Cold. Bitterly dark air, reeking of blood and flesh; sweat and bones, leaving no oxygen to breath. Bodies are compressed tightly together. Bodies: merely skin wrapped over skeletons pressing against others, shaking, crying. It's foreign and frightening. The people don't know how or why. For some, this is all they've ever known. The men come in, take somebody, drag them out, and they leave. Sometimes for weeks, but when they come back... if they come back, it's all very different. Paler, skinnier, yet, enhanced in some way. They can hear the world screaming and crying, smell it crumbling to the ground, feel the air shake in its weakness. The power humans envied from the beasts, finally obtained, though it never lasts. The body rejects it all.

The Twisted Experiments
Flashback!
The sun was the most hot than it had ever been in months, boiling the sand and making the dunes roll over, but it sparkled like gold. If you were to fly over the Sahara Desert right then, it would seem as though all the world had turned into a fine golden powder, but as you continue on, the landscape changes into dry cracked brown rocks from the sun drinking up all the water. Past this, the land gets dryer and dryer until the spaces of the cracks are big enough to fall through and the rocks look like they might crumble at your touch. Not even the cacti live there. Nothing lives anywhere near there. There's no reason to, but at the midpoint of the dry rocks and sand stands a three story mansion, isolated from the rest of the world. A complex well is off to the side and a very expensive militia truck is parked in front. The house and truck are painted so that they are barely distinguishable from the sand, keeping to itself.

Chris ran about the main floor of his humongous home, the pounding of his feet echoing throughout the canals to each room. Looking down at the floor and catching his reflection in the polished marble, he unconsciously examined himself as the air brushed past him. His dirty blonde hair sat nicely around the sides of his face, but stuck up in certain areas on top, which bothered him slightly, although he did rather like the shirt he was wearing. The collar was a soothing brown colour and matched his eyes nicely, boosting his ego even further as he continued his self examination. Not paying attention, his feet thumped across the floor faster and faster while he stayed staring at the floor.

"Masta' Chris!"

He turned his head, looking for the voice, but made a direct hit with the wall in his distraction.

end flashback

Julia hadn't come back for awhile, so she must have gone to his father's lab, it's the only other place in the whole Sahara for miles. There was no way to be sure, but he wasn't willing to consider that she may have... no. She was definitely at the lab. He wasn't allowed to go there. His father was so strict about it that he never even mentioned it to Chris until he was fourteen, and even then he never said where it was exactly, only that he was forbidden to go, but he could. He could if he snuck in. Everyday at 3:00 am his father goes into his truck and drives off to someplace secret and doesn't come back for may hours, days. He couldn't wait days for Julie to come back, he was becoming dependent on her company, her smile, her... everything.

At 2:00 am the next day, Chris sneaked downstairs and into the back of his dad's truck before any of the butlers or maids had gotten up. Thankfully, his house is so big that any noise that he makes isn't usually heard by anyone, much to his convenience.

His feet became restless, but he managed to control himself until 5:00. His heart lurched forward when he heard the car engine belch out a roar, and he realized suddenly just how frightened he was. As he felt the car moving forward and dipping through the dunes he imagined that her was trapped in a court trial for a death sentence, but thinking about seeing Julie again replaced his anxiety with excitement. Surely his dad would understand.

About half an hour later the truck came to a complete stop and Chris could hear the opening and slamming of the truck door as his father exited the vehicle. After ten minutes of mental preparation, Chris shakily got out of the trunk, deep down wishing that he had never left home, but Julie! Julie, Julie, gosh... what did she do to him? She made him walk through the shadowy metal hallways of his father's sinister science building, that's what! As he progressed deeper into the hall he noticed that it became more narrow and dark, especially since he hadn't noticed any windows, making his anxiety worsen. Soon, it became so dark that he had to feel his way through. His hands skimming over the cold metal of the walls sent shivers up his spine and made his heart race madly. This is the exact type of thing that would happen in one of his horror novels, but only this place belonged to his father, and that made it safe, although, he didn't feel very safe.

His footsteps slowed to a creep because it's echoes in the pitch black made him jump, and he was afraid of bumping into someone scary, but, strangely enough, running into his dad was starting to seem a lot worse.

Chris tried every door he saw (which wasn't very many), turning the knobs and pushing ever so slightly as not to make any sounds, but all of them were locked. He could tell that there was some sort of writing on them, but it was so dark that he couldn't read it. Feeling around them, he traced little bumps with his fingers, but he didn't know how to read braille either, but he could see how the braille would help, since there was no source of light. All of the scientists must know how to read it.

