Her name, like the Greek goddess, was Helene, and she had beauty to match. Wars could have been started with a flick of her wrists; nations bowing from a simple smile. Her beauty was immortal, until they took her. And Helene Perchov became J16292 .
At first, she tried to hold on to her beauty, but all that was left of her wondrous mane was stubble. In the murky water, she noticed how crooked her nose had become after misinterpreted orders. She gave up when she realized that the smell of death had come nearer and more pungent.
Once, J16292 had tried to escape, but the thought of smoke and ash drove her mad.
So, J16292 worked. She sorted through grey matter that stank of lost memories, lost hope, lost lives. She didn’t dare wish for beauty.