A/N: Welcome readers and reviewers!
Please note: any following experiments, creations, ect. are LOOSELY based on 'modern' science and technology. (After all, I'm not the genius Professor Membrane seems to be. Sadly, I'm merely smart enough to know how stupid I really am.) Oh, and they are a tad 'exaggerated' and 'mocked' to emulate the surrealistic world the IZ characters live in.
Section 22: This is VERY loosely based on the Canadian-based Nexia Biotechnologies Inc. creation, which has produced a spider silk protein from the milk of goats carrying an orb spider gene.
I decided to run with the original turn this story decided to take. As in most stories I write, it seems to have a mind of its own. Perhaps it is merely a reflection of my own insanity.
Acknowledgements: O' I luv reviews. They make me all tingly and happy. Thank you, Dib: Black Mage. You have honoured me with being the first reviewer. Thank you immensely. (Bows deeply.) I am glad this is creepy in a good way. I always thought there was more to Professor Membrane than meets the eye. The guy is just to damned, well, something. Anyway, thanks for reviewing. Thank you for your wonderful review, Raina. I am not sure of the fate of his children, but they are both extremely independent and strong headed, so you are probably right, they may yet escape this terrible fate. But with the steady, subtle manipulation of young vulnerable minds, one can never really be to sure. Only time will tell. Silent Knight I, Thank you! I hope this gives the story more direction. I wasn't really expecting it to turn so suddenly, as I have said before this story is writing itself. Most of my stories do. I hope it continue to intrigues you all!
Warning: Contains some mild violence. Worse may come this way, but maybe not. Depending on how the story writes itself. Rated PG -13 just to be safe.
Disclaimer: I still do not own it.
Here we go!
*****
Chapter Two: Noon
*****
Section 22
***** All to soon breakfast is over. My guard stands up and waits for me as I drain the last of my coffee, relishing its bitter taste to the end. We leave the spent dishes on the table.
Silently we make our way towards Section 22.
Spider-sheep.
It is my oldest project, due for completion in less than two weeks. I am done creating what they originally demanded, but am not about to tell my captors. I have grown fond of my assistants. Once this project is over, I know that I will never see them again.
That is how it is.
Every project comes with new lab assistants who follow my every bidding, as long as it concerns the project. They are with me until I have completed what is demanded of me then I never hear about the project or see any of these assistants again.
Ever.
I have completed more projects than I can count. Everything from simple assignments like creating an ultra-healthy physically enhancing Super-Toast to more challenging and intriguing assignments like a perpetual energy generator, or PEG as I use to call her.
Usually the assistants they assign to me are as cold and calculated as my guards. We develop very formal working relationships. I never really see them outside of their protective lenses, lab coats, rubber boots and gloves. They never offer casual conversation, or a friendly pat on the back. Only a stiff handshake when I first meet them and a stiff handshake when they leave.
But the four assistants assigned to Section 22 are different. For the most part they play the roll of the formal lab assistants, but they offer a subtle hint of friendship. Leaning closer when reading a response to an inquiry, an honest, if brief smile to a lame joke, or brushing my hand when taking a petri dish.
It is amazing, the power of the human touch such as this, even thru rubber gloves. I feel more human. More accepted. The handshakes don't hold half as much meaning as this purposeful brushing of hands. It is nothing perverted, nothing lust filled. It is innocent, a gift, an unspoken offer of friendship. It is a blessing.
My captors, my guards, and my torturers are the only ones who really touch me, and their contact is of a less desirable nature, usually ending in pain, sedation, or restriction of movement. Any normal contact, such as a gentle touch on the hand or arm seems strictly forbidden.
Perhaps that is why most of my other lab assistants don't offer such a gift. They fear the repercussions of such an offer.
*****
We stop in front of the locked door of section 22. The bathrooms, the cafeteria, the general lobby and conference rooms constituting the common areas remain unlocked while every 'section' is barricaded behind a series of palm, DNA, and/or retinal scanners.
Locks within locks within locks.
If I were ever asked to comment on my captors' collective state of mental being, I would have to say 'Paranoid'.
Sadistic would be my second choice, as they would undoubtedly find a fitting 'punishment' for my previous statement.
*****
My guard glances at me before lifting his hand to the palm scanner. With a flash of blue light, a click, and a buzz, we are in.
The cool air in here contrasts sharply with the slightly warmer staler air from the hallway we had just left. Sterol and crisp, it is a smell common to all 45 sections. It carries the ambiance of professionalism.
The sections' resemblance ends there.
