Are We Human?

Chapter 10

I just stood there, completely frozen out of fear. He stepped farther into the room, his booted feet clanking loudly on the cement floors below us. I drew a deep breath in and held it there, my mind not being able to process everything properly.

"I said, what are you doing here?" I made no move to respond to him, but jumped when he suddenly boomed, "Answer me, Kip!"

"I-I," I couldn't make myself reply. I was paralyzed. Out of frustration, he quickly crossed the room, pulled me out from behind the desk, and pushed me up against the wall, all while keeping a firm grip on the collar of my shirt.

I moved my hands slowly down to my pocket in the hopes that he wouldn't notice as I flipped my head to the side to escape his disgusting breath and the amount of spit that he sent flying at my face. "I can have you thrown in the Pits for this!" PJ threatened, aggravation clear in his voice.

I stared at his with complete and utter fear taking control of my body, my brown eyes meeting his furious green ones in a sort of plea. I would've understood the Wacky Room, but the Pits? I didn't murder a bunch of clones or stab a security guard like the other people there did. I wasn't a criminal worth being tortured for hours on end then thrown into a cellar with all the other poor souls suffering from their pasts and mental problems without a helping hand.

The thought of the Pits set me off. Quick as a striking anaconda, I slipped the small, handheld knife out of my pocket, flicked it open, and plunged it deep into where the doctors told me everyone's heart was.

PJ sputtered. His eyes trailed down to the ragged handle of the weapon that was currently lodged into his chest before they rolled to the back of his head, leaving the part I could see mainly white. His hold on my shirt immediately released, but his fingers still grasped a small piece of fabric with the touch of a feather. After a mere few seconds, his body collapsed into an ugly pile on the floor.

I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding, but instead of being able to sigh in relief, it turned into rapid fire in and outtakes. I brought my trembling hands up so I could look at them at eye level. They were a nice tan color, the same bronze I've looked at for as long as I could remember. There were still the long, slim fingers I've grown accustomed to over the years. The lines etched into my palms still criss crossed and created lovely designs as they always had. My left hand still bore the small scar I obtained when I bumped into a sharp corner of my cot. They hadn't changed.

But they were no longer mine. They were the hands of a killer.

Maybe I do belong in the Pits after all.

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A/N

Sorry this is a bit late, but I find that this story is a bit more difficult to write, so don't expect a regular schedule for me updating it. (Wow I'm a big procrastinator, aren't I? Sorry)