Young Writers Society

http://www.youngwriterssociety.com/work.php?id=104945 (chapter three)

I roll my eyes, looking up at the bright yellow orb in the sky known as the sun. I hate it. In science terms it does everything for us: allows plants to grow, keeps us warm, all kinds of crap, but then you wonder, where is the sun during the winter? I see it but I'm still freezing my ass off. Where is the sun when all the crops die and we starve? I don't know, perhaps it just got lazy. Whatever the reason I can't stand someone who doesn't pull their own weight. So it makes sense to assume that crouching in the bushes, listening to some morons in the middle of a study session goofing off, is just outright irritating to me.

I know this is a rather strange subject for me to be worrying about, considering the fact that I'm hacking into top secret government files and all, but still, those who don't pull their own weight don't deserve any reward. At least I do my share of work, and in doing so deserve the information I happen to be looking for at that specific time. That's my reasoning anyways.

It's twisted, I know, but so am I.

I smirk as the cursor on the computer screen before me changes to show the fact that it's loading. Good. Soon the secrets of the lab will be all mine. Then I just might be able to figure out what's going on with my body. Lately some strange things have overcome me, I've been taken by spasms all throughout my body at the most random of times. My dreams have been plagued with colors that change so fast they might cause seizures. I want to stop them, and hopefully this will tell me how.

A PDF file pops up, containing pictures and scientific logs. Pictures of butchered creatures and broken bodies color the numerous pages, turning my stomach. I knew they were doing awful things, but this wasn't what I had had in mind.

I keep scrolling until I come upon a picture of a girl. She looks to be around my age, maybe a little older, with hair so blonde it's almost white. She's beautiful, but there's something off about here. She's held in a capsule containing liquids of who knows what that makes her skin appear almost translucent. To the right of the picture is a caption with only four figures. 5823.

She's only sixteen.

I bite my lip, trying to keep myself from crying out in anguish. She’s so young! How could they stand to look at themselves in the mirror knowing what monsters they were?! Keeping someone locked up their whole life was one thing, but marking them as property, like they weren’t even a human! That’s crossing the line.

Scrolling down the page a little further I can taste blood on my tongue. There's yet another picture, this time of a boy a couple years my senior. His number is the same as the girl's but backwards. Even with his eyes closed he has this wolfish look about him. As a girl might say, he has a rugged charm about him. A mop of black hair floats around his face, adding to the wildness of his appearance. Long scars mar his back.

I scroll down a little further, more blood flowing from my lip. The next picture is that of a boy about the same age as the one from before, around 18 or 19. He has a tall and lanky figure marked by scars, but not as many as the wolfish guy. Just two thin lines run down from his shoulder blades creating a giant "V". His nose is a little on the long side making it look almost like the beak of a bird.

His number is 1604. It's like a brand labeling us as goods. As a piece of property. As a thing. I almost throw the computer when another photograph catches my eye.

A young Asian boy with purple streaked hair is floating in a capsule just like all the others. Bony arms wrap around his equally bony legs forming the fetal position. His rib cage is easily visible through his pale, almost translucent skin. Open eyes stare vacantly at nothing, a deep brown so dark that it feels like you're choking. Chills run down my spine as a sick realization dawns on me.

This is me.

Thousands of questions immediately start to form in my mind. Why am I in a test tube? Why am I not wearing any clothes? Did they do something to me? If so, then what was it? There are thousands more, but they're too fast for me to register. I need to focus. I can't afford to make any rash decisions, everything from here on out should be thought through slowly, and carefully.

I want, so badly, to return to the lab and see if they're there, but I know that wouldn't end well. Even if I did manage to find them, the government would be on me like mosquitoes to blood. Instead I should focus on finding out as much information as possible. Maybe then I'll be able to predict the others' whereabouts.

I quickly skim through the paragraphs next to their pictures of information about them, memorizing it as I go. The girl had been tortured and branded with her number whereas the others, like me, had escaped before that happened to them. The bird guy had a height of 6' 3", he wouldn't be too hard to pick out in a crowd, but the wolf boy. He would be the real problem.

It wasn't the fact that he was inconspicuous; he was indeed eye-catching. It’s more of his report that worried me. Through the many tests that the lab had run, he was shown to have superior strength and speed along with wolf-like senses. So in other words he was like a wolf in human's skin. This was not going to be easy.

Beside one of the reports they had a picture of him on all fours, nose stuck up in the air like a dog. His eyes looked wild and empty, not a sign of humanity in them. Grease weighed down his dirty hair and dark circles accented his eyes, giving him an almost feral look.

'Subject 3285 has shown superior in all testings of physical capabilities and senses. It is lacking in mental ability, but that can be easily fixed with some tweaking. It has trouble holding on to prior knowledge when having its memory wiped, regressing back to its beastly state. It's reactions to chemical...'

This boy isn't a human. He was grown in a test tube, his DNA meddled with beyond repair. So what does that say about me? My stomach turns as the realization dawns on me. How long have I been "alive"? What awful experiments have they done on me? Are my emotions even my own?

The information is right in front of me. With just a flick of the mouse I can find out if I am real or not. But do I really want to know the answer? What if I don't like what I find? What if I am just a mannequin made for the sole purpose of experimentation?

I scroll down, hoping that I might find out something about the lab instead of myself. My eyes run across every line, searching for any indication of what they had been planning to do with us. A black and white photo of a man catches my eye. Under it is a caption, reading, George Ross, 1974-2020. George Ross. Who was that?

Opening a new window, I type in a quick search and open the first three links that pop up.

George Ross was a famous scientist, more widely known for biochemical engineering. His first success was when he was but twenty-two, still a student at the University of Phoenix. I skip to the next article. The ability to merge DNA's of different animals, also known as the process of simulcells, was one of Dr. Ross' very first achievements. I skip again. Ross was known as a very avid civil rights activist, even going as far to visit South Africa and promote racial equality...

So that was it. All these articles are dated, but the fact that he discovered how to merge the cells of animals remains. What if somehow, he had also found a way to merge humans and animals? Obviously he had, or else I probably wouldn't be here. But what did the government want with us?

Whatever it was, Ross obviously didn't agree on giving it to the government. He died fairly young while still in seemingly good health. Someone dispatched of him.

The thought sends shivers down my spine. I need to find out more, not only about Ross, but about my abilities. What would the foreign DNA do to my body? What animal do I share my DNA with? Where were the others?

I need to find them before they show the government where they're hiding. The only question is, where to start? I close my laptop and stand from behind the school shrubs, not caring to look and see if the coast is clear. I have more important things to worry about than a grumpy school teacher, scolding me for not being in class.

"And just what do you think you're doing here?" A voice addresses me. It's deep and hoarse.

I look up. One down, two more to go.