Do you remember your childhood? I don’t. Do you remember running for the first time? The first time I so much as walked was when I was 17. Do you remember your parents? Mine was a genesis tank.
My name is S.A.M. 177, Gen. 17, type 777, I’m 17 years old, coincidence, right. Nope, well sorta, we’re all taken from the tank at 17, to complete some mission or some such, sounds cool right? No! Imagine having no family, no friends, no life basically until your sucked by a mechanical arm into the waking world at 17! Until them your prepped, world info is downloaded onto your cerebral cortex, fighting skills planted into your head, reflexes toned. And when your taken out your trained, strengthened, taught how to blend in. And when all this back breaking work is done your shipped out, on a life or death mission, many don’t make it back, ever, to serve our proud country, the United States of America.
The year is 8097 when I’m awoken, who knows how long I’ve been grown, scientists can stall aging in the Genesis Tanks. Cold, pinching claws grope around until they grasp my sedated form and heave me up into the world. My surroundings are dark and cold, mostly because the tanks are heated to body temp and my eyes are unused. Feeble muscles contort in a vein effort to move my lungs, black spots bore of oxygen deprivation dance across my vision. An oxygen mask covers my face and I faintly gasp the sweet, plastic tainted air. Rough hands lift my form onto a gurney and I’m brought to a bed. The sheets are corse and the light overhead gives me a headache, but I’ll manage.
Food is brought, my first bite comes back up in a violent heave, the rest I can hold down, barely. Water is pressed to my parched lips and I drink. Then exhausted throughly, I sleep. Dreams are fitful and confused, when I wake I don’t remember them.
For the weeks after this I see only my drone doctors, they practice many strange tests to determine if I have any allergies. As well as inducing physical therapy, to strengthen my limbs and core. When they have determined I’m fit for actual exercise I’m given a treadmill. I run constantly, its the only thing I have to do, run, that or stare at the wall. Eventually I’m given bars and trampolines, mats, etc. My living space is turned into a gym, I become flexible, strong, fast, creative. And finally, I am called, via receiver hologram, for an assignment.
“Sam, can I call you that?” I nod jerkily at the camera projector with a bluetooth piece in my ear. “Sam, your mission, in the name of the lord and savior, and united states, is vital. You are being haloed an envelope, inside is you assignment. Press your genetically engineered thumb print to the tiny dial on the receiver, it will initiate them program. The Program will dress you and equate you for the human world, then it will teleport you into your first assignment. When you arrive you can have no contact with us, the program in your head will give you directions. Do not fail.” The line clicks dead. I press my thumb to the mark, an envelope spits out. I pick it up, open it and read. My mission is simple enough, retrieve special Black Hole missile plans from rebel groups, planning to take down the society built on the foundations of order, to reinstall chaos. I have to infiltrate the life of the son of a powerful rebel, sheltered by opposing country. This country wants the plans. You see every country has these Nothing Missiles, and they will use them. One can take out a country(planet), 13 counties still exist. They all have their own planet, no one lives on earth, not since the nuclear wars. Earth is virtually uninhabitable now.
Anyways, back to my mission, to retrieve missile plans so we can all go back to our lovely game of Russian Roulette. Yay.
As soon as I finish reading my mission statement it bursts into flames, I drop it quickly and flinch back. A tractor beam scans my body and I pass out.
When I come to I’m lying hands folded neatly on a mattress. A plaster ceiling stares back at me, after lying for a few seconds I stand up and look around. It’s just after 6:05 am British time, according to the bland alarm clock on the bedside. Gray, nondiscript carpet squishes under my toes as I walk to a plain wood closet and open it. Pastel colored clothes hang on hangers and cheap socks and undies lay folded in a dresser. The whole place lacks character and I don’t care, donning a random t-shirts and jeans with a pair of comfy boots and a messy pony tail. I stare in the bathroom mirror then. My first impression of myself is a bombshell, raven-haired, fair-skinned freak with the iceist blue eyes I’ve ever heard of. So, out of joking tolorence for the systeme, put on sassy assy, jeans, slim, dark t-shirt, and leather boots.
I choose to walk to school, I’ve never seen the outside world and it facinates me. Green, trees, line my path; blue sky, with fluffy marshmallow clouds drifting, fans out to both horizens. My light pack bounces on my shoulders as I run, faster and faster, until I’m a blur of legs and hair sprinting for school, people stare, and I really don’t care.
My first impression of school is girls sizing me up for take down, right on the front steps, oh no sister, don’t even think about it. A few guys check me out, but by mid-year everyones pretty much paired up.
Then out of the blue, “Alex Finx, don’t you dare walk away! Listen, Jeremy means nothing, nothing, compared to you! I’m sorry!” A guy, Alex I assume keeps walking, an adorable, petite blond attempts to stop him.
“Bells, I was willing to forgive the first, second, maybe third time. But this has been going on for ever, I’ve been waiting for you to dump me for him, but you haven’t, and you’ve humiliated me and shattered our fragile relationship by being caught, in the freaking act, of cheating, again! I don’t know what I’ve done wrong, I bring you flowers, I care about you, I have never cheated, or lied, I’ve never hurt you, ever. And this time I can’t forgive”, he pulls his hand from her grasp, “its over Bells, I hope Jeremy was worth it.” He turns and walks away, but not before I see his face. My program immediatly reconizes the face, my targets, Alex Westros, and I sure as hell won’t forget it.
Gourgeous cheek bones, emerald green eyes fringed with dark lashes, full lips, feathery blond hair brushes across his forehead and temples. Darker roots show slightly, but his eyebrows are blond so thats his natural color. Washed out jeans and a plain black t-shirt cover a frame that my now all to active imagination finds deeply attractive. Damn “Bells” I hope Jeremy was worth that, cause that boy is a piece.
Speaking of Bells, she’s now glaring at me, the “omg wtf is that b****ch looking at” face is in place, “Don’t you have something better to do?” All her frustration is now focused on my and I can hear the side idea of, What the hell does he think he’s doing, Jeremys better anyways. My gawd doesn’t this halfwhitted bitch have something better to do than gawp like a fish at me, this is so embarressing, shoulda dumped his ass months ago. But he’s so hot, never mind.
“Yah sorry”, my apology is lost on her though, anyways I don’t really mean it. I walk away contemplating, how does one go about befriending a hot, recently single, guy? Anwser, find out his interests. Okay, I’m socially inpaired.
