“Look, you win, okay? Just let us go, please,” he said as I pointed the gun and prepared to shoot. As I began to pull the trigger, Claire came in and stopped me by pushing my arm upwards.
“What the hell is wrong with you!?” she yelled as the two muggers got up and ran off.
“They were attacking that guy,” I replied. “I tried to stop them.”
Later that night when we got home, we sat down in the living room to talk about what happened.
“Look, I was just trying to help that guy,” I said.
“I know, but you just can’t go around killing people,” Claire responded.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you just can’t, okay? Not to mention that it’s against the law,” Claire said.
“I don’t understand. They were going to kill that guy if he didn’t give them his wallet. Isn’t that against the law?”
“Yes. Look, I know you were just trying to help, but you’ve got to know that killing people here is not okay. You need to know what is right from what is wrong,” Robert said.
“How so?”
“For example, you see someone about to attack a girl with a knife, what do you do? Do you
walk away, go after the attacker, or do you disarm the attacker and kill him?” Robert asked.
“Kill him,” I replied.
“No. See? This is what we mean. You can’t just go around killing people. Sometimes all you need to do is to teach them a lesson.”
“A lesson?”
“What he means is that if you teach someone a lesson, they might be convinced to not do something again. Basically, teaching someone that every action has a consequence,” Claire said.
“What do you mean?”
“If you were to kill those two, you would go to jail. It’s a place where bad people go,” she said. “Going to jail is the consequence for killing them.”
“Not if it was self-defense,” I replied.
“Yes, but they were already disarmed on the ground,” Robert said.
“At that point, it’s no longer self-defense, and it becomes cold-blooded murder.”
“Look, why don’t you go to bed. We will talk about this more tomorrow,” Claire said.
I was so confused. All my life I was trained to be a killing machine, and now all of a sudden, I can’t do it. What was I supposed to do? I lay in bed all night, contemplating about what Claire and Robert said to me. I had trouble sleeping, so I sat atop the stairs and over-heard their conversation in the kitchen.
“I just want to know what that program did to him. I mean, he was going to kill those two men,” Claire said.
“I know normally if you disarm them and take them down, that’s it and you let the police finish the job,” Robert said.
“What are we going to do with him?” Claire asked.
“I don’t know,” Robert said.
“We could send him to school.”
“Absolutely not. If he thinks that murdering an unarmed man is the way to handle things, imagine if we send him to school and kids pick on him. It would be a blood bath.”
“Well, we could home-school him for a while and take him to a therapist to undo all the brainwashing inflicted on him.”
“That could work.”
They talked for a while before I went to bed. The next day they pulled me aside to try and teach me more about right from wrong. They used examples like the mugging from last night and other examples, which did help but I was still confused by some of it.
A few days later, my adoptive parents took me to meet my therapist who would assist me in my rehabilitation. I sat in the waiting area with my mother waiting for my appointment. An assistant walked in to the lobby.
“Alex,” she said.
I got up, followed her and went into the office. A lady sat on an office chair. The office had a desk with a couch at the back.
“Hello, my name is Dr. Matson. Please take a seat,” she said.
She seemed nice. She had her black hair in a pony tail, and wore glasses, a black coat, white shirt, black pants, and black high-heeled shoes. I sat down on the couch.
“So, Alex, I understand your adoptive parents have sent you here for a rehabilitation effort, is that correct?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“I see. And what are we rehabilitating you from?” she asked.
“Rehabilitation from my previous life,” I said.
“And what did your previous life consist of?” she asked.
“I was genetically engineered and trained from birth to be a super soldier. The program was called the Omega Project. When I was thirteen, the facility was attacked by terrorists. I think I was the only one to survive the attack.”
“Interesting. What was life like when you were in the Omega Project?” she asked.
“Difficult. The training started simple enough. When I was seven, I learned everything from basic to advanced combat training. I have heightened learning abilities, so by age eleven, I had mastered everything the program had to offer.
Basically, I have more tactical knowledge than most generals and Special Forces commandos. When I turned twelve, the training was super brutal on me. I had to do everything from running through obstacle courses with guns firing and explosions going off all around me,” I said.
“How would you think this affected you in your normal life?” she asked.
“It’s hard for me to adjust to civilian life. Since I never spent any time outside of the compound, all this feels alien to me. I had never seen a lot of what civilian life had to offer. For example, I saw two people mugging someone. So, I went over, disarmed them, let the victim escape, and attempted to kill them,” I replied.
“Why did you try to kill them if they were already disarmed?”
“I did it because it’s in my training. If I see an enemy, I kill them and show no mercy.”
The psychologist seemed confused about me. She then tried to sum up an explanation.
“I think that the trauma of your training has had a much larger impact on your life than it appears,” Dr. Matson said. “I think what we will work on is trying to help you adjust to normal life. We will speak more on our next appointment.”
