the eyes, exiting from the plain of her face. Perhaps it is because of the fat-less skin or her colorless palor, but they are exceedingly visible if you look at her from the side. In reality it's just because my skin is pulled so tight that I have no extra padding, making the sharp angles stand out all the more. Because of this they are very susceptible to fracture, and yet they haven't developed any scar tissue from the multiple breaks. I've been told that I'm attractive in a strange, foreign way. Certainly not the stuff of model magazines, but I get by.

death is a charade
you don't have to feel safe to feel unafraid

The subject is only approximately five feet tall (actually, I'm four foot ten) , giving little room for large growth. Her neck is short but fits her small stature, spreading out to narrow shoulders and a clavical that has sunken into her skeleton; however, it is still prominent due to her being underweight and thin-skinned. My neck is fragile and bony, and when I swivel it quickly there are a series of complicated clicking noises that echo from the joint where my spine meets cerebal cortex. An indent with a dime's thickness and width on the base of my neck by the first thoracic vertebra, (the one level with your shoulders) where they had to do a complicated spinal tap. The joints of her shoulders have begun to grow excessively around the thin bone, prompting stiffness in the early hours of the day and occasional locking (note: it may be remedied if the Subject clicks her joints sharply, but this may cause a break).

While my shoulders are indeed slight I have broken my collarbone several times, tiny bumps press up unnoticably more than others around the sharp angles that it protrudes. Her glenohumeral joint is strangely rounded and rotates with ease that others do not usually possess, allowing her to bend farther than others. We are not sure if this means the external casing has already been worn away, or if she is just perhaps double jointed. My joints are smoother than a regular person, prompting increased looseness and flexibility - but as a result I've popped it out of place several times with barely any effort because of the decreased resistance. While it hurts, I've learned to snap it back in place myself with minimal damage.

find me at the bottom
looking at the vultures

Due to the already lanky and approaching anorexic build of her frame, it's no big surprise that her waist is tiny and her hips angular. If you press gently against her sides you can count each individual rib - and you can still see them faintly without contact - but they are only starkly visible if she reaches above herself and stretches. When she inhales the cage is outlined against her skin and there is a dip in her torso, but shallow. Subject 003's breasts are almost non-existant. Nothing more than flat nubs across the upper expanse of chest, from an early age she has seemed mildly disgruntled by this. This report is largely correct in the fact that I have no breasts - much to my chagrin - and am 'mildly disgrunted'. While it's not the end of the world, all things considered, I always feel self-conscious despite much internal chiding that it makes no difference. Perhaps her disease has halted the growth but it is unlikely, we believe it to be the plethora of drugs she has been on since being a young child.

Despite the fact that she should have poor musculature like others suffering the same illness, the abdominals are faintly outlined when she braces. I have only small muscles that are scarcely visible unless I flex, which I shouldn't complain about because I'm not even supposed to have any at all. Many people have accused me of being anorexic when it's just the way my body works; I have an unusually fast metabolism and inability to keep the pounds on. Plus, there is a shallow but definite curve to her hips; which are thin and sharp, but not utterly devoid of all definition. Over the years and many accidents the edges of the pelvic bone has become slightly rugged when you run a thumb across from the multiple healed breaks that have fused back together.

standing in the heart of the disease
following the hard curves

From the beginning of her shoulder-joint to the tip of her bird finger, the subject's arms are tiny, barely reaching twenty inches in length. Her biceps are slim and appear non-existant when extended, and even when retracted are subdued into the skeleton (despite what they may write down here I do have biceps, they're just very close to my bones and have little to no swell to them at all). At the meeting of the humerus and the ginglymus (note: hinge joint), the end is sharp and protrudes at a definite angle. When I fold my arms into my chest the pointed definition gives them the strange apperance of featherless bird wings, with a dense and painful end. Subject 003's elbows are the only part of her body that can usually take a decent amount of pressure before snapping, due to this mass of bone and muscle being the hardest part in the human body.

If outstretched she can curve her arms in a way that is not usually able, bending the joints to receive a curved apperance of the forearms. This is due to the the bones popping slightly out of their holds with no pain, again a result of smooth endings of her sockets. As a result of the parallel ulna and radius being loose in their holds I'm able to twist them in an almost full circle with the aid of my shoulders, turning a little over 340 degrees. I'm exceptionally pale underneath my forearms, and the skin is covered with pale pinpricks and shallow scars from all the testing I've received over the years. We've recently discovered that my ulnar nerve is partially hidden and as a result, I'm less susceptible to banging my 'funny bone' than others. Always a silver lining, I suppose. Her forearms are even more narrow than her upper arms and only slightly less pale; the lead examiner is able to circle the middle of her forearm with simply his middle finger and thumb.

i'm looking for the thunder
i'm looking for the blackness

To a person with the normal hand width, the subject's wrist is easily circled with the small finger and thumb. Her hamate and trapezium bone are expecially distinguished, forming bumps on the fragile expanse of her wrist. It is flexible - like almost all other joints she possesses - and able to bend without breaking. If you were to rate my joints by flexibility, my wrists would rank in the highest. I find it simple to bend them backwards and sideways where they shouldn't be able to go, stopping only when I feel the familiar sign of my bones beginning to give away. Because of the protruding nature of these parts they are often broken, but the added bone does nothing to reduce the joint's ability to rotate. The palm is smooth and the ball of her thumb sunken, leaving nothing but an unbroken flat surface that dips inwards ever so slightly at the center. In her case the lines of the palm are identical, a rarity brought upon by a minor genetic oddity. The tops of her palms are most probably where the skin is softest, marred by needles but healed over without any raising of the flesh. She is encouraged not to crack her knuckles due to the risk of fracture but insists on doing it anyway, stating that she can deal with arthritis if the problem emerges.