He had been walking for what seemed to be hours, until he finally saw a glow coming from the crack of a door in the distance. He quickened his pace a little, feeling a bit excited from assuming that Julie was in there. How she'd be so happy to see him!, and they would both have a super long conversation about how creepy his dad's workplace was and about how Chris had been so brave to go and find her! His heart skipped around in his chest and he had to restrain himself to keep from running, but as he came nearer to the door all of his feeling sunk, and suddenly, he felt very scared again. There was something about it. The light was a dull off-yellow kind and the air felt thicker. The hairs on his arm stood straight as soon as he touched the door, slowly creaking it open and stepping inside.

After being in the dark so long, the dull light was too much and he had to rub and squint his eyes for a few moments to see. It was pretty narrow, as far as rooms go, maybe only slightly wider than the hallway, but it was extremely long, stretching down for about half a football field. Metal beds on wheels were lined up down the center, about five meters apart with light blue nylon blankets on top, each with a matching metal side table with a light perturbing from the top, looking over them. There was something very unsettling about them, but the blankets got Chris more frightened than anything else, like some old childhood fear brought back to life. He looked along the walls to search for something to keep his mind occupied and noticed that there were two doors on the center of the long walls, both were bolted shut in iron doors and had what looked like mail slides at the top. The doors were rusted over and extra locked by a metal bar resting in front of them. Clearly whatever was in there wasn't meant to get out.

Within two minutes of examining the room Chris noticed a terrible smell that wafted over him suddenly. He covered his mouth as he gagged and leaned up against a wall. The smell of rotting flesh was overwhelming. The room spun around wildly as Chris tried to push back the nauseating feeling in his stomach, curling to the ground in his failed attempt to keep himself up.

Epic flashback moment, woot!

"Masta' Chris! Masta' Chris! Are you alri' boy?" A large Mexican woman leaned over Chris, the ruffles of her maid uniform folding against the cold floor. She gently pushed Chris' face around, checking for bruises and lumps, feeling his forehead with the back of her hands.

Chris slowly opened his eyelids. They hung down heavily and he couldn't keep them up for very long. His head stung and his knee felt cramped, like somebody had shoved a bunch of tissues inside.

"Uhnng... what happened?" He asked dryly. He licked his lips, trying to give them some moisture, but his tongue only scrapped across the rough cells of skin that used to compose a smooth lining of skin.

"Masta Chris, you run into wall. No pay attentiun' to where is you going! You make worry of me!"

"I'm sorry Ma'am..." He couldn't close his mouth. The drool pooled out and spread around the floor near his face. It felt uncomfortably warm and sticky compared to the frozen marble floors.

"Come now, boy. You. Up. No stay on floor. Make cold sick." The maid slowly tugged Chris up by his armpits, heaving his limp body up us best she could.

"Masta' Chris, Move legs! You not so light as little Chris baby!" The maid strained her arms and Chris forced his legs back into motion, lifting his right leg and pushing his foot on the ground. Wrong. He screamed out, an entire bolt of pain ripping through the fibers of his leg and traveling up to his stomach. The muscles inside contracted and tore, making Chris collapse on the ground, bruising his shoulder as it smashed against something hard.

When he woke, he found himself in a room he didn't recognize, but Chris was so delighted and shocked to see his father in the room with him that he hadn't even realized that his leg was better. His dad looked so professional and serious in his lab coat, well, more serious than usual. Right now he was putting away some medical tools and cleaning the room up. It was filled with science books of all sorts and millions of strange looking devices and diagrams, particularly things pertaining to biology and psychology.

Chris smiled. His dad was so smart, maybe even the smartest person in the world. He read about all kinds of smart people, like Einstein, Mozart, Archimedes, Leonardo Da Vinci, Charles Darwin, but his dad was a whole new level of intellect. Whenever Chris had broken a bone, somehow, his dad was able to fix it in a matter of days. He was a miracle worker and Chris admired him selflessly.

"Hey, dad." Chris called quietly, sitting up on the bed he was on. The wheels on the bottom of the legs moved slightly, but then settled once more.

"Hmm? Oh, you're up. How's the leg?" His father responded. Not once looking away from what he was doing.

"It feels perfect!" Chris exclaimed, trying to get some sort of positive reaction from his dad. "You're getting really good at this." He said, continuing to draw out emotion. "You're research must be nearly finished now, and then we can go live in the city and I can meet other kids." Chris was looking around at the entire room. He hadn't realized just how much his father's book collection extended, which was all the way around the room. Any wall space there was, was covered in books of all kinds. Maybe he could be as smart as his dad if he read some of them too.

