I know, the Doctor isn't in this, but I wanted to explore what might have led to the creation of "mood drugs" on New Earth prior to Gridlock. Also I totally didn't submit this as a school assignment when we had to write a story with similar messages to those of "Frankenstein" a couple of years back. Nope, not at all. Enjoy!
I made a mistake.
This is the only thing I think as I lay on the chilly floor. My long auburn hair skims the tile as I try to get to my feet. I'm too weak, the virus having taken over my system within moments. Death will follow quickly.
I had been trying to help; to make things better. My experiment had changed the world, for a time. But many a plan turns sour eventually.
I experienced my first episode when I was four. I remember it well, which is odd because it feels like so long ago. We were having our supper one night when I asked why there was a little boy sitting at our table. My parents were confused, and my elder brother, Adam, laughed at me for having an imaginary friend. But they didn't know any better. They didn't know it had been a hallucination. The boy had been as clear as anything, and he had smiled at me before he disappeared into thin air. It had been a sort of taunting smile, and it frightened me.
I had my second episode when I was five. I remember less of it than the first, but I can easily recall the anger. So much fury inside someone so young shouldn't be allowed to happen. There hadn't been any reason for it, either. I was playing in my room and I suddenly felt enraged, as if someone had done me a terrible wrong. I threw something against the wall, though I don't recall what, and my mother heard the bang and came running. By then I was crying, and she held me, asking what had happened. I felt so much anger, but I didn't understand why, and all I said was, "I don't know…I don't know."
My mother cried when the doctor diagnosed me with psychosis. My father held her close and told her everything would be all right while my brother leaned against the wall with shock written all over his face. He had come home for the Christmas holidays, since by then he was studying drama at Manchester University. Wholeheartedly my parents had supported him, despite him not becoming a lawyer like they both were. They supported me too, or they tried at least. Needless to say that Christmas wasn't as joyous as it could have been.
When I started at primary school, the other students often made fun of me. The episodes of psychosis became more frequent, and I hadn't known how to control them back then. In the middle of a lesson I might hallucinate, or become delusional. The worst were the episodes of violence or extreme emotion. I was called things like 'freak' or 'crazy'. My father tried to convince my mother to get a prescription for me, but she was adamant that I not take it. I suppose she was concerned about the chance of brain damage or personality change that the doctor had warned us about when talking about possible side effects of the medication. So I dealt with it as well as I could.
The streets of London where I had grown up became a source of comfort for me, and I spent many a day outside, sometimes simply sitting on a park bench for hours on end. Somehow I found it calming, despite the frenzied atmosphere caused by hordes of traffic and tourists.
After graduating, I was soon off to university where I majored in neuroscience. The way the brain works was fascinating to me, and despite my diagnosis I was at the top of my class. My professors told me that I could change the world one day, and eventually I believed them.
That was when the psychosis began to worsen. When I was twenty-three, the episodes happened more often than they ever had before, and they hit me hard. I had to leave school because I couldn't focus. I didn't tell anyone, but I was terrified. It felt at times as if I couldn't keep control over my mind, and I would lash out.
Adam came over to my flat one afternoon, not knowing I was having an episode. I was hallucinating, and when he came through the door I didn't see him as my brother. I was scared, and tried to push him away. Stumbling, he fell and hit his head on the coffee table. He was unconscious for two days.
I became distanced from my family, and isolated myself for weeks. But eventually I was able to gain more control over the episodes. I began to recognize the signs, and slowly they became less extreme. But I couldn't put it from my mind that I had hurt my brother. He said to me every time he saw me that he was fine now, that it was forgotten. But I couldn't forget. I couldn't escape the memory of his lanky figure sprawled out on my floor, tousled hair matted with blood. So I decided to change.
I began extensive research on my condition, going back to the university to speak with my professors and visiting the library. Until it occurred to me one day that if I could find a way to manipulate my emotions, I could prevent the more violent episodes from happening. In theory, anyways.
The university allowed me to use their labs when classes weren't in session, which I was grateful for. The smell of disinfectant became familiar, and the vibrant white of the walls and tile floor ceased to bother me.
Meticulously recording my results in a battered notebook, I experimented with different hormones and neurocognitive chemicals on small animals. No details were left out. My family told me I was becoming obsessive, as I mostly left the lab only to go home and sleep. But I couldn't stop, because I knew I was close to a breakthrough.
It soon transpired that I was correct in my way of thinking. I tested and retested my theories, until I was nearly certain they would be a success.
