1: Caged Beasts
My cell is small. Narrow. They say it's because I'm mischievous, but I have done nothing wrong. Nothing but talk to the other inmates — sorry,
patients.
There are a bunch of us, but I hate how alone I feel. I'm one of the handful of
experiments —
no,
patients,
who is half-nonhuman.
I am an alien. Well, my DNA is half-alien, but not the kinda space alien, like you'd see on TV. (Yes, we have TV here. No, I don't think this is funny) — I am partially from another reality. Because of this fun feature, I can do many things with my mind.
I am telekinetic, I can read and communicate with the minds of others, I can astral project, I can also manipulate the pulses in someone's brain, giving them anxiety or pain or relief. Really, I do not know what I am not able to do. Well, I guess I kinda do. I can't get out of here.
Sitting on the cot in my cell, staring at the gray walls, hugging my legs to my chest, I sigh. To most people, I look totally human. But that is, except for my eyes and hair. My eyes are two different colors, one yellow, one green. And my hair is purple. My hair is cut short, so they don't have a problem getting to my scalp for leads and stickers and other random testing things.
My skin is white as the moon, and I am very "skinny", or so I've been told. I am short, for my species, apparently, but I am pretty tall by human female standards. Being six feet tall is an advantage, I guess. Most of the females here are around five and a half feet tall. Some are shorter than that, but I'm the only female who's that tall in here. However, there is one prisoner — patient — here who is taller than I am. They said his name is Dylan.
I've only ever seen him once, and they said he's very dangerous. They were trying something special with him, so they said. Something that would make him less human than any of the others. I do not know what they meant by that, but I hate it.
If it wasn't for Dr. Avery, we wouldn't have real names. I am Subject Six, and my real name is Cassiopeia. Dr. Avery had to tell me how to spell my name, and how to say it correctly, when I was very young. I was born here, or made here, I don't really know. Cassie-oh-pee-uh, that's how to say my name. Spelling it isn't exactly easy, so most of the time, I write Six.
Dr. Avery taught me how to write. She's very kind, but I am worried that someday, they'll replace her with someone mean. I dread that day.
Suddenly, my ears pick up light footsteps in the hall outside my cell door. My ears are pointed, like an elf, as Dr. Avery says. I don't know what an elf is, but I like the word a lot. Elf. Elf. Elf.
The door to my cell swings open, and I look up. Dr. Rodriguez steps into the room, his white lab coat trailing a slice of fabric behind him like a tail. He approaches me, removes the stethoscope from around his neck, and presses it to my chest.
"Have you been eating, Six?" he asks me.
"Yes," I say.
"Good," he says.
The door opens and Ann, one of the nurses, comes in. She clasps her hands before her, and Rodriguez turns to glare at her. "Can I help you?"
"It's time for social period for her," she says.
Rodriguez sighs. "Fine. I'll be done shortly." He turns to me, and rolls his eyes. His thoughts flutter into my mind. If only we didn't have to worry about the freaks falling behind mentally when they don't socialize, we wouldn't have to deal with the bullshit of them having social time. Then we could get more work done. If only....
I look away when he takes my blood. The vials are full of purple blood, a mix of my human and alien heritage. The aliens I am halfway part of are blue-blooded, and humans are red. So, my blood is purple.
Rodriguez steps back and collects the eight vials of blood. He leaves without another word, and Ann walks over, unhooking the chains that are on my ankles, she then leads me to the door, down some long halls, and into the large room that's full of other prisoners.
Without saying anything, I walk over and sit at the empty table in the corner. They have a fish tank in here, it's pretty big, but it's not full of fish. A girl swims in the water, her arms are covered in scales and fins and she has webbed feet and hands, she has gills and green hair that reminds me of the things called seaweed I've seen on TV.
To my left, sits a table full of other experiments. One boy has blue skin, one girl has dark red eyes and gray skin, with no hair on her head. She too has elf ears. Another girl has a scorpion tail and sharp fangs and claws. The guy beside her has fur and antlers, he reminds me of a deer.
Suddenly, someone sits down beside me. I do not look, as I've learned the hard way to never look at the other experiments directly. At least when they're so close to you.
"Hi," a deep voice says beside me.
Against my better judgment, I turn my head. I think this is Dylan, the most dangerous of us. But he doesn't look dangerous. Of all of us, he looks the most normal. He has pale skin, white like the moon only not as pale, his eyes are brown, his hair is messy and dark brown, and he has a sharp jawline that could cut me if I touched it. He's also taller than me by about five inches. He wears a white t-shirt and grayish blue pants, and he is looking right at me.
Suddenly, I feel self-conscious. I am wearing nothing but a hospital gown. Not to mention that I'm very obviously a freak, not wholly human. But then again, if he's here, maybe he isn't, either.
"Hi," I whisper back.
"I'm Dylan, or Subject Fifteen," he says. The way he says that word makes it sound like there are more than two e's in it.
I smile at him. "Cassiopeia, or Subject Six."
"Cassiopeia. Can I call you Cas for short?"
I look at him. He's not joking. He's not being mean. So ....
"Sure," I say.
"Okay, Cas," Dylan says.
"They said you were mean and scary. Dangerous. But you don't seem to be," I say, watching his face.
He surprises me by laughing. It's a wonderful sound. It makes my heart sing.
"No, I'm not any of those things," he says.
"Then we failed."
We both look up as Dr. Anderson walks up to us. He's one of those mean ones. He hates us all.
"Come along, Dylan. Back to work."
Dylan looks at me. I shrug and put my chin on my knees. He sighs and stands up. He follows Dr. Anderson out of the room, and looks back at me one last time as he rounds the corner. He looks sad, maybe even scared. I want to run to him and tell him it'll be okay. But I don't. I offer him a sad smile, and he gives me one back. Then, he's gone.
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