Test Subject 231
Just a little writing exercise I did today. Not the most original, of course, but I'm still happy with how it turned out. Lately I've been more and more interested in exploring the physical abilities and advantages that some types of anthropomorphic individuals could theoretically possess as opposed to those of mere humans.
"All right, we're going to try this again," the man at the console muttered, loosening his black tie before flipping some metal switches on the panel. They made loud clickling sound as he flipped up each one. The room was grey and empty, and the lighting was dim and dark. He kicked his way against the floor and rolled his chair over to the other side of the room, leaning forward to grab the extended microphone and holding it to his mouth. "Dimitri, you all right in there?" He stated into the end, hearing his voice echo into the testing chamber visible through the glass before him. Only a low growl was heard from the other side of the glass. Mikhailo stood up from his chair, leaning over the grey metal console and looking down into the room through the one-way barrier
"Can he hear us?" He asked, watching the green, lizard-like man pace across the white tile to the wall with the door, shaking his elongated head as he pushed himself off of it harshly and began pacing in the opposite direction. Dimitri looked everything like a lizard: a thin, elongated head, elliptical eyes, digitigrade legs, and a long, swaying tail that waved back and forth behind him as he paced aggravatedly. He didn't seem to be comprehending any of Mikhailo's words, and one would perhaps think him merely some odd sort of animal if not for the fact that he was walking on his own two feet, in remarkably human-like strides. "At least he's learned to walk, all right," Mikhailo stated as he turned to the man standing behind him, whose hands were clasped calmly behind his back, an amused expression upon his face. He walked forward calmly, standing next to Mikhailo at the console.
This man wore a green military dress coat with red patches on the shoulders, green pants, and a black tie - nothing too elaborate. He had thinning brown hair and a thin moustache that was shaven in the middle, a stern, down-to-business expression now settling upon his face. He looked at his younger companion, as if sizing him up, almost like he was admiring his comparatively-casual wardrobe: a simple white shirt, with an unbuttoned grey vest over this. They had been in the room for half an hour, and still, no progress had been made. Without responding to Dimitri's question, the official leaned forward and grabbed the elongated handle of the microphone, holding it to his lips.
"We need some sign that you can hear us," he affirmed. "Or you're going to feel that again." Still, the lizard-like man before them continued pacing back and forth, shaking his head as if in disbelief. The official looked to Mikhailo with a shrug and a raise of the eyebrows, before reaching to the console and turning a knob slightly. "That should do," he stated.
"So much," Mikhailo asked, concerned.
"If he chooses not to cooperate, then he must suffer the consequences," the official shrugged. Mikhailo sighed and sat back down his his chair, rolling it back to the other side of the room and flipping some more switches. Finally, he brought his hand to hover above the plain, green button, illuminated from within by a light. "Are we sure this is the right way to proceed," he finally asked as he turned around in his chair, evidently slightly worried. The official stood sternly, his hands once again behind his back, and sighed.
"The government knows nothing of this...We have only one week before our results must be perfected," he stated calmly, slowly pacing his way over to Mikhailo. "If we fail to achieve our goals before our operation is discovered by the authorities, this project is finished and you and I are both out of our positions...Do it," he nodded. Mikhailo regretfully turned back around in his chair.
"Yes, Commissar," he stated, biting his lower lip as he pressed the little green button. Immediately, the whole room before them suddenly buzzed with a low sound, and the glass seemed to vibrate as Dimitri began roaring in pain. Mikhailo swallowed, pursing his lips. He couldn't see anything from over the console, but the growl-like screams went on and on; yet, turning to the commissar, Mikhailo could see that there was no hint of uncertainty or lack devotion upon his face, his eyes instead fixed steadily and intently upon their suffering subject. "Sir, should I stop," Mikhailo asked, hoping that he would be allowed release his finger from the button.
"Not yet," the commissar calmly put up a hand. The growling screams continued, eventually evolving into shrieks. Mikhailo swallowed. He couldn't take it any longer and took his finger from the button. Immediately, the room stopped vibrating. He still couldn't see into the other room, but the growls continued, albeit more-quietly and at a lower frequency, before finally subsiding. He turned to the commissar, expecting a look of disapproval, but instead only saw him staring intently into the testing chamber, just as before. A sudden bang forced Mikhailo to jump, and he stood from his chair eagerly, sending it rolling backwards with the back of his knees. Dimitri had slammed his shoulder into the metal door to the testing chamber, and now continued to pace in a disgruntled fashion. The commissar signed and reached over for the microphone again, speaking into it in a calm, almost-friendly voice.