Despite repeated and prolonged cracking they haven't yet expanded in their joints, giving her fingers a slim and delicate look to match her slender palm. When fingers are extended it's easily shown which is in what position, from tallest to shortest. My largest finger appears almost too big for my hand, fragile and bony with slight knuckles that are slightly pointed when I curl them into a tight fist. Her nails are kept short due to preference, the enamel strangely thin and difficult to maintain. Her beds are a pale pink, bringing color to her milk-white complexion.

i'm learning to get up off my knees
and all it takes is practice

[While the spinal column is short by default due to her stunted height, the-- I'll take over this one. Never liked this paragraph anyway.] For the longest time, I've realized that my back is perhaps the best constructed part of my body. My spine is in place, my shoulderblades are relatively tight and in tact. However, due to their expanded plain they rise up parallel to my clavical and often stick up slightly if I hunch my shoulders. When I reach backwards they've been said to detach sharply away from my body in triangles, much like infantile wings beginning to grow. The scar that runs down the length of my back is slim and hardly noticable save if you look for it, no more than two millimeters in width and pinkish pale against the expanse of snowy skin. It rises slightly and is numb, procuring a strange sensation if you drag a fingernail along the healed wound. From my neck to buttocks it was when I was nine; they implanted various metal rods into my spine and back of the ribs to strengthen and reduce chances and severity of future breaks. A scalpel ran straight down the middle of my back and cut me open for seven hours, severing several minor nerves that don't really do much except carry signals about surface pain. I won't tell you much about my rear - it's small and rounded - with a reduced tailbone that I'm thankful for because I've only broken it once. And trust me, that certainly hurt more than enough.

be ready on your feet
no matter the trouble you meet

The subject's thighs are taut and smooth, stretching a reasonable length from her loose synovial joint to where it connects at the knee. As with her other joints it is flexible, brought on by the excess lubrication of the cartilage that is wedged between the ball and socket. If moved fast it produces a low hissing noise, probably due to the rapid extension and compression of the thick liquid. I'm more than capable of doing the splits with no difficulty or former preparation, though I've grown to be careful; once it resulted in a cracked pelvis and three months in a immobilized, half reclined state. A surprising amount of muscle is around the femur; one the strongest and consequentially more difficult bones to fracture. The tendons are springy and tight, allowing the subject to run quickly and without much to any warmup (note: it is not recommended that the subject runs fast and for extended periods of time to risk fracturing of the feet).

It is still unknown how the subject manages, but on par with her loose joints she is also capable of taking her patella and popping it out of its hold on both joints, and replacing it. It is evidently painful and difficult to walk at that point, but it allows her to bend in inhuman directions should the skill be needed. They've puzzled continually over my knees and can't bring to any solid conclusion why I can pop my caps out like I can; all I know is that it hurts like fire and I refuse to do it unless absolutely necessary. Her knees are thin and slightly rounded against the relative smallness of her legs, with a gentle incline that turns sharp only when she bends. Skin on the top is marked with various scratches and two scars on each where the indent of the kneecap is; an operation where they stuck wires into them to increase mobility and circulation.

lions make you brave
giants give you faith

While a tibia is usually straight, hers is bowed slightly (note: a result of her disease) which prompts increased shortness and risk of fracture. However, it is not visible from the outside in which the bone presses against the skin to create a narrow and slightly triangular shin. I'm proud of my legs. Their fairly long for someone of my stature and not particularily demented - they only have a slight curvature that's unnoticable unless you x-ray them. Though thinner than your average person (but since when am I average?) they support my weight well enough, and I don't even have to shave all that often because of the strangely fine hair I produce. It rounds out at the calf where the muscle is thickest up high, winding down to tiny, fragile ankles and a tough heel.

