Subject 48

Suspicions

We took down a lot of those things. The other people kept calling them zombies. They were also saying how they shouldn't waste too much ammo. I think it's something that had to do with the guns. As I've mentioned before I dont understand guns at all.

After a bit of time the monsters started leaving. Yeah, not something I expected either. They were probably attracted to something else or giving up on attacking us. It's best they know it was a lost cause.

Something else that catches me by surprise is when another person comes out of the big metal thing. "Are they gone?" The man looks to be middle aged and older than the young adults that had come out first. When he notices me his eyes go wide. Probably a bit weird to see a pale woman with a face mask on holding a spiked bat in front of you. He points to me and looks over to his friends. The younger man shrugs.

Now that none of us are freaking out we are taking the time to look over each other. What I mean by each other is that they are looking at me and me at them. The younger man has short blonde hair and seems tough. The girl has darker skin, seems to be the same age as the blonde guy, has long, black hair held up in a ponytail, and a meaner look about her. The middle aged man is pale, has dark circles under his eyes, and a rounder body, though to be honest the other two look like they're in really good shape.

We are curious about each other but at the same time are too scared that we are untrustworthy. Finally the woman asks me, "Who are you?"

I don't know how to answer that. If you haven't figured it out yet, I can't exactly talk. I know how to write but I don't have anything to write with.

I give them a disappointed look, making them more confused than they already are. "I asked you a question," the woman says, glaring at me intently.

I need to think of a way to communicate with them. Oh, right! I put down my bat and take my backpack off. Putting the backpack on the ground next to bat, I pull a little notepad and pen out of one of the smaller pockets. I quickly jot down down a message on the notepad.

I can't talk.

It's not the best thing to start off with, but it's best they learn that now. I hold up the notepad. The people stare at me in confusion. I feel awkward, as any normal person should.

"Do you want us to read what you wrote down?" the younger man inquired.

I nod. I take a step forward to come take it to them but the woman glares at me.

Since I didn't go to the man, he shrugs and walks up to me instead. Of course the woman doesn't look too thrilled about it. He reads what I wrote on the notepad and says, "Oh. That makes sense. Thanks for the help, by the way. We are still a bit on edge. My name's Brett. And you are . . ?" I think this is the part where I introduce myself and give them my name.

I look down at the notepad and realize something. I don't exactly have a normal name. Everybody just called me "Subject 47" at the lab. I can't write that as my name. They'll definitely know something is wrong with me. I guess I'll just have to go with it. I have to make up a name on the spot, a name that I will bare for the rest of my life.

I don't want them to judge me because I'm taking so long to write down something so simple, so I write down the first name that comes to mind. It's pathetic but it just might work. I honestly really like the name I decided to go with and think it'll grow on me.

Despite my less than neat handwriting, I take to second to admire what I wrote down.

Terra.