There was a loud slam that made Chris jump up. His dad had stopped moving and was standing tensely and hunched over his desk. The atmosphere changed dramatically and Chris could sense that his dad needed to be alone. He must have said something that had upset him.

"If you're feeling better, you can go now." His dad said stoically.

"Yes, father." Chris responded, feeling guilty for ruining his father's mood. He slid off of the bed and walked towards the door, looking back one last time. He noticed a large plastic bag filled with blue nylon blankets on the desk beside his dad, who was still hunched over in a mix of rage and sadness. Chris could tell that the blankets had done something to upset his father too.

End flashback

Chris wanted to gag out loud and try to cough out the air he was breathing, but he could here footsteps echoing in the hallways so he quickly crawled into the shadow from behind one of the tables. His heartbeat got louder and louder along with the footsteps, he could hear both ringing in his head.

"Id est cubiculum" The man had a thick Russian accent, but Chris could tell that he was speaking latin.

"Sicut lutum olet" The second man sounded Australian. The scientists must be using Latin as a common language. Chris tried to make out their conversation as they walked inside.

"Pedicabo, I don't think arbitror horum experiments are successful."

"Quid? Are all these kids dead?" Chris' heart sank. Were those all... kids? Under those blankets? He used both hands to cover his mouth to keep from making noise.

"No, omnes. Pars eorum are just sick." Their Latin was getting harder to understand

"Non amo killing kids. Pereant war." War? There's a war going on?

"Come on. Let's lock up. I don't want to see this kind of stuff right now." The door slammed shut as the two scientist left the room, turning out the lights with them. When Chris was sure that they were gone he slumped on to the floor crying. Maybe he snuck into the wrong truck. One of his butlers must be up to this. Never his dad. His dad wouldn't do anything like this. He cried in the dark for a few more minutes, from his own fear and from loneliness. He got up quickly. A sudden thought struck him with horror. What if Julie is here?

He raced over to the lights and switched them on. The scenery more frightening than ever, but he had to make sure. Make sure that Julie isn't here. He ran over to the first bed, the one he was hiding behind, and ripped the blanket off. He shut his eyes in fear, but forced them open. Empty. His heart felt relieved. Before he went on, something bright caught the corner of his eye, the side table. He never actually looked at it very closely, but now he wished he never did. It was littered with all kinds of strange and dangerous looking tools. Sharp ones for ripping, poking, prodding, and shredding. Even needles. He scampered over to the next bed, remembering Julie. One by one he tore the blankets off, but all of them were empty, causing a strange mix of worry and relief.

Halfway through the room, the smell was making him dizzy. He thought at first he was getting used to it, but he was actually starting to lose consciousness. If he remained aware of that fact, he could stay up for at least an hour or so longer. As he approached the next bed he realized that this one looked... fuller... than the rest. He hesitated for awhile, but convinced himself to do it. It might be empty like the rest.

He delicately gripped on to the nylon, but recoiled his hand when he felt something wet touch his fingers. His heart pounded and he looked at his hand.

"Oh God," Chris uttered. His fingertips were coated in a thick red syrup, trickling to his wrist and down his arm. He staggered backwards.

"Oh...G-God... why?" He was shaking violently. He felt his gut churn around inside of him, his knees buckling to them ground.

"...why?" He was scared, but for his own life this time. His shins rubbed painfully against the rusty floors and he couldn't move. He briefly wondered if people could die from fear, if Julie had died from fear. No. She's much braver than he is. He was about to start crying again before a noise startled him.

"Velit." Oh no, more latin, but this voice was soft and frightened. Not a scientist. He listened to where it was coming from.

"Veilt. Noli me." Chris managed to crawl over to the sound. It was coming from one of the bolted doors. He could feel his heart sliding up his throat, but he went nearer anyways. Julie could be there.

"Pereant adulteri..." This was a different voice. It sounded angrier and full of hate, it made Chris nervous, but maybe they know Julie.

"Umm... excuse me, b-but could you speak in english? My Lat-Latin isn't s-s-so good." Chris stuttered out. There was a pulse in his head as everything went quiet and he felt for certain that he had messed up. He was going to die here.

He spent the next few moments curled up beside the thick door, too scared to say anything more and certainly too scared to peek through the mail slot. He didn't eve want to stand. It made him feel so exposed.

Chris was teetering on the edge of sleep when he could here somebody shifting from inside the door.