Both malleolus' on the subject's ankles are prominent and push away from the main part of the foot, easily broken and often padded to reduce the risk. She often complains of pain on the colder nights where there is - for an unknown reason - a reduced amount of cartilage, letting the various bones touch slightly to produce grinding and irritation, coupled with slight inflammation of the joints. Her feet are delicate and fairy-like, stark white and small. We believe her shoe size isn't over a five, though she usually wears a four to three. The center of her foot barely touches the ground, using the outside and the ball to support most of her weight. Often she rests on the balls and toes without realizing it, bending her knees slightly and lifting her heels off the ground. My toes are straight and the joints thick, they crack when I walk and it vibrates up my leg. When I was younger I annihilated my little toe on my right foot, prompting surgery and two weeks of hopping to right it again. There is a scar running from the tip to the outside ball of my foot to prove it, fat and a deep pink. As with her fingernails her toenails grow slowly and are kept short for ease of keeping, the digits straight save for both little toes.

death is a charade
you don't have to feel safe to feel unafraid

Subject 003's style is under much uncertain discussion. It is believed to be a statement, perhaps pseudo-Gothic? Pseudo-Gothic? Hardly. It's just what I choose to wear; not to make me seem more tough or intimidating (because at four foot ten I'll never be), but just because I don't care about what others think. We are unsure as to how she manages to find things like this that fit her, but regardless there is always a spiked collar; often black leather and the metal never below a half inch around her delicate neck. The clasp is on the back much akin to a belt buckle, silver and sometimes simple chrome. The collar is purely for shock value and entertainment, people tend to not want to go up to me when they see the spikes that are longer than their fingers. Though she enjoys black it isn't the sole color she wears - just the one she most prefers - and often has a simple shirt or tanktop underneath her prized possession, the jacket.

It is made of fine black leather with shoulders that make her seem larger than she actually is, with large, gothic lapels that are studded along the edges. A hood that is often thrown up and an intricate deep blue design of dual angel wings adorn the back, accompanied with something in a foreign language we couldn't translate. On the back is indeed two large angel wings - a deep, shimmering blue - with the inscription Aingeal Treòraich Iomrall swooping underneath, which is Scottish-Gaelic for Angel Led Astray. In this picture she has on leather pants that are a mix of spandex but that isn't what she often wears, usually just a pair of jeans; either new or with holes. Across her wrists are more spikes or studs, and same with the belt. A cigarrete always in hand because that's one habit I just can't kick, no matter how hard I try. By the way, those pants? Very tight, but comfortable.

-end report-

Physical assesment complete. Standing by.
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Well, they're certainly thorough, though lacking in imagination. Computer, what else do you have?
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There are two files still unopened. Would you like to view them?
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Might as well. Open next file.
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Understood.
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I doubt they were as extensive on this one...
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Case SF003: Mental Status report, launched.
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Very good. Computer, engage.

Subfile: Mental Health

Cold

Through repeated testing and observation, we have come to the conclusion that Subject 003 possesses three significant character traits, along with a slew of minor ones. The most prominent of these three would be coldness. She refuses to warm to the doctors that care for her throughout the assignment, though it is impossible that she knows they are there primarily to observe her. When asked a question she will either dismiss you lacking all sense of social etiquette or simply refuse to answer at all. We cannot recall her ever having a real friend or somebody she has trusted, apart from her foster father that remains far away from this testing for ethical reasons. Her glare is unfriendly but often eerily neutral; and there is a strange lack of anything save mild irritation if you attempt to pry into her life. There is no doubt that she would backstab for her own gain - but we believe this to be less out of greed and more from lack of attachment.

I wouldn't say I'm cold as much as uncaring. While that may sound even worse (and I suppose it is) I just can't find it in myself to bother. All these people that scurry around in their day to day lives mean nothing; their talk means nothing in the end. I find no reason to confer with them and say something that might perhaps turn around to bite me when I can just as easily ignore them - and get a mild form of entertainment from it at the same time. People take offense when you don't appear interested in their lives. There is no guilt in brushing off the preppy rich girl who wants to talk in the waiting lobby, nor in cutting off an old man on the street. Attempts at affection are rebounded because I simply don't wish to know you; and even if I did it wouldn't be because you went up to me first. It allows me to do things without a nagging conscience or tell-tale second thoughts that most have. Liberating, in a way. The things you do are easier in the end, if you don't let them get under your skin.

something has changed within me
something is not the same

Logical

When asked to complete a problem, the Subject always goes for the most down to earth way to solve, despite the fact that it might be more difficult. We believe her way of thinking is to assess the risks of a situation and come up with the most logical solution to a problem; though the answer might be unmoral and at times illegal. From what we have observed she would never rush into a situation without knowing the facts and challenging them in her own unique fashion. Because of this she excells in mathematics, science and philosophy. However, her lack of imagination for problem solving may come as a handicap - she struggles with lateral thinking questions that require you to think outside. If given the correct prompting and key words she can understand and solve almost instantly; but it's blatantly obvious she dislikes them. It is difficult to dupe her, the grasp she has on the realms between true and false are uncanny and hard to skirt around. However, she never really takes the moral effects of certain actions into consideration. If it's the best way to do it and one that she approves of, she will proceed.

