January 11th, 1985
New England Baptist Hospital
125 Parker Hill Ave, Roxbury Crossing
MA 02120
“One more big push, Mrs. Kelley! One more, and remember to breathe! Okay, ready? Push!”
That child ain’t no kid of mine, was the broken record playing in Mr. Kelley’s head. He knew that thing that spilled from his wife wasn’t of his blood, didn’t hold a candle to his lineage, was just a mutt that he had to be responsible for. He didn’t pan a look of awe to the pale Melissa who wore her emotions on her sleeve. She looked so fucking happy that it made him sick to think of how they would be ripping that child from her arms any second now. A deal’s a deal. He had given his word but when tasked with explaining the situation to Melissa he had grown a coward. She had gone and done the unthinkable, had slept with another man under the eye of God, ruined the image of their white picket lifestyle, had him become some tainted name within the ranks. Why should he care? Why should any of it matter?
That ain’t no kid of mine.
Paul felt his jaw tighten the moment he caught a glimpse of them wrapping up the screaming newborn and creating a direction for the door. He felt his gut clench when Melissa began looking between the masked nurses as if to ask where they were taking it. Smell of copper didn’t mix well with the scent of despair; Paul rubbed at his face to help mix up the lines it was making, deep furrowing lines that would show his inner debacle. He heard the tremble in his wife’s throat when she reached with sluggish arms to passing medical experts but none would give her the time of day. None acted like she was a person, a human being, just an incubator for their newest subject. If that wasn’t enough, he had to bite a long his tongue to curb his own rage and misunderstood emotions when Melissa started screaming. The panting of being utterly bemused, fragile from childbirth, was rabid. It was aggressive and wild.
It was the sound of a mother wanting to protect her babe with tooth and nail.
“Paul! Paul, please, please! Where are they taking him? Where are they taking my baby?”
“I had to.”, he murmured but she didn’t seem to hear him.
“Please, give him back! Where is he? Someone answer me, please!”
“Melissa, I had to.”, he said louder this time. With no other choice than to look into the savage widening of her eyes once it registered. “I had to do it. He ain’t no child of mine. You know, you know how they are.” Excuses came pouring out but he was stoic in tone. Not a budge in his timbre because this was the right thing to do. It was for the Order. For the greater good.
“What?” It’s small, the way she questions him. Almost more painful to hear the mousey whimper come bending from her lips.
Paul stilled his hands by folding them into his trouser pockets. He didn’t give two *** about the baby but this, the broken and defeated expression that Melissa now wore, was hell. A personal tier in the inferno that would make him remember that look for the rest of his days. She had done such a tragic thing, expressing how she didn’t love him by the actions of taking another lover; he shouldn’t have felt this way but he did. He loved her, had since the day they met, but any feeling she might have still had for him? He saw it leave the windows of her eyes.
“You’ll be able to see him. After a while. I promise.”
“Paul, Paul -- what are you saying? What are they --”, but she didn’t need to finish. She knew. Deep down, she knew what they were capable of. The stories were no longer fables because there was evidence now. Cold, hard, tangible evidence in the shape of a still wet baby who shone with the blood of its mother, wrapped away in cool white blankets, screaming down the hall as it just began opening its eyes.
____________________________________________
“Oh, no, no. Not yet.” The nurse who held him appeared to coddle him, whispered down near his face, and shifted a hand over those eyes that were not supposed to open for at least another three years.
Mad Dog
Moderators: Eve Holloway, Jace Chambers
-
Logan Kelley
- Junior Adventurer
- Posts: 6
- Joined: Tue Jun 19, 2018 3:15 pm
- Contact:
Mad Dog
You see, I would have killed Romeo, and saved Juliet
But I don't write stories, that time won't forget
-
Logan Kelley
- Junior Adventurer
- Posts: 6
- Joined: Tue Jun 19, 2018 3:15 pm
- Contact:
Re: Mad Dog
April 14th, 1985
1:07 A.M.
Series: “Archeon”
C: E-003
Weight: 12.2 lbs
Subject seems to be underweight. Advocating for a higher dosage of Mother’s Milk.
E-003 has yet to seem comfortable in it’s surroundings. Have tapered the “crib” with more sound reducing padding. Some of the nurses have become too emotional from the hours of it’s crying. Emotional connections must be severed if we are to proceed in a timely and professional manner. We have refitted the “Crown”; unsure if subject is able to comprehend the weight of it or not. New stitching has been issued to top and bottom eyelids to secure that no vision is given to the subject while within the tank. Still no major reaction from the frontal lobe to indicate that new areas of the brain are being opened.