One early morning in May, I set up for my first human test. On myself, of course. A friend of mine, whom I had met while studying at the university, joined me in the lab that day to record the results of my experiment. John was the only one I had told directly about my condition, and he hadn't treated me any differently because of it. As a result, he was really the only one besides my family that I completely trusted. He was rather short, with sandy brown hair and blue-gray eyes. He reminded me a bit of my brother. He clutched his clipboard in his hands and nodded when I asked if he was ready to begin the experiment. I held a vial of a chemical called Gamma-Aminobutyric Acid. My hands didn't shake as I drew the liquid into a syringe and carefully inserted it into a vein in my arm, wincing slightly at the pinch. It wasn't long before I was overcome with a powerful feeling of relaxation, my legs nearly giving out beneath me. John looked at me with concern, but remained professional as he asked me specific questions about how I was feeling.
"Calm," I whispered. I felt so calm. My mind was quiet for once in my life, and it was glorious. John smiled, and jotted down a few more notes. I don't know how long it took, but eventually the feeling began to wear off and I realized I was sitting on the floor. John explained to me that I had blanked out for about twenty minutes.
I got to my feet again. "Make a note to decrease the concentration by point two millilitres," I instructed. The concentration had been too high, but the important thing was that the experiment was a success. I had created a way to induce the feeling of relaxation. Furthermore, if I was able to do that, what was stopping me from doing the same with other feelings or emotions? It was absolutely brilliant. If I could do this, I would be able to not only control my psychosis, but possibly do the same for other afflictions of the mind as well! I embraced John, hugging him tightly, professionalism forgotten in my excitement. We laughed together, realization of the potential of this experiment hitting us both full force.
I spent more time at the lab than ever, after that. I remembered to take care of myself, of course, but I was too enthusiastic about this experiment to stop. John assisted me when he could, helping me record test results when I was unable to do so myself. Having graduated recently with a degree in medicine, he was able to give me advice when I was stuck. He became like a second brother to me, supporting my undertakings gladly.
My successes grew, and in a matter of months I was able to develop formulas for several more emotions and other functions. A simple mixture of Sodium Amobarbital created a type of truth serum, though I preferred to name it Honesty. A much trickier formula followed after that, but Forget was soon created as well.
My work became well known at the university, and sometime after that I was approached about selling the products to the public. Naturally I was excited about the proposition, and set to work making final adjustments. The end result was a small patch to be placed on the arm that released the formula into a person's bloodstream, similar to a nicotine patch. Different strengths were created, all tested many times over to confirm them as safe to use. They were approved, and in due time, Happy, Mellow, Calm, Sleep, Witty, Trust, No-Pain, Confidence, and Energy were being sold on the market along with Honesty and Forget.
The popularity exploded. These 'Mood Drugs', as they were being called, almost instantly became the new phenomenon. I was pulled into interviews aplenty, and asked questions until I could hardly think any more.
My family was happy of course, and John was ecstatic. He voiced to me that he didn't want to be credited for helping with the experiments, though I told him I couldn't have done it without his help. He didn't want to deal with the popularity, I suppose.
Eventually the hype died down a bit, though sales didn't drop. My psychosis was being controlled mostly by Calm, Happy, or Sleep. It was peaceful, so I made my way back to the lab. I was by myself for the most part. John had gotten engaged to a lovely woman named Mary and they had a baby on the way, so he was rather busy between that and his job at the local clinic. Meaning I ended up doing my next experiment alone.
A fairly simple mixture containing Endocannabinoid molecules, mixed with the usual catalyst to speed up the reaction. I noticed an error in the formula, but adjusted the combination and put it from my mind. I was busy, and a miniscule mistake should be fixed easily. Soon the creation was approved and promptly released to the public. It was called Bliss.
It became more popular than any of the other Moods, and I found that it worked more effectively for my psychosis as well. I felt triumphant. I had succeeded in what I set out to accomplish, and I couldn't help but think that it promised a brighter future for everyone.
I was wrong.
I was working on a new Mood in the lab, a small radio playing quietly in the background. That was when I heard. I had felt a bit off this morning, but I hadn't thought anything of it until then. My feet started feeling tingly, and then my legs, as I caught bits of the panicked voice of the radio station host.
Bliss has mutated into an airborne virus, and it is spreading rapidly. My mind is trying to work a mile a minute, but it's sluggish, my system having already been infected. The catalyst must have reacted negatively with the rest of the formula, developing slowly but steadily into a terrible sickness. Stupid, stupid.
I slip to the floor and am unable to get back to my feet. I'm too weak. Death will follow quickly.
It's too strong. Within minutes the area will be decimated of all human life.
It's moving too fast.
I made a mistake.
There's nothing we can do.
As always, comments and critiques are welcome and much appreciated. Thanks!
(Also yes, I gave John and Mary cameos even though they're not supposed to be involved with Doctor Who. I needed character names and thought it was funny at the time, okay?)
-TheGameIs0n