This book is dedicated to one very talented author( you continue to inspire me)
NO PART OF THIS BOOK CAN BE PRINTED, PLAGERISED OR COPIED!!
STILL EDITING.
Illuminations, white blinding rays, flood the room in which I am held captive; my own chambers. I squint my eyes, narrow them in order for my pupils to adjust to the glaring beams. Gradually, my brain begins to recollect past accounts, to draw tormenting memories. That's when I faintly recall that my creator ordered my hunting down and sedation some twenty three or so hours ago. Being her only successful biological experiment in the field of cloning, she could not order for my execution, could not afford to.
But that does not mean she wouldn't hurt me to the point of my yearning for death. Oh, I'd give anything to see her lifeless, sprawled against the floors staring into the nothingness.
My arms are shackled above my head to thick steel bars, my feet widespread and bound by heavy chains to the steel poles on my left and right sides, the rusty metals tearing and gnawing on the flesh of my limbs. The skin of my back is bloody and bruised, sore and broken from the gracious weepings they'd granted me. The onyx hued grounds all about me are coated in a thick mix of blood and alkanoic acids.
And why am I being bound so mercilessly and against my will? Because I'd tried to aid my surrogate mother and I in escaping the labs, tried slaughtering my way to our freedom. I did leave behind a trail of death, painted the labs red. But of course, my attempts and efforts only proved futile.
The titanium doors glide open, effectively snapping me out of my train of thought. In walks a nurse -a short brunette with a pair of mesmerizing green irises- clutching a tray of foods and beverage and in the company of a guard who's heavily clad in protective gear.
Another nurse. They always switch them up, petrified I might try to make friends and get my hands on information best kept concealed.
Tentatively, cautiously, the buff guy pads up to me and unshackles my arms first. My body falls forward in meekness, hits the floors in a heavy thud. Man then unbinds my feet before he proceeds to exit the chamber entirely. Lifting my frail form off the grounds, I look upon the nurse, smirk at her whilst tilting my head a little to analyze her facial expressions better.
"I've brought you some food, water too. You need to regain your strength, Subject 3033. But first, I am required to bathe you."
She stares me down, knees buckling, legs trembling as I rise off the floors -never breaking eye contact with her.
"What's your name?"
The inquiry seems to take her aback and yet she is quick to regain composure just as fast as she'd momentarily lost grip on it.
"Tell me, nurse. Or, should I call you Greeny?"
"Gr...why Greeny?"
Her accent is of a thick German, one that makes me want to listen to her chatter on and on without halting in her speech.
"Your eyes, they are a beautiful green hue. You know, I'd like a pair of green eyes too," I reply, perfectly mimicking her accent.
"Come on. I'll need to cleanse your body. Someone has been assigned to clean this filth that's been created in your chamber. They'll be here in a minute or three."
Without any more words on my part, I turn to face away from her, reach for the collars of my tattered dress despite the crippling hurt in my limbs and joints, pull the torn garment over my head, toss it to the side. Green eyes gasps a little so I turn to drink in her mortified facial expressions.
"Get over it, Greeny. Mere scratches."
And with those few words, I struggle to march up to the bathroom doors, glide past them, brush my teeth. They don't let me bathe myself, comb my hairs, launder my own clothing, the simple things, really. Instead, they train me in combat, train me in both gun and arm fight, train me to be their own personalized little kill machine.
Discarding all plunging thoughts, I submerge myself inside the already-filled tub whilst Green Eyes makes her way into the bathrooms. Seconds fleet into minutes of comfortable silence with Greeny struggling to cleanse the punctures and slits on the flesh of my back. I do not wince at the agony, do not grimace at the torment of the waters and soap as they trickle through fresh cuts. I have been subjected to far worse maltreatment and hence, I have somewhat grown immune, accustomed.
More nanoseconds tick bye and finally, I rise from the waters. Green eyes helps dry off my body and wet strands of hairs, helps comb the unruly locks and knot them in a disheveled ponytail. Soon as she winds up, I slap on an oversized t-shirt and shorts, sit cross-legged atop softness of the mattress before I proceed to stuff my face with the foods brought in. Moaning, I shut my eyes, throw head back in ecstasy, appreciate the burst and swirl of flavours inside my mouth.
"Your chamber now looks a tad bit better after the cleaning," she speaks, looks down at the tiled grounds in silent scrutiny.
"You haven't told me your name, Greeny. That's not very nice," I coo whilst I look upon her through the glass clutched in my palm.
"Alma, my name is Alma," she sighs in surrender, speaks her response.
"Alma, pretty name too. Alma, I am full, leave me."
Her eyes burrow holes in my direction and for a brief moment, I draw the glass away from my face, stare into those entrancing fern-green eyes.
"I don't want to have to repeat myself, Alma, lest I accidentally murder you on purpose."
She sighs deeply, rises off wooden stool stationed right next to my bed grabbing my used platters and glasses. Resting them upon silver tray, she exits the chamber uttering not another word. Once the doors glide shut behind her, I reach for the space beneath my pillow, retrieve a dagger and stare intently at the gleaming blade. Such weapons are no longer in existence so I value this little ornament.
Grabbing magnetic glove lain on the bedside table, I slap it on and toss the dagger towards the walls right before me. I stretch out gloved palm, draw back the dagger, toss it back against wall once more. Only a matter of seconds before they come whisk me away for my training sessions. I am well aware they watch me via the surveillance systems wired into and throughout this chamber. They keenly observe my every move incase I try anything smart.
Oh, but I can't take it any longer. I am two hundred and seventy six months old, so I've been told, and nothing is as tempting as the very thought of freedom. I have no knowledge of what the world outside actually looks like. I have read countless books on trees and leaves, flowers and the soil, automobiles and skyscrapers. But no, I have yet to come upon the privilege of scenting any of these things, have yet the opportunity to see with my own eyes how they look like, feel like, maybe even taste like.
Drawing in a sharp breath, I retrieve back the dagger. The anger burns me inside out even as I toss weapon vengefully against the walls -right next to the head of sudden incoming intruder; my creator.
"Subject 3033. How was your night?" Her mocking words infiltrate my ears, interrupt my momentary peace and I cannot help how my fingers itch to draw the dagger and gut her like a fish...
Hello guys. Don't forget to vote, as well as comment your thoughts on the chapter ❤️❤️
YOU ARE READING
Subject 3033...(BWAM, Sci-fi Romance, 18+)
Научная фантастика'They raised her to be void of human emotion, he made her feel them...' The year is 3000 and technology on planet earth has immensely advanced. After the successful creation of robotic and test tube babies, scientists have teamed up to manufacture t...
