le dump

('15) super something

The sound of the alarm wakes me from restless sleep. Not that I need it. The metal bunk creaks as I get up, the concrete cold under my feet. There's a muffled silence to the air, the kind that only occurs in cemeteries. The clothes never change; although they do get cleaned, the grey shirt and slacks always stay the same. I've long since stopped asking why.

     The soft house shoes feel the same as always, slightly suffocating. The doors open at the same time with the same buzzer and the same mechanical voice warning that any behavior deemed aggressive would blacklist the culprit. The same blank faces fall into step beside me in the same grey shirts and black pants. The same 45 grey tiles before the first turn, the same 76 tiles before the second. The same white trays and the same questionable oatmeal. The same quiet at the same table. The same as every other day.

There are more of us than I'd like to admit. Over the years more of us have been 'chosen'. It's a 'privilege' to be here. A privilege to have needles poked and prodded in your skin. A privilege to watch others disappear overnight. I couldn't tell you the name of the boy sitting beside me. He's new, I guess. The circles under his eyes are darker than the red streaking through them. I don't bother to comfort him. He probably hurts in more ways than I can think. It's a shame, if he wasn't so distressed he might have been cute.

I suppose I'm lucky. I don't stand out. They think the treatments haven't worked on me yet. What can I say, I've always been a late bloomer.

I suppose I should explain myself. We happen to be in a base, though where I can't tell you. I mean, I would but I don't know myself. I only know that no light ever reaches. I woke up here, probably much like everyone else. I heard some were sold, some were junkies off the streets. I was a perfectly normal teenager. Maybe an over achiever, but normal. I had friends and school and even a job. But none of that matters. Not to whoever runs the Achilles project. We all watched the same video, short as it was. 45 seconds of information that could be summed up with "Don't try to leave. Don't make a scene. We own you."

It's taken a long time, almost two months of them thinking I'm some forgetful vegetable, but I think I know what's going on. Since the war of 2077, when the United States government was overthrown, the World Republic has run pretty much everything. The issue is that some places are objecting to their laws. And that's where we come in. Augmented cannon fodder. Sending humans out on the front lines would be barbaric. Since when can a human take a scavenged RF Walker? The answer is simple. It cant. So they found a way to. We all share one single solitary similarity: we have more than 26% Adimine in our blood stream. It's a chemical released at the beginning of the wars, and in large quantities it causes humans to become incredibly strong and posses super human powers. It also destroys their internal organs, and they die of blood loss within 10 minutes.

This facility, whatever it was called, was made to slowly administer the drug to the one sect of the population who might have a shot at surviving, to monitor the results. I remember a few weeks ago, probably at about the time I reached my first month, some guy on the other side of the mess hall just burst. There was noxious gas and blood everywhere. I guess he reacted badly. It took 15 minutes and it was like he was never here in the first place. I heard theories that he was a Firestarter, a messy kind of mute that expels helium gasses from their orafaces. Which is sad, because they just use them as human bombs. They seem to burst if you don't use them soon. There are other kinds, like the girl a few tables over who has wicked deadly aim, with pretty much anything over any distance. She can't tell you how though, she said it's not something she knows, just something she can do. There are the more practicals, the Tanks, the ones who buff up immensely, but they also get really sensitive. They still haven't figured that one out.

     If I knew what I was so would they and I don't think I'd be here anymore. A simple assumption. If I was a Firestarter I think I'd know by now, beings as I can still talk if it's required. Sometimes I wonder how many different forms the illness takes.

ok guys so I have no idea what the hell this was anymore but I couldn't just delete it because at one time I gave a shit