At the request of Mr. Kelley, we have given one hour a week to the subjects mother in which she may introduce skin to skin contact with E-003. This serves scientific purpose as well as keeping the mother at ease. Not wishing the subject to become neurotic while imposing a struggle: Will subject fight to survive for the sake of imprinting on it’s mother? Singing was heard from Mrs. Kelley. Will allow for the time being but will revoke if subject begins to “revert”.
No known issues to document.
1:07 A.M.
Series: “Archeon”
C: E-003
Weight: 12.2 lbs
Subject seems to be underweight. Advocating for a higher dosage of Mother’s Milk.
E-003 has yet to seem comfortable in it’s surroundings. Have tapered the “crib” with more sound reducing padding. Some of the nurses have become too emotional from the hours of it’s crying. Emotional connections must be severed if we are to proceed in a timely and professional manner. We have refitted the “Crown”; unsure if subject is able to comprehend the weight of it or not. New stitching has been issued to top and bottom eyelids to secure that no vision is given to the subject while within the tank. Still no major reaction from the frontal lobe to indicate that new areas of the brain are being opened.
At the request of Mr. Kelley, we have given one hour a week to the subjects mother in which she may introduce skin to skin contact with E-003. This serves scientific purpose as well as keeping the mother at ease. Not wishing the subject to become neurotic while imposing a struggle: Will subject fight to survive for the sake of imprinting on it’s mother? Singing was heard from Mrs. Kelley. Will allow for the time being but will revoke if subject begins to “revert”.
No known issues to document.
You see, I would have killed Romeo, and saved Juliet
But I don't write stories, that time won't forget
-
Logan Kelley
- Junior Adventurer
- Posts: 6
- Joined: Tue Jun 19, 2018 3:15 pm
- Contact:
Re: Mad Dog
September 2nd, 1985
Unknown facility, MA
"You're growing big and strong, aren't you?"
Melissa didn't question if the child could understand her. Didn't bat an eye at the monstrosity of equipment that was kept firmly on his skull. Half of it covered the portion of his face where his eyes were; she had heard they had sewn the lids shut to be absolutely positive no light was ever captured in his vision. She didn't think about the horror of being alone in the cold dark, the utter desperation that a baby might have but not understand the why or the how. To be so frail, so small, and defenseless against the orchestrated experiments that were performed.
One of the nurses had mentioned in passing how this was the only time that the baby didn't scream. Didn't cry out for swift relief in the only way a child can. Melissa kept the flat of her right hand a top the slow rise and fall of the stomach. She smiled to herself every time he moved, just slightly, as if wanting that human connection, that mothers touch, to never leave. Within that containment she could see him but not truly hold him. They never let her; this was the majority of unconditional love that she could demonstrate.
Paul's reflection in the glass of the incubator caught her eye and for that brief, split second, she was filled with uncanny rage.
"Melissa, it's time." Paul hated being the bad guy. He hated how Melissa looked at him. He understood but wanted her to see, too. He had no choice.
"Just five more minutes. Please." That please is between grating teeth. Thin-lipping the murmur to not disturb the peaceful moment she shared with her child.
"You know them, Missy. They're not one for waiting or breaking the rules. We have to go." But beneath all the monotone timbre is a degree of panic. Anxiety that comes with the territory. Melissa has been acting more and more wild when it comes to the boy, discrediting the Templar's in her tone alone. It makes Paul nervous.
"When can I take him home?" There is no we in this scenario. Melissa never knew that her marital promise to Paul would have come with the small print of giving up her first born. She didn't quite get the savagery, the inhumane creed, that these men and women were living by. All for the greater good, she remembered their motto and again became flush with the color of wrath a long her collar bones.
"They said maybe another six months to a year." Paul feels like his answers are only going to contaminate Melissa's neutrality at this point. It's the same dog and pony show, the same song and dance. Every damn time they come here; he wants to tell her things will be all right, that they'll be alright, even that bastard child would be alright, but it's too late to lie now. And too late to apologize like he had done countless times to the back of the woman he pledged to take care of, in sickness and in health, but had failed just loving her enough to where she didn't feel the need to find comfort in a strangers arms.
