Sailor Rifts
Chapter 2: Blue Hair, Grey MatterŠ About
By Simon Woodington

She awoke to find herself in a great deal of pain.

"Ah, good morning, how are you?"

She sat, looked around, and ran a hand through her short blue hair. "Pardon?"

"You're quite lucky to be alive," the voice said.

She looked about, where was the voice coming from? She could see no one around.


There was a sigh. "Take a moment to gather your wits, you've been through quite the ordeal."

Where am I? She paused, gazing at the smooth white walls of the room. There did not appear to be any way out, no visible door. What have I been doing that might have brought me here?

"Who am I?"

Another sigh; "We were rather hoping you could tell us that." A pause. "I suppose we'll have to start from the brick at the bottom. First of all honey, you're not human."

"I'm not?"

"At least you understand that, that's a good sign. The problem is, we don't know what you are exactly. Aside from what we could tell from the cybernetics you've had in."

Cybernetics? She thought, getting slowly to her feet, why do I know that word?

"What do you suppose about that now?"

She began to recognize a stiffness in her leg, in the left side of herŠ face. Without thinking, she touched her left cheek, then her right. She felt less pressure on her left cheek. She pressed harder on the one, then the other. Same result.

"That would be because most of the left side of your face is synthetic."

"What's synthetic?" Her hand fell away from her face.

"Fake. Synthetic is man made material, like plastic."

"Plastic! " She stumbled backwards, falling against the smooth wall.

"Calm down honey," the voice said coldly, "do you have a name?"

She heard a mumbling as she scrambled up against the unyielding whiteness of the cold wall. Trembling, she fought against the thoughts of not being real.

"Damnit," the voice cursed, "the first thing she does after coming to, is freak out. Doctor Lambert, we need you to sedate our blue haired girl here," the voice observed.

She did not hear these words as they were spoken. Nor did she hear the entrance of the cyber doc, as he approached her, needle in hand. He spoke in whining tones, "Calm down, this will make you feel all better now." He reached for her, taking the upper portion of her left arm with one hand.

Something snapped, a frantic look passed over her face, like the sudden flash of summer lightning.

She stuck at him with her right arm, a blind action, and her hand hit the doctor in the face, which cracked open like a ripe melon. She screamed, and crumbled into a crying heap as the body made a pool of crimson upon the consistently white floor.

The voice called out, ordering in some Dead Boys to handle the frantic D-bee killer. "I just suppose we'll have to get it all the hard way," the voice noted with a false sense of loss.

The next morning brought bright light, in multiple sources. It felt like a hospital; the cold air on her skin, the white ceiling, the unemotional voicesŠ

"She's coming aroundŠ"

"Good, just make sure you keep those sedatives pumping. That way we won't have any more messes like the last doc who tried to work on her."


The world spun, dazzling in it's brightness. It felt like the most she could do to raise her finger.

"No no, don't try to move, you've been hurt."

Hurt? I don't feel hurt. I feel violated.

"Wh-whuŠ" her mouth refused to form the words she wanted. Any words at all. The blur of a figure hovering over her refused to leave. Not that it mattered.

Why didn't it matter?

It came back to her in chunks, in fragments.

Messy doctor?

Hai, she had killed the doctor when heŠ


Š tried to inject her with something.

Killed? I caused someone to die?

Then the men in black suits came.

Good. I'm glad he's dead.

They wanted to know whyŠ

I killed one of them too. They shouldn't mess with me. They don'tŠ

They wanted her to come quitely with them.

They don't know what they're dealing with.

Who is she?

Night. I saw the darkness outside. I miss it.

Sarah Feldman tried to get into her mind. Tried to reach into the sealed depths. She succeeded.

"You were a Sailor?"

"Not really. A Sailor Senshi. They are very different."

"So you were a Sailor Senshi. Would you mind telling me what that is?"

"It's a warrior. A protector. We fought the Negaverse. We shoujo fought the creatures of the Negaverse; Jedite, Malichite, Zoisite, NefliteŠ"

"Do you know that those are stones?"

"Yes. The names are stones. The warriors we fought were not."

"Who are 'we'?"

"The Bishoujo Sailor Sensh. Sailor Moon, Sailor Mercury, which was me, Sailor Mars, Sailor Jupiter, and Sailor Venus."

"Do you know that those names are the names of planets?"

"Yes. But the Sailor Senshi were human."

"You speak as if you are no longer a part of that group."

"I'm not."

"But you are Mizuno Ami, from Tokyo."


Sarah's face went deathly pale.

"She is dead."

They had been foolish enough to think that the sedative was strong enough to hold her back. Foolish enough to leave her alone with the D-Bee.

They don't know who they're messing with.

Sarah's screams were not heard through the sound proof walls, nor by the sleeping surveillance officer.

Who is this psychotic woman to murder a therapist?

She is Sarah Night.

Reality flew by in blurs of consciousness. Snippets of awareness, some violent, some crimson coated, others totally awash with pain. Each time the same, or similar questions.

Who are you?

I don't

(want to tell you)

know. Who I am now isn't who I was.

Why? Who are you now?

I told you already.

Why are you here?

Shut the hell up.

Blur of an already bloody glove. Pain snapped in her face.

Where are your friends.

What friends?

Then the surgery. Sometimes they would beat her up, sedate her, then take her to be operated on. Other times she would just wake up in the room, lights shining down on her, blurring her vision, pain fogging her senses, blood staining her reality.

She continued to fight against them, hold what information she still held within her, no matter how hard they hit, or how deep they dove with their scalpels. Even then they took her arm, she held firm. Through the many days of tears, through the seemingly eternal pain.

They hoped to fetch knowledge from her DNA. Why not just take a blood sample? They had. It seemed to them it would be curious to gauge how the 'subject' reacted if they removed an entire limb.

She reacted, to be sure. So much so that even their strongest sedatives, on single dosages (all of them), only managed to keep her from breaking down the door. They did not stop her from breaking her bonds.

Some of the genetic technologists found it humorous to count the length of hours for which she shed tears, in a row. Others thought it interesting to count the hours which she had not slept. A small number were actually sickened by the inhumane tortures, and prayed for her soul.