Chapter 2A Chapter by Domenic LucianiPicking up the action and the interest here.The observation room was little more
than a narrow corridor, dimly lit and packed with people in various colors of
scrubs, all muttering quietly to one another. A hush fell over the gathering as
the door slid open and Beck and Andrew entered. They were recognized and the
collective murmuring resumed. The right side of the wall was fixed with a row
of one-way mirrors that looked out onto another, larger room with concrete
walls and a single hanging light. The room was also set about ten feet lower
than the observation room, so Beck had to lean over the consoles in front of
the windows to get a good look at what the vast majority of scientists at
MedTech referred to as ‘subjects’. Eight children, boys and girls, aged
anywhere from toddlers to older teens where standing in a line in front of an
empty white desk. The children all wore grey clothing with the numbers “117” to
“125” clearly labeled over the left breast pocket. The heads of the departments
would now be bidding on which subject they wanted which best suited their
needs. “I’m thinking of that one there,” said
a chubby man in blue scrubs. “Number 119"you know, the thinner ones always make
the best subjects for studying eating disorders.” That would be Heimlich, Beck thought,
the head of the Department of Food Cultures and Habits. The child Heimlich had
pointed to was a frail looking boy who couldn’t have been a day older than
nine. He had neatly trimmed straight black hair and was looking down solemnly
at his toes. The head of the Department of Chemical
and Nuclear Understanding quickly and without question nabbed an older looking
blonde boy who kept his hands balled into fists and was looking around
nervously. The Department of Domestic Defense usually got landed with the more
fit children, but as an unspoken rule, you do not argue with the DCNU. Once,
someone tried to steal an untested formula that was meant to cure erectile
dysfunction. His corpse was found a week later in his apartment. The statements
said he died of an overdose of the medication, but a few people had gotten in
to see the body and they said he had been covered with blisters that suggested
a chemical burn. Anyone who had any sort of feud with the DCNU pretty much
backed off after that. One by one, the children were argued
over, a few moans of aggravation and cheers of triumph clearly audible. As the
head of Botanical Sciences, he was entitled to choose a subject, but was not
questioned when he didn’t. Only a few select people knew of his research, and
even they had ceased trying to talk him into taking on human subjects years
ago. “Still nothing, huh?” asked a balding
older gentleman in green scrubs, sitting on a chair with his arms folded. “I have all the plants I need, Alan,”
Beck said. “They don’t bite, they don’t kick, and if they die, I can just throw
them in the trash. “Well, if you give them a little
morphine, they’re not much different from plants then.” “Are you suggesting we’re throwing them
out now?” said Beck. “Well, we are being encouraged to
consume and discard of used products these days,” replied Alan, entirely
unaware how close Beck was to knocking him out of his chair. Andrew caught on to what was happening
and intervened. “Beck,” he said. “Could I have a word with you?” Andrew eyed
him cautiously. “Outside?” “Of course,” Beck said, giving his best
fake smile. “Excuse us, Alan.” Alan nodded, uninterested. Once outside, Andrew gripped Beck
lightly by the shoulder and led him down the corridor. “Let’s go grab some
coffee.” Andrew said cheerfully. “I already had some this morning,” Beck
replied. “Oh, I insist.” “Honestly, I’m fine,” But Andrew would
not take no for an answer. An hour later, Beck was walking back to
his office, a half cup of coffee still boiling in the tin mug. His office door
slid open upon approach, which was strange. He could have sworn he locked it on
his way out. There was a man sitting at his desk
when he walked in"a strange man who Beck had never seen before. He was wearing
a navy blue suit and a blood-red tie. Beck’s computer was on, and a cord hooked
up to it was connected to a handheld device in the man’s disturbingly thick
fingers. Beck considered asking what the man
wanted, but figured the evidence was on his side. “Hey!” he shouted angrily. “What do you
think you’re doing?” Instead of snapping to attention, the
man simply glanced up calmly, finished up what he was working at, stood up and
offered Beck his own chair. “Doctor Huxley,” the man said
nonchalantly. “Please have a seat.” Without waiting for Beck to react, the
man continued. “The chairman wants to know what you’ve been up to these past
few months. We understand that a project like yours is ambitious and takes
time, but he and the board are growing somewhat impatient.” “I have been making progress,” Beck
said. “Of course you have. I was looking at
your research earlier, however, and I’m curious. Where exactly are you planning
to go with it?” Beck opened his mouth to answer, but
the man put up a hand to silence him. “It was a rhetorical question, I’m not
actually interested. The chairman simply asked me to come down and make sure
things were moving at a satisfactory pace.” “I assure you it is.” Beck still had
not moved from the doorway. “Good. Glad to hear it. However, the chairman
would like you to know that if your pace slips, even a little bit, then, and I
