Lightchild was the only non-mutant left alive after the tests. She was the "baby" of the group. Our little sister. She was murdered. For years, the three of us, Nitric, Cata, and I, had been stealing and killing for Andrews, whatever he wanted us to do. He had become determined to hold a place of power in the government, and used us as tools to do so. Nitric, the hacker, Cata, the guard, and I, the infiltrator. I climbed through heating ducts and sewers for a man, for men who called me "expendable". We were thieves, and Lightchild was the only reason we could face ourselves in the morning. One day, the walls we had built around ourselves crumbled into a pile of rubble. We became liberated, but the cost of that liberation was Lightchild's life. She died so that we could live.

Lightchild, my sister, was a candle in our midst. She brought courage and inspired dreams. Somehow, she had maintained an innocence through it all. Then, her candle was blown out, and our world was plummeted into everlasting darkness.

I remember when the spark left her eyes and the looks of desolation in the faces of those around me. Privately, I blame myself. We all do, most likely. How could I have abandoned her? I let go of her hand, and because of that, she died. I would like to think that she didn't blame me, and that she would have forgiven me, but how could she forgive me, when I could never forgive myself? She died in our arms, and I remember the look of fear, and of relief, that crossed her face as her eyes glazed over.

She once told me that she was afraid to die. Of all of us, she was the only one who really wanted to live. The other three of us, myself included, were praying for the day when we would die. We were just too scared to do it ourselves. She often surprised me in this way, and, at such times, I realized just how young we were. We were children playing a deadly adult's game. We were pawns on a chessboard, only there to amuse our masters.

The loss of Lightchild was enough to give us the strength to free ourselves from our prison forever. We turned against the scientists, killing most of them. For the first time in as long as I can remember, we were free to live our own lives, but we didn't know how to. We had no idea how to live our lives without the doctors at the Project. So we continued doing what we were best at. Killing.

When we freed ourselves, we became mercenaries, calling ourselves the Trinity. We killed people. For a price. It was the only thing the doctors had taught us, and we did it well. Murder was fun for us, and death was a game. We were never caught, or even suspected, by the police. But, then, almost everybody thought that we didn't really exist. For most, we were a myth, a legend. Like Keyser Soze. A story created by murderers who were caught, about the murderers who weren't.

One day, we found that the Project wasn't stopped. It had begun again. Andrews was still alive. My sisters and I vowed revenge for all the lives he destroyed in the name of science. We learned of the plans to rebuild the Project. Intent upon stopping it, even if it meant our lives or our freedom, Nitric, Cata, and I vowed to stop our legacy. The legacy of JaNiCata. The legacy of the Trinity.

I dare you to read some of my other (rather grotesque) stories.
Whew! What a ride! Take me home!