Paul took a step forward but was met with the seething glare of his wife's eyes from over her shoulder. The baby made the softest sound and twitched beneath his mothers hand.
"Melissa, come on now, you know I don't make the rules!" His voice gets raised a single octave before he attempts to wrangle it in. "Listen, let me talk to the Doc, see if there is some wiggle room around letting you have more visits. Longer time with him, too. I can't do anything about him coming home early, Missy."
"Why!? Why not!? I'm so sick of coming here and seeing him like this, Paul!"
Paul looks to the corners of the white washed room because he knows they're watching. Knows it might only be a matter of minutes before they decide Melissa is just too much of a loose cannon for them to deal with. His hands come up, resorting to a quiet negotiation with any threatening pose melting away. He needed Melissa to understand that this was for the greater good.
"Missy, listen to me, okay? There ain't nothing we can do about it now. He'll come home when they're done. They already promised he would be alright. It looks worse than it is, huh? Come on, Missy." And Paul attempted to casually slip a hand a long the bent crook of her arm, coaxing as if he was not the most disgusting creature in her eyes; he once was a loving man, a man she fell in love with, and he tried to tap into that memory now with how he smiled.
"Don't touch me!" Melissa pulled her arm viciously away from him. He had pulled her just enough to where her fingers briefly left the paper thin skin of the boy. "Don't you fucking touch me, Paul! I want to take him home! I want to take him home now!"
"God dammit, Melissa, stop it --", he started to say, cautiously, now having to dance on the fence between Melissa's maternal anger and the known fact that they were being watched. "-- alright? Alright, just stop it. You know, Missy, you know you can't act like this here." Again, his hands came up to try and showcase some nonthreatening coercion.
"I don't care! I don't care if they hear me! I want them to, Paul, I want them to hear me because I've about had enough of this! He is my son! Mine! Not theirs! They can't do this, Paul! They can't get away with this, Paul! They need to be re--" Melissa slurred. Her body felt uncooperative and heavy, sluggish enough that she had no time to catch herself before falling forward in a heaping pile.
Paul sliced his hand against his forehead to rub at a headache that he could feel on the horizon. If only she could have held it in. Acted out and started with the threats in the car. Not here, though. Never here. He pulled at the lining of his khaki pants to loosen them up near the knees when he lowered down to search her neck. The dart had never made a sound. Didn't make much of a dent in the sensation department, either. He brushed some hair away from her forehead so he could take in the way she resembled a much younger woman; Melissa didn't age like most women might and he had appreciated her beauty even now.
"Paul, we need to talk."
Henry always sounded like he had too much air in his lungs and not enough strength to push it out. A nasally type of wheeze that didn't add up to the robust bulk of the man. Paul could feel the man at his back; he didn't even have to look to know that there was a clipboard in his hands, a white lab coat on, and an expression that bordered on impatient.
Dammit, Missy.
Unknown facility, MA
"You're growing big and strong, aren't you?"
Melissa didn't question if the child could understand her. Didn't bat an eye at the monstrosity of equipment that was kept firmly on his skull. Half of it covered the portion of his face where his eyes were; she had heard they had sewn the lids shut to be absolutely positive no light was ever captured in his vision. She didn't think about the horror of being alone in the cold dark, the utter desperation that a baby might have but not understand the why or the how. To be so frail, so small, and defenseless against the orchestrated experiments that were performed.
One of the nurses had mentioned in passing how this was the only time that the baby didn't scream. Didn't cry out for swift relief in the only way a child can. Melissa kept the flat of her right hand a top the slow rise and fall of the stomach. She smiled to herself every time he moved, just slightly, as if wanting that human connection, that mothers touch, to never leave. Within that containment she could see him but not truly hold him. They never let her; this was the majority of unconditional love that she could demonstrate.
Paul's reflection in the glass of the incubator caught her eye and for that brief, split second, she was filled with uncanny rage.
"Melissa, it's time." Paul hated being the bad guy. He hated how Melissa looked at him. He understood but wanted her to see, too. He had no choice.
"Just five more minutes. Please." That please is between grating teeth. Thin-lipping the murmur to not disturb the peaceful moment she shared with her child.
"You know them, Missy. They're not one for waiting or breaking the rules. We have to go." But beneath all the monotone timbre is a degree of panic. Anxiety that comes with the territory. Melissa has been acting more and more wild when it comes to the boy, discrediting the Templar's in her tone alone. It makes Paul nervous.