Throughout the next two years, I talked with her and we continued to talk about my life. We mostly focused on trying to help me adjust to civilian life. I went through a tough two years, but Claire and Robert were very supportive of me and never gave up on me for one second.
Chapter Three
After spending two years of getting rehabilitated into society, I now had to work on my next step of rehabilitation, interacting with others via going to high school. It was a nice, sunny day in September 2008. My alarm clock went off at 7:00 a.m. I woke up, got out of bed. I went to look into the mirror and saw the 115 mark under my right armpit, reminding me of my true nature. As I looked in the mirror, I wondered if I could ever be normal. Sometimes I would stay up all night wondering what happened to the rest of Omega Project. Were there other survivors? Who did it? I don’t know… These may be questions I will never have an answer for.
I went downstairs to my mother making breakfast, and father getting ready for work. Over the years, I have grown accustomed to calling Claire my mom, and Robert my dad. After all, they were the closest thing to family I had.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Morning,” Mom replied as she prepared breakfast.
“Are you ready for your first day?”
“Sure, I guess. I mean, I have never been to a high school before,” I hesitantly replied as I sat down.
“Don’t worry about it, Alex, the first day is always scary. I remember my first day at high school. One of the seniors gave me a swirly,” Dad said.
“Well, this just got more interesting,” I replied.
“You’ll be fine honey,” Mom said, placing a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me.
“Got to go, I’m running late,” Dad said as he got up.
“Do yo
u think people will find out?” I asked.
Mom sat down with her plate.
“I doubt it, just try to be discrete okay,” Mom said.
“Yeah, I know. I mean, what would happen if people found out,” I replied.
“I know, but you’ll be fine,” Mom reassured me.
It was my first day as a freshman at Brooksfield High School. I have never seen a school in person before let alone been to one. My mom and I arrived at the school, and I was slightly astounded with how big the building was.
“Wow, it’s huge,” I said as I observed the front of the school.
“Don’t worry. Just remember to relax and you will be fine,” Mom said.
“Thanks Mom, I’ll see you later,” I said, exiting the car.
I observed the school once I got out of the car; to me, it was huge and there were other students everywhere. I saw other students getting dropped off in the parking lot. The exterior had a grassy field in front, with the parking lot in front of the field. I noticed a rather expensive looking car drive into parking lot.
As the car stopped, three girls emerged from the car, all dressed very preppy, complete with skirts, designer shirts and coats, and other more expensive looking accessories. I noticed that most of the students looked at the three girls and I overheard one of the students talking about them as they walked by.
“Yeah, didn’t you hear? She and Derek broke up this summer,” one of the girls said.
“I know, but I heard that they might get back together,” another girl said.
I didn’t quite understand why that was so relevant. As I entered, students roamed the halls rushing to get to class. I could hear the sounds of students talking and lockers opening and closing. I saw some seniors hazing freshmen by making them carry their books to their classes and other humiliating things.
One kid was dragged into the bathroom. I wanted to help, but I just wound up standing there watching. He came out a few minutes later soaking wet. I just stared angrily at the poor kid.
I went to my locker to put my stuff away and go to class. As I spent more time at the school, the more distressed I felt. What if my secret got out? How would the students react? How it would affect my life? So many thoughts were racing in my four digit IQ head. I walked around the school for a bit to get the feel of the place. I saw mostly people talking in small groups about what classes everyone had and what they did this summer.
By the time I was done walking around the school, I had memorized a majority of the schools interior and where everything was located. The interior hallway was pretty clean. There had to have been at least one hundred class rooms. After I did my walk around, I then went to class.
As I arrived at my first class in English, I looked around. There were thirty desks for students and a desk for the teacher. I was trained to always observe my environment in the event of an emergency. I guess it was just an old habit I picked up from my training. I sat down and got my stuff out, and the teacher walked in and introduced himself. He was averaged sized, not too skinny but not too big. He was well groomed, and he seemed friendly.
“Good morning, students. My name is Mr. Bennet. I will be your English teacher for the year. I’m also the head of the performing arts club, if you’re interested. A little about me: I went to New York University where I majored in English and minored in Theater. I grew up here in California, so after I got my degree, I came back here and started teaching. I have been here for five years and I really enjoy teaching,” he said.
He continued to talk about class rules and the schedule. After class, I wanted to talk to the teacher about some information on how school works. Maybe he could tell me something I didn’t know.
“Hey, it’s my first day here, and I was wondering if you could give me some pointers on how things work around here?” I said.
“Homeschooled?” he asked.
“Something like that,” I said.
“Just try to be yourself, I guess. I mean, high school is tough, you know?” Mr. Bennet said. “I went through the same thing on my first day. I had just moved and had no friends. But it got better over time.”