"I am sorry for your troubles, Test Subject 231," he began, placing one hand upon the console to support himself. "But you must understand what work we are doing here..." He paused, as if deciding how to proceed. His test subject merely continued to pace around, evidently frustrated, as if not comprehending any of his words. "Perhaps you have seen what is becoming of the current political situation out there," the commissar continued, as if trying to vindicate his position. "Nobody seems to acknowledge it but me. Surely you can appreciate that I am doing this for the future of humanity species." Mikhailo merely glanced from Dimitri to the commissar, feeling increasingly uneasy in the situation. "Can you hear me, 231?"
"Sir," Mikhailo finally spoke up. The commissar straightened himself and turned to him with an expectant stare. "Perhaps we should give it a rest, for today. The subjects usually don't respond favorably after we provoke them at this level." The commissar seemed to want to protest for a few moments, and then finally sighed, turning towards the door.
"I suppose so," he stated, grabbing his peaked green cap and heavy black coat from the coat rack. "I would transform myself, if I thought that I would still be able to keep control of this operation," he muttered as he fixed his cap upon his head and walked through the door.
"We'll get some results soon, I'm sure," Mikhailo assured as he followed out the door behind him, re-buttoning his vest and straightening his tie, relieved to no longer be in the situation he was in just a moment ago. He turned off the lights to the control room and the door closed behind them...
Dimitri slammed himself against the door again, thrusting his shoulder into it with all his might. The blow echoed with a thud, and this time, he had dented it a little, but the barrier still stood firm. He paced back and forth, running his hands over the arms of this unfamiliar body, his claws scratching over his scales lightly. He was anxious, and frantic. He had lost his capacity to speak properly when he had been transformed.
Why this - why the hell this? He thought. He was never particularly fond of reptiles, and now here he was one himself. He couldn't wait to be escorted back to his barracks, as much as he hated that place. At least there, he would have a bed, and receive food, and get clothing again. The testing chamber he had been thrust into felt cramped, and claustrophobic. He turned again, and angrily charged once more at the door, his shoulder briefly exploding with pain at the third blow, yet somehow managing to make a larger dent in it than had been created before. He held his clawed hands before his eyes and gazed at them with a sense of awe: he had gained a remarkable amount of strength since the transformation. Had he had this type of strength when he had been a farmer, in the countryside, far out past the Urals, work would have been easy. Here, it was only tormenting: he was immensely strong, yet this cage of a place was somehow built stronger.
Suddenly, the small video screen above the reflective glass barrier high on the far wall came to life, at first with static, and then with the grainy image of the young, calm officer that came into focus. Dimitri was furious. He seethed a growling snarl and abruptly turned around, swinging his arms in defeated frustration before turning once more to the screen. He hated seeing that video - he had seen it dozens of times, now, and it had been the first thing he had been acquainted with after being incarcerated for theft. The screen delivered the scene of a quaint, little wooden room, furnished with all the comforts of a winter cabin, looking cozy and snug. The camera slowly zoomed in on a green-coated officer sitting at the middle of a wooden table, his gloved hands clasped before him. For a few moments, he said nothing, instead merely sighing, finally unclasping his hands and slowly reaching for the green ushanka upon his head, which he gingerly set down on the table beside him before folding his hands together upon the table again.
"Good day, comrade," he finally began to speak, calmly and with his eyebrows raised slightly and pressed to the center, giving him a somewhat-incompetent expression, although one could assume that he was trying to appear sympathetic. Dimitri bared his teeth and seethed - he was far from over with hearing this man speak. "You have been offered an opportunity at redemption by the generosity of one of our superior officials. If you decide to volunteer, and if selected, you will be cleared of all charges or convictions that are currently placed against you, regardless of their extremity." He paused as he calmly unfolded his hands and rested his arms on the table, his expression unchanging. I wanted to tear his head off.