"When can I take him home?" There is no we in this scenario. Melissa never knew that her marital promise to Paul would have come with the small print of giving up her first born. She didn't quite get the savagery, the inhumane creed, that these men and women were living by. All for the greater good, she remembered their motto and again became flush with the color of wrath a long her collar bones.
"They said maybe another six months to a year." Paul feels like his answers are only going to contaminate Melissa's neutrality at this point. It's the same dog and pony show, the same song and dance. Every damn time they come here; he wants to tell her things will be all right, that they'll be alright, even that bastard child would be alright, but it's too late to lie now. And too late to apologize like he had done countless times to the back of the woman he pledged to take care of, in sickness and in health, but had failed just loving her enough to where she didn't feel the need to find comfort in a strangers arms.
Paul took a step forward but was met with the seething glare of his wife's eyes from over her shoulder. The baby made the softest sound and twitched beneath his mothers hand.
"Melissa, come on now, you know I don't make the rules!" His voice gets raised a single octave before he attempts to wrangle it in. "Listen, let me talk to the Doc, see if there is some wiggle room around letting you have more visits. Longer time with him, too. I can't do anything about him coming home early, Missy."
"Why!? Why not!? I'm so sick of coming here and seeing him like this, Paul!"
Paul looks to the corners of the white washed room because he knows they're watching. Knows it might only be a matter of minutes before they decide Melissa is just too much of a loose cannon for them to deal with. His hands come up, resorting to a quiet negotiation with any threatening pose melting away. He needed Melissa to understand that this was for the greater good.
"Missy, listen to me, okay? There ain't nothing we can do about it now. He'll come home when they're done. They already promised he would be alright. It looks worse than it is, huh? Come on, Missy." And Paul attempted to casually slip a hand a long the bent crook of her arm, coaxing as if he was not the most disgusting creature in her eyes; he once was a loving man, a man she fell in love with, and he tried to tap into that memory now with how he smiled.
"Don't touch me!" Melissa pulled her arm viciously away from him. He had pulled her just enough to where her fingers briefly left the paper thin skin of the boy. "Don't you fucking touch me, Paul! I want to take him home! I want to take him home now!"
"God dammit, Melissa, stop it --", he started to say, cautiously, now having to dance on the fence between Melissa's maternal anger and the known fact that they were being watched. "-- alright? Alright, just stop it. You know, Missy, you know you can't act like this here." Again, his hands came up to try and showcase some nonthreatening coercion.
"I don't care! I don't care if they hear me! I want them to, Paul, I want them to hear me because I've about had enough of this! He is my son! Mine! Not theirs! They can't do this, Paul! They can't get away with this, Paul! They need to be re--" Melissa slurred. Her body felt uncooperative and heavy, sluggish enough that she had no time to catch herself before falling forward in a heaping pile.
Paul sliced his hand against his forehead to rub at a headache that he could feel on the horizon. If only she could have held it in. Acted out and started with the threats in the car. Not here, though. Never here. He pulled at the lining of his khaki pants to loosen them up near the knees when he lowered down to search her neck. The dart had never made a sound. Didn't make much of a dent in the sensation department, either. He brushed some hair away from her forehead so he could take in the way she resembled a much younger woman; Melissa didn't age like most women might and he had appreciated her beauty even now.
"Paul, we need to talk."
Henry always sounded like he had too much air in his lungs and not enough strength to push it out. A nasally type of wheeze that didn't add up to the robust bulk of the man. Paul could feel the man at his back; he didn't even have to look to know that there was a clipboard in his hands, a white lab coat on, and an expression that bordered on impatient.
Dammit, Missy.
You see, I would have killed Romeo, and saved Juliet
But I don't write stories, that time won't forget
-
Logan Kelley
- Junior Adventurer
- Posts: 6
- Joined: Tue Jun 19, 2018 3:15 pm
- Contact:
Re: Mad Dog
January 11th, 1991
1339 Frontage Hills Place, MA
Kelley Residence
"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Logan! Happy birthday to you!"
It was only a few faces but they all sung together. The melody was disjointed but normalized with the genuine delight the women seemed to invoke. There was Norma Jean from up the street who baked an amazing apple cobbler. She had dirty blonde hair, startling green eyes, and never seemed to leave the house with out slashing her mouth in red. Mrs. Opal was another; she was robust and thick in the hips, rose colored cheeks from drinking a little too much and shaking hands that were sometimes erratic. It was his mother, though, that often stole the show. She was a queen if there ever was one.