My next class was math. It was more of the same, just a different subject. When I sat down, a girl sat into the desk next to mine. She was one of the girls who came out of that fancy car. Along with her designer clothes, her hair was long and curled, and she had quite a bit of makeup on.
“Excuse me, are you good at math?” she asked.
“A little why?” I replied.
“Thank, God. I need an A this semester,” she replied.
“I’m Emily, by the way.”
“I’m Alex,” I replied.
The teacher came in, introduced himself, and then asked us some basic questions. He was tall, skinny, and bald. He wore a white shirt, tie, and black pants. He asked us some basic math problems, which some of the students understood. Due to my training in math, his questions were easy for me. Although I knew the answers, I could not answer his question. So, I just sat there and waited for class to end.
Lunch was weird. I sat alone and quietly watched all the students at their tables sorted into their own groups. As I sat there, I felt as if the other students were watching me.
I sat at a table where other kids with no friends sat. I sat at the very end, and just pulled out my textbooks from my bag and read them. I managed to memorize most of the material. As I pretended to read, I was listening in on of some of the student’s conversations. They mostly spoke about useless things like sports or video games or fashion trends. I had macaroni and cheese that was processed; it tasted creamy and soft, not too bad. As I got up to throw my stuff away, some kid put his foot out, tripping me, while his friends laughed. I gripped my fist and glowered at the kids. But I didn’t want to get in trouble, so I got up, and walked off.
My next class was drama class. There were about twenty-five kids. The room had no desks and instead had chairs positioned around the front of the room with a mini stage there. I sat down and waited for class to start. I actually did not want to take this class, but my mom insisted that I do in order to get out of my comfort zone and to assist with my rehabilitation.
As I sat there I saw a girl enter the class room. She was another student with black hair that was shoulder length and wearing a red short-sleeved shirt and jeans. I gazed at her, and it felt like my eyes were glued to her. The teacher came in and I snapped out of it. She talked about herself and the class, basically the same thing as the other classes on the first day.
After class, I had the urge to talk to my female classmate. It felt as if I didn’t talk to her, the world would end. As she gathered up her stuff, I walked over to her and tried to talk to her. As I approached her, my head was racing with numerous thoughts: Say hi to her. Ask her out. Don’t say anything stupid. Come up with a funny pick up line.
I didn’t know what to say, so I walked away.
My first day was complete; it was different for me, and even a little more complex than war. All the classes were the same with the exception of different subjects. All we did was sit in desks and listen to the teacher talk for about an hour, quite boring. As I ate dinner later that night, I told my parents about my experiences.
“So, how was your first day?” Mom asked.
“Strange, not to mention kind of tedious, sitting in a desk all day and being poorly thought on how to do things. One thing bothered me: I saw several students being mean to other students. I can’t understand why people would be so cruel,” I said.
“It’s just kids being jerks. It happens a lot in school,” Dad replied.
“Why would they do that?” I asked.
“They just think it’s cool, or maybe they just want to impress someone,” Mom replied.
“Sounds like cowardice,” I said.
“True. In fact, most bullies are cowards,” Dad said.
“So, did you make any new friends?” Mom asked.
“No, not really. It’s pretty hard to find friends when you’re
a person like me,” I replied.
“Well, that’s high school life for you in a nutshell; trying to fit in is a challenge,” Dad said.
We talked about other things like Dad’s day at work and other things. Later when I went to bed, I stayed up wondering how exactly to fit in. Needless to say, I came up with nothing. I also thought about the girl in my drama class and started to smile.
Chapter Four
A week had passed, and I was no closer to making any friends. I mostly just walked the halls from class to class, sat alone at lunch and did not interact with anyone. As I was getting dropped off at school, Mom called out to me.
“Alex,” she said as I turned around.
“Try to make some friends today,” she said before driving off.
As I walked into school, I saw a group of boys talking in the cafeteria. I overheard another group of kids greeting each other with, “Yo, what’s up?” So I walked up to the kids, and gave it a try.
“Uh, yo, what’s up?” I said as I gripped my backpack straps.
They all looked at me like I was an alien.
“What’s up?” one of the boys said.
“Have you guys seen anything cool online lately?” I asked.
“Uh, we got to get to class,” one of the boys said.
The other boys just got up and walked off like I was an idiot.
When I arrived at first period, I spoke to Mr. Bennet, who was sorting papers on his desk.
“So, are things getting any better?” Mr. Bennet asked.
“No. It’s rather difficult. Got any ideas?” I replied.
He put his paper down.
“Well, I suppose you could try to do something nice for someone,” he suggested as the bell rang.
On my way to my next class, a student snuck up on me and knocked my books out of my hand.
“What’s up dumbass?” he asked as he ran off with some of the upperclassmen laughing.
The Omega Archives Page 3