"What this opportunity involves, of course, is strictly confidential," he continued. "But it will entail groundbreaking research in genetics that, we hope, will shape the course of human history..." Dimitri couldn't take it anymore. He launched himself again at the door, hitting into it this time with his other shoulder, and it dented even further. He staggered back a few steps, gazing at his appearance in the reflection of the one-way glass window upon the door, staring at the green, elliptical eyes, and the two nostril holes at the end of his snout. Screeching, he charged again at the door, this time hitting it straight on with his head, and began pounding it with his fist. To his surprise, with each punch - each painful, excruciating punch - the door budged more and more, and by the time he couldn't take the pain any longer, the top part of the door had been pried away from its hinges just a little bit, and the ceiling of the opposite hallway was visible through the broken section.
"There can be no doubt of the importance of your contribution, should you be selected, and we hope that you will give this opportunity all honest thought and consideration that..." The man in the video droned on calmly, but Dimitri had already walked back and braced himself again, charging once more into the door with full force with his shoulder, sending it even further into the hallway. He did this again, and again, so much so that both of his shoulders, now, were throbbing with pain. But, fueled by adrenaline, and determined to never hear the voice in that video recording ever again, he charged at the door one final, desperate time, and this time, forced the top away from the wall just enough to slither out of it.
Climbing through the gap with difficulty, Dimitri triumphantly fell onto the floor of the brightly-lit, white-tiled hallway on the other side. Despite the agonizing pain he still felt, he stood up and swiftly looked around, his tail swaying gently behind him: no one was to be seen. Had he really been unguarded? The sense of relief that overtook him lasted only two seconds, as the hallway suddenly flashed with red as the air-raid-siren-like alarm began blaring through the corridors - apparently some part of the door had been hooked to a triggering device, Dimitri assumed. Not willing to investigate the matter further, however, he began to sprint at full force down the hallway.
He knew this place - he had been there long enough - and the one oversight that the officials running it seemed to have made was that there were few places that the "test subjects" had not been exposed to or led through at some point. As a result, Dimitri was certain of the path he would need to take in order to escape the complex.
Turning a corner, he spotted two soldiers walking in the other direction down the hallway, clad in their green uniforms, with square caps upon their heads, machine-guns in hand. As soon as he skidded to a stop, one of the soldiers turned, and shouted, raising his weapon. Dimitri, however, expertly transitioned to all-fours and, racing down the hallway with remarkable speed, leapt on top of the soldier, biting into his neck and tasting blood as the man fell back and gurgled, never having a chance to fire his weapon. In any other circumstance, Dimitri would probably have been disgusted with himself, as the taste and texture of warm blood seeped into his mouth, but he was in far too intense a situation to give that any thought, as the other soldier had already raised his weapon and began firing it just as Dimitri leapt from the soldier on the ground, into the air.
He launched himself off the side of the wall and into the other guard before he had time to turn the machine-gun enough to shoot him. Once more, Dimitri tore into the man's throat, as he put an arm up to defend himself, but it immediately fell weakly back to ground. Lifting his head and looking around, still atop the bloodied corpse, Dimitri took in his surroundings for but a moment, searching for any more threats as the hallway continued to flash with red and white, intermittently, and was about to continue, when a door suddenly opened along the side of the hallway, and a tall, middle-aged man in a long white lab coat stepped out.
He glanced down the hallway, saw what had happened, and, open mouthed and terrified, immediately stepped back through the door and threw it closed. Dimitri, meanwhile, rushed past - he had no interest in killing everyone in sight; he just wanted to get out of there. Turning another corner and still on all-fours, his tail whipping behind him, he raced down another empty hallway, before finally making his way down yet another corridor, this one with windows along one wall giving glimpse into the cold, snowy night. He was almost to the end when three guards - all of them armed with machine guns - sprinted around the corner, stopping in their tracks as soon as they say Dimitri, who stood, slowing to a walking pace as the soldiers came cautiously and steadily slower with their weapons raised.
"Don't move! Get down," one of the soldiers shouted. Dimitri quickly realized that he couldn't get to them before they would shoot him, so he turned to charge in the opposite direction, and hopefully reach the other end of the hallway, when two more guards from that end rounded the corner, as well, likewise closing in on Dimitri with their machine-guns aimed at his head. For a few moments, he merely stood there, his hand held ready at his side, backing against the wall slowly, his head shooting from side to side as he debated what to do. His back hit the glass of the square window and an idea occurred to him. In one swift action, he raced forward and launched himself from the opposite wall, much to the surprise of the soldiers, and crashed through the glass, falling for several stories before he landed safely in a bed of freshly-fallen snow.
