Frankenstein

They had named her Shiva, the destroyer and protector, because it'd seemed the obvious choice at the time. Because she was meant to fight for freedom! She was meant to fight for equality! For justice! She was a shrunken little girl when they'd fixed her up, quivering in a hospital gown and just shaking her head when they asked her for her name. She'd come out with a new body and a new name but the same mind. Poor little Shiva.

Shiva could build anything if she was given the plans for it. The thing about cyborgs is that only the human part ever really has to sleep; she built a three-bedroom house in one month. There's still a family of five living in it. Oh, what a happy little girl she was then! Shiva was useful. People would take her picture and talk to her. She had their attention, she had their admiration, and their love, sometimes, at least.

Of course, the reason the first ever super-human experiment was on a nameless orphan was because it was an experiment. Trial-and-error. Things went wrong when you plugged a little girl into a machine, even if it only started as black-outs, which it did. Then her arms started functioning on automatic, building houses that weren't there, and hammering without a hammer was an awful lot like punching anyone who got in her way by accident. She sleep-walked through walls and trucks. Through people.

How scary she was, then! People didn't love Shiva when she malfunctioned, and unloved, Shiva grew furious and depressed in manic bursts.

And now Shiva is huddled in a pile of broken drywall, shivering like the little girl she really is, shivering how she was just before they fixed her and named her. She is surrounded by destruction and more frightened than anything.