Project: Life

A 300 pound Natural in Roman dress shoves my limp, barely breathing body into the muddy floor of the Arena. Once I am down, he grabs a hand-full of my long, red locks and yanks out a huge clump. "This ain't the Playground, you Project trash," he whispers in my ear. "Running won't save you."

The two o'clock Natural crowd pounds on the glass partition with their fists, egging the Gladiator on, crying out attack sequences. He jumps on my back and slams his elbow into the back of my neck. I hear the familiar cracking sound that means broken bones. A scream escapes from my lips, begging for someone to stop this insanity, but those who see it as insanity don't have the power to stop it, and those with the power to stop it see it as a perfectly sensible punishment for a crime committed fifteen years ago.

Finally, after what feels like years of excruciating pain, the timer that calls off the fight sounds, ringing throughout the Arena. The sound summons white-clad doctors that, in the haze of my barely conscious mind, resemble angels. There is nothing angelic about these merciless Naturals, though. They only keep my alive because if they didn't, Dr. Wilson would have them exiled. Thus, alive I must stay.

As these medics load me onto a stretcher,  I see the Gladiator having to be physically restrained by some of the Exhibit Controllers. He is shouting profane words at me, and the Controllers honestly seem to be having some trouble restraining him. One of them finally uses a stun gun to temporarily paralyze home and make it safe for me to pass. I smile. It's nice to watch these monsters protect me.

The doctors carry me into the hospital, grim lines set in their faces. They immediately set to work. They hook me up to machines and search for equipment, the names of which I have never heard. One of the doctors, a young man of about seventeen with grey eyes, slips what I believe to be an oxygen mask over my face. Suddenly, I smell something disgustingly sweet, and

I.

Can't.

Stay.

Awake.

*****************************

A few hours later, the same grey-eyed doctor awakens me. "Project Abcde," he says, shaking me. "You can go back to your Home Cell now." I roll over and groan. For some odd reason, my back won't bend. "Ah," the doctor says. "Your back was um, it was damaged a considerable amount. In order for you to be able to go about your normal daily business, you will have to keep on this brace that we put you in."

I snort. "My daily business consists of you idiotic Naturals bringing me closer to my death. I think that I'd rather take my chances without the brace." His voice stops me as I reach the door. "Oh, and Project Abcde, you should know that not all of us "idiotic Naturals" are in favour of the Exhibits."

Turning around, I smile sweetly and say, "But aren't you though?" The door slams behind me on the way out, but just before it does, I get to see his face, his open, gaping mouth. I relish the feeling of contentment in knowing that I did that to him.

*****************************

Naturals sicken me. The whole lot of them do. They get to watch us perfect Projects be forced to fight in a bloodbath every day, while they, the mistake ridden, ignorant people talk into these black boxes, as if they expect them to reply.

*****************************

Thirty years ago, the government decided that the human race needed upgrading. It approved genetic research, which would be used to create a new generation of genetically 'perfect' people, of which I am one. These 'Projects" were to be breeding stock for the future generations.

Fifteen years later, scientists had created around one million strong, intelligent, powerful Projects, just in our province alone. (There is around three or four other Genetic Research Complexes in North America alone.) Not one of those one million was ever allowed outside of the Complex. It was widely believed by the Naturals- people that are born naturally, rather than being cooked up in laboratories- that the pollution and chemicals that they were putting into the air would somehow damage our perfect genes. At least, that's what they told us in school. Personally, I believe that they were just scared of us. Anyway, we still had to stay inside.

After awhile, murmurs against the scientists arose. From those murmurs arose conversations. From those conversations arose debates. And somehow, from those debates arose a full-scale revolution. Projects versus Naturals.

Once the Projects were crushed by the Naturals (not because the Projects are weak, because the Naturals used nuclear weaponry, the likes of which Projects had never heard of), the instigators of the attack were immediately put down by government officials. Even after that, though, there was still almost a million other Projects, for example, infants like myself, that had nothing to do with the rebellion. "Obviously", we were dangerous machines, capable of killing tens of hundreds of Naturals, but there were innocents among us. How could we be disposed of?

Over the course of the next year and a half, a decision was made. When a Project reached the age of ten, he or she would be forced to be put on Exhibit in front of the entire Natural population. We go through three hundred of these a year for five years.

There are several different Exhibits through which we alternate. In the Zoo, we sit in glass cases on display. A laminated card that lists our code name, our creator, our height, our age, and our weight sits outside of the cage. It is the only one of the Exhibits that is not life-threatening at all; it is just shameful.

The Test is a trivia game that compares Project intelligence to that (or the lack thereof) of Naturals. Even though we are much smarter than them, ridiculous questions like, "What is twerking?" are asked. It's pitiful. And when you answer a question wrong, a wristlet thing administers a pretty powerful electric shock that transmits throughout your body.

The obstacle course known as the Playground is the only Exhibit in which Projects are directly pitted against other Projects. Basically, we go through a course of quicksand, flying axes, and plastic tubes. the first person through it gets the first shower that night. Last place gets stripes beat into his or her back, two lashes for each second that they lost by.

Then there's the Arena, which is the Exhibit that I just came from. We are forced to fight the biggest, strongest Naturals that can be found in the area for half of an hour.

Generally speaking, if we don't die in our Exhibit, we are at least left with a considerable amount injuries. Lately though, more and more of us have been dying.

The whole point of the Exhibits was to rid the world of the Project population, so shortly after the scientists decided that this was our punishment, they also dictated that each Project would be allowed to go through 1,500 Exhibits, and after that the Project in question would be 'put down.' That's the nice way to say it. This limit to our lives is known as the Maximum.

My name is Project Abcde. I am fifteen years old, and my Maximum is fastly approaching and I am glad for it. I am ready to leave this hell.