Personified

Chapter 1: Genesis

Q: Who am I?

Am I alone?

A: You are never alone.

Blinding white…enveloping...lifting upwards…eyes opening. We have function.

I can't see clearly.

White shapes drifted around her in agitation, shuffling this way, that way, flitting past each other. The murmurs and whispers of wind coming out of them quickly dispersing into the atmospheric quiet.

Where am I?

Why am I here?

She tried shaking her head to clear it up. Her muscles responded sluggishly, like dragging her feet through mud. Drugged? Put under with anesthesia? Chloroform? Her mind was blank. She couldn't remember anything from before. None of this makes any sense…

Her eyesight was getting better. She could make out the ceiling: the arched stone buttresses that extended for what seemed forever implied a gothic cathedral. Her eyes swept slowly around, noting the stained glass windows depicting religious events, massive stone statues of saints and angels, etched scripture, and the cross. Since when did they have beds in the middle of a cathedral?

She tried to speak. Why am I here? What is going on? Her mouth was shaping words that would not come. Her throat felt odd when she tried to form words. Tingly. Not pleasant. She tried to move, to get up. Thick leather straps arrested any such notion.

She took stock of her situation, trying not to be afraid.

Cotton sheets, strapped to a bed with her head facing the ceiling. Pressure on the back of the neck…hair, damp, matted. Matted with what? Can't tell.

The white shapes had become men and women in lab coats, and one had stopped and was standing over her, watching. Intently…too intently. Like she was some form of…of… test subject…for what…and why the restraints? No, damnit! Why can't I remember anything? Why!

Her eyes abruptly widened in shock. I'm being experimented on! What did they do to me!" Sheer, semi-irrational terror swamped her entire system, dumping massive amounts of adrenaline into her circulatory system. I've got to be free! Got to get free! What have you done to me! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME!

A weapon….give me a weapon…something, something. Scalpel, knife, scissors, anything….

The man saw the horror in her now vastly dilated eyes as realization dawned on her, and knew he had made a grave mistake. It was too early for her to find out. Not enough time for the implants…they needed more time! So tragic under the circumstances…but orders were orders. He slipped a small surgical knife underneath the sheet covering her, pressing it into her flailing palm. He felt her stop and grasp the handle as if she could snap it in half. He reached in and held her face between his gloved hands. Their eyes met. Yes. He thought. See who is helping you. Know your friends, child.

With that he left, exiting the chamber at a brisk walk. Getting as far away as possible before…

A knife. A lovely, lovely little knife. Sharp too. That man heard my cries, and came to help me. Bless him. She slashed through the thick leather binding her arm in seconds, adrenaline or something else giving her strength she never knew she possessed. The white-coats had noticed, were rushing her, intending to get her down on the table again. To do more experiments on me? NO. She saw a hand get too close, clenched her eyes shut, and lashed out. The hand came off in an explosive ring of blood, leaving the man to cradle the pulsing stump. Utterly shocked, she stared the stump. Don't think, just act. With a mental shake, she yanked on the weakened strap holding her right hand. It came free. Halfway there…

She started to free her head next. The scientists had backed off out of range in self-preservation. The smell of the man's blood was making her gag and his muffled screams of pain weren't helping either. Her head was free. She tried to sit up, and got violently jerked back. Surprised, she twisted her head around and found she was connected by a mass of tubing leading from the back of her neck into a machine. She tried to utter a cry of complete horror and disgust, and failed. The tingling sensation came back to her throat. She slashed the cords, watching the fluids they contained spill onto the pillow her head was resting on. Drugs. Disgusting pigs. She attacked the bindings holding her legs. The scientists, realizing what she would do to them if she was free, all rushed her at once, desperate to stop her.

Panic, sheer panic was the feeling in that cathedral. Months of work, and she was about to kill them for it. Sleepless nights, stress filled days. The knowledge that failure meant certain death. All combined to create this now emaciated girl with dangerous reprogramming who was trying to free herself with a knife. She must not get free…she must not get free…

Too late.

I'm free! I am fr-

A scientist grabbed her left arm, and was twisting…breaking…forcing the knife away from him…

She winced and tried to cry out. Her arm was going to break any second now…she was too weak…

She closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable rush of people to bind her to her bed again. This was it. She was done.

Muscles twitched. Her hand flipped something over to the other hand…a sharp thrusting motion…gurgling screams…the crushing force against her arm gone in a flash…she opened her eyes…

…And…was puzzled.

Her bony little hand was buried halfway into the man's neck. Blood warm as honey was running in small rivulets down her arm, staining her shirt. The knife had gone all the way through, and now the man was barely standing, trembling and pawing limply at his ruined neck. Numbly, she withdrew her hand, still holding the now red knife. Blood exploded from the gaping hole in a crimson fountain, spraying her with sticky wetness. The man drifted to the floor.

She stared at the knife in blank puzzlement.

WhaWhy?… What did I do?…

She looked up. Crap.

Surrounded by nervous scientists who had just watched in horror as their colleague got a knife and half a fist shoved through his neck. Needless to say they were hesitant to follow him.

It's alright though. Fear is understandable.

Scant seconds later, she slumped back onto the bed, observing the limp mass of bodies surrounding her in a small lake of congealing blood. It was almost beautiful. Picturesque. Worthy of the artist's brush. She was like a princess trapped on an island, waiting for her handsome prince to cross the lake and rescue her…how sick…oh how sick…

She wanted to collapse. Wanted to collapse and cry and feel some sort of sadness or remorse for what she had just done. She couldn't. She had killed people, and she didn't feel any of these things. Her brain was somehow wired differently. She had never wielded a blade of any kind, nor knew where to strike a person to kill them.