"Shh! Keep him quiet! You'll scare him away with your crazy talk! Let me handle this." The was some more shuffling and a slight bang on the door that made Chris' heart lurch forward.

"...who're you?" The voice asked. It was that really angry sounding one.

"I'm C-Chris." Chris said. "Where's Julie?" He asked immediately afterwards.

"See... listen. I- what? but I don't- Oh. Okay. Got it." Chris wasn't exactly sure what was happening. Was he talking to somebody else?

"Alright, listen up Chris. I swear we'll help you find your Julie friend or whatever, but you gotta get us out of here." We. so there was more than one person, which made Chris feel a little uneasy, but there also was a certain amount of determination in this person's voice that made Chris trust him. He would want to get out if he were stuck in here too, so he got up, lifted up the metal bar and tugged violently on the door, but it wouldn't budge.

"It- it won't move!" Chris whined.

"Well no shit, genius!" The voice answered back. "You gotta pick the lock. There should be one attached to the fingers of Samuel." Lock picks on somebody's fingers?

"Umm..."

"Oh, damn it! He's the guy on the bed behind you!" The voice yelled. It sounded like he was crying with desperation. Chris didn't want to disappoint him. It seemed like taking orders from members of the mafia. You just don't say no, but he didn't understand. He looked at the table behind him, the one with the blood. He gulped hard and could feel sweat and tears streaming down his face as he trembled towards the bed.

"Just like a band-aid." He told himself. "Band-aid, band-aid, band-aid..." On a bigger wound. His chest heaved as he arrived at the bed. Just rip it off. The bed sheet went soaring and sent blood flying everywhere. Chris covered his mouth just before he choked out a scream, now just a muffled sound of horror.

"Oh God... Sam." The voice behind the door was quiet and sad.

That settled it. Chris wasn't the only one stuck here. There were other people who needed help, even if it meant... he started crying. The corpse in front of him was twisted and bloody so that it was nearly impossible to tell it was even human at one point. He searched it's hands, scratched roughly and bent in all directions. The nails were razor sharp and covered in blood with bits of flesh under the nails. Some of the wounds on the body looked self inflicted, especially around the neck and wrists.

He tried to kill himself. Chris realized in horror. He had to force himself to keep looking for the lock pick. On his fingers? Is that even possible? - and then he noticed it. The index finger of Sam's left hand had been ripped out and replaced with a skeleton key, but if Sam was dead... how would he open the door? Reaching for the key, Chris closed his eyes and looked away, resisting every urge to say that it wasn't there. He could feel the heat of the blood just below his fingers, his stomach lurching forward as he suppressed a gag, and then his fingers made contact with the key. He gingerly touched it and then tried to pull it out. Unfortunately, it was stuck pretty good, so Chris had to use both of his hands to tug it out. He spent a couple of the most unpleasant minutes of his life trying to force a key out of a dead boy's finger, but only when a new pair of footsteps sounded through the hallway, did the key pop out.

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit!" The voice cursed from behind the door.

"I'm sorry! What do I do?" Chris cried out while quickly throwing the blanket back onto the body, the key gripped tightly in his hand.

"Alright listen, you just hang in there, but don't you dare lose that key!"

"But what if they take it? Where can I hide it?"

"Swallow it."

"WHAT!" How could he possibly swallow a key from a dead guys fingers? Plus, it was all bloody and gross.

"Listen, it can go down that way or..."

"Okay, okay! I get it!" Chris panicked. There was really no other way because in the end, this was his only chance of finding Julie. He squeezed his eyes shut and brought the key to his mouth, the footsteps got louder. He had to be quick. He brought it to his mouth and opened, but hunched over and puked before he could swallow it. I can't do this. I can't. It won't go down. He tried again, bringing the blood and flesh infested key to the left side of his mouth, making sure not to touch his tongue, and swallowed. Surprisingly, the key slid down. It scraped up his esophagus, but it was in.

Just then, the door swung open and a man in a white coat saw Chris standing in the middle of them room, covered in blood.

"Heus quid agis!"

About three hours after Chris was captured and stabbed with a needle, he found himself flying through the air of the hallways. The scientists were dragging him around on one of the beds through the building. They seemed to be in a rush, but he couldn't understand why. Everything was all blurry and mushed together. His head was buzzing pleasantly, making him smile, saliva running down the side of his mouth

"Qui scriptor consurge! Alia infusioni!" Chris could feel another needle slide through his skin and the chemical enter his body like a slug. The edges of everything smeared outwards and turned black.