Logical might be one way to describe me. Almost all things follow some sort of pattern that can be deduced by just following the trails of numbers or actions that one leaves behind. Structure, I suppose it's called. People thrive on structure, so I take advantage of that. Even the most illogical people make choices based on this, and as such are easier to predict. I realize that logic may be crippling in some cases where it is better to think the opposite of that, they are few and far between, and will often deliver you into greater trouble in the long run. It's why I enjoy technology so much; you don't have to guess what it's thinking or predict a movement that might go against its regular pattern. There is a set code of binary that once mastered, shows you all the secrets that people might keep hidden. It's difficult and often trying, but the greatest rewards always come from things that aren't exactly standard. However, I suppose I'm mildly jealous of those that have some degree of both. While they look up in the sky and see castles, dragons and princes, I see only clouds.

i'm through with playing by the rules
of someone else's game

Blunt

Perhaps she lacks social tact, or maybe she doesn't care, but if the Subject wishes to say something, she will. Years of trying to break her of the habit have proved in vain, for no matter what the situation might call for she will always deliver the version that's straight to the point. While some might see this as endearing or truthful, it's often just detrimental to her own status as well as others. The mindset of her brain most probably decides that there is little point because she has had little grand-scale social interaction since being a child. Subject 003 has yet to show any form of verbal ettiquete because we have not exposed her to any; it is our fault on this matter. We would try further but she is of age to where it has been permanently engrained into her personality and refuses to change, and any attempt would not only be futile, but would confuse and possibly agitate her.

I don't understand why people sugar-coat things. If you want to say something, say it without all the twisting of words and veiled meanings. Things are already complicated enough without you hiding what you want to say because you're afraid of hurting somebody's feelings. If I want something I'll go right up and say it, unless I know that I'll be denied what I want if I state it. The world would be alot more simple and less irritating if everybody was just a little more straight-forward; though I suppose lawyers would be out of a job. Nothing is really too embarrassing that you have to flail around the subject and work yourself into a fit - just say it and be over with. I've been often mis-described as apathetic because of my lack of emotional response - it's not that I don't care at all, it's that I can't bring myself to. I often speak in monotone and with factual wording because that's the way to easily get the point across. Embellished wording has no point, simply a waste of air. Sometimes I use them, but in the end my point is always the same. .... I'd make a terrible politician.

too late for second guessing, too late to go back to sleep
it's time to trust my instincts, close my eyes: and leap

Stubborn

There are many things that Subject 003 is, and one is stubborn. She will do what she wants, when she wants, how she wants; regardless of how difficult that way of thinking may become. If your offer doesn't give anything better than what she can come up with, it is denied - and though she lacks imagination for the most part, her ideas can be ranked high on the creative scale. We believe that giving up is a most unsavory word in her vocabulary, and will do what it takes to make sure that she doesn't have to put the word into action. When she sinks her teeth into something is it akin to tempting a starving dog with a hunk of meat, it's impossible to deter her. At times she will even deny her body and go several days without rest to fufill what she has set out to do, ignoring her natural needs in favor of the latest challenge.

They're correct in the fact that I dislike to give up. When I'm hit I will continue to rise despite how many bones have broken and how bad it looks, until I either can't move or come up with some way to beat my opponent. To me, dying is preferable to giving in to somebody else's wishes, because they aren't my own. If you tell me to leave it be I will make an effort to dig into it and tear the subject apart until I find the secrets. Perhaps it goes hand in hand with discipline; I can refuse to eat for several days simply because they've put something in there or angered me. You have to be stubborn to live in this place, because if you don't fight for yourself, nobody will. Though my body may betray me and make me weak, I assure you that if you cross me, I won't stop until I've ruined you.

it's time to try defying gravity
and you can't pull me down

Rebellious

Over the course of her life, various people have watched over Subject 003. At first she was simply non-responsive and dismissive; cold. But as time passed this overlapped with a rebellious streak to create a dangerous mix of apathy and a disregard for authority. Together it allows for acts of blatant anarchy without any form of regret. She dislikes figures of authority and will most probably go out of her way to damage them if they so much as look at her wrong - unless she's engaged in a previous altercation. If that's the case, she will simply give a neutral glare and store their appearance in her brain for future reference. On several occasions we have observed a fondness for pyrotechnics; not only does in ensure a statement, but it also lets her get away before any harm can be done to her fragile body. Often when a building goes up in flames with a link to the police or government we turn to her, but her flawless facade and blank expression makes it impossible to tell.

I'm surprised they failed to mention that they believe my 'way of dress' is also a part of my rebellious streak. Though it could be shown as such - spikes, leather and chains - it's actually just what I enjoy. Why members of authority are held in such high regard is unknown to me, so I decide to take them off their pedestals whenever I can. This, in turn, goes with my stubborn piece. If you want me to do something, I'll most probably do the opposite just to spite you. I'm not intentionally confrotational (maybe a little bit), it's just the way I work. Over time I've learned not to get caught because the punishment for whatever I do almost always includes breaking bones, because a simple whip will make my ribs crack and fracture. There are people that dedicate way too much of their time to being a pain and in the way; I believe I'm in the middle. Started drinking young, which in turn prompted authorities. They tried to arrest me for illegal drinking as a minor, and I guess that's what started my trouble streak. Because of the Capitol I'm even to complete the whole attitude; the motorcycle I got from no easy bartering is my one and only baby. Once the thrum from the engine made my wrist break, but it's worth every pain.

i'm through accepting limits
because someone says their so

Confident

Though her small stature and less than perfect physical health would make any other person self-conscious, from all aspects and purposes the Subject shows little to no doubt in herself. Whatever she does it is with a sure hand and no hesitation, executed in a fashion that prompts no opposition. When she walks into a room it is with her head held high and an almost cocky stride to her walk, meeting your gaze with that cool stare which many can't hold for long. When asked about a subject, any subject, she responds clearly and succuintly; unless she dislikes you or finds your question detrimental to her goals, in which case she refuses to answer at all. Any challenge cannot go untried, and more than usual she comes out successful. Though her confidence comes with a price, and she often is included in risky stunts and potentially illegal activities - sure that she can't get caught. More than once this has resulted in an altercation with police, that almost always ends badly for both her and them.

