S.M.A.R.T. (The Subject of Mind Altering Research and Testing)

A little present for you.

Since all of you are so fricken awesome and supportive, and some of you seem to have really enjoyed the story, I present (see what I did there?) you with a quick sneak peak at the prologue of "S.M.A.R.T. 2"

So, without further ado,

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Prologue:

"Wait up! I've got too much weight to run!" A boy shouted, as he chased his camping mates through the woods. They were running as fast as they could, but Thomas, who had lost the game of straws the previous night was struggling to keep them in sight.

They were twenty-four years old, one of them had just turned twenty-five, all three of them fit hikers, but anybody carrying so much equipment would have a hard time keeping up with those two, especially in these woods. There were no trails as far out as they were, and twigs and root stuck out everywhere attempting to trip you up, or snap in your face. Regardless, it was what Thomas and his friends loved. The smell of the clean frigid air, the sights of scurrying wildlife was what exactly what they came for.

Thomas' hair was grown out from lack of shaving. Razors and foam were not things any of them brought on their excursions. They would all much rather save space for hiking gear and food than clutter it up with trivial non necessities. All of them were looking grizzly by now, and not just from the lack of shaving. It was their second week out in the wilderness of the Canadian Yukon.

Thomas, James and Mitchell were three were peas in a pod, and this wasn't their first camping trip - it also wasn't the first time that two of them had run off on the one struggling to carry the equipment; that's why they drew straws, and though they never made somebody carry for more than two days in a row, this was Thomas' second day, and his back was sore.

He watched his friends run further into the woods, Mitchell taking the lead. Mitchell was the tallest of the three, six foot of muscle with short blonde hair and blue eyes. His parents were well off, and he was naturally good at just about everything he did, though he was one of the most modest people you'd ever meet. Thomas was from a meagre family, a jock, and very one sided when it came to talent, though certainly the quickest of them, when he did not have the extra weight. James was more of a nerd, but loved the wild and always brought his camera. He was the shortest of them, only five foot ten, and he had mousey light brown hair, and a tinge of red in his stubble. The three got along famously regardless of their differences, and after their first camping trip, the three had planned at least one every year since.

James and Mitchell disappeared behind the thick of pine trees, and Thomas looked up at the sky. The sun was still high, as it was for the better part of the day where they were on their excursion. At this time of year in the Yukon the sun just circled in the sky. He looked to his wristwatch for the time. It was seven o'clock, as good a time as any to make camp, and since he had the supplies and the other two had run off, nobody could tell him otherwise. They will find their way back when I don't follow, and they'll find the camp already set up. They can't even be angry if I have a fire started, and the food is cooking.

Thomas put down his sack near the flattest ground he could find, and started to set up the tents. They were small, personal tents, that erected easily. He strung the food they wouldn't need for the night up into a tree, away from the camp, so bears wouldn't get to it. He gathered some kindling on the way back, and dropped it in the middle of the tents he had set up. It didn't take him long to start a fire, and then he was getting supper started. He had the whole camp set up in less than an hour, but his friends still hadn't tailed back. Fools are probably lost. They'll find their way back soon enough.

It was getting late - although the sun refused to admit it - and Thomas could feel his eyelids growing heavier. He decided not to wait for his friends to return, and ate up his portion of the food, plus maybe a bit more. Dinner was dehydrated fruit - raisins, cherries, and plums, pumpkin bark, some chorizo sausage, and an oatmeal cookie. He didn't think dining outside was bad at all - in fact, at home, he missed the different camping foods he would share with his friends around the fire.

He muddled around the camp for a while, stoking the fire and keeping himself entertained with a stick and a pocket knife, but another hour later his companions still hadn't returned. He started to get worried. It's still light outside. They have probably just lost track of the time. He decided to go to sleep in his tent and forget about it, after packing up the leftover food and putting it away with the rest. They would wake him up when they got back, and he would laugh the next day when one of them drew the short straw, and was lacking sleep on top of it. He'd be the one running off tomorrow. After two days, it was about time.

Laying down was a nice relief. He dozed off for a short period of time, and woke up when he heard a rustling outside of his tent, but it was just a group of squirrels running around. He loved the wildlife, and half expected James to run out with his camera and start snapping away, when he realized that the other tents hadn't even been opened, and his friends still were not back. Now he was worried; not just for them, but for himself. He was alone, and he did not know if he could carry everything back if he was separated from them.

He decided to go look for them instead, and leave the camp set up. He got his gear on and packed up a few things, but left the rest - it would be a good marker if they did come back while he was out looking for them anyways. Fools. Where the hell have they gotten to? He couldn't imagine that they were dumb enough to get lost out here, in the middle of nowhere. They used a careful system to mark trails, marking the trees with orange if they were lost. Thomas looked for them as he went, but there were none. His heart starting beating a little faster. He searched for what felt like hours, to no avail. Surely they would already be back by now. He was just being paranoid.

He walked for another while, before deciding to head back. He was twenty minutes back to camp when he heard the sound of a gunshot in the distance. What the fuck was that...? we didn't bring any guns. Who is out there? He started to run towards the sound, shouting "There are people! Don't shoot!"

Thoughts of his friends raced through his mind. He had known stories of hunters mistaking campers for deer moving in the forest. He feared the worst. He was running towards the sound, when he heard a second shot, louder than the first. It's close. He felt his heart beating as loud as the shots had rung.

The tree line came to an end and Thomas emerged into a clearing, a large grey building taking over his eyes, popping out of what seemed to be nowhere. He looked around the clearing and he saw Mitchell and James both lying face down on the ground, their backs stained red. He ran over to them. Their eyes were open, and lifeless, and staring up at dim horizon, both had been shot in the chest, and both were already dead. He vomited onto the grass, and turned around, just in time to see the gun. He felt a cold chill poke through his body, and then found himself on his knees. The colour fading from the surroundings. His face fell forward into the snow where he would join his friends.

Two guards approached the three bodies as he curled on the ground.

"Fuck. They were just damned kids." One of them said to the other.

"Just get the mess cleaned up. I'll inform somebody of the situation. Make sure you don't leave anything behind. Find their camp, they weren't out here without equipment."

"Fuck."

"Fuck is right."