The flickering of lights seeped past his eyelids and pushed them open. Everything in him hurt and he could feel a pulse in his hands and feet and head, like his heart broke into a million smaller ones that were pounding around inside of him, trying to rip through his flesh, but that was nothing compared to the blistering sores he had in his ears, back, and tailbone. They did it. Chris thought hazily. They killed me. He wanted to speak, but even his teeth were burning. I probably look like that guy... what was his name? Stephen? There were people talking around his bed in latin. More scientists.

" Et pulchre reflexae's"

"Yes, he seems well."

"Leave him there for a few more minutes incase of a later reaction." Reaction to what? Chris tried to make a sound, but all that came out was a dry whimper, like a sick dog. He couldn't even move his arms.

The scientists all got up to leave the room, but one of them stayed to check over Chris. He had a bunch of papers with him and was writing down something while he did some tests with Chris. He peeled back Chris' eyelids and shone a tiny bright light that made his eyes water, he pushed down on his chest and listened as Chris heaved out a crackled breath, and he checked his teeth and pulled at them roughly, making Chris wince in pain, but the worst was just about to come. He took a white cloth a dabbed it around Chris' ears. The alcohol seeped into the wounds all around it and sizzled as it touched his skin. Chris jerked forward in pain, but was tied down in restraints, so the entire bed shook violently throughout the entire process. His ears went numb, but suddenly it felt like a giant scab was falling off of Chris' left ear; a brutal mix of pain and pleasure showered over him as a sudden heaviness fell off of the left side of his face.

"Oh, no." The scientist said, none too concerned. He picked up whatever it was and reached over to the small side table and picked up something tiny and brought it back to him, a bit of light danced off of momentarily before disappearing into the other object, making it bleed.

"Tis... tis onvee urt a bit." The scientist told Chris, who had no idea what was going on or what on earth he just said, but as the objects came into view he was able to identify the smaller of the two as a sewing needle. He freaked out, pulling and tugging his arms in a futile attempt to break free the chains holding him down, but it was no use. The tip of the needle scratched the side of his head, prodding at it until it finally broke the skin. He screamed in pain as the needle harshly weaved in and out of his head, the bed, now rattling loudly, held him down to his last breath before he passed out.

When Chris woke up again he anxiously looked around and grit his teeth from his throbbing head, but his mouth bled and stung as he did so he just shouted in frustration, jerking himself upwards as much as he could. He couldn't go on. He wanted to die, but he couldn't. Julie wouldn't let him. His breathing was heavy and full of stress and hate. He had to calm himself down and grasp the situation he was in before he tried to do anything. He took a deep breath and exhaled, imagining that he was pushing all his emotion out of him; he was calm. Calm enough not to kill himself.

His neck strained against it's restraint as he tried to look at his hands. Little claws replaced his regular nails, raising his stress meter once again. They're turning me into him. He brushed his tongue against his teeth. They were so sharp that they cut his tongue up, making the blood run down his throat and choke him. So far, he knew that he had sharp teeth and claws, but he couldn't check anything else with these bonds on him. God knows how else they screwed him up, but right now he just needed to get out.

His wrist flexed towards him as he stretched his fingers to cut at the leather binding. Everything hurt so much that it took all of his willpower not to give up and rest, but he could feel his claws getting ever so slightly deeper through the leather that it gave him hope. Every five minutes his claws were half a millimeter through the ten millimeter thick binding. After fifteen minutes his hand was so sore he could hardly bare to move it, but he wasn't about to give up yet. He was so close, yet, he couldn't help but want to let his eyes have the rest that they craved.

After ten more minutes the one strap broke and he frantically scratched the leather around his other wrist, not caring that he was cutting his own skin in the process. In minutes blood and leather flew from his hand and he got straight to work at the restraint on his neck, vigorously stabbing and slashing at the significantly thicker leather, but stopped when he struck a sensitive part of his neck, jerking out in pain. He lay still, panting for a moment, trying to recollect himself and and think straight, but then it hit him.

Oh God... Chris started sobbing again, out of shame and fear. Sam never killed himself on purpose. He sniffled loudly to try and hold back his cry. He killed himself trying to get free. He wiped the tears from his face weakly, feeling globs of blood drip off of his wrist and onto his face.

He took more care when scratching the leather this time and managed to keep his heart rate low and his mental condition relatively decent. When the leather snapped in half he had sat up, groaning as his back and bones burned from the movement. He felt heavier than usual, but he could think about that later. He quickly broke the leg restraints and slid off of the table. He stumbled on his first steps off, [not finished]