But her muscles knew.

It had been as easy as breathing. As natural as a heartbeat, a sigh, a friendly smile to a friend. And it terrified her.

She put the knife down and ran her bloody hands forcefully through her damp, sweaty hair, creating red streaks that contrasted sharply with the pale blond, trying to make sense of it all…

She shook her head. No point in trying…doesn't make any sense…no sense….

Looking beyond the surrounding butchery, she saw that the massive doors leading out of the cathedral were open. Allowing a tiny slit of light to illuminate a strip of the now iced over lake.

Wow. Blood hardens fast.

Still looking around, she also noticed a door behind the altar leading into the interior of the cathedral. Answers lay that way, and she knew it.

So either I walk out of here, free and not know what they did to me, or I walk deeper into this place and look for answers…

…Not much of a choice really.

She got up, tried to hop off the bed. But her legs wouldn't support her, and she toppled into the lake.

How long had I been lying there, wasting away? Or am I still in shock?…

She didn't want to think about it. Or the blood now covering almost all of her body. The metallic tang of it was overwhelming. So much…so strong…

Her hand moved to get into position to push herself up, and hit something away from her. She stopped, curious. Feeling slowly underneath the surface, she found it again, grabbed it, and lifted it out.

A knife? Which of them had a knife?

She wiped off the worst of the blood onto the few white areas of her bed she could find, then wiped herself off as best she could.

One knife is nice, two is nicer.

She got up, using the bed as a support, and took her first few tentative steps towards the altar, gaining back the use of her legs more and more with each step. Odd, she thought, glancing down at her feet, when I was fighting, I was nowhere near this weak…

She looked up suddenly, her eyes wide. Her feet had slowly carried her to the altar. Drawn to God…

She stood in front of it. There above, set in polished oak and painted iron, was Jesus crucified to the cross. A beam sunlight flooded in from windows set high up in the walls, illuminating the altar in a corona of light. Dust motes floated lazily in the beams, content.

The scene was soothing, tranquil. The girl stopped, trying to breathe in deep, calming breaths that came out as ragged, trembling ones.

Father.

Son.

Holy Ghost.

Help me please…

As she was just about to enter the small door beneath the cross to find answers, she stopped just long enough to ask the age old question to the one man she felt would truly understand.

Why me?

Opening the door took more effort than she first thought. Panting quietly, she slowly made her way down the comparatively claustrophobic hallway. Fluorescent ceiling lights cast their harsh, efficient beams onto surroundings most normal people would find completely alien inside a traditional cathedral. Whitewashed walls, curtained windows and metal doors safely locked by keypads lent the atmosphere a hospital tinge, making her skin crawl. This isn't normal…this is definitely abnormal.

But it wasn't the visual awkwardness that worried her so much as the silence. Normally hospitals always have background noise. Patients, visitors and staff all going about their business in the halls while humming machinery either entertains or prolongs the lives of those fortunate...or unfortunate, enough to be receiving care. Here however, her quiet footsteps were allowed to echo softly back at her, perfectly mirrored in the otherwise absolute, ominous silence.

She sped up, not wanting to be here anymore. All of this was setting her on edge, and she could feel her heart thumping louder and louder, threatening to drown out the sounds of her agitated feet. Why is it so quiet? Someone has to be around here somewhere

Looking ahead, she spotted a large pair of double doors, arching away into the twelve foot ceiling. She sprinted down the hallway, now desperate to escape. Upon reaching the doors, she had to stop and grasp onto the vertical handles to steady herself. White lances of pain were smasming through her chest with every breath, making tears of pain leak out between her closed eyelids. Her legs had also turned to jelly again, barely allowing her to stand, let alone walk anywhere.

Damnit…damn them! What have they done to me? Sure I was never the most athletic person around, but I do remember being able to run 25 feet without feeling like I was going to die… Aargh I've got to get out of this hallway!

Through sheer force of will, she managed to tug a little on one of the doors. It moved slightly inwards. Mentally sighing with relief, she leaned back, allowing her body weight to do the work her exhausted muscles would not. The door opened just enough for her to swing through the opening and collapse onto the floor.

Shouldn't have done that.

Pain. Pain as she never new existed. Everywhere. Enveloping, consuming. It was like her entire nervous system was telling her that she was being bathed in pure agony. Blood filled her mouth and nose as her body went into uncontrollable convulsions, expressing the terrible sensations her voice no longer could. Choking, she could feel herself drifting away, her blurred vision slipping from a red haze to all encompassing black. As she was about to completely drift away, someone….a man, gently laid hands on her and slowly turned her over, allowing her tears to spill back into her hair. She lifted herself out of the enshrouding darkness long enough to open her eyes to see…

There, standing above her, was a face she recognized as the one belonging to the scientist who gave her the knife earlier. Their eyes met again, and she noticed he appeared much older than she had earlier thought. A cross swam into her vision, connected by a chain of rosary beads to his neck. As he grabbed it and began making motions of the cross over her, she lost her will to stay conscious. Drifting away into sweet oblivion, she heard him speak, the kind words echoing through her.

"Sleep my child. Sleep, and be at peace. You are in good hands now. We will take care of you…In nomine Patris et fillii et Spirituss…sSanc…ti…."