All three of them watched Logan as he sat in front of the white icing cake they had brought out, six candles fluttering in the wake of the heater that churned through the vents. It made him smile, feel a bit put on the spot, and he wrung his hands in his lap before locking eyes with his mother.
"Don't be shy, Logan. Go a head. Blow them out, sweetie."
That little nudge of encouragement had him leaning forward and giving a gusty exhale that ensured all six went up in smoke. All three women clapped their hands to give him a round of applause for a job well done which only made him twist bashfully in the wooden chair.
"Go get me some plates, Norma Jean, will you? Oh! And milk, out of the fridge!", Missy was directing both of the women around with one hand while the other plucked out the spent candles.
"You're going to love this cake, Logan. Mrs. Opal and myself made it.", said Norma Jean as she reached to begin collecting some small off white plates from the cabinet near the sink. "I remember that you said you liked strawberries so I filled the whole cake up with them." She smiled over her shoulder in his direction which made him squirm just slightly. It was the first signs of a crush; Norma Jean was the princess in all the stories his mother told him.
"Mmhm, and you better eat every bite of this cake or else! We'll never make another one again." Mrs. Opal attempted to sound serious but the way she leaned forward, the crooked path her mouth took, it made it seem more humorous than threatening.
"I promise, Mrs. Opal." Logan responded with the often tender-hearted tone that seemed to come from his mothers teachings. Polite, always well mannered, he didn't seem to have much spitfire in him. It made both ladies give off the smallest swoons, the briefest snickers. Missy rolled her eyes so that only Logan caught her; he laughed into both his hands but kept it quiet. Kept it a secret between his mother and himself.
"Okay, big birthday boy. What will it be first? Cake, or -- presents?" Missy licked some frosting from her fingers, leaving the option up to Logan. She seemed to know the answer before he did, though, as she began to move towards the garage door.
"Presents?" Slightly hesitating like he might answer wrong, and Logan did not like answering wrong. His mother was a different story, however, so he seemed less tense about responding. He turned his body a little to get out of the chair and follow after his mother.
"Presents it is! Ah, ah, you stay here, and close your eyes! No peeking!" Missy pointed a challenging finger at him. He froze up, unable to not play a long to his mothers antics. Both his little hands came up to cover his eyes. "I'll know if you peek, Logan Matthew!" And she crept back, slowly, still hoisting her finger up to point at the child. Her child. No matter what, no matter what they said, Logan was hers.
They wouldn't change that.
She was gone maybe a minute before emerging back from the garage. Her smile was what poems were written about, why the tides pulled back and thrusted forward. It was a magical thing to watch his mother smile and he did, watch it, while peeking from between his fingers at the box in her hands. Behind him he could hear Norma Jean and Mrs. Opal give small noises of enchantment; they knew what it was.
Logan made sure not to get too excited. Bad things often happened when he got worked up.
"Okay, open it!"
And he did. Missy had put the box down near his feet where he crouched over, admiring it with the childish curiosity a six year old should never muster, a certain intensity that fired close to being inhuman; Logan was no normal child.
"What is it?" He asked quietly across to his mother who had also crouched down.
"Open it.", whispered as Missy lifted up her fingers to help coax Logan's own hands to the top of the box.
Cautiously (a bizarre trait for a six year old), he reached with the unspoken guidance of his mother and pulled the top of the box apart. The bundle of movement inside of it made Logan squeal out but quickly cover his mouth. Bad things happen when I get excited, he thought, but Missy seemed to know. She knew he was containing it and while it broke a small sliver of her already fragile heart, she made sure he understood that nothing bad, nothing at all, was going to happen today.
"It's okay, Logan."
Logan laughed, brightly, when he sunk his hands into the box to pull out the fluffy puppy, a wiggling and squirming thing that was intent on coating Logan's face with saliva. He didn't know at the time but the puppy was a mutt. A mixed breed. Patched in brindle colors that ranged from tan to dark russet. Missy watched as Logan cradled it before putting it down, gentle as an angel with this living thing, and she wondered how they expected him to be anything but a loving boy.
"What are you going to name him?" Missy held back tears as she asked.
"Darwin."
1339 Frontage Hills Place, MA
Kelley Residence
"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Logan! Happy birthday to you!"
