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Names were worthless things, if you were to ask her.
They were given. They were taken. They sometimes have meaning. They sometimes meant nothing.
To some people, they meant everything.
Like to Laura. X-23. The perfect original clone. She was Named. Doctor Sarah Kinney had Named her Laura. The vile, monster of a scientist had felt guilty over the fact that she had had birthed a child to be tortured and turned into a child assassin. Were it not for the fact that she, the oh-so-good- doctor, had carried the child that would she would later Name, than she doubted Laura would have ever been Named. Or have been freed.
Laura wears her Name proudly. She whispers it to herself in the quiet of the night, when she thinks she and Gabby were asleep. Her hearing was not like her Sisters. She could not hear across the street. Her senses were human dull. Like her. But Laura was not as quiet as she thought she was.
Laura has many names. She was X-23. The Clone. The Daughter. And now she was The Wolverine. She took her most recent Name to honour the man she was cloned from. The man she calls her father.
Logan.
The original Wolverine.
The fucking old bastard who never knew about her and her Sisters. Who never cared to know. Who fucked up raising (if she could even call it that) Laura and then had gone off and got himself killed.
Names mean something to Laura. They mean something to Gabby, who holds her Name close to her heart. Who shouts her Name in joy and barely contained anger at the world. She could hear it; every time Gabby introduces herself.
My Name is Gabby.
I am a person.
I am real.
She had been so happy, her precious little Sister, when Number Eight had chosen the Name for her. She had been so much younger than. The only one who had not been artificially aged. So small. So breakable and dearly loved.
Names, having a Name, means a lot to her youngest, living Sister.
To Bellona though?
Names don’t mean shit.
Bellona was Named in the hush of a cage with nine other Sister clones. It was bestowed to her in a whispered voice by Number Three. Before than she had a designation. A number, a code, they, the doctors in white and the soldiers around them, would shout at her.
Before they chose their Names, she and her Sister’s would call themselves by their numbers. Bellona was always Number One. But she was not the eldest. Or most respected.
That was Zelda. Number Two. The respectable and clear-headed Sister. The one who everyone listened to. Who would provide comfort and understanding to their scared Sisters who died over and over again. From those nanites that destroyed them from the inside. From the lack of medical care. From the beatings and torture, they endured in the name of ‘science.’ From the failed missions they were forced to perform.
Bellona’s twin who was dead and gone.
Murdered. Gun shot wounds she could not heal from because she did not have a healing factor. Much like their other useless clone Sisters. Only Gabby had been blessed with that mutation.
Zelda was dead. Her remains destroyed so that no further clones could be made.
Much like the robot clone whom burnt and broken remains she pulled this broken piece of armour from.
This whole mission, if it could be called that, was terrible from the start. Everything about it had her teeth aching with the need to scream. To attack. To tear at the flesh of others in defiance.
At first, Bellona had not cared much for what looked like a robot with her face. She had seen some blueprints long ago in the Facility of android like robots some of the scientist wanted to make with their face. Something about how clones were becoming too hard to control and they should start looking at robots instead.
Or something like that.
However, it wasn’t until she was left alone, unable to follow on with the investigation due to a measly cut on her arm that only smarts a little, that she actually got to look at this robot clone.
This Sister.
She had been ranting in anger to what she thought was a mess of metal and broken wires when she noticed a slight tilt of the head. A slow blink of eye lashes and a spark in those green eyes.
The robot clone looked very much like Laura (like Zelda. Like Gabby. Like Three, Five and Nine). Black hair, naturally pale skin, bright green eyes. The same as what you expect from a proper clone of X-23.
Bellona had not been the only clone that was not a perfect copy of Laura. Number Six had blue eyes that had sparkled when she laughed and blonde hair that she was always forever trying to grow out. Number Seven also had blue eyes but her hair had been brown. Her face had looked more like Logan’s than Laura’s. Number’s Eight and Ten had been the only ones with brown eyes and a more tanned complexion than the rest of them.
The robot clone’s face, with its rosy cheeks and pretty, long eye lashes, looked like it could have been a real girl, if one was willing to ignore the wires and metal.