Section 22 is sectored off into four rooms; a large room surrounded by three glass rooms, labled "A" "B" and "C". As with every room I have ever been in, security cameras monitor these, providing further proof of my captors' paranoia.
*****
"A" houses the genetics lab. Even more sterol than the other two rooms, it contains a small segregated 'sanitation entrance', where new sanitation suits are donned and used suits are discarded. This is where the initial creating began and where the genetic manipulation continues.
Two of my best assistants are in there now. Bowed diligently over their work.
The one on the right is a tall, lanky redhead male. I know him as Neb. He almost constantly has a slight smirk on his face. Like he is on the verge of braking out in laughter. His merriment is carried thru his voice and flavoured with a thick Irish brogue One cannot help but like him.
The one on the left reminds me of Gaz. She is called Jes. She is tall and slender with short violet hair, a breath taking beauty. Everything Gaz could be fifteen years from now.
*****
God, I hope not!
Never let my children suffer this fate. Please, never let them.
For the thousandth time I contemplate a plan to prevent them from forcing my children into this nightmare existence.
For the thousandth time I reject my plan.
For the thousandth time I fail to come up with something foolproof, something guaranteed. Something my captors will fail to notice until it's to late.
*****
Room "B" is where we conduct the experiments on our creation. It is bullet proof, fire proof, and basically houses any number of experimental devices. I am not allowed in that room. I monitor my assistants' actions from outside.
*****
"C" houses the finished products. Seven two-year old sheep and six two- month old lambs mutated by the introduction of genetically engineered Orb spider DNA.
The result?
The sheep produce wool consisting of spider like fibre. Strong, yet soft. It is easy to spin, soft to the touch and can deflect close range bullets. When spun into a rope one centimetre thick, it is stronger than a steel cable twice as thick, is more durable and provides more flexibility.
I'm playing with the colour now. So far I have successfully produced black, white, red, brown and yellow spider-sheep.
That is my excuse for keeping the project going. Unfortunately, I doubt I will be able to keep this ruse up long. The wool can easily be dyed. I hope my captors fail to realize this, at least for a little while longer.
***** My guard takes his spot at the door as I walk towards the centre of the room.
I stop after a few steps, my mind turning towards the tasks ahead, already concocting the report that will keep this project going a little longer.
Glancing around the room I spot my other two assistants.
The one known as Nik is hovering over one of the mainframe computers. Black-brown hair falling over onto a dark face, he is biting his lip again in concentration. He is the smartest of the group, quick to pick up on the subtle nuances of the project. His observations and suggestions have proved valuable beyond measure.
*****
The last of my assistants, Kabe, is with the sheep, sheering wool to spin for the next batch of experiments.
He reminds me subtle of Dib. Raven hair against pale skin. But any physical resemblance ends there. He is stockier than Dib would ever hope to be. Fat mixed with muscle. His features are always a bit sad, almost the exact opposite of Neb. His sharp mind and quick speed betray his baby face looks. It is his mind and speed that remind me of my son.
*****
Dib, from what I am allowed to see, has developed amazing speed and coordination, a fact I tribute to his sister. I have seen him dodge more thrown objects than I can count, while verbally pleading or sparing with his younger sibling. My double stops this behavior almost immediately, but I see enough to know he has become very quick.
*****
Kabe is the first to notice my arrival. Acknowledging my presence with at nod, he finishes his work in a matter of seconds. Sheep # 4 is now a bare shadow of her former self. That won't last long, however, as the spider- sheep wool is quick to regenerate. In a few days, she will be ready to sheer again. He gathers his wool and places it in a box to be spun into a more manageable form for later.
They don't spin the wool here. Instead the wool is processed outside of the labs and returned in a box in the form of string, small towel size rugs, or even shirts, ready for testing.
*****
With his task complete, Kabe exit room "C" and beelines towards me, a bit of a smile on his face.
"Good Morning, Sir." He greets me.
I smile and nod back.
Since the incident, I don't speak unless absolutely necessary. I find it difficult to form words.
"The sheep seem to be doing well." He continues his report. "Yesterday, after you left, we inseminated Sheep 2 and 4. We believe we were successful."
He pauses and glances towards Nik, then looks back at me.
"I had Nik order more alfalfa, and straw. We were running short."
He pauses and looks at Nik again before continuing; "It should be arriving any minute now."
The statement confuses me. Normally we have an overabundance of hay and grain. Hay arrives every Monday, and grain every Tuesday. I thoroughly believed today was Sunday, but with the life I lead, I could very well be wrong.
With a shrug I nod my approval and smile again.
Taking this as dismissal, he leaves.