quote, ‘A catalyst will be introduced to speed up the process.’” “I can’t work any faster,” Beck said,
exasperated now. “So long as you don’t work any slower,
there shouldn’t be a problem.” With that, the man left, and Beck was
alone in his office. The coffee cup was still in his hand. He threw it against
the wall as hard as he could, exploding the cup and spraying its contents
everywhere. Coffee streamed down the glass before swirling down the drain,
though quite a bit remained pooled on the floor. He pressed the button at his
desk and called for someone to come clean it up. Beck sat down in his chair, feeling
like a stranger in his own space. He quickly logged onto the computer to see
what information the man might have pulled up. On the screen, his notes were up and
scrolled to the bottom. No surprise there, Beck had hoped he would look through
these. What was there was all true and accurate data. It was the second tab that
concerned him. His email account was up, but again, no immediate danger. Most
of the emails were from other members of the department and a few general
notices to employees. However, a few messages sparse and hidden within the
mounds of business mail were a few messages from Tyler. Anyone looking at the
inbox would assume it was a son asking his father when dinner would be, or
where they would meet up after Beck got out of work, but Tyler had never once
sent an email to his father. In fact, there were several contacts listed under
his son’s name. There were a few with his mother’s name, and at one point Sarah
had had a few contacts under her name as well. He looked at the first message listed
under Tyler and opened it. It read “Hey, dad. I’m staying late at school
for a project. Would you mind hanging around until about 8 O’clock, outside the
old coffee shop? Thanks. "Ty” It was a message from the captain. Beck
typed a quick response and shut off the computer. He leaned back in his chair
and swiveled around in it for a while with his eyes closed, trying to imagine
himself in a forest. He had not been to a forest since he was much younger, so
it was difficult to picture. The trees all looked like preschool drawings of
Christmas trees with jagged lines for leaves and branches. He gave up. Instead
he imagined sitting on the couch watching television. Much easier. A janitor arrived wearing a white
jumpsuit with blue stripes down the side. Beck didn’t get a good look at his
face; he was gone the minute the janitor entered. Beck didn’t like to be around
the cleaning staff. For some reason they made him uncomfortable. Maintenance
staff lived in the facility. For security reasons, they weren’t allowed to
leave. Before Beck worked for MedTech, people inside had been leaking secrets
to other companies, and this was their attempt to plug up the hole. Beck sauntered down the hall, peeking
into offices, looking for anyone he liked well enough to have a conversation
with. No go; most of the offices were empty. How long could it take to clean up
coffee? Beck thought nervously to himself. He was thinking about checking back
when something caught his eye. A flash of scrubs"Purple: not his
department. He went down the corridor the person had run down and followed. He
usually received notification when someone from another department needed
something from Botanical Research. The corridor eventually ended up in the
testing chamber, the room Beck had been trying to avoid as much as possible for
months. He stopped for a moment when he realized this, finger hovering inches
away from the door button. No choice. Turning around and walking away didn’t
feel like an option. Besides, he thought, I’ve been facing all sorts of fears
today, it seems. Click. The door opened and
Beck entered. The first room was a sterilization
room. White hazard gear hung from glass lockers along the wall. It got
exhausting to throw on the hazard gear every day, so now most of the scientists
only wore it if they were sure to be dealing with genuinely hazardous chemicals
that day. Aside from being inconvenient, they were terribly uncomfortable and
were one-size fits-all. They were shapeless and the joke was that they were
one-size-fits-none. Beck ignored the
signs warning of the dangers of not wearing a hazard suit and continued over to
the sterilization chamber. The door was sealed shut and someone
wearing a hazard suit stood motionless inside. After a moment, Beck rolled his eyes
and pounded on the glass. No response, the person was facing away from him. He
moved over and hit the intercom and yelled “Hey!” The person in the hazard suit looked
around quizzically then turned to Beck. “It’s not on, dumbass,” Beck said. “Just hit
the green button next to the door.” The person looked at the green button
then turned back to give Beck a thumbs up as thanks. “Idiot,” Beck mumbled to himself as the
blob of the hazard suit awkwardly waddled into the next room. Beck went through himself, not even
waiting for the doors to fully open to step into the next room. The room beyond
was referred to as the dorm rooms. It was where the test subject (had there
been any) were kept. There were no actual rooms, rather eight large glass
boxes, four on either side of the room, with beds, toilets and sink. Various
tubes and hoses were hooked into the top of the box. All of the boxes were
empty. The hazard suit guy had already disappeared
into the room ahead. Beck stopped and glanced over at the door on the right.
