Perfect Human Project

Good Girl

I was about seven years minor, when I questioned the system and even myself. At that age did I realize how blind I have been to the world that created me. I was still naïve at such a age, but not blind anymore. My eyes didn't have to be altered to notice how the people that worked around me, feared me. Everyone knew who I was but me. I hated it.

I was not proud of who they where shaping me as. Up to when the age of three, I was only asked to do simple things. Things that included, solving mathematical equations, running, being tested on, drinking pills and being operated on. I didn't question it or fight back because I was afraid of the consequences.

The day I turned five their requests or more like orders became worse. They began pressuring me to hurt "volunteers" in the name of science. The first time I was ordered to was my last. I felt horrible, like a monster for hurting someone. The women couldn't speak, as I was told to beat her with the strength I didn't understand. The second time when they forced me to do so I shook my head and tried to put enough distance between me and the man as I could.

I simply stood as far as I could from the man, clutching myself and shaking my head. I didn't want to be a monster. I didn't want to be their puppet. When the scientists repeated their orders, and I refused again, I knew this wouldn't go without a punishment. I never once retaliated against them. Not once. Out of fright.

In a heart beat, guards burst threw the door, and cuffed my wrists and ankles. Tears sprang to my eyes and I began to scream as they assault the individual before me. Striking him over and over. Both his and my cry's muffled by the sounds of their clubs against his skin. Crimson pooled around the innocent man, his body curled to a fetus position just a foot from me . I felt my heart stop, my body shake with fear and my useless tears soak up my shirt, as I could do nothing but watch.

When the keepers seemed satisfied with their work, their soulless hearts turned to me with equal energy. A slap was all it took to hush me and with that they wrestled me to my room. Their I was bolted shut and left in the dark to cry. I thought my punishment was over, that the horrors that were now inscribed in my brain were enough.

But I underestimated them.

That night I thought I was going to pass out from the aggressive shocks of voltage that shot threw my shackles. My body convulsed to every new pump of electricity threw me. My sobbing stopped instantly; my silent screams barely escaping my lips.

It was the longest week of my life, trying to recover emotionally, mentally and physically. But most importantly I had time to think.

I may have been five but I knew two things; they feared me, for whatever reason and I wasn't going to be a monster.

After a full year of darkness, thinking, recovery and creative punishments, they dragged me out again. I was to tried to protest, to wounded to cry, to feel,  locked in the same room that awoken the new me. My eyes instantly noticed the dark stain in the room, my ears picking up the  painstakingly slow clicking of the doctors shoes.

I am not a monster. I repeated to myself over and over, until the intercom disrupted the repetition.

"F001, " The harsh, dry words of Dr. Cuyler cut threw the air like a knife, as he addressed me. He was referring to my subject number, my name non-existent to him anymore. A low light flickered in the middle of the room, unveiling a child similar to my age. His dark brown hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.

I knew his orders before he spoke them. "Its either you or me, honey. I know you'll make the smartest choice ."
The boy began to shudder and threw up his hands, surrendering. The look in his eyes all to familiar to me.

A pained feeling took hold of my heart, as the boy scrabbled away from me, as I try to reach for him.
"I-I'm not a monster." I squeak, my voice high, ingenuous and unsteady; my heads retreating back to holding me.

After seconds of dreadful silence, he cautiously rises; his knees trembling to the point I thought he would fall. My breathing increases as his blue, blood shot eyes greet mine, shimmering unnaturally. It was not the first time I saw eyes like those, though it has been a while. His lips purse into a snarl as his head cranes toward the camera.

"Neither am I." The child's emotionless, dry voice spat with venom. My eyes noticing the shimmering in his eyes intensify. His brave words summoning sirens and chaos.