Godhand

sorry for the long wait, dealing with problems in life.

I stared into her eyes, confusion filling my head. “My sister?” I responded.

 

“Yeah. Well, half-sister. Same mother, different father. You don’t remember because of the experiments performed on you.”

 

I studied her physical features, thinking of the possible resemblances, but couldn’t find any. I figured if she was, in fact, my sister, even though I would have no way of knowing, I would have to trust her in order to get into the facility.

 

“Well, are you gonna help me?” I asked, walking towards the door.

 

“Of course I will. What kind of sister would I be if I didn’t?”

 

I moved to the side as she input the passcode, then followed her into the facility. We walked down a series of hallways, passing doors with Cyrillic writing on them. I had no idea how I knew it was Cyrillic or that the writing was the style of Russians, but then again I had the same feeling about everything so far.

 

Jana stopped suddenly at a door with a wooden plaque on it that held her name and reached into her pocket, producing a set of keys, unlocking the door and letting me inside. As soon as I sat down in a comfortable leather armchair when the ceiling light came on, I took a good look around me. Time almost seemed to slow down with my observation of the room.

 

The chair I sat in was, in fact, fake leather, in a traditional black hue. The texture and smells are what gave it away, and I know what you’re thinking: How can he even know it’s fake when he can’t remember who he is? Well, it was one of those memory-inducing smells. So shut up.

 

Underneath the chair’s four cabriole legs lay a large rug, seemingly Persian in make, but most likely an American imitation. The buyer must’ve lost a few thousand dollars on that deal. It was large enough to fit the room from one wall to the other, the desk and a bookshelf resting on top of it.

 

The desk was an ornate thing; large, heavy, and sturdy, it was seemingly the darker of the only two black objects in the room, including the chair where my backside resided in for the moment. The desk looked impossibly dark, like someone made it out of hot tar that retained its color as it cooled, the dark hue reflected in the office chair behind the desk. A white notebook computer rested on the escritoire’s surface, along with a pen holder and a day by day calendar. The laptop seemed completely out of place on the piece of furniture, contrasting the colors as if it were the forces of light and darkness themselves.

 

Behind the desk rested a filing cabinet that looked as if it had lived through World War 2. It was covered in dents and scratches from top to bottom. From looking at it, I couldn’t tell if it was purple, blue, orange, or any other color when it was made, only that it was an ugly yellow now. The same color as the outside of the building, actually.

 

The last piece of furniture in the room was a large bookshelf, which took up the back wall entirely. It contained many books, all weathered and dog-eared from use. I couldn’t read any of the titles, even at the small distance I was at. Each and every book was black in color, and the weathered conditions of the novels made me believe they were spanning the age of fifty years to a century.

 

By the time my mind had finished its sweep of the room’s every detail, Jana had only shut the door and locked it. When I looked at her, she seemed to move sluggishly, like she was wading through a sea of tar.

 

That’s a neat trick I thought. Might be useful later. As soon as that thought ran through my head, my sister was moving faster than she was a second ago, proceeding to her desk and retiring into her chair.

 

“So,” she started. “What would you like to know?”

 

Straight to the point, I said “Who am I, and where did I come from?”

 

Her eyes misted over slightly as she recalled the information I asked for. “Your name is Ranscion Redgrave, born under the constellation of Ophiuchus on December 13^th. You were born in the Transylvanian region of Romania, in the city of Sighisoara.”  

 

“How old am I?”

 

“22 years old, to be 23 this year.”

 

“What is the date?”

 

“March 23^rd, 2015.”

 

“What was the purpose of mentioning Ophiuchus?”

 

“Well, you’ve always had an affinity for snakes and we looked into it.”

 

It was a slip up that I almost missed.

 

She had been answering my questions with ease, like a family member should. But the answers were coming a little too fast after I inquired about my age. It was as if…

As if she had rehearsed her answers a little too much.

 

Brave little experiment gone wrong that I was, I decided to test the water.

 

“What happened to me?” I asked several moments later.

 

“Godhand,” she stated immediately. “You were chosen for a revolutionary breakthrough of genetic manipulation that also had the side effect of turning your brown hair white and your eyes red. Unfortunately I do not have all of the details at this moment.”

 

She stood up.

 

The door opened, and the racking of a shotgun greeted me.

 

I sighed and reluctantly raised my hands in surrender.

 

“Good boy,” Jana said, a smirk on her face.

 

The man wielding the deadly weapon spoke without moving his eyes from my head.

 

“Is he going with her?” he asked, emphasizing on the final word.

 

“Why not? I’m sure he would enjoy it.”

 

That was when he whipped me across the face with the shotgun and everything went black.

 

I woke up in a prison cell on the floor, my cheek throbbing in pain. The cheekbones were probably broken from being whipped by that guy, and it felt wonderful to lay on the dirty, cold floor and have the pain eased by it. However, I didn’t want a spider to crawl into my nose and lay eggs, so I sat up and pried my eyes open weakly.

 

I groaned in pain as bright fluorescent light blinded me, but I fought past it and opened my eyes in defiance, being rewarded with a migraine.

 

The cell was a small containment area, only eight feet by six feet, with a metal toilet, sink, and cot that were all bolted down. The walls were institutional white, blaringly dull and made of concrete. The door was a regular construct of metal bars set on a sliding system for when the bars needed to be opened electronically. Everything in the area exemplified hopelessness and despair.

 

I stood and looked through the bars at the other cell across from me, seeing a motionless figure on the poor excuse for a bed, unable to tell whether or not it was a man from it being wrapped tightly in a wool blanket.

 

I rattled the door to my cell, testing the strength before noting that it couldn’t be bent, and when I tried my claws, the bars stung my hand with a small surge of electricity. I stepped back and massaged my hand, smiling at the bars when a young woman’s voice echoed in my head.

 

You might not want to try that again anytime soon, it said. The voltage increases dramatically with each escape attempt.

 

I looked around and thought Great, now I’m imagining information.

 

No you’re not, I’m across from you in the other cell. More privacy if we communicate like this.

 

Okay, I’ll bite. How can you communicate like this? I asked.

 

I was born blind, but have a genius level IQ that borders on criminal insanity. Once I was experimented on by the organization, they somehow boosted my ability. Normally, humans only use about ten percent of their brain when awake. Godhand boosted it to about fourty.

 

Godhand?

 

It’s an artificial virus, created by Black Widow, the organization that holds us captive. It mutates our DNA in positive ways, improving physical ability, mental capacity, and almost eliminating flaws. It is generally administered through a needle, but can be inhaled or ingested.

 

Any downside? I couldn’t find one, but there had to be a catch. This sounded too good to be true.

 

High mortality rate. Kills about ninety percent of people tested on because the body can’t handle the change. It’s also the reason why your hair is white and your eyes are red.

 

My stomach fell into a pit. So the little girl I’m looking for has a high chance of being dead.

 

Very.

 

I sat down on the cot. What’s the goal of the organization?

 

The world. They want all that you can see and more. Their endless greed already consumed them when they found King Solomon’s fabled treasure.

 

“But what-“ I started aloud before I was cut off by a huge squeal of moving machinery.  My cell started rising out of its place and into the room above, towards the ceiling that now opened up for the cell.

 

“What’s going on?!” I yelled to the woman.

 

“Prisoner transport! You’re leaving to Rome where the little girl went! You have to get to her and save her!”

 

“What’s so special about her?!” Our conversation was running short as I moved further.

 

“Everything and nothing! All in due time!”

Author's Note

tell me what i can improve on