[M] Genetic Cataclysm [Naming & Sear]

[Sear]

1002 was tired. An understatement of the century if he had ever heard one. It was the sort of tired that came from seeing no end in sight, each day bleeding into the others with frustrating similarity. It didn’t help that each night he woke with a start, his heart hammering as he fought back nausea. He’d be forced to suck air in through his teeth, struggling to breathe around the tightness in his chest as the vividness of the nightmares passed. His dreams and nightmares had meshed into one, and he no longer knew where one started and the other ended. Sometimes, just sometimes, he felt as if his new life was in his reach and then he would wake with a start in a pool of his own sweat as the room loomed around him. At least they had changed his environment for him, and this time he didn’t wake with a start in his old room.

It was a confinement cell.

“Right, you’re a genius aren’t you, of course it’s a confinement cell,” 1002 dryly remarked to himself, taking in his surroundings. It was clearly a cheery room, well minus the fact that it was all the same depressing gray and the same old bricks. Thankfully it still had the same lacking amenities as before: a cot and a toilet. Both were bolted done with thick bolts to ensure 1002 didn’t get any remodeling ideas. One of the walls was reflective, most likely a two way mirror he suspected, and the heavy metal door was no surprise. They never could just give him a doorknob could they? They had taken the liberty of blocking the speakers and cameras behind a case, so he had no way to reach them and the sight of the additional protection against him was satisfying. He had caused this. After what he did yesterday it was no surprise they had shoved him into a new cell, keyed up and exhausted from his attempts at interfering, blocking off any method that he could get his hands on. The satisfaction he felt at their frustration quickly disappeared, driven off by the crackle of the speaker coming alive. It was a woman this time, but the static and monotone tone distorted her voice to the point he couldn’t pinpoint if he had ever met her before.

“1002 - to your feet.”

1002 eyed the speaker, sighing as the thought of ignoring the speaker crossed his mind once more. His rebellious thoughts never quieted even when his physical body ached, and currently his body most definitely did ache. He hadn’t recovered from the blows they had landed on him yesterday after he had launched himself at a guard, reaching for the radio in his hand. His fingers had scraped the guards wrist before a baton slammed into him, sending him to his knees. They hadn’t stopped there, landing strikes to his ribs and back until he was resting his forehead against the ground and taking stuttering breaths that were dangerously close to sobs. He had refused to cry, even when he was manhandled up and dragged to confinement, painfully aware of his fractured ribs. Now each breath he took shot a sharp pain through his body, limiting his ability to breathe severely. And he liked to breathe, thank you very much.

“1002.” The speaker repeated his number slowly, and he finally swung his feet over the cot and pushed himself up into a standing position. He nursed his right side, wrapping his right arm around himself and biting back a hiss at the pain the movement had caused. This was normal. Actually it’s not, his mind supplied but he didn’t let the words leave his lips. This was his normal.

“Hands at your side 1002.”

1002 wanted to remind the static voice that it was a hand, not hands, considering they had stripped him of his prosthetics as usual, but he still lowered both of them to his side. In the end his pickiness stemmed from semantics - not actual logic. The speaker didn’t remark on it, and he assumed that for now that was all it wanted from him. There was a buzz on the other side of the door, and he heard it slam behind whoever had entered. The speaker buzzed once again to life, with more instructions that he contemplated not following.

“Face the wall 1002, and hands behind your back.”

He wasn’t trying to be difficult - that was a lie - but 1002 raised an eyebrow at the cameras directed at him. He already had a glove on his right hand, cutting deep into his skin above his elbow. It ensured that if there were electrical impulses he came into contact with, he struggled to sense them, and it worked - unfortunately. His left arm, well it was a different situation. The speaker didn’t appreciate his sass and repeated the order with increased intensity. There was a clear warning tone in the women’s voice and 1002 sighed, deciding to let it be.

He turned to face the wall, placing his right hand in the small of his back and impatiently waiting. It would be any minute now.

Right on cue, there was a creak and high pitched whine of the door being unbolted. They had to manually move it, unable to use electronic door locks, thanks to his delightful self.

