Gene. Sys. by Aaron Denius (feel good books .TXT) 📗

is no compassion. They just do what they are ordered to do. I see now why they call us drones. The pair don't even look at me as they head back to the elevator.

Once they are gone, I shift closer to the front of my cell. I get a better look at the mound of flesh and bones on the ground before me.

“Are you okay?” I break the silence.

The mound moves but does not respond. After a few moments, I lie back down on my mat and fall back to sleep.

The darkness is interrupted by flashes of white and color. The last flash wakes me up. I look around for the colors' source, but everything seems to be as it was when I lay down. It's dark and cold, and the body still lies in the middle of the cell across from me.

A whimper from the body draws my attention. I lean closer and can tell that the person is crying. My muscles clench at each whimper. I want to ease them of their pain.

“Are you okay?” I try again.

“I want to go home,” a muffled voice answers back.

“Where is home?” I pry.

The body sits up, and I finally get a good look at my neighbor. It's a girl, which I didn't expect. Her clothes are dirty and tattered. She's not from the compound. Her short, dark hair hangs in front of her face. Though caked in dirt, blood, and tears, her face screams innocence. I can't imagine her doing anything or hurting anyone to put her in a place like this. She is here because she is an outsider, and in the eyes of those who run this compound, that is a crime. It sickens me. What gave the scientists divine control?

“You're one of them.” The girl's words snap me out of my head. I must have been staring.

“One of who?” I ask.

“Those clones. The ones that captured me and brought me down here,” she replies. Her eyes study me hard.

“Yeah. Well, I used to be.” I don't feel like one anymore.

She moves to the front of her cell. Her face winces at the pain. “What do you mean you used to be? Why are you down here?”

“I was shot in the eye, so I can't do my job anymore.” I run my hand over my eye patch. It's funny how now that I see things with a new perspective, I only have one eye to do it with. “They were supposed to kill me as they do with every other useless drone, but Atom saved me.”

“Azazel!” she shouts. It startles me.

“What?” I retort.

“He's the devil! He's the reason we are all going to die!” The disdain in her face is physical, and the anger behind it makes my skin shiver.

“No. He's—please don't. He doesn't even know.” I stumble over my words.

Her anger recedes, and the pain returns. Her eyes spew out tears. “I just want to go home. I want to see my family.”

I sit back on my mat, unsure of what to say. Is there a way I can help her get back to her family? I can't imagine what she must be feeling. Before meeting Atom, I wouldn't even know how to define family. The other drones are not family. Work as one, care for none. That's how we are programmed. It's a sad existence. Atom helped me realize that there is more out there. More people, more experiences, more perspectives. He feels more like family than any of the drones ever have.

The girl's crying has stopped, and I can tell by the rhythm of her breaths that she's asleep. I lie back down on my mat and close my eyes. All I want to do down here is sleep. They must be pumping some kind of gas in here. It makes sense—if you are sleeping all the time, you can't cause any problems. The blackness comes hard.

I wake up, but the silence and the little light make me feel as though I'm still in the grasp of sleep. Propping myself up onto my elbows, I look over to the girl's cell. She's gone. My body betrays my mind, and I don't move as fast as I would like to the front of my cell. When I get there, the sound of the elevator doors opening pulls my attention. Two drones drag the girl by her arms.

“What did you do to her?” I yell in anger. Her body hangs lifeless. Whatever they are doing will kill her, if she's not already dead.

“Answer me!” I scream louder. The drones drop her body off in her cell and walk back to the elevator. My eyes search her body for signs of life.

“Traitor,” one of the drones shouts. When I look over, they are gone. Is that what they think of me now? That I'm a traitor? All because Dr. Anfang spared me. Because I was not allowed to die.

I don't care what they call me. I'm not one of them anymore. I'm not a drone who aimlessly follows orders with no purpose or sense of what life is and can be. Those hours with Atom outside of the compound's walls when we ran to the pyramid, heard the music, and tasted the chicken; they awoke me to what was outside the boundaries of my mind. My brain and thoughts were trapped in a darkened cell. Much as I am right now. In need of the light.

“What's your name?” Her soft voice crackles through the silence, pulling me out of my trance.

I get as close as my cell allows me. The girl's body lies on the ground, more beaten than when I last saw her. The little light that this dungeon has reflects off her eyes, and I can tell she is looking right at me. “80. What's yours?”

“Anna,” she sighs out. Her breathing has grown deep and long. “Do you think we will ever get out of here?”

The despair in her voice forces a pain in my chest.