CHAPTER 3
SAM
Even though they told me to go to sleep, I can't. I am curled up on the couch in a tight ball. The entire lab incident plays in my mind perfectly, a curse of near-photographic memory.
I had put on my lab goggles, one of my favorite parts of working in my lab. My father had no idea that I was running a secret laboratory in our attic, but he treated me like an insolent child anyway, so if I were to show him, he would just make me take it all down. My mother was my main source of funding for my lab, she was always supporting whatever I liked. I walked over to my small safe and typed in the combination into the keypad. 2-7-10-18. The door popped open with a soft hiss, like opening a bottle of soda. I opened the door further to take out my notebook, a thick leather-bound journal with intricate embossing on the cover. I also had a black ballpoint pen with which I scrawl all of my notes with.
I tucked the pen behind my ear and walked over to my latest experiment: bio-contaminated flesh. I wanted to experiment on making a solution to make people less susceptible to disease. I wasn't entirely sure what the flesh was contaminated with, but I knew it wasn't anything airborne. I still wore blue latex gloves, being the clean-freak that I am. My dark brown hair was pinned back, I wasn't too fond of my hair being up, but it was my system for working in my lab.
The skin appeared a pale green, but I knew that slight color change happened when people died, and obviously the flesh sample wasn't alive, so I made no big deal out of it. I had just injected the tissue with a prototype formula I had created, which should be able to toughen one's skin. The sample had turned grey, and scaly. I touched it; my glove was still on of course, and it felt cold and rigid, like an ice statue.
I recorded my findings about Prototype A1.3 in my journal, shuddering at the thought of human skin being a natural armor. There was no way for humans to keep in constant homeostasis and be that cold. I would have to tweak the prototype formula. I set down the notebook.
I wanted to test another formula that I had been working on. I had possibly created a cure for stupidity and ignorance. If it worked, I could merely inject a small percentage of the population, and the rest would spread either instantaneously by human transmission or gradually by basic genetic heritage.
I pulled out a human brain from my lab's containment unit, putting the scaly flesh sample back. As I held it in my hands, I thought about the life it had once sustained. And then I shuddered, thinking at some point, scientists may not even have so much as that to recognize my existence. I set it on the counter, and went to replace my gloves, as to not cross-contaminate.
I injected this one with Prototype B7.5, which turned the brain a pale blue, but the muscles of the sample contracted. I retched as the dead muscles twitched. I had a rather large bucket in the corner for when I needed to vomit. Sometimes it happened more frequently than other times, depending on the experiment. I am extremely squeamish. I managed to keep down my lunch, but I put the brain sample away, not bothering to test any further. I threw away the contaminated gloves and grabbed my journal.
I sat in my blue bean bag chair in the far corner of the attic, tweaking the formula for Prototype A1.3, eager for a better result in A1.4, hopefully a life-sustainable one at that.
I put on new gloves and pull out a fresh skin sample. I turned around to pour Prototype A1.4 into a syringe, and when I turned back around, the small flesh patch was gone. I looked around frantically, realizing that I can't lose contaminated skin. That automatically can be dangerous to everyone in the house.
I finally spot a fat black rat with the sample clamped tight in its jaw. When I took a step towards it, the disgusting creature stared at me with its beady red eyes, sending chills down my spine. It took a bite out of the sample, and when it swallowed, the entire body spasms. I once again had considered the vomit bucket. The trembling rat fell through a little hole in the floor, into my garage.
