by Amy Cross
"Here!" Benjamin says. He's standing by one of the jars, inspecting a creature that appears to be more active than the others. Twisting and writhing in its jar of yellow liquid, the creature seems to be in distress. "This one is unable to cope with the pain," Benjamin continues. "It's a weak specimen. If we allowed it to live, it would be sub-standard. It would pollute the species." Reaching out, he pushes a switch on the front of the jar; seconds later, a dark, inky substance floods into the chamber, and the creature twitches a couple of times before falling still. I feel its mind reach out to me for a moment, before its presence drifts away.
"I know this might seem harsh," Benjamin says, "but it's necessary for the good of the project. I can promise you, however, that every failed specimen causes me a little pain of my own. I've yet to fully understand why some of the creatures are unable to handle their training, but genetic variation is something I wish to wipe out completely over time."
Staring at the dead creature in its jar, I feel an overwhelming sense of pity. The poor little thing lived a short life, tortured by a kind of pain that it couldn't possibly understand. While I understand what Benjamin is saying about the need to protect the rest of the species from weak specimens, I can't help thinking that there might have been a place for this particular creature to somehow survive. Surely there's some room for the weak to still live, even if they can't take on the same role as the others? Just because they can't be in the army, they might be able to make some other contribution.
"Don't get sentimental," Benjamin continues. "If you pause to consider every loss, every failure, you'll quickly become overwhelmed. These are your brothers and sisters, but at this early stage they're barely aware of anything other than the specific sensations we choose to deliver."
"Like pain," I reply, staring at another of the creatures. As I watch, it seems to turn and look at the jar of its dead neighbor, as if it understands what it's seeing.
"How interesting," Benjamin says, leaning closer. "This one seems to have noticed that I killed its brother. Perhaps it feels pity." He pauses, before flicking a switch on this second jar; again, an inky black cloud enters the liquid, and moments later the second creature is also dead. "Pity is a weakness for these things. They must not be allowed to develop in such a way. What matters, more than anything, is that they focus on the task at hand." He turns to me. "Don't worry, Abigail. This is just the first wave. We can afford to lose a few more in order to protect the integrity of the swarm." He pauses for a moment. "Don't let your emotions get the better of you. See this through my eyes. See the opportunity we have to change the world."
I nod slowly. While I don't agree with what Benjamin is doing, I know that his intelligence is unparalleled. It would be wrong of me to question his plans; instead, I must watch and learn, and hope that eventually I'm able to see things his way. I must be patient while I wait for my old ideas to fade away.
"Do you want to see the finished article?" Benjamin asks. "There's a single prototype that managed to survive the initial batch, and I think you should meet it. Of course, it's unfinished, and it's unstable, but it'll help you to understand how the project will ultimately work." Taking my hand, he smiles as he leads me across the room. "I can see in your eyes, Abigail, that you're starting to understand my philosophy. I admit that what I'm doing is somewhat controversial, and I'm sure there are plenty of people who would object that I'm being unethical or cruel. But I think you're smarter than that, aren't you? You're starting to see the world through my eyes."
We reach a door, behind which there's a smaller room with another, heavily-fortified door. Benjamin pulls a pass-card from his pocket and swipes it, unlocking the door.
"Meet yourself," he says, stepping aside as I walk into the next room. It's dark, and for a moment I struggle to see anything, but finally I start to make out a shape. Chained to the floor, covered from head to toe in some kind of bloody, proto-plasmic residue, there's a creature. It looks human, but I can tell it's not: its mind is already reaching out to mine, trying to find a way to connect with my deepest thoughts; although I reject its attempts, I can feel it furiously trying again and again, seeking to break down my resistance. Slowly, the creature raises its head and looks straight at me. It has dark, soulless eyes, and a mouth full of fangs... and it looks exactly like me.
Patrick
"You're pathetic," says a voice close by.
Turning, I see that I've been visited by another ghost, and this one is far less welcome than the first. Charles Nimrod, the man who did more to harm Abigail's early life than any other, and the man who ultimately tricked Sophie, is smiling at me. He thinks he's won.
