elimination

Earthquake? The first word that pops into my mind upon awakening into a world that won’t stop shaking. We learned about them in science, but I have never heard of one actually happening. Warm sets of hands, one just above my knees and one against my back hold me in place. I am the one shaking, not the earth. The light burns my eyes as they reluctantly open to reveal one of the last people I expected to see: Switch. “She’s awake,” he calls earnestly across the room to Bump Nose. “Hold her still!” He replies sharply as 12 and 14 burst through the door making me jump out of my skin. In their white knuckled fists are four plastic pill bottles labeled with complicated sequences of numbers. 12 begins to read them off without having to even look at the label.

“625898425896436, 852906421678427, 490637842575338, and 095258953789643.” She tries to place the bottles on Bump Nose’s desk with a bit too much haste and they roll off and onto the floor where she chases after them. It would be comical if it weren’t for the fear in her eyes. Tight Rope emerges through the door holding an injection encased in a clear protective bag. She bites her lip as she leans back against the door catching her breath.

14 turns toward Switch, green eyes blazing with urgency. “Lay her across the desks.” Switch carefully picks me up and sets me across the first five desks. I don’t dare to utter a sound. He holds my ankles down. Bump Nose’s voice calls from across the room. “Whatever you do don’t let go.” Switch nods, scrutinizing his knuckles while 14 carefully holds down my shoulders. Tight Rope slowly approaches, the injection unwrapped. With a shaky hand she inserts the sharp metal tip into the depths of my neck. With a squirt the world goes dark.

I hate those dreams. The tranquilizer specials where you can tell that you’re dreaming yet it somehow still feels real. It’s somewhere between a daydream and a hallucination. Hallucination? I keep on hearing voices whispering that one word. What does it mean again? Right now I can’t remember. I will surely remember when I wake up. I scarcely ever forget anything. I am stuck sitting on a patch of dirt, legs crossed in a hole underground. I can see the sky up above, that’s where the voices are coming from. They whisper “hallucination, hallucination, hallucination, hallucination, hallucination, hallucination, hallucination. SHUT UP!!!!”

I wonder if they say it enough times will it still sound like a word? Maybe it’s not a word at all. I bet they are all sneezing up there or something, and it just sounds like that word from all the way down here. I scream “HALLUCINATION” up through the hole expecting the polite response for a sneeze, yet I hear nothing back. How rude. I yawn, allowing my eyes to blink closed for half a second. When I open them I am falling. The earth is parting beneath me. I look down to find an endless chasm of blackness. I scream but my panic is short lived. There is pressure surrounding my right hand, I look up to find it clasped by another hand coming in through the wall of earth. It lifts me up until once again I have a clear view to the dusky sky. I wait for the grip to pull me up and out of this hole, yet instead it begins to tighten until I can scarcely feel my hand and the bones of my fingers threaten to crumble.

Then it begins to morph, becoming increasingly blunt and clumsy in shape until I am staring at the arm of an ape. It goes in stages, finally becoming the misshapen limb of a quadruped before morphing into a fin that releases me, sending be falling back through the crumbling earth. I close my eyes in fear, but once again I am saved, the hand gripping with more ferocity than ever. This time the evolution is forward. The hand shifts in odd patterns fingers lengthening and shortening as the palm morphs in size and the fingernails begin to disappear. With every change it tightens more until I an screaming in pain. It becomes cruel looking, a weapon glowing in the darkness. The more advanced it becomes the less human it seems until I am forced to look away. Finally with a sickening crack my hand is reduced to dust and the earth caves in above me.

I awaken gasping for breath, my right hand clasped by an unknown force. I struggle in desperation, finally throwing my aggressor to the ground in a jolt of sudden movement. I open my eyes to find 12 strewn on the floor of Bump Nose’s room, eyes alight with shock. She winces as she carefully clenches and unclenches her bright red left hand. Bump Nose, 14, Switch and Tight Rope lean on the desks around me with weary expressions on their faces. They look at me like I am a wild animal, something nasty and carnivorous in need of stronger restraints. Bump Nose studies me carefully before rising from a slight slouch against his desk to full posture.

He walks about two paces forward and begins to speak. “Your services are no longer required. I convey to you my deepest appreciation. You are dismissed.” Tight Rope and Switch turn and leave. 12 emits a few stuttered words of protest before nodding her head and regarding me one last time with worried eyes. She grabs a rather dazed looking 14 by one of his crossed forearms and drags him through the door. She accidentally walks him into a desk on the way out. As the door closes I erupt into peals of laughter, but they are short lived, dissolved by the look in Bump Nose’s eyes.

Concern isn’t the right word for it. Concern implies worry for the well being of the subject of your concern. In an instant it is possible to deduce that the murky gray eyes now probing my brain have given up on my well being. It is as though this is my autopsy. He is driven to my bedside not by the desire to save me, but by an almost leisurely curiosity as to how I entered this most unfavorable state of being. He begins to pace in front of his desk, hands crossed behind his back. “What happened in the hallway Seven?” I purse my lips before beginning to speak with down turned eyes. “In the hallway I witnessed phenomena too bizarre for the natural world. Therefore I came to the conclusion that I was having a hallucination.” For a fragment of a second Bump Nose looks up, seemingly surprised at my blatant confession. Yet in instant he resumes his pacing. “How many times has this happened?”

“There have been no other hallucinations.” He seems to be expecting more, yet he nods his head. “Well, if you so desire we can ascertain that this will be your last hallucination.” Bump Nose shakes one of the pill bottles that 12 set down on the desk. My ears perk up. “Take one from each bottle every day and there is a reasonable chance that the hallucinations will stop. Unfortunately, I can not say the same of your other symptoms.” I swallow hard, my curiosity building. “How do you know this? How do you know about my symptoms? Why are you helping me?” He studies me with his eyes. “Seven, I am a member of the team that created you.”