My confidence might at times slip into over-confidence, but I like to think I keep it in check for the most part. I've never felt self-conscious in my life (except about my chest, but that's minor in retrospect); whether it be my body, my brains or my actions. I'm good at what I do, and know it. Nothing in life can be accomplished without a degree of confidence, and people take you more seriously when it's apparent that you believe in what you can do. Failure might be an option, surely, but for the most part I cast it aside as an improbable outcome. Hesitation prompts lack of sureness which in turn gives out to failure; I don't let myself dwell too much on the less that favorable outcomes. While I might also be described as slightly narcisstic, I realize when after all the outcomes are carefully analyzed, it's best to stick to one that gives you a feeling that you might actually pull through (but if everything looks bad, not even a mountain of confidence will do you good).

some things I cannot change
but 'till I try I'll never know

Withdrawn/Anti-Social

There has been much debate on this topic. While some argue to just have her as withdrawn and others as blatantly anti-social, we've agreed that she demonstrates traits of both. One lead researcher pushed to mark her in the psychopathic region but after many arguements it was discarded, and we have now attributed her personality to sociopathic tendancies. Though she demonstrates classic anti-social behavior; refusal to talk, dismissal, recurring difficulties with the law and lack of emotion for others, there isn't enough to fully accept her position as such. The same with being withdrawn; while she isn't enough to be considered a recluse she consistently denies anybody assess into her life and shows difficulty trying to connect on the extremely rare occasionals that she attempts. However, she shows a disturbing ability to twist other people's emotions and words to get what she wants. Though lacking the superficial charm the true sociopaths possess, she ends up acquiring what she wishes through a peculiar lack of her usual bluntness.

Sociopathic? I'm not sure whether to be flattered or offended. While they make some good observations, they're also correct in the fact that I miss some key points. For one, I don't really enjoy pointless animal torture. If you want to skin them alive or throw them in an oven, I won't stop you, but it's messy and unneeded. And besides, I lack that sub-conscious acting charm that most have. Unless I'm directly aware of the need and deliberately play on, I'm about as social as a rock. Honestly, it's best for both of us if we just go our seperate ways. Over the years I've grown adapt at ignoring the exsistance of people I dislike, and prefer the companionship of myself/technology to real flesh and blood. Humans are idiotic, and for the most part just serve to make things worse. Maybe I have aggression issues, but one could argue that I have a lack of anger or simply mask it well. Say what you may, but the majority of the population is a waste of air. Just look at President Snow.

kiss me goodbye, i'm defying gravity
and you can't pull me down

Intelligent

This fact wasn't observed until recently. Previously any attempts to judge her intelligence was buffered by a stubborn brick wall. She would stare straight ahead and refuse to participate in any form of testing. We were about to mark her off as mentally disabled until a reasearcher brought in a raw hard-drive to work on while watching her. The Subject was instantly drawn to the piece of technology, and had the man explain bit by bit what it was supposed to do, and what was wrong with it. She asked, politely, no less, for it to be given and examined by her over night. Surprised by any form of contact the man agreed partly to humor her and actually being genuinely curious as to what she wished to do. When he left the cameras observed her hunched over the drive for hours during the night with nothing but an improvised screw driver for help. In the morning, the hardware was functioning better than how it had originally started. This leads us to believe that she has a photographic memory, for no regular mind can remember the names and placements of all the individual routers without years of practice.

Technology is my strong point. Binary code and data streams make much more sense than anything else; whether it be the law or literary studies or anything else that would be thrown at you. Computers are things that hold many secrets that I want nothing more than to explore - you can find out a lot about a person from their computer. For instance, the respectable lawyer has emails from a hidden mistress, or an accountant that's siphoning off hundreds from an elderly couple's retirement fund. With this comes the need to know everything, explore everything. As such, my memory is both a gift and a curse. I can just so much as glance at a complicated stream of data or html codes and replicate them exactly as they were originally written. I don't ever have to write anything down because I can just fish into the extensive files in my brain at will. However, this also means that anything I've seen or heard can't be erased. My brain lacks the will to delete; and sometimes it gets a bit crowded until I can make room. Mathematics, chemistry formulas, anything to do with reasoning and memorization is easy to me; one of my favourite books is a thick, 1200 page text on biology from before Panem.

to those who'd ground me
take a message back from me

Unempathetic

Throughout her life, we have witnessed a startling lack in human compassion. At first it was simply viewed as a side-effect from her withdrawn and sterile environment but it quickly morphed into an attribute all of its own. When she was finally allowed to live outside the lab at age fourteen because we deemed her sturdy enough for common living in the civilized world, it was soon blatantly apparent that something was not quite right. She didn't stop to ask what was wrong if somebody was crying, nor did she pay any attention what so ever to polite small talk. It was as if she simply couldn't connect with a living being. The board considered drawing her back to live in the lab but the Subject was unusually vocal about her opposition, and in the end she was allowed to stay. However, this lets her dupe people into doing potentially harmful and damaging things without a second thought, as she is comfortably numb to their pain.