Remaining there for but a moment, he suddenly raised his head and, under the cover of darkness, rushed along the ground by the concrete wall of the complex, not wanting to charge out into the fields for fear of being spotted. Instead, he would work his way to the end of the building, where he could see a shadowy tree line of coniferous forest. The night was absolutely freezing, and the snow was up to his knees; but, expertly maneuvering on all fours, he managed to keep himself light enough to swiftly tread over most of it, and somehow maintained the will to battle the cold, but he was not sure for how much longer he could survive out there without clothing. He was almost to the tree line, when suddenly, through an iron door in the side of the wall, two soldiers - dressed in long, heavy green coats and ushankas - burst out into the night.
Thankfully, Dimitri was almost there, and by the time the first one to exit turned and saw him, he was halfway through the air, landing on the man with a growly-hiss. The soldier screamed as Dimitri tore into his neck, and when he looked up again, he saw that the other soldier, instead of staying to fight, was instead running away, his machine-gun clutched in one hand as he desperately sprinted through the snow.
Caught up in the intensity of the moment and confused, and with machine-gun fire now sounding from behind him in the distance somewhere, Dimitri raced forward, easily catching up with the man, who decided at the last second to turn and raise his weapon in fear, but he had no time to pull the trigger before he was pounced upon, a muffled groan being the last sound he made as the sound of flesh being torn and compressed pierced the night...
Ivan raced outside, his machine-gun held in his hands, and, sprinting through the snow, in the light that streamed through the open iron door, caught up with his comrades, who were staring out into the night, out at the hills before the forest. One of them was knelt over Andrei, who lay in the bloodied snow on the ground, his arm outstretched and his machine gun at his side. Ivan tried not to look at his fallen companion as he gazed out into the darkness. There was no trace of the creature: not a sign of where he could have gone. They all merely stood there, in their heavy coats and hats, staring out into the darkness, not really sure what to do next.
"What was that?" one of them suddenly stated, taking a step back. Ivan listened, and he could soon hear what sounded like the rustling of snow underfoot, only the footsteps were rapid, and close together...Suddenly, over the next hill, the figure raced into view, a long, green private's coat flapping behind it. He was probably within range to shoot, but no one moved - they were all too stunned to do anything. The creature disappeared over the next hill. Ivan swallowed.
"Well, now, this is a sight, for sure," a voice sounded behind him, accompanied by the sound of footsteps. Ivan turned and saw the commissar calmly approach and stand next to him, his hands thrust into the pockets of his long black coat. His eyes, under the brim of his peaked green cap, gazed out over the landscape. Ivan looked out over the hills again, and listened as a sudden screech pierced the air. He swallowed. "Shaken, soldier?" Ivan looked up at the commissar, whose gaze was still fixed on the horizon.
"We lost him, sir," he stated, as if that were somehow unknown. But the commissar did not seem to mind the redundancy of the comment.
"Indeed we have," he muttered, turning his head and gazing around at the corpuses of the two guards who had just been killed before the wall of the complex. "...I would say that our operations here have been a great success," he nodded, satisfied, yet in a serious manner.
"S- Sorry, sir?" Ivan turned again to the commissar, who was once more staring out into the emptiness.
"Lock down the facility," the commissar instructed, this time more coldly. "No one leaves until I give the orders."
"But, sir...The subject..."
"What about him," the commissar questioned, as if it was a stupid thing to bring up. "He'll die from the cold in hours, and if he doesn't, he'll be sure to stay away from any sort of settlement."
"But- Sir-"
"Lock down the complex," the commissar reaffirmed more firmly. Ivan swallowed.
"Yes, Commissar," he nodded.1
"Is he dead?" Was shouted from somewhere behind them. Both men turned to see Mikhailo standing there in the doorway, in a long brown coat, the white light from behind him largely silhouetting his figure.
"Let's go inside, doctor," the commissar stated with a touch of optimism as he trudged back through the snow, not addressing Mikhailo's question. "We have much work to do."
Footnotes:
- Technically, a Soviet commissar would not have had this much power or authority, so I did a bit of manipulating of history for the sake of this little short story (but, let's be frank: the protagonist is a scalie, so I'm not sure that this is too far fetched, by comparison).