The double doors were thick and beyond there was another sterilization chamber,
and beyond that were the gardens; a deadly jungle of genetically modified
plants and trees, many of which were engineered by Beck himself. Without a
hazard suit, a five minute venture into the room would most likely fatal,
depending on which toxin got to you first. Once, one of Beck’s scientists was
inside adding a catalyst to a rose that was meant to make it bloom prematurely,
but instead, the rose grew poisonous barbs that punctured the suit and
subsequently caused the man’s skin to melt off his bones. Beck shivered at the
memory of the post-mortem clean up He pressed on. The third room was apparently where the
party was. Beck was instantly bombarded by loud voices and sweaty bodies. The
noise was indistinguishable and everyone was moving about so wildly, Beck had
no choice but to make his way to the console on the far side of the room. The
man at the desk glanced up as Beck came near. At first his head went back down,
but then snapped back up as recognition hit. A look of horror washed over him. “Give me that,” Beck grumbled as he
grabbed the microphone. The man stuttered a raspy reply and quickly sank away
into the crowd. “Everybody
shut up!” He yelled into the mouthpiece. The commotion stopped immediately. Some
looked around curiously, but most recognized the voice and turned towards Beck
solemnly. The man in the hazard suit was facing the opposite direction and
continued trying to have a muffled conversation with a scientist. “Somebody, please tell me what the hell
is going on here,” Beck asked. “And somebody get that guy out of here!” He pointed at the man in the suit who had
yet to notice that anything was happening at all. Someone escorted the suit-guy out of
the room, but other than that, everything was silent. Nobody made eye contact.
A woman pointed over to the two way mirror that looked into a smaller version
of the observation room. Beck glanced down into the room and drew a sharp breath.
Laying unconscious on a gurney was a
small boy, one of the youngest he had ever seen, with sandy brown hair and
scrawny limbs. As he watched, someone wearing a hazard suit was hooking up a
series of tubes into his arms. The tubes stemmed from a clear pack of opaque
green fluid. “Hey!” Beck called out, pounding on the
window, “Stop! Hey!” He turned to the scientists, all with
downcast eyes and guilty looks. He pushed through them in a frenzy, calling for
people to put a stop to it, but he was at the stairwell before anyone else
could respond. He burst through the door and into the concrete room below. The
man in the suit looked up at him. “D-Doctor Huxley,” It was all he got out. Beck tackled him
to the floor and made a grab for the tubes, but it was too late. The fluid was slowly flowing into the
boy’s body. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked at Beck oddly, as if he was
an old friend who had shown up unexpected. Then he looked down at the tubes and
his eyes widened. His breathing quickened until he was hyperventilating. His
limbs, strapped to the gurney, began to flail about. His heart was beating so
quickly, that Beck could see the thumps as they pounded against the boy’s
chest. Then the formula, whichever one they
had been using, started to take effect. The boy’s skin turned a sickly shade of
yellow, and then continued until it was an effervescent green. His veins pushed
up against his skin and even they began to change color to a violent purple. Beck looked up to the window; the
scientists concealed behind the black pane. He knew they must be watching.
