Seven's Story - Volume 1: The Escape

The Escape

The year was 1971. I was twelve years old...

I woke up in my dark cell at the Lab. I was laying on the floor completely straight, with my arms at my sides, my cot against the opposite wall. I never would've slept this way on my own terms.

They sedated me again, I thought exasperatedly.

When I tried, I could clearly remember the events that lead to my sedation. It was only a few hours ago.

I remembered sitting in that dreaded chair, metal cuffs securing my wrists to the arms of the thing, a net of wires and probes secured to my head. A metal table in front of me, and a large mirror beyond that, which I knew was one-way glass. My reflection stared back at me from the glass: Dark brown hair shaved close to my head, big, round, bright blue eyes, cheekbones and a chin that were much too sharp for my age, and olive skin that had been deprived of sun for so long that it now looked sickly pale. Dr. Brenner was kneeling beside me, and two other researchers in lab coats stood around the small white room, one holding a clipboard and the other manning a monitor attached to my wires. A large white cat was sitting crouched on the table.

"Seven, I want you to make a brush for the cat. Can you do that for me?" Dr. Brenner spoke gently to me.

I wasn't fooled by his kindness, and I never had been. I knew that if he truly cared for me, he wouldn't constantly put me through draining tests like this. I knew what it should look like when someone cared for you from the books he sometimes read me, the books he probably hadn't expected me to grasp valuable knowledge from.

Without answering Dr. Brenner, I turned my attention to creating a brush. I opened my hand and turned it palm-up, the cold metal of the cuff sliding against my wrist as I did so. I focused on my hand. I repeated in my head: Brush, brush, brush, brush, soft brush, bristles, brush, brush, for the cat, brush, brush. In my mind, I imagined thousands of particles forming together and solidifying into a brush. Sure enough, a small brush materialized in my hand.

I felt the standard nosebleed come on.

I curled my fingers around the handle. It was a soft red color, and the whole thing had a red glow to it. I'd figured out that the color of the object depended on my mood when I made it, and red signified anger. I hoped Dr. Brenner wouldn't make that connection, and I kept my eyes on the cat. Dr. Brenner made an approving noise and gestured to one of the researchers, who made a mark on his clipboard.

"Okay, Seven. You can stop now," Dr. Brenner said.

He'd learned not to attempt to hold the objects I created, since if he tried to, his hand would go right through it. If I wanted him to be able to hold the brush, I would've let him.

I'd kept that part of my powers a secret from the researchers and Dr. Brenner. They thought that only I could touch the things I made, and if anyone else tried to, their hand would pass through it as if it were air. That is the case, but only if I want it to be. I could solidify it and allow them to touch it, but I don't want to. Who knows what they'd ask me to create for them to use if they knew.

I released my focus and the brush fizzled away back into my mind. The researcher made another mark on his clipboard. I kept my gaze on the cat. The cat. Why would he have brought the cat out for no reason other than so I could make a brush for it that didn't even get used? I knew there must've been another reason. Then it hit me:

He was going to make me do something to it. Something bad.

"You've done very well so far, Seven. I'm very impressed. But there's one more thing I need you to do for me, and then you can be done."