The door opened, the sound of steady footsteps until the guard slowed behind him. 1002 held his breath, waiting, until he felt his right arm get yanked and a cuff slapped on top of the glove. The jingle of the chain was all too familiar, and it was securely attached to the back of his outfit. With the guard standing to his right, 1002 tensed. He wasn’t able to see there, not even throw a sideways glance, and it always sent shivers up his spine. It made him feel vulnerable and weak because even with his hypervigilance they always tried to take advantage of his weakness. Bile rose in the back of his throat, and each second the guard spent adjusting his cuffs only dragged out the inevitable.

“Did they hire a new interior designer?” 1002 chirped, and proceeded to earn a blow to his side for his creativity. It had been a valid question. He stumbled from the pain, receiving another prod to his back for that, as spots flashed in his vision. With the additional blows, the pain in his chest only flared up - sharper and even more suffocating now. He took a hissing breath, relieved to discover that he could still breath. For now.

“Silence,” the guard snapped at him, and 1002 bit his tongue. The bitter taste of blood filled his mouth and he decided to focus on it for now to rein in his attitude. His ribs wouldn’t appreciate any more prodding, and he wasn’t particularly interested in being a masochist. They were at least moving now, with the guard forcing him out the door with ease. He didn’t protest, and kept silent as they moved down the hallway, passing metal doors and metal walls. 1002 wanted to comment that they could at least decorate the hallways with pretty pastel colors, but decided against it. It felt as if each time he was in pain his attitude only worsened and he was digging himself a hole with each comment he made. It was all he had however, his determination to push through no matter if each day sucked the life out of him. Even if he was cracking around the edges, he wouldn’t let it show.

They came to a stop in front of another metal door, and after the guard unlocked it he was shoved into the experimentation chamber. It was empty excluding the metal bolted down chair on the other side of it and the table to his right with a box. There was already someone sitting in the chair, tied down with heavy leather straps, and their face covered with a hood. Could they even breathe through it? 1002 stilled, wary of what they would ask him to do, as he eyed the body in the chair. It seemed to be breathing, judging on the slight chest heaves every so often he could see. The guard behind him unlocked his hand, sliding the metal cuff off, and also slid his glove off. 1002 angled his body toward the guard after a hand motion for him to do so, and waited. In the box as he had suspected were both his arm and eye, and he tensed for the upcoming procedure. They never took their time in ensuring that the artificial body parts went on painlessly. They cut corners, their only goal to have both the eye and arm in place for the upcoming experiment and by the time the guard was done - in record time - 1002 was in even more pain. His eye hurt, dry and irritated and his arm was chafed.

“Now, 1002, come in contact with your target.”

1002 slowly focused on his target, fighting back the desire to flee. There was a steady thrum within his body now, prickly needles under his skin from the sensation of electricity and as he scanned the body in the chair he determined they were most definitely still alive. Their heart was beating, scattered impulses that went in various directions throughout the body.

“1002. Come in contact with the target.”

He felt himself be shoved forward, placing his left hand on the target’s arm and feeling them flinch. They were warm, breathing, alive and he was being spurred into grabbing hold of the energy within them. They said it was to test his prosthetics, but he doubted it, stumbling away from the target and biting out a protest. The guard in the room with him didn’t hold back, slamming into his body the butt of the firearm he held, and 1002 yelped - the pain only feeding the festering hatred within him. They wouldn’t kill him, he knew that, and he told them bluntly that they wouldn’t dare. He was important. He had stuck around, survived whatever they threw at him, and given them valuable information. Well, at least he repeated that to himself every grueling day for his own sanity.

They didn’t kill him. It sure hurt like hell however.

~~•~~

1002 forced back a dry heave, being forced to stumble down the hallway. He was shaking, his body throbbing with the addition of new bruises he sported and limping. In the end he had submitted, toying with a living being’s signals to the sadistic desires of the scientists. He hoped the other subject survived, but the thought hurt to think about. Somehow he doubted it - unable to remember if the subject had been even breathing by the end. His head was throbbing, having struggled to hold onto the energy under his fingertips with the pain that was blossoming throughout his body. A part of him recognized that refusing had only extended the experiment, had only increased the pain he felt, but he squashed the traitorous thoughts. They went against his entire being, and he refused to let them take root.

As he kept stumbling down the hallway, he was let know by the guard that they were heading to the mess hall. Glad he was able to feast on budget cut impacted meals at least. The mess hall brought no sense of enjoyment to his life, even with the presence of another subject and pathetic meals. He wasn’t even certain if he would have the same meal partner as before, considering his outburst yesterday, but he didn’t care. Get in, chow down, and get out.