What they don't understand is that I'm happy being like this. At first it was just a mechanism to ensure that I wouldn't get hurt; but over time it seems to have leeched direction into my personality. I don't see why it's such a big deal, and I they didn't really make a move to rectify it either, until I watched the light drain out of a man's eyes without moving to help. If I helped the cops would come and all this shit would be piled onto me; and none of it is my problem. There is no recollection of ever seeing his face or the faces of his family. He wasn't one I was in debt to, nor did he owe me anything. His life wasn't directly tied to mine, so why should I help him? It's no personal gain to me. That talk about being in other people's shoes is bullshit - it just makes you sensitive and weak. Concern for anybody but yourself is a pointless emotion that just further tangles you into whatever they've gotten into, and happiness that isn't your own is hollow and void.

i'm flying high, defying gravity
and soon i'll match them in renown

Independent

Subject 003 has a very unique outlook on life. One has described it as 'if it won't kill me, I'll do it myself'. She's an extremely independent person since she developped the ability to think for herself, and resents the fact that most of her childhood years were spent with other people doing things for her. Though her disease might in turn make her dependent, she seems hellbent on turning that theory on it's head. As soon as she was released she started living by herself despite the fact that we had multiple places she could go, and got a job where it would be difficult to harm herself and draw attention to her ways. Though she never finished school we've witnessed university grade textbooks on her shelves, lined with complicated therums scattered on papers and various schedules for her workplace. Also, we believe that she is drawing in an additional source of income; if the state of the art laptop is anything to go by. She has worked hard to sever any relations that include financial aid and is now living totally on her own.

Damn right I'm independent. Just because I'm small and I break bones easily sure as hell doesn't mean that I can't do anything for myself. I'd much rather climb a few feet of shelving than call somebody over for me, or struggle through an extra hour of solo work than have another person help when I can easily do it myself. Being dependent means that it's much easier for others to let you down and find yourself in a bind, which wouldn't have happened if you just kept to yourself. Yes, I know I'm not invincible; I won't try and make something specialized or do something insanely stupid just for the sake of doing it on my own, but I'll resent it. From when I was young people would do everything for me - but those days are over. I've taught myself how to manage finances and bills, how to balance food and work equally. A bonus that I don't really need much in the way of socialization, despite what the reports may say.

and nobody in all of Oz
no Wizard that there is or was
is ever gonna bring me down!

-end report-

Shit, it's getting late. Computer, analyze final report.

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Acknowledged. Proceeding with directive.
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Hm, this one should be...

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[sadniss everdeen]

Subfile: History

Age: 0 - 4

It is uncertain what Subject 003's birthname is, or if she even had an original name. We assume that her birth parents were beggars living in the shadows of the Capitol, and when they found that their child was different, discarded it without a second thought. Coincidentally, one of our head reasearchers found the baby just days after entering the world in a dumpster lining the alleys; he is a soul who doesn't like to see any suffer, and took her in. Almost immediately he recognized the signs of an unchecked illness, and became a foster father to the child instead of just a temporary home. For the first few years of her life he refused to let anybody near her, citing that she is fragile and easily agitated. Only one part was true; the child never cried. Just when a bone would snap would she start, and it was a high pitched wailing that sounded from a siren. Yet, she lived. The reasearcher, in respect for his ancestral lineage, named her Ceannlaidir Neach-Tàrrsainn.

all around me are familiar faces
worn out places, worn out faces

In all aspects, I'm an orphan. Darren is the only person that I feel an inkling of emotion towards, because he's sacrificed way too much for me. If he hadn't of taken me in he wouldn't have had to spend thousands on various medications; nor would he been taken off the case that would've most probably promoted him to Chief Researcher. Hell, I most likely would've died in those next few days if he didn't take it upon himself to be savior divine to a cripple. Accordingly, he's the only one I let call me anything but Ceannlaidir, or Ceann if you really don't annoy me. Call it sacrifice. I can't tell you much about these first years because I was much too young to remember anything; the biggest memory I have is watching bright colors with Darren on the television while mixes the countless medications to try and improve my condition. My name is Gaelic of the Scottish variety - it directly translates into Headstrong Survivor, to celebrate my unlikely survival past birth.

bright and early for their daily races
goin' nowhere, goin' nowhere

Age: 5 - 8

As soon as Chief Researcher Walkin though her old enough, the subject was stuck in a sterile lab environment; despite her new father's vehement protests. At this time she was already displaying a startling coherency, and understood the fact that when the men in white coats came with needles, it would hurt. She would scream and shout, running around the room and ducking under their legs until she either broke something that caused her to halt or they caught her. However, when they lacked the needles, she would remain sullen and quiet, only showing signs varying out of the catatonic state when the head researcher - her father - would walk into the room. Because he was her foster parent he wasn't cleared for admission on this case, but was allowed visitation rights and assess to the files.

