Barrayar

Nine was often moved to a new location without being informed as to the reason why. She was used to it at this point, being shuffled around by people who looked straight through her-- or worse, the ones who didn't, because they were always the ones that sneered or whose lips twitched in disgust or who jeered at her, often openly. When she'd had her crèche-mates they'd huddled together, and truthfully, child supersoldiers-- even ones with animal DNA-- do not nearly instill the same defensive reaction as fully-formed ones, though Nine by no means would count herself as an adult.

She's fifteen, but no one would look at her and wonder about her age. Nine daydreams sometimes, guiltily, about what it must be like to be a normal girl who others find pretty, and what she'd be doing this year if she were... But ultimately it's all so hard for her to imagine. She's never lived outside of a lab; she has no context for the wider universe.

It's why she's never tried to escape. Where would she go? What would she do? It'd be trivial for Bharaputra to come after her with how huge and noticeable she is, and any Jacksonian would turn her in in a heartbeat for the reward. She'd never get off-planet.

And having tried to escape and failed... seems too much to live with. Looking at the walls around her knowing they would never give.

So she doesn't much pay attention, honestly, as she's directed and prodded into her new home. She's ragged by now, nearly delirious with hunger and thirst, which gnaw away at her insides in disparate sensations. It's hard to keep her gaze focused-- probably intentional, to keep her docile during this dangerous transition period. Nine can practically smell their fear of her as they shuffle her into her new quarters (cage, she knows she's no better than an animal) and, out of sheer desperation, asks for water in a creaky, dry voice, no imploring in the tone, too tired to manage that.

They oblige-- maybe out of not wanting to damage the merchandise, she's not sure-- with a full pail, which tastes like manna as she upturns it, seated on the floor, and gulps at it openly. She saves a full third so as not to make herself sick but clutches it to her protectively, not letting it out of her grasp. Sanity returns to her. Enough to function and start to wonder where she is, try to look around and piece the clues together.

Nine has not yet reached apathy in her captivity. She's merely reached despair.