1
MINDLESS PAINFUL EXPERIMENTING LABORATORY (MPE LABORATORY)
Day 1,122 (3 years and 27 days)
4AM
“Test subject 000, wear your test clothes and make your way to room 013”
If you didn’t know from my other 1,121 entries, it’s a normal occurrence for my kidnappers to wake me up at 4am every morning and do slightly painful, and wholly annoying experiments on me, while I wear my fashionable white cotton test clothes. Which isn’t any different from my white cotton night clothes, my white cotton day clothes —you get the picture. Side note – I’ll never admit this to their faces, but I am slightly impressed about the material of the clothing. No leaks, no stains, completely period friendly. But I’m pretty sure that they didn’t do it with us ‘female subjects’ in mind. Yep, I’m quite certain it was to do with the blood from experiments staining the white clothes and ruining the regal white aesthetic that they have going on. I hate white. Hate with a capital H.
I squint at the intercom, knowing I’ll likely never see who’s behind the voice, but I always imagine. Is it a pretentious woman with pursed lips and specific hatred for level 5 16-year-olds, or is it just a robot? Most likely the latter. The snowy lights glare down at me turning my cage, (aka my room) into a sterile white glow. Not the good type of glow. Not that I know what the good type of glow is.
Room 013 again. The infamous testing room. The place where they prod, measure, record and do all other insanities.
Things I already know
·My kidnappers will act scared of me because I am a level 5, and I am ‘highly unpredictable’.
·The walls will be suffocatingly white, the lights manufactured to erase any shadow, or detail—like I need more reasons to squint.
·I will follow all their instructions and act like they have broken me, yet I will still disappoint them when I fail to show them the full extent of my abilities.
Things I don’t know
·Whether Dr. Carter will be there. The only person who treats me like a human being and not like some super freak lab rat who will kill you.
·If today’s the day I do what they expect me to do—which is finally cracking, because they push me to my limit, and kill everyone.
·If the vents are faulty.
The intercom clicks.
“000, Do not forget to bring your gloves.”
Right. How could I forget. The one thing that sets me apart from all the other subjects is the gloves. Not the white snow gloves that all subjects wear when going outside. Black gloves. One that says don’t let her touch you, she’s dangerous. In my whole three years of being at MPE I have never touched anyone. I could say that for my whole life. Because I do not remember my life before MPE. No subject does. Or so they tell me. Just like they tell me my ‘amnesia’ is just a ‘long term side-effect to previous testing’. Like they totally wanted me to remember who I was before. I only have my name. Just like everyone else. The only thing we have. The only thing they didn’t take away from us.
The intercom clicks as a ‘gentle’ reminder, which is also their way of saying hurry up and let me draw blood from you already. Charming. And yes, there are cameras in my room. I look at the clock. 4:01 am. In my 3 years and 27 days of being at MPE I’ve learnt to write quickly. I’m at the stage where my handwriting is legible. You should’ve seen the crazy scrawl from my first year here. Well, that was the time where I think I was actually going mad. I always slip this diary into my special ultra top-secret hiding place. Inside my bed. In my 2nd year here, I got skilled enough to lift a testing knife from one of the lab rat overlords. It might sound stupid, but they are very sharp. I would know. I used that knife to dig a huge hole in the mattress. It doesn’t look like a big hole from outside but inside it’s really deep. That’s where I keep this diary, other things I’ve lifted like medical supplies, bandages, painkillers—because experiments hurt, and no one treats my injuries properly. Toiletries, self-explanatory I keep these ones, so I have loads, I only use the ones they give me. A flashlight, pretty small though but it works. Energy bars, I have a lot and when I mean a lot I mean a lot. Plus, they expire in like 30 years so that’s a bonus. (And I’m not planning to stay here long). A few security cards. Maybe its deactivated, maybe it barely works but I will need it—soon. Blueprints, lab notes, maps. The map is the best thing. I memorised it when I first lifted it and know I could walk through this place blindfolded even to the places I haven’t been to like the restricted area. And the things I stole because I can—a pen that isn’t mine. It might be small, but writing is one of the things keeping me sane and I refuse to use the ones they give me. It might have a camera in it. Or a tracking device which is even worse. Glass or metal scraps, I didn’t really steal them I just swiped a load from the outside floor whenever I got pushed down—and believe me when I say that I get pushed down a lot. And last but definitely not least a watch. I lifted this before a got the ‘privilege’ to have a clock but it’s still useful for when I leave.
Note to self
·Lift a few new pens. This one has a few days at least before it gives out.
·Get a bag, or more realistically a medical pouch where else am I supposed to put all these things.
·Leave nothing behind.
I look at the clock and almost smile. Its still 4:01 and my writing is still legible. I’m a legend. I roll out from underneath the bed, pushing out the covers. The only thing I like about this place is the bed. It’s the only thing that is comfortable. I sleep underneath the bed so I put a load of blankets under the bed and propped up a few pillows. It’s like a cosy tent. Its probably so nice because it used to be a staff dorm. I can’t be in the other rooms with the other subjects. I’m too important. Or I like to think that. The wardrobe is big as well. Not massively but I have space to change into my test clothes. I open the wardrobe and take a deep breath. Time to be their perfect little puppet. I bow my head and close the doors. I slip my back gloves on from the table and walk out of the door, head low, face expressionless. It’s showtime.