It was only a few faces but they all sung together. The melody was disjointed but normalized with the genuine delight the women seemed to invoke. There was Norma Jean from up the street who baked an amazing apple cobbler. She had dirty blonde hair, startling green eyes, and never seemed to leave the house with out slashing her mouth in red. Mrs. Opal was another; she was robust and thick in the hips, rose colored cheeks from drinking a little too much and shaking hands that were sometimes erratic. It was his mother, though, that often stole the show. She was a queen if there ever was one.
All three of them watched Logan as he sat in front of the white icing cake they had brought out, six candles fluttering in the wake of the heater that churned through the vents. It made him smile, feel a bit put on the spot, and he wrung his hands in his lap before locking eyes with his mother.
"Don't be shy, Logan. Go a head. Blow them out, sweetie."
That little nudge of encouragement had him leaning forward and giving a gusty exhale that ensured all six went up in smoke. All three women clapped their hands to give him a round of applause for a job well done which only made him twist bashfully in the wooden chair.
"Go get me some plates, Norma Jean, will you? Oh! And milk, out of the fridge!", Missy was directing both of the women around with one hand while the other plucked out the spent candles.
"You're going to love this cake, Logan. Mrs. Opal and myself made it.", said Norma Jean as she reached to begin collecting some small off white plates from the cabinet near the sink. "I remember that you said you liked strawberries so I filled the whole cake up with them." She smiled over her shoulder in his direction which made him squirm just slightly. It was the first signs of a crush; Norma Jean was the princess in all the stories his mother told him.
"Mmhm, and you better eat every bite of this cake or else! We'll never make another one again." Mrs. Opal attempted to sound serious but the way she leaned forward, the crooked path her mouth took, it made it seem more humorous than threatening.
"I promise, Mrs. Opal." Logan responded with the often tender-hearted tone that seemed to come from his mothers teachings. Polite, always well mannered, he didn't seem to have much spitfire in him. It made both ladies give off the smallest swoons, the briefest snickers. Missy rolled her eyes so that only Logan caught her; he laughed into both his hands but kept it quiet. Kept it a secret between his mother and himself.
"Okay, big birthday boy. What will it be first? Cake, or -- presents?" Missy licked some frosting from her fingers, leaving the option up to Logan. She seemed to know the answer before he did, though, as she began to move towards the garage door.
"Presents?" Slightly hesitating like he might answer wrong, and Logan did not like answering wrong. His mother was a different story, however, so he seemed less tense about responding. He turned his body a little to get out of the chair and follow after his mother.
"Presents it is! Ah, ah, you stay here, and close your eyes! No peeking!" Missy pointed a challenging finger at him. He froze up, unable to not play a long to his mothers antics. Both his little hands came up to cover his eyes. "I'll know if you peek, Logan Matthew!" And she crept back, slowly, still hoisting her finger up to point at the child. Her child. No matter what, no matter what they said, Logan was hers.
They wouldn't change that.
She was gone maybe a minute before emerging back from the garage. Her smile was what poems were written about, why the tides pulled back and thrusted forward. It was a magical thing to watch his mother smile and he did, watch it, while peeking from between his fingers at the box in her hands. Behind him he could hear Norma Jean and Mrs. Opal give small noises of enchantment; they knew what it was.
Logan made sure not to get too excited. Bad things often happened when he got worked up.
"Okay, open it!"
And he did. Missy had put the box down near his feet where he crouched over, admiring it with the childish curiosity a six year old should never muster, a certain intensity that fired close to being inhuman; Logan was no normal child.
"What is it?" He asked quietly across to his mother who had also crouched down.
"Open it.", whispered as Missy lifted up her fingers to help coax Logan's own hands to the top of the box.
Cautiously (a bizarre trait for a six year old), he reached with the unspoken guidance of his mother and pulled the top of the box apart. The bundle of movement inside of it made Logan squeal out but quickly cover his mouth. Bad things happen when I get excited, he thought, but Missy seemed to know. She knew he was containing it and while it broke a small sliver of her already fragile heart, she made sure he understood that nothing bad, nothing at all, was going to happen today.
"It's okay, Logan."
Logan laughed, brightly, when he sunk his hands into the box to pull out the fluffy puppy, a wiggling and squirming thing that was intent on coating Logan's face with saliva. He didn't know at the time but the puppy was a mutt. A mixed breed. Patched in brindle colors that ranged from tan to dark russet. Missy watched as Logan cradled it before putting it down, gentle as an angel with this living thing, and she wondered how they expected him to be anything but a loving boy.