"You probably think this is all my fault," he continues. "You probably think that if I'd never taken little Abby when she was a baby, you and Sophie could have raised her properly and she'd be fine." He laughs. "It's not that simple. My aim was always to help the child. If you'd just let me get on with it, she'd have had a much, much better life. Instead, you ripped me apart and prevented me from implementing the final part of my plan. Of course, by that point I didn't really care. Benjamin sent me to make sure that the prophecy was fulfilled. My job was simply to get Abby away from you and make you so angry that you killed the woman you loved." He pauses. "I achieved everything I set out to achieve," he says finally. "I died, but by that point I'd already won."
His mocking laughter chills my bones. Without Nimrod's interference, I would have returned Abigail to Sophie when the time was right. The child needed to be at Gothos while she was growing up, but once she reached her teenage years I would have brought her back to this world to spend time with her mother. Instead, Nimrod manipulated all of us and I was unable to control my anger. He was right all those years ago when he called me a monster. Seeing my weakness, Nimrod came up with a plan to use my own qualities against me, and it worked. No wonder he looks so pleased with himself.
"You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment," he says. "Not just me... there are so many who will delight in your death, Patrick, and who will take pleasure from the fact that your precious child will be lost to darkness." He leans closer. "As you die, know that you failed miserably, and that your daughter's long life will be one of pain and misery." Smiling, he slowly vanishes before my eyes, leaving me once again alone.
Abigail
"Talk to her," Benjamin says, standing behind me. "Don't be afraid. Talk to her. Find out what she knows. Learn how she feels. Get to know your first sister. She's just the first of many."
I don't dare move. The creature in front of me is so still and quiet, but I'm sensing enormous power. She's wearing some kind of gray boiler suit, and there are a few wires and pipes running from the base of her spine to a power unit on the wall. It's as if she's waiting for something, but I have no idea what she wants. She's crouched on the ground, but she's looking directly at me and her dark eyes are fixed on me. She's kind of intimidating, as if she's trying to work out my weaknesses. Her mind is still reaching out to me, trying to get into my soul.
"What's her name?" I ask, my voice faltering.
"She doesn't have a name," Benjamin replies. "She doesn't need one. Her unit code is D84, but that's just a way of marking her out from the batch. It's okay, Abigail. You can go closer. She won't hurt you."
I pause, feeling as if I can't possibly go anywhere near this... thing. Although it undoubtedly has my face, it seems like something that has crawled up from the depths of Hell. When Benjamin said it was unstable, he wasn't lying: the creature looks to have a slight tremor running through its face, and its skin seems to be peeling away. In some ways, it looks a lot like Patrick looked when I saw him up in the cavern. It's a monster, but at the same time it's also clearly a copy of my own body.
"I should make one thing clear," Benjamin continues. "This specimen will not last. She's going to die in a matter of days, maybe even just a few hours. But she's proof, Abigail. She's proof that the others, in the jars, can survive. This particular creature is a crude prototype, but
the others have your DNA more deeply embedded in their genetic profile. They'll be stronger. What you're seeing now is a fleeting glimpse of the weakness I intend to eradicate."
"Is she in pain?" I ask, staring into the creature's eyes.
"Of course," he says. "They're all in pain from the moment they're created. It's a necessary means of control. But in every other respect, she's an identical copy of you. Even her mind. She sees the world as you see it. She feels the same things that you feel. She has your strengths and, for now, your weaknesses. Like you, she's a noble creature. Imagine a world filled with these things, Abigail."
I take a deep breath, unable to turn away. I'm staring at a copy of myself, but at the same time it's as if I'm looking at some kind of hideous mutant. It's hard to believe that this thing is in any way related to me, but I can't deny that its face is the same as mine, and I can feel its mind still reaching out to me, hoping for some kind of connection. There's a part of me that thinks I should accept its attempts to communicate, but I'm terrified by the thought of letting something so horrific into my head: if it comes in, it might never leave.