However, there was no spark of life there in her, not originally, because she was a her and not an it like how they had been referring to her. Her face looked thinned and gaunt. Like she hadn’t been eating enough. Most of her body was wires and metal plates but the more Bellona had looked, the more of the soft, scared flesh she had seen.
The more Bellona talked to her, this Sister with her flesh that was melded with metal and wires, the more she understood. She likely couldn’t speak, this Sister of hers who had been twisted and modified against her will. It was very much a scientist thing to do, take away the voice of their victims so that they can’t complain. Can’t scream. Can’t make them feel guilty over the fact that they were real people and not some empty husks they could use to play dolls with.
The scientists had also taken Number Seven’s voice when she had screamed too much when they tried to implement the same kind of metal claws that now sat heavily within Bellona’s arms. An endless weight and burden that burns under her skin. The constant ache and pain of their existence and their implantation haunts her dreams still.
Number Seven had died from her wounds. Unable to heal. No medical assistance. Once the claws were in, she could not activate them like Bellona learnt to do. She had died in pain. Like Zelda had.
The nanites had been implemented shortly after. A backhanded relief for Bellona and her Sisters. The inability to feel pain was a blessing and curse when it started to cause the deaths of her Sisters.
She had wondered if this robot clone, her robot Sister, had felt pain. She had been grabbing her side with a pinched face as she bleed ruby red blood from the wounds she tried to contain. Bellona can now feel pain again. Kimura had torn her nanites from her body. Scaring her even more and leaving her to live the rest of her life in pain and suffering.
If she had not already been murdered by Laura not too long ago, Bellona would have thanked the bitch of a woman for giving Bellona the freedom again to feel pain. To feel human once more.
The robot clone had died. In fire and with a press of a horribly cliché red button. So did the other robot clones that Bellona had briefly seen. All standing at attention, looking like something out of a horror game or comic. Cloned flesh and metal. Breed and modified into twisted, mindless assassins to be thrown away like broken toys.
Bellona did not know if any of those other robot clones had a conscious like the one whose armour she took. She didn’t know if they hid themselves away in their cages, whispering to each other of what they wanted in the future. Giving each other names and touching each other’s cheeks so gently in a mockery of a mother’s love, like they had seen on those terrible movies when the guards were took over the monitors to watch streaming sites rather than the cameras. She didn’t know if they even realised that there was a whole world outside of these warehouses.
What she did know was that, for the first time since Zelda had died, Bellona had cried.
She had not been able to stop it. Her eyes had blurred and they fell from her face freely. She had almost missed the button she had been required to press to end everything. To end the Sister who was more metal than human but by all things that were good in the world was still a person.
Bellona does not cry.
She does not smile.
She was the mean one. The bad Sister that no one liked. Her face too pale, eyes too red. She had been told that she looked like a demon, with her naturally white hair and scared face. She wears a full-face mask whenever she goes out with her Sisters these days, so that she doesn’t scare the people she is trying to save.
Having one woman refuse to allow Bellona to pull her out of a burning fire was enough to reinforce that Bellona should keep herself hidden and that the world did not deserve her mercy or kindness.
And that she was not made to be a hero like her Sisters.
It had been shocking when she had felt those tears run down her cheeks, under her mask. She could not help it though. Her emotions were just…
Too much.
She could not, will not, put into words what she felt as she pressed that button. Nor will she do so for her peeling away the chest armour from the corpse of her dead Sister, armour that now sits in front of her on the small table near the TV in their nicer apartment. The one the city gave to Laura for technically dying of an alien disease.
She had said nothing to her Sisters when they had met her in the smothering ruins of the warehouse. She knew, knew all too bitterly well, that with their enhanced senses that they would have smelt her tears. That they would have been able to smell her emotions and knew what she was feeling in that moment better than she ever could.
But Bellona had not answered the quiet question in Laura’s cowl covered face nor had she acknowledged the gentle press of Gabby’s smaller hand against her wrist. Her Sisters knew better than to try and talk to her about this sort of thing. To try and get her to open up.
Bellona did not like emotions. She did not cry. She was never happy. Never cheerful. She would not laugh at people’s jokes. She would not coo at babies or puppies. She would not cuddle or curl around Jonnathan.
