The test sits, silent, in front of me. All the words and letters seem mixed, change into meaningless symbols in my mind. Again sweeping my long hair behind me, I look at the questions again.
It’s not a real test, just to make sure my mind is... sound. They just said to answer honestly. They’re questions like what is your favorite color? and what is the first thing you think of when you see ____________. Not hard, no. But nonetheless, my hands shake and I start to feel hot under my skin.
I know why they’re making me take this test, really. It’s because of my breakdown the other day. I told them I’m fine at least a hundred times. They said they believed me, but they gave me the test to make sure.
I know there are wrong answers, I know. They’ll mark me as special and I’ll have to get therapy and live in a world of happy pills, and that is just the beginning. Maybe if I just leave without marking anything, they’ll give up.
There is only a few other people in the room, watching me. Suddenly I feel just sick. I start to dry-heave and hyperventilate. They rush over to me, more out of necessity than concern.
“You alright?” One asks mechanically as they try to calm me down, give me some pills.
I can’t answer. They try to force some in my mouth but I push them away violently. I snarl and lunge at one. Animal instincts take over as I grow my teeth and claws longer and sharper. It didn’t take much persuasion, since the hyperventilation pumped adrenaline throughout my body.
I am hyper-alert. The world is so real it almost seems like a dream. fight or flight, that is what I’m built for. I cannot escape, so fight it is.
“G-27, we don’t want to have to sedate you again, please calm down. We do not want to hurt you.” They advance towards me cautiously, but tensely. An animal stalking its prey. The syringe in their hands has a clear liquid, made specifically for me. I know it all to well.
“Just let me out, let me out!” It sounds more animal than human. This is not helping my case of pity. Maybe I can scare them away.
lunging again, I go at the one with the syringe. I slash without looking, bite without seeing. Finally the other one pulls me off, but just as quickly I squirm out and slash his face.
When I finally calm down, I see four dead around me. I killed them. I killed them. I killed them...
“Well, that didn’t go well.” says a scientist looking at the results for G-27’s test results. g-27 lies unconscious, hooked up to dozens of test tubes pouring and taking all kinds of fluids to and from her body.
“What did you expect? Yesterday she almost killed her instructor during shock treatment.” Another scientist said.
“Maybe he shouldn’t have gone so far-”
“You kidding? She was almost at full Lycan, it worked too. Well, after she attacked him at least. It was something though. To bad she’ll have to be discarded. She was one of the best Generations we’ve had.”
“I guess we’ll have to work more on the mind next time, since we have the shifting almost down.” He looks over at the defeated body on the sheet. “First we’ll have to deal with her.” He sounded like his mom had just told him to take out the trash.
He got up and took a syringe from a rack. “Could you hand me the cyanide? I think its in the cupboard over there.” The other man passed it to him.
He took out all the tubes carefully, being as gentle as possible so not to wake her up. But she started to become conscious almost as soon as the last tube was taken out. “Oh, no. We’ll have to strap her down. She’s already starting to wake up.” the other rolled his eyes.
“Geeze, she’ll take forever. Just give her the morphine instead. I don’t want her thrashing all over the place.”
“Morphine is ten times more expensive though. Huh, fine. I want to get out of here before five anyway.” Her eyes start to flutter open, confused and frightened.
“Hurry and get that stuff over here.” The larger syringe of morphine is handed to the man.
Immediately G-27 is put on her guard. Syringes have never been on good terms with her. Ruthlessly, it is shot into her arm. She utters a faint scream, but quickly her eyes begin to close again.
“That should be enough to kill a horse. Should we check if she dies? I want to get home.”
“She’ll be fine. We’ll tell the janitors to take the body to the cremation room in the morning.”
For a second, they hesitate. G-27’s frail body has never seen, nor will ever see the light of day. Her life was full of test tubes, forced and excruciating stimulations, and uncaring people who only wanted to see if actual people could have the same power.
“Poor thing.” The door slams, smothered in the silence.