*****
I head towards my desk and pick up the pen and notepad I use to communicate with my assistants.
Then I turn my attention towards Nik, partially because he asked a question concerning the stability of the chemical we were planning to introduce to the newly weaved fibre today, but partially because I was curious as to what he was doing at the computer. The program he was using didn't look familiar.
As if sensing my approach, he shuts the screen and pulls up a new one, before turning to me.
Standing, he offers me a genuine smile.
"Hello, Sir!"
He has just enough time to greet me before a deafening boom drowns out his voice.
The entire floor shakes.
The sheep are bleating wildly, echoing my own fear and confusion.
Before I know what is happening, Nik has me pinned to the floor.
"Don't worry sir, we are with TFF" he breathes in my face, smelling slightly of bitter coffee and something I cannot identify, "Were here to liberate you from WWITS! We are getting you out of here."
TFF? I have never heard of them.
My captors display their display WWITS proudly on their navy uniforms, but I have yet to learn what the acronym stands for. I have a few Ideas.
For a moment I'm lost in thought, my mind playing with acronyms.
Then the rest of Nik's words sink in.
"We are getting you out of here?"
My fear increases.
These are words of doom.
I close my eyes and shake my head no. They will fail. The security is to tight here. They won't make it past the door. They never do.
It never ceases to amaze me that with all of the continuously increasing security measures, abduction attempts still take place.
More room-shattering booms. My eyes fly open as I hear glass shatter. I glance towards where my guard was standing post. He has a gas mask on and is heading in my direction with two more.
It is obvious he is in on this.
I turn my gaze towards room "A" and see Jes and Neb donning gas masks. Before I can turn to see Kabe, a hand lifts my head and slips a gas mask on me.
Neb speaks to me through his own mask.
"We didn't have time to test this sir, so you may want to hold the mouth piece tight to your face."
I nod and he pushes back, releasing me. I climb shakily to my feet.
With the sounds of explosions echoing in my ears I reevaluate my earlier take on my captors.
Perhaps their paranoia is justified.
Maybe they will succeed in 'liberating' me this time, but at what cost. Am I trading one prison for another?
I almost long for this NOT to be happening. Almost.
But with the call of freedom so very close, I'd be a fool to resist.
Perhaps I can escape my 'would be' rescuers while they are moving me. I'll never know if I don't try.
*****
Please note: any following experiments, creations, ect. are LOOSELY based on 'modern' science and technology. (After all, I'm not the genius Professor Membrane seems to be. Sadly, I'm merely smart enough to know how stupid I really am.) Oh, and they are a tad 'exaggerated' and 'mocked' to emulate the surrealistic world the IZ characters live in.
Section 22: This is VERY loosely based on the Canadian-based Nexia Biotechnologies Inc. creation, which has produced a spider silk protein from the milk of goats carrying an orb spider gene.
I decided to run with the original turn this story decided to take. As in most stories I write, it seems to have a mind of its own. Perhaps it is merely a reflection of my own insanity.
Acknowledgements: O' I luv reviews. They make me all tingly and happy. Thank you, Dib: Black Mage. You have honoured me with being the first reviewer. Thank you immensely. (Bows deeply.) I am glad this is creepy in a good way. I always thought there was more to Professor Membrane than meets the eye. The guy is just to damned, well, something. Anyway, thanks for reviewing. Thank you for your wonderful review, Raina. I am not sure of the fate of his children, but they are both extremely independent and strong headed, so you are probably right, they may yet escape this terrible fate. But with the steady, subtle manipulation of young vulnerable minds, one can never really be to sure. Only time will tell. Silent Knight I, Thank you! I hope this gives the story more direction. I wasn't really expecting it to turn so suddenly, as I have said before this story is writing itself. Most of my stories do. I hope it continue to intrigues you all!
Warning: Contains some mild violence. Worse may come this way, but maybe not. Depending on how the story writes itself. Rated PG -13 just to be safe.
Disclaimer: I still do not own it.
Here we go!
*****
Chapter Two: Noon
*****
Section 22
***** All to soon breakfast is over. My guard stands up and waits for me as I drain the last of my coffee, relishing its bitter taste to the end. We leave the spent dishes on the table.
Silently we make our way towards Section 22.
Spider-sheep.
It is my oldest project, due for completion in less than two weeks. I am done creating what they originally demanded, but am not about to tell my captors. I have grown fond of my assistants. Once this project is over, I know that I will never see them again.
That is how it is.
Every project comes with new lab assistants who follow my every bidding, as long as it concerns the project. They are with me until I have completed what is demanded of me then I never hear about the project or see any of these assistants again.
