I was born in a lab, not a home.Raised behind glass, not walls.They called me rare, precious-the last of my kind.What they meant was profitable.GenCorp spent eighteen years owning every breath I took, until the day they sold me to the highest bidder. River doesn't chain me, or drug me, or speak like I'm property… but he still keeps the doors locked.He says he's protecting me.I just can't tell if it's from the world-or from what the world made me.Everyone wants a piece of me: the corporation that created me, the rebels who need a symbol, the man who bought me for reasons he won't name. But I'm not a miracle, and I'm done being a commodity.If they insist on calling me a monster,maybe it's time I show them one.