And repeat.

[Namingtoohard]

5207 had always found it very easy to tell when she was about to have a bad day. If she woke up anywhere inside the facility, then that was the only hint she needed. The real trick was telling the regular bad days apart from the extra shitty bad days.

When the boot nestled snugly between 5207’s shoulder blades insisted on introducing her face to the floor, she began to suspect that today was going to be one of the extra shitty days. The experiment’s suspicions were confirmed just a few moments later, when the familiar sound of crackling electricity filled the air. Even though she couldn’t see where it was coming from, 5207 already knew what was about to happen next. She struggled, tried to pull herself free, but the boot refused to give. A wordless cry slipped from the experiment’s lips, just in time for the cattle prod to slip over the collar of her jumpsuit and find the unprotected skin beneath.

The very instant that it touched her neck, all 5207 knew was pain, hot and bright and blinding. It obliterated all else. Her awareness of the outside world vanished, along with any semblance of self-control. The experiment’s body writhed and spasmed, muscles twisting and clenching and seizing of their own accord. A shrill scream pulled its way free of 5207’s throat, but the guard paid her no mind. In fact, he did nothing but keep her pinned to the floor, and make sure the prod stayed in contact with her skin. The experiment had no idea how long she was kept there before the guard decided her punishment had been served, and saw fit to release her from her torment.

The guard muttered the words ‘stupid bitch’ as he removed his foot from her back and stepped away, but 5207 didn’t hear him. She just lay there, chest heaving, as she tried to catch her breath. Her entire body hurt, every muscle complaining about a deep-seated ache that wasn’t going to fade any time soon. When 5207 finally lifted her head from the floor, she realised that she’d managed to drool all over herself while she’d been spasming, too. The distinct smell of burned flesh filled the air, and the knowledge that it was coming from her own body would’ve been enough to make her feel sick all on its own, if she hadn’t already wanted to vomit.

“Get up, 5207. We’re going to try this again.” The loudspeaker in the room came to life, filling the air with the same monotone voice that woke 5207 every day. The voice that she’d hated for as long as she could remember. For a brief moment, the experiment considered ignoring it. A small, traitorous part of her mind whispered that it would be easier to just lie there and ignore them, until the cruel bastards running this operation decided to just kill her. After a few seconds, she took a deep breath, and forced herself to climb back to her feet anyway.

Now that she was allowed to stand again, 5207 was greeted by the familiar sights that made up all of the facility’s testing chambers. The open room was larger than any other she’d seen, enclosed by four reinforced walls. A series of speakers and cameras dotted the ceiling, spread out at regular intervals. More noteworthy was the other experiment in the room. A thin figure in a jumpsuit just like her own cowered near the far wall, hands bound with cuffs, and a burlap sack over their head. A glance over her shoulder confirmed that the guard who had just tazed her had retreated, and was now standing alongside a thick metal door, cattle prod still in hand. 5207 had just barely finished taking in her surroundings when the voice came again.

“We’ll take it from the top, shall we? Today will be a simple efficiency test, 5207. Your only goal is to eliminate the target on the far side of the room. Please summon the bull so that we may begin.”

How about I turn your guard inside out instead? The bitter thought rose in 5207’s mind unbidden. After what the bastard had just done to her, she wanted nothing more than to see him trampled into a bloody pulp. She knew they’d kill her for it, though. The scientist watching her would raise the alarm, and more guards would come. 5207 would kill as many as she could, but eventually her strength would fade, or one of them would get a lucky shot off. Death didn’t sound terrible, honestly. No more receiving pain, and no more causing it. She’d die happy knowing that she’d taken some of them with her, and that she wouldn’t be helping them any longer. The only thing that stayed her hand was the knowledge that if she did, she’d be condemning another innocent person to her current fate.

“I’m getting impatient, 5207. Hurry up and begin, or you’ll give us no choice but to punish you again.” The loudspeaker voice returned, snapping the experiment out of her reverie. She turned her attention to the poor captive on the far side of the room, already disgusted by what she was about to do. 5207 slowly rolled up the left sleeve of her jumpsuit, and raised her arm. As she watched, a small inkwork bull slipped out from under the fabric’s edge. The tattoo moved as if it were alive, sprinting across the surface of her skin and towards her wrist. It’s existence was an impossibility, but one that she’d grown used to. One that paled in comparison to what came next.