"What are you going to name him?" Missy held back tears as she asked.
"Darwin."
You see, I would have killed Romeo, and saved Juliet
But I don't write stories, that time won't forget
-
Logan Kelley
- Junior Adventurer
- Posts: 6
- Joined: Tue Jun 19, 2018 3:15 pm
- Contact:
Re: Mad Dog
February 7th, 1993
Unknown facility, MA
"Do it, Logan."
"No, no, please! Please don't make me! I won't! I can't!"
Logan heaved, sobbing uncontrollably, almost to the point of vomiting. He could taste salt, feel snot run down his upper lip from his nostrils. He could taste bile at the back of his throat. Arms tightened around the neck of the canine he was slumped against. Darwin seemed confused, wide brown eyes like glassy marbles tentatively looking between the man who stood so tall in front of them and the boy clinging against him.
Darwin whined.
"Do it, E-003. This is part of your training. If you do not comply then we will have to resort to punishment and will eliminate the challenge."
The challenge he was referring to was the dog. Was Darwin. The canine had become Logan's best friend, and possibly his only friend. And now the Knights needed him to evolve. Needed Logan to forego the rich experience of empathy for another living being (even an animal) so that he could continue on as their experiment.
Logan heard the click of the gun. His face shot up, burning hot with his crying fit, and saw the mouth of the weapon pointed unabashedly near Darwin's skull.
Darwin whined, again, but seemed to do so based on how Logan was acting. He didn't realize the immediate danger he was in. He didn't know because dogs are not like people. Darwin was scared because Logan was scared, and that was that.
"DON'T! Please, don't! I'll do it, I'll do it!" Logan screamed, his voice not even being close to puberty so it was a nasally whine paired with the heart pounding revulsion trembling in his throat.
The man took a moment before lowering the gun to take Darwin out of the path of execution.
"Kill the dog, Logan."
Logan wrapped his arms a little tighter a long Darwin's neck. The dog had grown into a thick specimen. A cross between a pit bull and perhaps a labrador. Short haired save for the tail that was more like a shaggy broom. Darwin had been a loyal companion since his mother had gifted him to Logan. Spent every waking minute together. A boy and his dog; there was no bond more honored than that.
And now this man and an array of six others who all watched like dispassionate voyeurs, scientists who were interested in the results rather than the right or wrong, were goading Logan into snapping his best friends neck with a thought alone.
Logan gripped his hands into the dogs coat. He buried his face there, taking in the musty smell of a dog who was used to running through dirt, rolling through grass, chasing fireflies in the summer and pouncing in snow during winter. He held tightly to the dog who was none the wiser.
Logan murmured something and the man standing above him tilted his head.
"Are you saying good bye, Logan?"
".... yes."
"Get on with it, then."
Logan did as he was told because he was a good boy.
One by one, each of the men's necks snapped like dried twigs before snowfall. Like domino's, they fell over, crumpled heaps of flesh and still warm blood. Their lab coats fluttering out around them like undeserved halos.
It took the man above the boy and his dog a moment to catch what was happening; he unraveled his gun again to point at the dog but it was focused in the center of Logan's forehead. How, he thought, did he move that fast?
He wanted to speak but something wouldn't let him. No, not something -- someone. He wanted to pull the trigger but it was the same thing. Someone was keeping him still. His features flinched beneath the sudden roll of sweat down his temples. He was unsure if it was from the rising temperature in his body or if it was the striking way Logan's eyes seemed to whet themselves like knifes, sharply keeping contact with the older man.
"Do it, Mr. Konder."
Logan spoke, his voice seeming as precise as a scalpel.
Mr. Konder felt his arm move, felt his hand tighten around the gun, and tried desperately to keep himself from being a puppet.
"Do it, Mr. Konder."
Logan repeated and Mr. Konder was in the losing race to keep himself still. Soon, no matter the emphasis straining through the bulging of veins in his face, Mr. Konder had put the gun to his own temple. A shudder in his abdomen rolled up through his body. Quaking. He was quaking but was still possessed to contort like a man on a suicide mission.
He stared, pleadingly, down at the child who stared up at him. At the dog that began to wag it's tail, tongue dangling from the side of it's maw. The canine looked content.
