Megan -Part I

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a short story written in respond to a contained writing challenge set by Ian D. Mooby. The words I am not allowed to use are: the, of, a, to, in, is, you, that, it, he, was, for, on, are, as, with, his, they, I.
This is what I wrote so far. 499 words.
Any comment or correction is welcome.

Submitted: November 08, 2019

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Submitted: November 08, 2019

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Megan

Megan's heartbeats suddenly jumped from seventy-six into one-hundred-fifty-three. Those heartbeats throbbed like kettledrums at first but soon pounded like stormy thunders while her body started shaking. 

Willingly or not, she swung off her bed, unplugged her energy supporter from her spine, got dressed, picked up one gun like weapon she knew very well without which she would die. Within seconds, showed no hesitation, she walked out her darken room into bright outdoor. People were around, lively, cheerfully. No threats, no menace, or anything required her presence, who appeared like one misfit. But she knew why. 

Keeping herself alive meant making others die. She did not know how many people she had killed since she got made into Megan. She could neither remember if she ever felt guilty nor could she even feel anything negative from killing at all. Let alone tears. Right. She also never cried, perhaps never knew what tears were like. Secret, or open, yet effective killings were why she got made into being. Different killing, but surviving, skills were all she had been taught while being made before her birth. 

This time, before Megan's heartbeats made such certain big jump, there were three chips inside her head released several high pitch sounds. Not being so much different from before, those impulses did not only demand her immediate compliance, but also made her completely lost self-control. 

She would become violent, combative, perform killings without any mercy— men or women, any color or creed, young or old, whoever fell into her sight. She performed them without knowing why, but she noted every one life she killed reduced her pain little by little. Their screaming, their bloody smell, plus their deformed bodies seemed like had become her panacea. She laughed, she took pleasure from seeing people died. But she also felt she had kept losing her strength from her actions. Her muscles would twitch or go into spasm after each "pleasure moment" she had. 

Her mind had no space or ability figuring out why. However, this gave her an impression or new sensation — some different life, perhaps different choice could be possible. 

But she could not let anyone one knows! Especially those people whom she called "Father." She had noticed some people would suddenly cease "functioning" or drop cold after they were confronted by "Father" personally. 

Megan's batch number, produced date, plus expiring data were all tattooed onto her left arm. They were: MA-34509b,061238, 060649. Her lifespan had been set at 10.5 years. Those facts were all "Father’s should only know about their artificial intelligence products. Not each individual's dream, ambition, consciousness, or worse, their self-discovery. What their assigned or designed functions were also labeled. MA meant Mass Assassin. 

Same scenario occurred this morning. Megan used her weapon performed her fifth "shooting exercise". Exact wording, also reason, her Father told her. 

But this time she missed out one little boy.

Or we should say she spared one life during her mission.

Unfortunately, such omitting became Megan's most fatal mistake.

 

(To be continue)


© Copyright 2019 Derina Penn. All rights reserved.

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