The Fortunate Dead
Chapter 2: Fortunate to Live
Jacob sat, eating the questionable meal that lay before him. He had stopped caring long ago about the chemicals and gunpowder that was probably mixed in. He couldn't even notice the difference anymore. It was just food. Self preservation strikes again. He looked around the room, looking at all the other children. He wondered how many of them had had a day like the one he had, then he realized they all did. They were all in this together, every one of them, and the doctor is a particularly unpredudiced bastard when it comes to cruelty.
One of the other children came to the table that he sat at. Jacob looked up at him, the cold stare still as piercing as it was when he killed that other child. Onlookers couldn't tell whether he was simply hiding the pain behind the stare, or if he had finally lost his humanity in this place like so many before him. He wasn't even sure yet. All he could think of was thrill of the fight itself. The intense feeling of fight or flight, hindered so by the fact that the flight option had been nulified at the time. He felt nothing. Anger, remorse, hate, they were all just words, useless to him at the time.
He was lost in the thought behind those eyes until the other child spoke up. "How many have done?" He asked. Jacob couldn't believe the questioned posed to him by one who looked so much younger than him. Age was irrelivent though, considering they had no way of telling time nor day in the facility. "One." He answered coldly. "Just one? I've done ten." Jacob was shocked at how proudly the boy before him had stated that. He could hardly blame him though. When you do something for so long, it takes away all remorse toward the action, and that remorse is exchanged for pride.
The boy sat opposite Jacob. "Do you realize what it is he has you doing?" Jacob asked. "Yeah, of course I realize it." He answered. "Well then why do you state so proudly that you've ended ten lives?" The boy appeared dumbfounded. Jacob took advantage of the opening. "None of us came here by choice, so theres no need to conform to the shit that's expected of us. Blood is spilt by our hands, and you acknowledge it with pride. Why?" The boy still didn't speak. "It's because you've been conditioned. You've conformed to lies and propaganda. He's softened your mind so that he can mold it like clay."
As he finished his speech, Jacob looked over the table at the young boy, who's facial expression turned from gleeful pride to conflicted emotions, which twisted his face into an incomprehensible representation of several thoughts. His face quickly rearranged itself to match Jacob's glare. He gritted his teeth and let out a growl. "You fool!" he shouted. "He's training us to be strong. He's preparing us for the outside world! He's. . . He's my father, your father! He's a father to all of us!" With these words spoken, he threw himself over the table and wrapped his hand around Jacob's throat, completely forgetting the knife at his side. Jacob remember his own however, and pulled it from its sheeth. He wrestled with the angry boy for a good five minutes before he able to kick him away. The boy flew back, propelled by Jacob's feet coliding with his chest. The boy stood quickly, as did Jacob. The boy still hadn't remembered his knife, and he threw himself at Jacob once more. Jacob didn't think, and simply plunged the dark blade of his knife into the child's gut. The blood poured out of him, and he stood for a moment with a look of understanding on his face. Did it truly take that much to convince him.
The look on the boy's face quickly vanished, and he collapsed on the floor. Several of the other childeren had gathered around now as Jacob simply cleaned off his knife and walked away. He left for his room, and layed in his bed, not sleeping, but thinking, continuing where he had left off before the incident with the other child. It wasn't long before he interupted once again, this time by the intercom. "Jacob, will you please report to the infirmary, repeat Subject 2573 report to the infirmary." 2573 he thought. The number doesn't mean shit. It's just a way for the doctor to feel more important.
Jacob rolled out of his bed, and walked with certain feeling of pride, not for what he had done to the child's body, but what he managed to do to the child's mind. With a single seed of doubt planted, rebellion might grow. He walked down the blindingly white halls, and shut out the thoughts as he strutted along, further observing the halls. Cameras at every inch of the walls. A smart move on the doctor's part. One of very few.
As he reached the infirmary he looked ahead, seeing the armed guards standing in front of the door. He walked closer, and as he came to the doorway, the guard on his left held out his hand. Jacob tore his blade out of it's sheath, and slapped it down in the guard's hand. The guard then gestured for him to enter the room. The door swung ajar, and the doctor looked up at him entering.
Jacob didn't even pay attention to the doctor, focusing more on the child wrapped in bloody rags on the bed to his right. The doctor's shouting however caught his attention, as was a particularly frustrated roar. "You damned idiot! You stabbed one of your fellow soldiers!?" Jacob didn't speak, finding no need to argue with the doctor. "Well? Answer me! Is this your doing or not!?" Jacob nodded, not really caring to answer with words. This infuriated the doctor more. He opened his mouth to yell, but no words escaped the gaping hole in his face. "Can I go now?" Jacob asked, never once removing his deathly glare. The doctor simply gestured toward the door, signifying a "yes." Without another word, Jacob walked away, retrieving his knife on the way out and finally replacing the glare on his face with a satisfied smirk. He loved pissing that old bastard off. "That kid," he thought, "was fortunate to live."