"Do it, Mr. Konder."
One last recital of that mantra. It was reversed on him by this child, this brilliant boy who was a product that the Knights would have to answer to one day.
Today was Mr. Konder's day to answer.
Unknown facility, MA
"Do it, Logan."
"No, no, please! Please don't make me! I won't! I can't!"
Logan heaved, sobbing uncontrollably, almost to the point of vomiting. He could taste salt, feel snot run down his upper lip from his nostrils. He could taste bile at the back of his throat. Arms tightened around the neck of the canine he was slumped against. Darwin seemed confused, wide brown eyes like glassy marbles tentatively looking between the man who stood so tall in front of them and the boy clinging against him.
Darwin whined.
"Do it, E-003. This is part of your training. If you do not comply then we will have to resort to punishment and will eliminate the challenge."
The challenge he was referring to was the dog. Was Darwin. The canine had become Logan's best friend, and possibly his only friend. And now the Knights needed him to evolve. Needed Logan to forego the rich experience of empathy for another living being (even an animal) so that he could continue on as their experiment.
Logan heard the click of the gun. His face shot up, burning hot with his crying fit, and saw the mouth of the weapon pointed unabashedly near Darwin's skull.
Darwin whined, again, but seemed to do so based on how Logan was acting. He didn't realize the immediate danger he was in. He didn't know because dogs are not like people. Darwin was scared because Logan was scared, and that was that.
"DON'T! Please, don't! I'll do it, I'll do it!" Logan screamed, his voice not even being close to puberty so it was a nasally whine paired with the heart pounding revulsion trembling in his throat.
The man took a moment before lowering the gun to take Darwin out of the path of execution.
"Kill the dog, Logan."
Logan wrapped his arms a little tighter a long Darwin's neck. The dog had grown into a thick specimen. A cross between a pit bull and perhaps a labrador. Short haired save for the tail that was more like a shaggy broom. Darwin had been a loyal companion since his mother had gifted him to Logan. Spent every waking minute together. A boy and his dog; there was no bond more honored than that.
And now this man and an array of six others who all watched like dispassionate voyeurs, scientists who were interested in the results rather than the right or wrong, were goading Logan into snapping his best friends neck with a thought alone.
Logan gripped his hands into the dogs coat. He buried his face there, taking in the musty smell of a dog who was used to running through dirt, rolling through grass, chasing fireflies in the summer and pouncing in snow during winter. He held tightly to the dog who was none the wiser.
Logan murmured something and the man standing above him tilted his head.
"Are you saying good bye, Logan?"
".... yes."
"Get on with it, then."
Logan did as he was told because he was a good boy.
One by one, each of the men's necks snapped like dried twigs before snowfall. Like domino's, they fell over, crumpled heaps of flesh and still warm blood. Their lab coats fluttering out around them like undeserved halos.
It took the man above the boy and his dog a moment to catch what was happening; he unraveled his gun again to point at the dog but it was focused in the center of Logan's forehead. How, he thought, did he move that fast?
He wanted to speak but something wouldn't let him. No, not something -- someone. He wanted to pull the trigger but it was the same thing. Someone was keeping him still. His features flinched beneath the sudden roll of sweat down his temples. He was unsure if it was from the rising temperature in his body or if it was the striking way Logan's eyes seemed to whet themselves like knifes, sharply keeping contact with the older man.
"Do it, Mr. Konder."
Logan spoke, his voice seeming as precise as a scalpel.
Mr. Konder felt his arm move, felt his hand tighten around the gun, and tried desperately to keep himself from being a puppet.
"Do it, Mr. Konder."
Logan repeated and Mr. Konder was in the losing race to keep himself still. Soon, no matter the emphasis straining through the bulging of veins in his face, Mr. Konder had put the gun to his own temple. A shudder in his abdomen rolled up through his body. Quaking. He was quaking but was still possessed to contort like a man on a suicide mission.
He stared, pleadingly, down at the child who stared up at him. At the dog that began to wag it's tail, tongue dangling from the side of it's maw. The canine looked content.
"Do it, Mr. Konder."
One last recital of that mantra. It was reversed on him by this child, this brilliant boy who was a product that the Knights would have to answer to one day.
Today was Mr. Konder's day to answer.
You see, I would have killed Romeo, and saved Juliet
But I don't write stories, that time won't forget
Who is online
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 0 guests