It was through him that we discovered her illness; osteogenesis imperfecta, or Brittle Bone Disease. Because of his observations when she was very young and the knowledge of what caused a break, he was able to single it out from other problems she might of had. After much debate it was deduced that she had Osteogenesis Imperfecta Type III. This is known as the progressively deforming type, and would worsen as her life went on. The subject lacks collagen in her bones, making them brittle and easy to fracture. Plus, the whites of her eyes would temporarily flash a brilliant blue when a break would occur; and if it was really bad she would zone out and become unresponsive to distant herself from the pain. However, her father wouldn't accept that she would become severely handicapped later in life, and immersed himself in research on causes, effects, and drugs. From age 5 she was put on no less than four different medicines at any given time.

their tears are fillin' up their glasses
no expression, no expression

From as far back as I can remember, I was stuck in that wretched lab. I was poked and prodded constantly, and soon linked needles to pain. Whenever I saw them I would rationalize that maybe if I annoyed them enough they would go away, and took special care to make a complete nuisance out of myself. I'd scream and run, ricochetting off the walls; if an arm or shoulder broke from the action I'd grin through the pain when I saw the nurse's horrified expression. They'd always catch me in the end, but I learned pain tolerance and perserverance from those exercises. If they had no needles, they were ignored, and I became very good at staring off into space for hours at a time. I wasn't a child that needed must stimulation.

When they found out what I had and that it would become worse and worse as the times went on, I wasn't old enough to appreciate the full gravity of the situation. However, what I did notice was that Darren appeared less and less often, and when he did there was always this kind of veiled sadness in his eyes. Because I couldn't connect even when I tried there wasn't a way to help him with his feelings, but I became co-operative when he was around. I let them take blood and fluid without resisting; I'm not sure if this made him happy or even more depressed, but as he flung himself into his work the rate of medicine increased. And it was never the same pills, he was always doing guess and test to find the right balance to incur the effects he wanted without killing me on the spot.

hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
no tomorrow, no tomorrow

Age: 9 - 14

There was a breakthrough when Subject 003 reached age 12. After rounds and rounds of exhaustive radiotherapy, we conducted an exam and came to the startling conclusion that her Type III was reduced to a Type I. This means that her breaks would be milder; though still commonplace, and she wouldn't degenerate as the years went by. As it stands this is the first major breakthrough for OI in the years since before Panem, and was met by much praise. The medicine could simply be one or two types of pills, instead of the barrage she was being placed on before. We explained it to her in the easiest terms that a pre-teen could grasp but she seemed unimpressed, replying instead with clear, sharp medical terms that temporarily baffled us. After a complicated discussion that involved so many terms that even a few of the interns were confused, she simply gave a nod and retreated deep into thought for the remainder of the day. If I were to look back on it now, this would be the very beginning of her problematic behaviour.

Merely a week or two after the breakthrough her actions took a turn for the worse. She refused to conduct further tests or fill out the schoolwork, often dismissing the help or glaring at them with such intense venom that they'd become scared and quickly flee. The subject retreated even further into herself - I wasn't sure that was possible until it happened - and began to challenge the authority of doctors and staff, only coming out of her shell for her father. Her lack of emotions started fights when she didn't wish to do something, often resulting in blows traded; both parties forgetting how fragile she was until something gave way.

At the same time she was admitted for corrective surgery on her spine - dual rods were to be inserted along the whole length of her back to strengthen the vertebra and prevent future breaks from being as crippling as they could be. Complications were abound and she spent several weeks in bed before she began to move again; but to this day there haven't been anything larger than fractures along her spine.

and i find it kinda funny
i find it kinda sad

The realization that I was no longer a fatal case came with mixed reactions. While I was glad that I wouldn't be treated like china any longer, it was an unpleasant surprise that this still meant tests galore. Wasn't I allowed to get on with my own life, one that I was denied because of this very reason? So I made a point to listen closely to their doctor jargon, piecing together facts in my head until it was apparent what meant what, and the things they were hiding from me. Late at night the Chief said that he would like to keep me for at least three more years. Three years? This didn't sit well with me, and I made it known by doing the exact opposite of anything they wanted. I turned my jaw to fused steel when they tried to force-feed me pills, and learned how to throw up by myself when they went down. It hurt Darren, but there still isn't a twinge of remorse.

