As always, this is not my world, but Joss Whedon's-- this is my poor attempt at mimicking his wonderful imagination.

I don't what prompted me to tackle the most complex character on Firefly. Please bear with me on this one, as I'm sure I've bungled something. . .

She stepped to the other side of the body, allowing ample room for her feet to get around the legs and not mess the scene. The man in front of her was short, fit and nude. She leaned closer to his head. The red dots on his forehead—she touched them—familiar. Suddenly, a deep black filled her mind. She felt the universe rush in and emotions leak out until all that was left—someone she did not know. “More tests tomorrow, River Tam,” said the dead man. Then she saw where she really was. She gasped at the shock of sitting in a leather chair, her arms strapped to armrests, her bare feet paralyzed by the drug they used to keep her in one place. River screamed. Her dreams always were true. Snatched from her bed at any hour of night, to endure the confusion. Lots of white. Walls, tables, floors. Clean to hide the secrets. White coats on white bodies, she mused to herself, then caught herself. It isn’t me. That’s not me. River screamed again as the white coats surrounded her and white hands pulled needles out of her. The needles were all over her head and face. They hurt. Back home, on Daddy’s estate, her used-to-be home, River distracted herself from pain by reciting her brother’s most recent letter from med school. Simon wrote lengthy letters, mostly explaining medical case at the hospital. Medical jargon to doctor her emotions. The pain always abated. But this pain she experienced every time in the white room was too much. She could not recall any of Simon’s letters, nor could she remember what her brother looked like. It terrified her; she was lost. “Lost little girl, no home, alone with the monsters at night,” the sing-song voice lullaby-ed. She knew arms took her to a place to sleep. She closed her eyes. Black. Nothing sterile behind her eyelids.

River was lucid when she came to. She was River again, only the tense and paranoid River of late. “Come, River Tam. Time for class.” River looked up at the dark-skinned woman. It was teacher No. 24—a history professor. River sat up in bed and put her feet on the glass floor. She looked down. Cool as the glass on her skin, River said, “We don’t go to class anymore.” The woman blinked. “Yes, we do.” “It’s class for the teachers. I’m the specimen. You poke, I feel it.” She heard her voice and almost didn’t recognize it. It was gravely from misuse, while her head heard a trembling child within. “Your friends will be there,” the woman coaxed. Not encouraging. When River was brought to the Academy, Mother and Daddy were impressed by the architecture and what they saw of the curriculum. River had seen children—most young, but a few her own age—they laughed and interacted. They were excited to learn. One thrill of excitement up her spine had startled River. She had never realized a longing for friendship. Growing up, Simon played role-playing games between his studies, and after he departed for medical school, River was alone. Mother and Daddy sent for challenging textbooks, but River grew tired by the end of the day. There were children next-door; the one time River saw them, she knew immediately that they were normal. Dance befriended her, but even that left her by herself in the dance studio. She was excellent at ballet and was awarded a solo at the recital, whilst her frustrated classmates tried to appear graceful. Mother and Daddy left her at the entrance. They told her they would send for her next holiday when Simon would be home, then stepped onto the private shuttle and flew back home. River was indeed alone. But her mind hoped that the children laughing before her, being new students would accept her intellect and offer a mutual respect. Friendship. River remembered enjoying classes and the frequent interactions with other students, but she had trouble with names. She did recall when, one-by-one, her class was depleted. One-by-one, goes the fun. 34 became 10. “Faith Sun had been moved to a special class, and will no longer be here with us.” It was never fully explained why or where the class was. All River knew was that her comfortable life grew shaky and one day the teacher was called from an interesting physics forum, and came in ten minutes later. “River Tam.” Her name. She looked up at Teacher No. 24 and realized she didn’t know who the woman was. No true names were used amongst teachers. And River’s heart almost stopped. Heart attack at 14 means serious lack of health, she though instinctively. Her insight came out and told her to listen to reason. You should be proud to have earned this honor. This school is proving difficult. You’re not top of your class, not by a long shot. River felt the stares of her 3 remaining classmates on her back as she walked out the door. For the 946th time, River followed Teacher No. 24 down one sterile hallway after another. The 906th time, River had been lead past a window. One glance crumbled her hopes; the Academy was nowhere near Osiris, but on the edge of the Black. The Black was the stuff of horror stories; River never imagined she would be in it. She had guessed from the structure and floor plan of the building that it was large enough to be self-sustaining—it was a space station. Lost little girl, all alone. For the first time River didn’t question the voice. It had surfaced the 481st time River had been strapped to the leather chair. In her few, clear moments River was certain she sustained mental trauma, but she never had enough time to formulate a psycho analysis on herself. She always knew numbers. Not always what the numbers represented but it gave a small comfort to link her real self with what happened when River went away. From 946, River calculated more than 2.5 years since she left the physics classroom.

One day, pen and paper was set before her. “You don’t write to your family.” Teacher No. 24 left the room. “You don’t let me,” River said sullenly. What did they expect her to say? The truth would be burned. “Think of something, genius.” River didn’t know that voice. It mocked and encouraged her. She looked for the voice and wasn’t surprised to see a blonde girl her age sitting at the white table she was at. River shrugged and set to write a series of letters. She knew Simon would appreciate them more than Mother and Father. She needed to make it sound normal but make no sense to Simon. What was her least favorable pastime? Dinner parties, possible suitors, and her studies at etiquette school with that annoying Ginger Kwan. “That’s a girl,” the other girl said. “Nice touch with the party.” After the letters were signed and pushed from her, River decided it was time to meet her blonde friend. “Thanks for the help,” River said. “How do you know so much about me?” “I’ve watched you, River Tam, everything about you,” the girl replied. She hopped to the floor and stood there, waiting. “Who are you?” “I’m your friend.” The girl said it so easily and River was relieved to hear it that River didn’t know what to say. She was in no position to have a friend. The Academy allowed no friends. Reason dictated that she, River, was going crazy. This friend could be a plant—but why would a plant help to deceive the Academy? “What’s your name?” River asked. “Brook. Someone’s coming. Don’t be alarmed if she can’t see me.” This concerned River. “That’s not normal.” Brook tilted her head and her beautiful hair draped nicely on one shoulder. “Do you want a friend or not?” “Yes, I’ve always thought the idea was nice,” River admitted. “Then you must take me for who I am. Trust me and you will see that you don’t have to abandon hope.” River heard footsteps and an outer door open and close. She weighed her options. A friend would be ideal, and one that can’t be seen was perfect in this situation. She consented just as Teacher No. 24 turned the latch and entered. “Are you ready for more class, River Tam?” Teacher No. 24 showed no sign of her hearing or seeing Brook, River stood up. “I’m ready.”