She was nothing more than a cold, uncaring killer.
Bellona was just as much of a real person as that poor dead robot clone.
Sitting here, in their new apartment that finally had room for all of them, Bellona mused on what the robot Sister would have Named herself, if she had the chance. She mused on what made a name a Name.
Laura had her many Names. Her token from other people who gave her different Names and titles to wear like a heavy crown upon her brow.
Gabby had her Name. The one gifted to her in a cage. The one given to her by Laura, a surname of all things, to make her a legal person. And then the Name of Honey Badger, gifted to her by the man who calls himself their older brother.
Bellona narrowed her eyes as she thought of Daken. She was not sure of what to think of the other man. He was handsome, sharp toothed and dangerous. She had heard many, many unflattering stories about him during her time in Sheild custody.
Still, he was kind to her Sisters. Gave them money and treats. Brought Laura a wardrobe worth of clothes. Gave Gabby sweets and fun things that their youngest Sister enjoyed.
And had given Gabby a new Name. Because she was sweet and had claws. A hero Name that Gabby wears with pride.
Their older brother kept his distance from Bellona. He brought her nice things yes, and made simple conversation when they were left in a room together but he knew that Bellona had no interest in him. That she watched him like a hawk because she would not ever trust him not to harm her Sisters.
The things she had heard about him, the things he was capable of, the crimes he had committed and was willing to commit… Romulus was a very talkative man and he had gone into great detail into what Logan and Daken were willing to do to get what they want. That the man who was their ‘father’ was just as bad as Sabretooth and that Daken could play a long game of manipulation.
She shuddered to herself. Bellona would stay vigilant. She would keep her Sisters safe from the men in their lives. They may let their guard down but Bellona never will.
The cold metal of the armour plate itched her fingers, the more she frowned at it. T.U.O.K.S. It mocked her. She had jokingly called the robot clone that as they had gone to save their Sisters from the other robots and the scientist who thought he could keep fucking with their lives.
Bellona wasn’t sure what prompted her to take the armour plate in the first place. It wasn’t like she was a sentimental person or even bothered to keep mementos of her other Sisters. Hell, she refused to even think of their names now that they were dead. She only dared to remember Zelda’s because Gabby would become enraged if she ever slipped up and called her Number Two.
But still. This armour plate disturbed her in a way that she does not truly understand. There was a realness to it. A realness that ached inside her like her healing cut on her arm.
It was like the deep, clawing scream that rests in the bottom of her lungs when she slips and remembers her Sisters. Remembers their names. Their faces. The way the smelt. The way the spoke and laughed and cried in her arms. The way their blood felt on her hands and the way that each and every one of them died.
Never ending and always present.
Bellona hates and loves this feeling. It makes her feel like she was a person. Even though she knows she is just a copy. A failed, broken clone who was not a mutant. Not a hero. Not anyone special.
She was not a real girl. She was not a real person. Not legally or morally. She doubted that she had a soul, as she knew that she had been created and not born.
Laura was a real person. She had been born after all. The biological child of the dead doctor Kinney and Logan. She had made herself into this person over the years. A real person. Who people liked and trusted.
And Bellona knew that Gabby had a soul. Even if she had been created, even if Gabby was the same as Bellona, made from the same batch and all, Gabby had a soul. Dr Strange had confirmed it with that eye thing of his. Innocent and kind, he had called her dear little Sister. She was perfect and real. Everyone loved Gabby. Even Bellona.
She traced over the etched letters and frowned. On the bookshelf there was a copy of Pinocchio. It took its place next to a photo of Dr Kinney and the doctor’s family. The book was worn, old looking with little marks and torn pages. It was Sarah Kinney’s copy from when she was a child.
Laura looks at the book with a sadness that Bellona does not need enhanced sensors to see or smell. Her whole body would almost hunch over, like a child (or child assassin/experiment) would do when being watched by the scientists who rule their lives. Laura would carefully take that book off the shelf and read it. Her voice would go flat and occasionally crack as she read though the words of a wooden boy wanting to become a real boy.