The surgery wasn't pleasant. As much as I wanted to make their jobs a living hell, I realized the need for the rods and grudgingly agreed to have it done. On September 17th, at 8:36 am I was put under for nine hours to have various metallic bits implanted into my body. Some idiot managed to crack three vertebra on their way out and that prolonged the healing for several months, but when I was finally healed they came up with the most interesting proposition...

the dreams in which I'm dying
are the best I've ever had

Age: 15 - 21

Though the stirrings of this idea bloomed when she was fourteen, she was officially discharged on the eve of her fifteenth birthday. At once she hightailed it away from the medicinal district and made a home in the shadowy corners of the Capitol, with a small apartment that she fuelled rent all by herself. This kind of freedom was completely new to the subject and she quickly found herself doing some unsavory things. Twice she was arrested for illegal drinking as a minor and once on suspicions of promiscuity; but they were all either discharged or fought off by her father. If she was grateful she made no attempt to show it; by the time she was sixteen she had been arrested multiple times. However, it wasn't enough to earn her jailtime, just warnings and being labelled as a hooligan. Once she was charged with assault but it was later acquited on terms of self-defense.

Around the time she was seventeen we noticed an increase in arsons across the city. We didn't link it at first until one of the routine inspectors caught litres of gasoline and discarded matchboxes in the courtyard outside her home. Then taking a closer look at the incidents, it was revealed that she had probable cause to be the instigator; they were all members of authority, right around the time where we noticed the severe problems she had with those types of figures. Coupled with various reports of drunken disorderly conduct towards an officer of the law, we went to go confront the subject, but by this time she had already discarded all traces of the flammable liquids and any ties she may of had to the cases.

For a while she worked from place to place, before landing a permanent job as something the files don't place. It gave low pay but decent considering her lack of schooling; and she seemed to not mind the work. However, her run-ins with the law kept coming up, and it was becoming apparent that the Capitol was not a place for her. Around this time respitory problems common in OI patients were becoming more pronounced due to the smog in the air, and it was decided that she would move to District One. They offered the same medicine she would require and the same faculties, for reduced irritation of her physical state and less interference with the law. And so, at age nineteen, she was moved to the lesser sections of District One for her well-being and the health of others.

i find it hard to tell you
i find it hard to take

Ah, yes. Freedom. It was a word I had seldom used to describe myself, trapped as I was in that laboratory. When I was approaching fifteen they made a deal; if I was to be released, would I promise to make a genuine effort to integrate myself in the general populace? I said yes without a second thought, after all, it was what I wanted more than anything. Hours before my birthday I was released into the world and promptly went as far away from them as possible, ignoring the places they had set up for me to go and the funds to give me money. If I was to do this, it would be my own way.

One of the first things I tried was alcohol. I had never tasted any before, and decided that was going to change. Everything I liked except whiskey; I took a small sip and stared at it like it was my mortal enemy for a good minute, before asking for something else. This in turn pushed drunkenness and a false sense of invincibility - I could wake up with bones broken in an alleyway, or back at home none the worse for wear. Though it seemed that when I fell under the influence the cold aspect of my personality would fade away, turning into aggression and the will to fight anybody and anything that moved. Usually it would only be after extensive provocation; not because I don't want to hurt you (in fact, I really do) but because it almost always results in pain to myself. In the first year I was arrested for about ten charges, and countless more that they didn't find out.

When I was seventeen I made the mistake of dropping a match and lighting a whole building on fire. Flame intrigues me; it is quick and easy to spread, with complicated compounds that require very vague circumstances to quickly become uncontrollable. Soon I began experimenting; if a building has (x) area with (y) materials, how much (z) gasoline would it require to burn down in (h) time. Then, I turned it into my own personal form of revenge. You double crossed me or did something that I promised myself I'd get you back for? Down comes your house. Though, I believe I excelled a bit too fast, when the inspectors came knocking at my door and found the canisters I had to think fast and pull out that sociopathic charm many people think I don't have. The next time they came, I made sure that I had it nowhere in sight.

I worked as a gravedigger. Yeah, dead people were my colleagues. It was much better than working in some crap joint that served burgers, that's for sure. And since my Type III became a Type I, there was only a single instant where my arm snapped from lifting a too heavy shovel. But, this certainly doesn't mean I liked the Capitol. Smog was everywhere that irritated my airways, and the place was crawling with police or even worse, Peacekeepers. Darren formulated a plot that was kept out of my radar until the day of execution; and when I was nineteen I found myself being re-situated in District One. The people are almost as arrogant here, but the atmosphere is certainly alot more tolerable.

What they failed to mention was that another reason for my moving was because of all the complaints they were receiving. Technically I was still under care at the laboratory, and every bad thing I did was sent to them. Eventually they got sick of it, and shipped me off.

I still work as a gravedigger, and take a whole plethora of pills. Who knows, maybe one day, I'll be cured as a whole?

that when people run in cirlces
it's a very very
mad world

-end report-

Files exhausted. Report complete.
---
Very good. Computer, is there anything else?
---
Confirmed. An additional few lines on no10100101101-- error. Detecing multiple attempts at assess.
---
Damn. Computer, run those notes and then shut down. Should be enough time...

---
Understood. Author's notes, engaged.

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Well, it's finally done. Let me say that I'm NEVER doing any bio this massive again, if I can help it. I love whoever trudges through to accept this.

The Capitol/D1 signifies that though she is a Capitol citizen, she currently resides in District One.

But I'm very proud of her.

(codeword: muttations)

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

I hate you for making me read all of that.

But way to go. xD

Accepted!

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