The team that created me. I can feel my heart pound in my chest as I look a Bump Nose as though I am seeing him for the first time. He continues to speak. “Based on the reports of your Practical Training instructors, I have reason to believe that due to a mistake in the dosage of your sedative while you were being detained you are somewhat familiar with The Methylation Project.” I say nothing, but my eyes convey the affirmation he desires.

He leans back against his desk staring at me intently. “Seven is there anything you would like to ask me?” For a moment I hesitate. My first instinct is not trust him, yet by now I know my reservations are pointless. “What exactly is the Methylation Project?” He sighs. “Now that is far too complicated to explain in depth, yet this I can say: the purpose of this project unlike most experiments is not to create a new kind of human, or a better kind of human. Rather it is an experiment to see if the old type of human, from before the year 2100 could be made to survive in the environment of the modern day. You see Seven, the present degree of air pollution on Earth has a unique effect on living organisms. It makes it so that their methylation—which controls gene expression—no longer works as it should. Therefore you express your DNA in non-uniform ways. To give you some perspective: The 97% of DNA in the human genome that is not used—often referred to as “junk”DNA—is capable of being expressed. Ancient genes that remain in the genome from the early days of evolution can be expressed. Genes that were inserted by viruses over millions of years can be expressed. Not to mention how normal genes that ought to be expressed can be expressed incorrectly.”

I try to wrap my head around what he’s saying. So many questions spin through my mind I don’t know where to start. Thankfully he continues. “To solve this problem we created a mutation set capable of lessening the effects of the air pollution on your gene expression. It is also capable of pinpointing specific problematic genes in hope of fixing them. However, over the course of decades we were unable to create a test subject that would hold this full mutation set as an embryo and still be able to come to fruition. Over time there have certainly been improvements even with the partial mutation, the physical symptoms are gone as well as most physiological symptoms. However one important physiological symptom remains in every generation: sudden outbursts of violence and delirium triggered by moments of great emotional stress and accompanied by excess salivation. It is the single most bizarre scientific phenomenon I have ever seen and I have spent many years studying it. Seven, you are the first test subject to ever hold the full mutation set. This doesn’t mean the air pollution will have less effect on you, however it does mean that I have a much better chance of being able to finally identify what genes are causing your psychological symptoms and fixing the problem.”

I try to absorb his every word. This is too much information to all fit in my brain. I try to organize it but it gets impossibly tangled. “Why is this happening now? I had brief episodes as a child but it has never been this bad.” At this Bump Nose’s eyes sparkle with intellectual curiosity. “Now that is quite the intriguing point. Every Test Subject has lasted only up until their eighteenth year—which uniquely coincides with?” I rack my brain. “Practical Training.” He beams. “Very good, my theory is that the emotional stress caused by Practical Training causes some sort of hormonal change that triggers this psychological degeneration. I would assume that your first episode of psychosis was set off by a distinct moment of strong emotional stress.” I think back to the cracking of Dagger’s ribs and shutter. Bump Nose reads my facial expressions and begins to speak quietly. “Don’t worry, I won’t pry.” I nod thankfully as he continues. “I wanted the test subjects in The Methylation Project to bypass Practical Training, but my more perfectionist colleagues insisted they be able to withstand it.” The annoyance in his voice is palpable. Who are these other colleagues?

I look out the window at the pitch black sky and begin to worry at the time. “I have only two more questions.” Bump Nose nods and regards me pensively. “So I am somehow the exact same as a human from before 2100 and that’s why the methylation affects me. What does that mean for everyone else? All the other Titles aren’t...human?” He shakes his head. “I certainly wouldn’t go so far as to say not human. Basically the other Titles were bioengineered to be able to survive in this environment. Much was done to them that makes them unique from you or from ancient humans. The only distinction you have from ancient humans is your mutation, which is fairly minor.” I nod. “What’s the point of making me like an ancient human?” Bump Nose sighs. “Now that is a conversation for another day.” He gets up and begins to escort me to the door. Suddenly I panic. What if this is my last chance for answers? “Wait!” He stops. “Yes Seven.” I take a deep breath. “What exactly is going to happen to me?”

He sighs and purses his lips. “Seven there is a good probability you will make it to Level Three due to the impatience of the other members of my team. They are fed up with waiting for a successful test subject to come out of the Methylation project. Since you were the first test subject to hold the full mutation, they want you to proceed to Level Three regardless. However, that being said, if your symptoms get bad enough, if you kill enough other Titles, then we might have to put you out of commission. I am currently attempting to use data taken during your detainment to pinpoint the specific genes causing your symptoms. Yet I have no idea if I will be able to fix the problem.” A tiny glint of pity shines in his eye.

“Seven be smart, try and control this. If you can then all will be perfectly fine. As of now the other members of my team are refusing to put you out of commission under any circumstances.” He sounds exasperated. I back up. With a shivering voice I begin to speak. “You’re the one who wants to put me out of commission?” Bump Nose regards me as though I have just run him through with a knife. His words are soft as raindrops. “Seven I do not want to put you out of commission. Yet you must understand; if you develop the same level of blood-lust the test subjects who came before you did, I will have no choice.” I look down at my hands and discover that they have begun to shake. “Seven, the fate of everything depends on this project. You have no idea how important you are, how important The Methylation Project is. I just want this to work. We can’t succeed with a defective test subject. I will do everything in my power to fix you.” I nod once and in an instant I am out the door running.