Concerned only for themselves. They had taken matters into their own hands,
what would Beck do to them? But at the moment, Beck could think of nothing else
other than the boys life. Already his mind was flashing back. He had been here
before. Sarah. The boy’s breathing stopped. His heart
stopped pounding. An eerie calmness fell over his green skin. “Quick!” he yelled. “Someone grab the
vials from my office!” He looked at the man in the hazard suit struggling to
stand up. “You! Grab the defibrillator from the wall.” He didn’t wait for
anything to happen, he went right to work giving the boy CPR. He didn’t know
what contact with him might do to his own body, but he pushed the thought from
his mind. The boy coughed after a minute, but quickly fell back into a comatose
state. The hazard suit man finally appeared
with the defibrillator and Beck moved away. Charge, “clear” zap! Charge, “clear”, zap! Charge, “clear”, zap! Beck pushed the man out of the way and
held his ear to the boy’s chest. Nothing. The door opened and an out-of-breath
scientist rushed in holding all three pink vials. Beck grabbed one at random"He
didn’t quite know what any of them might do, so he wasn’t going to be
choosy"stuck the vial into a compatible syringe and injected it into the boy’s
forearm. The reaction was immediate. His eyes
shot open, his breathing started again and he started screaming. The green skin
color persisted though. Beck pushed the boy back when he struggled with his
bindings, but he wasn’t flailing about like before. When the boy calmed down, Beck removed
the tubes from his arm and handed them to the man in the suit. Then his mind
went blank. What was in his system? What could be done for the boy? Beck
considered asking the scientists upstairs, but his anger with them was returning,
and it was so seething he could not imagine talking to any of them without
knocking their heads in first. He put his hands on his head and took deep
breaths, just how Sarah told him to do when he was mad. No dice. His mind was
torn between rescue and revenge and he couldn’t focus on either. “My head hurts,” the boy said. Beck turned to him. “My tummy hurts, too.” The boy’s voice
was little more than a whimper. He made up his mind. “Someone get down
here, now!” No response. He glared at the mirror,
demanding someone come down and face him. He wondered for a moment if they had
all left, stranding the other two in a concrete room with the sick child, Beck,
and his anger. The door opened a woman walked out. She wore thick glasses that
enlarged her eyes so much she barely looked human. The boy was moaning loudly now, his
body tensed and tightened as he struggled against the restraints. “What did you put into him?” Beck
growled at the woman. “I’m sorry, Doctor. The MK 201
formula,” she said, her enormous eyes widening in shock as the boy started
screaming and arching his back high off the bed. The MK 201 formula was an old super
soldier recipe that had been scrapped due to its incurable effects on the body.
It made the skin hard like bark, but solidified the joints as well, and so
those who had received it might have been able to withstand a bullet to the
chest, but they were rendered almost entirely immobile. However, sponsor
interest in the formula had been huge so Beck wasn’t entirely surprised someone
was trying to reintroduce it. Beck jumped back as something struck
him hard in the chest. He looked down to see a branch. A tree branch had
sprouted from the boy’s index finger. The transformation happened so quickly,
Beck hardly had any time to react. In Beck’s mind, everything happened slowly.
When he would think back to it, he could recall it only as a series of images,
like vignettes, thrown together in no particular order. First the boy was
there, and then the tree, and then the terrible in-between-thing. He could
recall the sound of music playing, not something tragic, but something
beautiful"upbeat even. A concerto, perhaps. The boy’s fingers turned to branches,
then his hands. The restraints snapped as his arms and legs thickened and grew
bark. His body elongated and contorted. His legs fused together and his toes
grew roots. His neck sprouted leaves that hid his face as it split into two and
became branches themselves. He was on his feet now, or at least what was left
of them, and walking toward Beck, branches held out to him as if to grab, but
the joints would not flex anymore. He kept growing, more and more branches
sprouting. Beck moved backwards until he was against the wall, and then he was
trapped. The tree-thing continued towards him until it seemed its foot was
caught on something, but its roots had burrowed through the concrete into the
ground, keeping him in place. Its movements became more laborious as the bark
solidified. It continued to grow until it was pushing against the ceiling of
the room. The two-way mirror shattered as the branches would not be stopped. The door opened and a group of hazard
suit-clad men rushed in with flamethrowers. “No!”
Beck screamed as they began spraying the tree with fire. Beck crouched down to
protect himself as the room became an inferno. The tree wailed in agony, a deep bellow
that could never have been made by a human. The green leaves were now wrought
with angry red embers. It seemed to tremble, utilizing every last bit of
mobility it had left. The limbs cracked. What was it that was breaking, Beck
thought, a limb or a bone? It could be anything. A group of men were ushering him out of
the room, the creature still crying out"piercingly, even as the doors shut
closed behind him. “Come on,” one said to him. The group
of men walked him to the elevator and took him to the top floor of the
building. They sat him down in the recreational room and then left him. He sat
alone on the hard-cushioned bench with his head in his hands. He could hear the
rain rattle against the skylights above. It was too quiet here, he thought. He could feel his heart beating against his
chest. This feeling was all too familiar. Loss and failure, they ate away at
him. He thought of Sarah, and how she had transformed in much the same way. It
was an experience one should hope to never go through once let alone twice. His
wife was dead, and now so was this nameless boy. Beck had known him as a tree
almost longer than he had known him as a human. What have we done? He thought. What have I done? © 2012 Domenic LucianiAuthor's Note
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Added on February 10, 2012 Last Updated on February 21, 2012 AuthorDomenic LucianiBuffalo, NYAboutThat is my real name, and that is really me in the picture. Like Patrick says, I'm not in the witness protection program. I mostly write books and stories. I like fantasy, or fiction, but if.. more..Writing
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