Ever.
I have completed more projects than I can count. Everything from simple assignments like creating an ultra-healthy physically enhancing Super-Toast to more challenging and intriguing assignments like a perpetual energy generator, or PEG as I use to call her.
Usually the assistants they assign to me are as cold and calculated as my guards. We develop very formal working relationships. I never really see them outside of their protective lenses, lab coats, rubber boots and gloves. They never offer casual conversation, or a friendly pat on the back. Only a stiff handshake when I first meet them and a stiff handshake when they leave.
But the four assistants assigned to Section 22 are different. For the most part they play the roll of the formal lab assistants, but they offer a subtle hint of friendship. Leaning closer when reading a response to an inquiry, an honest, if brief smile to a lame joke, or brushing my hand when taking a petri dish.
It is amazing, the power of the human touch such as this, even thru rubber gloves. I feel more human. More accepted. The handshakes don't hold half as much meaning as this purposeful brushing of hands. It is nothing perverted, nothing lust filled. It is innocent, a gift, an unspoken offer of friendship. It is a blessing.
My captors, my guards, and my torturers are the only ones who really touch me, and their contact is of a less desirable nature, usually ending in pain, sedation, or restriction of movement. Any normal contact, such as a gentle touch on the hand or arm seems strictly forbidden.
Perhaps that is why most of my other lab assistants don't offer such a gift. They fear the repercussions of such an offer.
*****
We stop in front of the locked door of section 22. The bathrooms, the cafeteria, the general lobby and conference rooms constituting the common areas remain unlocked while every 'section' is barricaded behind a series of palm, DNA, and/or retinal scanners.
Locks within locks within locks.
If I were ever asked to comment on my captors' collective state of mental being, I would have to say 'Paranoid'.
Sadistic would be my second choice, as they would undoubtedly find a fitting 'punishment' for my previous statement.
*****
My guard glances at me before lifting his hand to the palm scanner. With a flash of blue light, a click, and a buzz, we are in.
The cool air in here contrasts sharply with the slightly warmer staler air from the hallway we had just left. Sterol and crisp, it is a smell common to all 45 sections. It carries the ambiance of professionalism.
The sections' resemblance ends there.
Section 22 is sectored off into four rooms; a large room surrounded by three glass rooms, labled "A" "B" and "C". As with every room I have ever been in, security cameras monitor these, providing further proof of my captors' paranoia.
*****
"A" houses the genetics lab. Even more sterol than the other two rooms, it contains a small segregated 'sanitation entrance', where new sanitation suits are donned and used suits are discarded. This is where the initial creating began and where the genetic manipulation continues.
Two of my best assistants are in there now. Bowed diligently over their work.
The one on the right is a tall, lanky redhead male. I know him as Neb. He almost constantly has a slight smirk on his face. Like he is on the verge of braking out in laughter. His merriment is carried thru his voice and flavoured with a thick Irish brogue One cannot help but like him.
The one on the left reminds me of Gaz. She is called Jes. She is tall and slender with short violet hair, a breath taking beauty. Everything Gaz could be fifteen years from now.
*****
God, I hope not!
Never let my children suffer this fate. Please, never let them.
For the thousandth time I contemplate a plan to prevent them from forcing my children into this nightmare existence.
For the thousandth time I reject my plan.
For the thousandth time I fail to come up with something foolproof, something guaranteed. Something my captors will fail to notice until it's to late.
*****
Room "B" is where we conduct the experiments on our creation. It is bullet proof, fire proof, and basically houses any number of experimental devices. I am not allowed in that room. I monitor my assistants' actions from outside.
*****
"C" houses the finished products. Seven two-year old sheep and six two- month old lambs mutated by the introduction of genetically engineered Orb spider DNA.
The result?
The sheep produce wool consisting of spider like fibre. Strong, yet soft. It is easy to spin, soft to the touch and can deflect close range bullets. When spun into a rope one centimetre thick, it is stronger than a steel cable twice as thick, is more durable and provides more flexibility.
I'm playing with the colour now. So far I have successfully produced black, white, red, brown and yellow spider-sheep.
That is my excuse for keeping the project going. Unfortunately, I doubt I will be able to keep this ruse up long. The wool can easily be dyed. I hope my captors fail to realize this, at least for a little while longer.
***** My guard takes his spot at the door as I walk towards the centre of the room.
I stop after a few steps, my mind turning towards the tasks ahead, already concocting the report that will keep this project going a little longer.
Glancing around the room I spot my other two assistants.
