The End

Chapter 1

Some would call me a miracle. Others would say I’m the devil’s work. I, however, think I’m a mistake. A fully intended, perfectly planned mistake. I shouldn’t be here. At times, I wish I weren’t.

            But I am, thanks to Dr. Karl Stephens, my creator. Most people would call him a parent, but then again, most people weren’t designed in a laboratory or grown in a test tube. Most don’t need to inject themselves daily with a substance strong enough to kill anything it comes in contact with. Most aren’t like me. In fact, none are. I’m the only one.

            Dr. Stephens began with good intentions, they all do. Through all of the pain he forced me to live with, he still holds on to the hope that someday, someday soon, he can succeed in engineering a being free of the dependence humans suffer, that I suffer. One free of diseases, of feelings and emotions. A being free of all that makes humans what they are. He nearly succeeded, until I found them.

            They were in the same tank that I was grown in, four tiny, sleeping monsters. Each couldn’t have weighed more than a pound. Though the act killed me, the idea of four more going through the horrors I had been through hurt worse.

            When he was completing his hospital rounds, I snuck into his workroom. Silently, though no one was around to hear, I opened the tank. Turning off the artificial respirator, I pulled them from their watery cradle.

            Placing all four tiny bodies on my lap, I held them until they died. I returned their lifeless forms to the tank, where they should have remained for four more months, and cleaned the area, making it look as though nothing happened. My all-to-human emotions getting the best of me, I raced back to my room where I sobbed myself to sleep.

            I had to do it. It’s not that I didn’t want Dr. Stephens to succeed, but their survival could have been the downfall of the human race, of me. If I let them live, I would die, something I liked in idea, but was terrified of in reality.

                                    *                        *                        *

            It all began in Florence, Italy, eighteen years ago. Dr. Karl Stephens was accompanied by some of the world’s best and brightest neurosurgeons for a conference to discuss techniques, new practices, and ideas. Whilst there, Dr. Stephens had his biggest idea yet.

            During the day, he was a neurosugeon, at night, however, he was the caretaker of his terminally ill wife, Cara, the sufferer of a debilitating muscle condition that lead nowhere but the grave.

            One of his comrades jokingly mentioned cloning, so Karl would always have a piece of his wife with him. And so it began.

            Upon arriving back in Georgia, Stephens took a sample of his dying wife’s DNA, proceeding to duplicate it. Going against the principles of nature, Dr. Stephens modified the DNA to resist disease. After creating a modified, yet resistant strand, Karl pushed his exploration further. He continued dividing the DNA, until he had a perfectly matched pair. Crossing the two, he somehow succeeded in creating an embryo that would later grow into the monster I am.

            Being unable to tell anyone due to a violation in ethics, Stephens created a tank that would nourish and house me until I was ready to be exposed. An artificial respirator became the mother that I never had, the tank a womb.

            About four months into the experiment, Cara died. Determined to hold onto the only remaining piece of his wife, Stephens began spending more time crafting me into what he felt would be the perfect human. After the death of the one person he truly cared about, his life became quickly riddled with depression, though he knew her death was fast approaching. Believing he could construct me, free of the pain and sorrow he had experienced, Dr. Stephens concocted a mixture of steroids, for strength, and metal to affect the development of my brain, allowing me to think, but not feel. From that day, I have been injecting myself with oxidiphonate, or Sub-D, to stay alive.

            After developing completely, I was unceremoniously pulled from the tank, welcomed into a cold world by a cold person. I began quietly, journeying into infanthood with the help of my creator. Everything went smoothly that day until the first attempted feeding.

            Over the last five months spent in the tank, I grew dependent of Sub-D. My infantile stomach was undeveloped, never having been exposed to anything. With the buildup of semi-toxic chemicals in my nervous system, if they were taken away, I would be forced into withdraw, and die. Well, not die, at least not right away, more like fall into a coma and explode.

            Stephens, over the next seventeen years, provided me with a place to call home, knowledge, and Sub-D. Other than the obvious failure of my dependence, I also had feelings, something he wished I were completely devoid of.

            After several stunts like the murder of his newest project, Stephens decided I had grown enough to live on my own.

            He bought me a little house and a car (I just “borrowed” the neighbors motorcycle for pickups), and found a sketchy supplier for my Sub-D. Feeling I needed a “normal” life, I was also enrolled in Seneca Valley High School, my soon to be first interaction with anyone outside of Dr. Stephens. Before this, he was always my teacher.

            Tired of my rebellious behavior, Stephens threw me into a world that knew nothing of me, and I, nothing of it.

                                                *                        *                        *

             Awakening after the near catastrophe last night, I remembered the sure to be catastrophe that would be taking place this morning. My first day of school.

            My bag of materials waiting by the door, I silently ran through my schedule. Two days prior, he had taken me to the prison I would be attending. My first and last year.

            I prepared another syringe, only half of what I should, but I imbibed last night, not needing anymore, but doing it out of habit.

            After finishing my “breakfast”, I decided to make the best impression a freak of nature could.

            After showering, I riffled hurriedly through drawers of new clothing, specifically for the occasion. Finding something I felt would make me appear “average”, not wishing to be noticed, I stopped to stare at myself in the mirror. My black hair hung in waves that fell to the middle of my back, making my lily white skin seem, if possible, paler. My large, green eyes slowly made their way over every inch of my skin, which clung tightly to my dead-looking body. Disgusted, I silently slipped on a pair of tight, yet comfortable jeans, and a quirky, yet bland, t-shirt.

            Grabbing my bag of supplies, I headed for the new round of torture I was being subjected to.