“I’m sorry.” 5207 whispered those two words softly, mostly for herself. She knew that her victim wouldn’t be able to hear her, and that it wouldn’t make any difference if they could. Then the bull burst from her arm, leaping from her skin in a shower of blood and black smoke. The experiment winced at the pain, but it was a mere tickle after the shock she’d just received. The cloud lingered in the air for just a moment, before it coalesced, forming a life-sized bull in the middle of the room. The beast shook its head and stamped one of its hooves impatiently as its body finished forming. Then 5207 gave it the silent order it had been waiting for. The monster it lowered its head and charged, stampeding across the room towards its target.

The thundering chorus of the bull’s hooves was the only sound in the room, until it was joined by a cacophony of screams and snapping bones. 5207 wanted nothing more than to look away, to close her eyes and cover her ears until it was over. Against her own better judgement, though, she forced herself to watch. Watch and remember. It seemed like the least she could do, when she was causing this innocent person’s death. Ultimate blame laid with the scientists that were forcing her to do this, and the bloodthirsty guards enforcing their rules, but 5207 was under no illusions. It was she who had pulled the proverbial trigger. So she cradled her bloody arm to her chest, and watched.

Only when the body on the far side of the room had been reduced to a bloody red pulp did the voice behind the loudspeaker return, and declare the test complete. Responding to another unspoken command, the bull finally ceased its trampling, and turned to face her. 5207 could feel the animal pushing at its bonds, testing her control. She dismissed it before it could break free, and watched as its body began to disintegrate, fading back into the same inky smoke from which it had been born. It billowed across the room on some unseen wind, crossing the distance between them in moments. 5207 raised her bloody arm just in time for the smoke to descend upon her, to drive itself back into her arm, as if trying to force its way in through her pores. When it was over, she watched the bull, now a tattoo once more, run up the length of her arm and disappear beneath her sleeve again.

With that done, 5207 turned back towards the guard again, expectant. She watched patiently as the man pulled some sort of card from his pocket, and scanned it on the reader next to the door. There was a soft buzzing sound, followed closely by the heavy, mechanical thunk of the electrical lock releasing. Then the guard pulled the door open, and gestured for 5207 to step through. She briefly considered another act of rebellion, but quickly dismissed the thought. This particular guard had already shown how heavy-handed he could be, how eager he was to dispense punishment. He’d reminded her of the price of disobedience, and 5207 wasn’t willing to pay it when there were no other lives at stake.

Their trip through the corridors together was largely uneventful. The uniform design of the hallways offered no clue as to their next destination, and the guard escorting her didn’t see fit to share. Back when she’d been younger, 5207 had tried to create a mental map of the facility by memorising all the different paths she’d walked. Now, she knew that such an endeavor was futile. The routes always seemed to change, even when moving between the same destinations. As it was, she had no idea if the rooms were just laid out in a strange way, or the guards were intentionally changing routes to confuse them, and foil the exact thing she’d been trying to do. As it was, the only hint 5207 had was her ever-present hunger, almost unnoticeable while hidden beneath the aching of her limbs. Not much of an indicator, since she’d skipped her last meal.

Their forward march ended with another steel door, secured with another electronic lock. When the guard hauled it open, she was greeted with a view of the meal room. It dominated by a long table, divided into sections by a series glass partitions. Like most of the other furniture in this place, it was bolted to the ground, to prevent any overzealous experiments from attempting to use it as a weapon. The chairs could be moved freely, but were only made of flimsy plastic, and only plastic spoons had been laid out for cutlery. 5207 wasn’t the first to arrive – two other experiments were already seated. They sat in object silence, heads bowed, each attended by their own guard. Apparently her stomach had been right after all.

5207 was quick to join them. She limped forward and dropped into the nearest vacant seat as quickly as her body would allow. The experiment didn’t want to give her attendant any reason to assume she was being uncooperative, after all. After the punishment she’d endured earlier, she was grateful for the chance to sit and catch her breath, anyway. The seat directly opposite her was empty; apparently her usual meal partner was yet to arrive. That wasn’t totally surprising. 5207 had never passed another experiment in the hallway, so she’d come to the conclusion that their schedules were staggered slightly long ago. Another intentional decision on the part of their captors, she imagined. That was fine. She could use a moment to rest and compose herself before Sil arrived anyway.