The one known as Nik is hovering over one of the mainframe computers. Black-brown hair falling over onto a dark face, he is biting his lip again in concentration. He is the smartest of the group, quick to pick up on the subtle nuances of the project. His observations and suggestions have proved valuable beyond measure.
*****
The last of my assistants, Kabe, is with the sheep, sheering wool to spin for the next batch of experiments.
He reminds me subtle of Dib. Raven hair against pale skin. But any physical resemblance ends there. He is stockier than Dib would ever hope to be. Fat mixed with muscle. His features are always a bit sad, almost the exact opposite of Neb. His sharp mind and quick speed betray his baby face looks. It is his mind and speed that remind me of my son.
*****
Dib, from what I am allowed to see, has developed amazing speed and coordination, a fact I tribute to his sister. I have seen him dodge more thrown objects than I can count, while verbally pleading or sparing with his younger sibling. My double stops this behavior almost immediately, but I see enough to know he has become very quick.
*****
Kabe is the first to notice my arrival. Acknowledging my presence with at nod, he finishes his work in a matter of seconds. Sheep # 4 is now a bare shadow of her former self. That won't last long, however, as the spider- sheep wool is quick to regenerate. In a few days, she will be ready to sheer again. He gathers his wool and places it in a box to be spun into a more manageable form for later.
They don't spin the wool here. Instead the wool is processed outside of the labs and returned in a box in the form of string, small towel size rugs, or even shirts, ready for testing.
*****
With his task complete, Kabe exit room "C" and beelines towards me, a bit of a smile on his face.
"Good Morning, Sir." He greets me.
I smile and nod back.
Since the incident, I don't speak unless absolutely necessary. I find it difficult to form words.
"The sheep seem to be doing well." He continues his report. "Yesterday, after you left, we inseminated Sheep 2 and 4. We believe we were successful."
He pauses and glances towards Nik, then looks back at me.
"I had Nik order more alfalfa, and straw. We were running short."
He pauses and looks at Nik again before continuing; "It should be arriving any minute now."
The statement confuses me. Normally we have an overabundance of hay and grain. Hay arrives every Monday, and grain every Tuesday. I thoroughly believed today was Sunday, but with the life I lead, I could very well be wrong.
With a shrug I nod my approval and smile again.
Taking this as dismissal, he leaves.
*****
I head towards my desk and pick up the pen and notepad I use to communicate with my assistants.
Then I turn my attention towards Nik, partially because he asked a question concerning the stability of the chemical we were planning to introduce to the newly weaved fibre today, but partially because I was curious as to what he was doing at the computer. The program he was using didn't look familiar.
As if sensing my approach, he shuts the screen and pulls up a new one, before turning to me.
Standing, he offers me a genuine smile.
"Hello, Sir!"
He has just enough time to greet me before a deafening boom drowns out his voice.
The entire floor shakes.
The sheep are bleating wildly, echoing my own fear and confusion.
Before I know what is happening, Nik has me pinned to the floor.
"Don't worry sir, we are with TFF" he breathes in my face, smelling slightly of bitter coffee and something I cannot identify, "Were here to liberate you from WWITS! We are getting you out of here."
TFF? I have never heard of them.
My captors display their display WWITS proudly on their navy uniforms, but I have yet to learn what the acronym stands for. I have a few Ideas.
For a moment I'm lost in thought, my mind playing with acronyms.
Then the rest of Nik's words sink in.
"We are getting you out of here?"
My fear increases.
These are words of doom.
I close my eyes and shake my head no. They will fail. The security is to tight here. They won't make it past the door. They never do.
It never ceases to amaze me that with all of the continuously increasing security measures, abduction attempts still take place.
More room-shattering booms. My eyes fly open as I hear glass shatter. I glance towards where my guard was standing post. He has a gas mask on and is heading in my direction with two more.
It is obvious he is in on this.
I turn my gaze towards room "A" and see Jes and Neb donning gas masks. Before I can turn to see Kabe, a hand lifts my head and slips a gas mask on me.
Neb speaks to me through his own mask.
"We didn't have time to test this sir, so you may want to hold the mouth piece tight to your face."
I nod and he pushes back, releasing me. I climb shakily to my feet.
With the sounds of explosions echoing in my ears I reevaluate my earlier take on my captors.
Perhaps their paranoia is justified.
Maybe they will succeed in 'liberating' me this time, but at what cost. Am I trading one prison for another?
I almost long for this NOT to be happening. Almost.
But with the call of freedom so very close, I'd be a fool to resist.
Perhaps I can escape my 'would be' rescuers while they are moving me. I'll never know if I don't try.
*****