"Speak to it," Benjamin says. "Go on, Abigail. Speak to the creature." He pauses. "Perhaps you're shy. I'll leave the room for a moment, so you can relax a little."
Still staring at the creature, I hear Benjamin walking out. Moments later, the door closes and I'm let standing alone, facing this bizarre, messed-up copy of my own body. I can still feel it trying to push its thoughts into my head, as if this is the only way it knows how to communicate. It desperately wants to form a bond with me, to understand me, but I can't let that happen.
"Can you hear me?" I ask, still keeping a little distance between us. Those chains around the creature's wrists and ankles look strong, but I don't want to take any chances.
She stares at me, as if she doesn't understand what I'm saying.
"I just -" I pause, struggling to find the right words. Perhaps there are no right words in a situation like this.
"Listen to me," she says suddenly. Her voice is tense and strained, but underneath it all she still sounds exactly like me.
I wait for a moment.
"Listen to me," she says again, more urgently.
"You're not saying anything," I tell her, before realizing that she's talking about her mind. She desperately wants me to let her into my head; it's as if I've closed a door, and she's scratching at the wood. "What do you want?" I ask, swallowing hard.
"Listen to me," she repeats, and this time her voice is filled with sadness.
"Whatever you want to say," I reply firmly, "say it with words."
"I need to get into your mind," she says. "I need to show you."
"No chance," I say, fearing that she has some kind of plan to attack me.
She stares at me for a moment. "You're scared of me."
I pause. "Yeah," I say finally. "A bit." I take a deep breath. "What do you want?"
"I want to make a deal," she says. "Kill me, and in return I promise to kill you too. Just let me into your mind and I can kill us both. It'll be so quick, you'll barely even know it's happening."
"Why would I want to do that?" I ask.
"You'd prefer to live like this?" From the look in her eyes, I can see that she's desperate to find an end to her agony. Slowly, I start walking around her, in order to get a better look at the wires and tubes coming from her spine. Whatever Benjamin's doing with her, he clearly doesn't care about how she feels. All he cares about is creating the ultimate, perfect creature.
"Maybe I can help you," I say. "What would happen if I disconnected all of this stuff?"
"The pain would end," she replies.
"Then I'll do it," I say.
"Let me end your pain as well," she says. "We're sisters. Let me help you."
"I'm not in pain," I tell her. "Not the way you are." I pause for a moment. "Were you born in one of those jars?" I ask. "Do you remember being in there?"
She nods. "I remember everything from the moment I was created. I remember when I was just a few cells, forming around a digital scaffold. I remember when I was little more than an embryo, suspended in liquid. I remember when Benjamin would come and stare into my jar and smile as he saw my progress. I remember the day I was removed from the liquid and forced to live like this. I remember..." She pauses for a moment. "Benjamin thinks I've always been in pain, but he's wrong. There was a moment, just a brief moment that lasted less than a second, right at the start of my consciousness, when I felt no pain at all. I know what it's like to be free of pain, and I want to go back to that state, even if it means death." She smiles. "You can come with me."
I shake my head. "I'd rather live. And you can live too."
"None of us can live," she replies. "All our sisters and brothers are destined to be like me. There's no escape. We're all doomed to feel the same way. The wires coming out of my back are part of my body. When you remove them, I'll die, and then you have to go and kill all the others. Please, let me use your body for a few minutes. We can't live like this."
"You're wrong," I say.
"I'm you," she replies, with tears in her eyes. "I'm an exact genetic copy of you, and I can't live like this. If you have any compassion at all, you'll kill all of us. All our brothers, all our sisters. I can promise you, they're all floating in their jars and begging to have their lives ended. Open your mind and you'll hear them. Please, save me. Save us." She holds up her hands, showing me the thick chains around her wrists. "I'm not tied down because I'm a threat to you," she continues, "or even a threat to Benjamin. I'm tied down because he knows that I'd rip the wires from my back if I had a chance. It's all I think about, all day and all night. I close my eyes and I imagine the moment of death. I imagine what it would be like to feel the pain go away. I had that one painless moment at the moment of my conception, and I'm hoping that I'll have the same thing at the moment of my death. Please, help me. Help all of us."