Bellona did not understand Laura’s obsession with the book. If she had to guess there was some kind of trauma bonding thing to the story. The internet was full of buzz words like that. Trauma bonding. To bond with a person or object after a traumatic event.
The story itself of Pinocchio always made Bellona’s stomach twist. She did not understand why the wooden boy would want to become real. She did not understand the whole nose growing thing either. The boy would have been better off being fire tinder. Having to ‘be good’ to become real… it was so stupid and demeaning.
It was like how the scientist would try and implement a reward and punishment system against her and her Sisters. Be good and get a reward.
It was a stupid children’s story with a lesson that does not sit right within the real world. She did not like the book. She did not like the message. She did not like that in the real world there was no magic spell to make someone real or whatever and that all of this was just a child’s fantasy and…
And she hated that there was no spell that she could find that would make her Sisters real again.
That there was no spell that she could wave to make her dead Sisters come back from the grave. That they had never been real people anyway so any spell that she could use would be useless anyway because from what she had read in those books she had managed to steal from Dr Strange, they weren’t real girls. Not really. Not like they are supposed to be.
Clones. Copies of copies. Useless broken DNA stolen and remade.
Like the robot clone with no name. Sister. Her Sister.
Dead.
Nameless.
Names were worthless. That was why she had only been going out, when she was allowed out, as Bellona. No hero Name. No code name. Nothing. Just Bellona. The Name given to her by a now dead Sister.
But the more she traced the etched letters on the armour, the more a craving crawled up her neck and twitched her jaw.
Name were also used to honour people. To show legacy. To show dedication and love. That is what Laura said when she explained why she was now Wolverine. To honour the man that she called her father.
It was also what the old man who lived in the abandoned building told her when she was injured and hiding away from Sheild. He had taken her in, bleeding and broken. He had wrapped her wounds and had soothed her fevers. She had refused to give her name or say who was chasing her but the old man had not cared about that.
He had wanted her safe and well. He was the first, and honestly, only one who has ever offered her that without wanting something in return. Other than her Sisters, that is. He had told her, when her body was wrecked with shivers and infection, that he had been Named Ben, after a good man. He had said that Ben used to help at the homeless shelter with his nephew, a little boy named Pete. He had explained to Bellona, that the name Ben had been born with was not a Name he wanted to have anymore.
So, when Ben, the original Ben, had been murdered on the streets, the old man Ben had taken his Name to honour him. To continue to help others in his Name. The old man Ben worked in the homeless shelter now and often found people like Bellona who needed help and gave them a safe place to heal and rest. And then helps them find their way to wherever they need to go.
He had shown Bellona the way back to her Sisters. He had offered her kindness no one had dared to before.
And now here she is. Safe in a home that is warm and filled with the Sisters who are still alive. Her robot clone Sister had not made it today. Her robot clone Sister was not Named. Was not a person. Was more wires and metal and bleeding organs.
T.U.O.K.S.
It mocked her. A set of letters that meant nothing and now meant everything. It was the only name she had of a Sister who never got to be.
Bellona arranged the letters and thought to herself, what was a Name? There are many different words you can make with five little letters. Bellona normally loves these little word puzzles and games. She collects word crosses and sudoku and all those fun brain things that normal people do.
The words all come together slowly, reluctantly, until eventually…
Skout.
Scout.
A verb. Definition: “make a search for someone or something in various places.”
To search for someone. Who was Bellona searching for?
More of her Sisters? From what she had read through in the papers they had managed to steal before the feds had arrived to take over the crime scene they had made, Laura’s DNA had been used and stolen. There could be other Sisters out there. Other Sisters who may need their help.
Bellona’s help.
And maybe too, Bellona could search for who she wanted to be. She was not a hero, even if she takes this Name. She was not just an assassin. She was more than just a Sister. She was more than just Laura’s unwanted side kick.
To search.
To find.
To become.
Bellona looked at the Name she had created. Felt it settle in her chest like an anchor from a ship in heavy waters stuck in a storm.
Scout.
To search for someone.
To find a place.
To become herself, whatever that maybe.
Names are worthless.
But this one will be hers.