I step closer, seeing the spot where the wires go into the back of her boiler suit.
"Just pull them out," she says, her voice almost reduced to a whimper.
"Are you sure?" I ask, realizing that this is the only humane thing to do.
"I'm sure," she says. "If you were in my position, wouldn't you want the same thing?"
Taking a deep breath, I reach out and grab hold of the wires, ready to pull them out.
"One final thing," she says, her voice trembling. "Before I go... Do you know my name? Benjamin always said I don't have a name, but I was thinking... maybe on my jar, or in my files, there might have been something. I'd like to know what it was."
I stare at her for a moment. "Your name was Abigail," I say finally. "Abigail Hart. Just like mine."
"Abigail Hart," she says, with a hint of wonderment in her voice. "Abby. I like that name."
I stand behind her, holding the wires, waiting to pull them out and kill her. I know it's the only way to end her suffering, but at the same time I don't know if I can do this. Benjamin plays God every day, but I feel as if I don't have that right. I've killed before, but it's always been a passionate, blood-fueled thing; this, by contrast, is a clinical execution, and it feels unnecessary.
"Please..." she cries, starting to sob.
"I can't," I say, letting go of the wires and stepping back. "I can't do it."
"Please!" she shouts, turning to me. There are tears rolling down her cheeks.
I shake my head. "I can't do this to you," I say. "I'm sorry."
At that moment, the door opens and Benjamin re-enters the room. "Such a fascinating experiment," he says as he walks around to stand next to me. "I must admit, I suspected something like this might happen, but I was wrong about one thing, Abigail. I thought you'd kill her. I thought you'd feel pity for her. I'm glad I was wrong." Reaching out, he grabs the wires and pulls them out from the creature's back. She gasps and turns to look straight at me, and for a moment I see something new in her eyes, as if she's finally got that moment free of pain, and I feel a se
nse of relief coming from her mind; less than a second later, she falls dead to the floor.
"You didn't have to do that," I say, feeling a cold shiver run through my body.
"Yes," Benjamin replies, "I did. She begged for death. She was weak." He pauses. "I have to admit something, Abigail. I'm a little confused. Every specimen created with your DNA shows the same weakness. They all have a sense of pity. They care about one another. I have to stamp this out if the creatures are to reach their full potential, but I don't understand why they would show pity when you, yourself, seem to have none." He pauses. "Unless I've been mistaken all along. Tell me, why did you decide not to kill her?"
"I couldn't do it," I say. "I just... I couldn't do it to her."
"A different kind of pity," he says sadly. "Now I understand. Excuse me, there's something I must do." Turning, he walks out of the room, leaving me standing over the body of the dead creature.
Looking down, I see her eyes staring straight ahead, all life extinguished. Is this what I'll look like when I eventually die? At least she got her final moment without pain, or at least I think she did. But it's hard to imagine how much pain she must have endured first.
"I'm sorry," I say, before turning and walking out of the room.
"It's a shame that we've reached this point," Benjamin says as I return to the main area. He's walking past the jars, looking in at the little creatures as they, in turn, seem to be watching him. "I thought your DNA would be perfect, Abigail," he continues, "but now I realize that there are a few adjustments I still need to make. I don't mind the extra work, but I must admit it's a little frustrating to have to throw all these specimens out and start again."
"Throw them out?" I ask. "What do you mean? What are you going to do to them?"
He turns to me. "The only thing I can do," he says, holding up a small device in his hand. He presses a button, and moments later I see inky blackness shooting into all of the jars.
"No!" I shout, running over and watching as the creatures tremble and finally die. I hurry across the room, but it's too late. They're all dead. Every single creature has been executed, and now they float dead in their jars. I feel their minds falling quiet, and finally the room is silent.
