by Shadow Soft
Chapter 1
I would tell you my name, as that seems the proper place to start a story. But I don’t have a name, so forgive me.
When I was born the obstetrician suffered a spontaneous muscle twitch while severing the umbilical cord that attached me to my mother. Two inches of razor-sharp steel sliced from the bottom of my ribcage across my stomach to my opposing hip, lacerating the organs beneath. Normally such a wound would mean death to a newborn within minutes, if not seconds.
I did not die. In front of the petrified doctor’s eyes, before the blood even had time to flow, the gash healed itself completely. Within a dozen seconds I was unblemished and wailing healthily.
That day, the day I lived, was the day my life ended. My parents lost custody in a flurry of scientific adrenaline and I was whisked away to a research facility, where I spent the next ten years being scanned, probed, and tested. Fascinated by my inexplicable self-healing capacity, scientists and doctors from all over the world payed to get their hands on me for so little as an hour. Too caught up in the frenzy of discovery to remember that I was a human just like them, they strapped me to a rolling stretcher and wheeled me around the facility. My life was spent in one test room after another, and in the hallways in between.
The hallways were the worst parts. The waiting, strapped to the stretcher, staring at a closed door and wondering what awaited me inside. More knives to cut me? Lasers? Probes? Hot needles? Sharp metal? Syringes to inject death viruses?
I was not afraid of death. Quite to the contrary––knowing no other than the life of a lab rat, I yearned for death. Beyond the sweet veil of death lay something I had never before known, something so alluring I smiled as I dreamt of it at night: peace. Peace from the tests, the atrocities. No more scientists in white lab coats, no more peering eyes and muttered conferences, no more injections and dismemberment.
If there was one thing I knew in life, it was that I could not die. So, quite naturally, dying was the only thing I wanted. But it was beyond me. Every time they devised a new way to kill me, my body healed flawlessly and instantaneously. Within moments my flesh regenerated and the pain dissolved.
It must not have been that bad, then, you must think. If the pain disappeared moments after it came, what was I so afraid of? Let me tell you: something that lasts only moments becomes your life when the moments are never-ending. Imagine being pierced with a needle. The pain is only temporary. Not so bad. But then imagine being stabbed with the needle, having it withdrawn, then being stabbed again five seconds later. And again. And again.
Such was my life. Night was my respite, when they let me sleep like a normal human being, the sole privilege left to me. But during the day they tested. Tested. It became a word of hatred to me. They worked against my body every atrocity they could contrive.
And I healed. And healed. And healed.
Healing has never been such a curse. I sought death at their hands but it evaded me. Over the course of ten years, maturing from infancy to toddlerhood to childhood with painstaking slowness, I came to detest my life and searched for an end however I could. I tried convincing my body not to heal itself. It didn’t listen. I thought that perhaps if I was asleep when the virus was injected, my unconscious mind would fail to respond quickly enough. I was wrong.
I could not die. And so I sought relief from the maddened terror of my life in other, small ways. Small disobediences. After all, they could not hurt me as punishment. There was no motivation for a boy whose life was punishment already. Unfortunately I had super healing abilities, not super strength, and when they locked me in a sealed room there was nothing I could do but pace in endless, restless circles.
Only once did my attempts at insubordination meet with even marginal success. A scientist whose name I didn’t care to remember––he wore white like the rest of them, had glasses like the rest of them, and hurt me like the rest of them––was wheeling me into yet another testing room, when abruptly a siren blared through the lab. The fire alarm. He looked about in distress, switched a few dials, and fled from the room in search of the source of the alarm.
For about a minute I lay frozen where I was. I had never been alone in a testing room before. My whole life there had always been scientists huddled around, watching graphs and diagrams and monitors and conferring in hushed voices. The shock of being alone paralyzed me. Never before had I not had anyone’s attention on me.
Eventually the shock wore off, giving way to a much more exciting novelty. Gingerly, I slid off the stretcher and crept to a desk with binders spread open across it and pages scattered around. I pushed some papers aside, clearing one at random and flattening it atop the mess. I read the notes scrawled across it.
Mutant gene, visible at birth, alters natural physiological healing. Non-supernatural. Natural defect. Records indicate aforementioned gene surfaces once every quarter millennia. Subject X is the eighth recorded mutant. Born: February 2nd, 2000.
Blood type diverges from normal patterns. Dubbed “multiplication blood type”; most refer to as “blood type X”. Blood type X accomplishes absolute, instantaneous regeneration. According to current research, it is believed that Subject X CANNOT DIE.
The words cannot die were written in bold capitals and underlined three times. I frowned and kept reading.
Severed limbs are immediately regrown. Same with removed organs and blood. Tissue is automatically reproduced at an impossible rate. Immune system is infallible. Subject cannot die from disease, virus, or poison. Due to cellular regeneration behavior, it is also believed Subject X will stop aging by his twentieth year. Research has not yet indicated how long he will continue in such a state.
They had never told me that last bit. Ten more years, I thought, then I stop growing. Stop changing. Then what? I moved the paper aside and leaned to read the one beneath it.
. . . . considering, the vampires’ diligent efforts to obtain the subject come as no surprise. An inexhaustible source of blood with such special properties would be invaluable to them. As such, the safety and security of Subject X has been the utmost concern of all related governmental and scientific agencies since the time of his birth. The difficulty lies in the nature of his enemies. They are not as told in the stories. It is true that vampires drink human blood to extend their lifespan several hundred years. However, consumption of normal food can address daily energy expenses, which makes them more dangerous. Capable of blending in with the fabric of society, they are hard to detect and harder to catch.
Vampires are only capable of hunting at night. Accordingly, during the hours of darkness, Subject X is kept confined and under constant surveillance. The responsible authorities are making every effort to see that no vampire tastes a drop of his blood. True, it would not harm him, as blood loss is not an issue to his physiology. However, a vampire who ingests blood type X will nonetheless acquire two unique powers, one permanent and one temporary.
As this situation has not occurred, our theories regarding the acquired powers remain speculation, but we have reason to believe they are accurate. According to our research, we hypothesize the subject’s blood would accomplish the following for a vampire who ingests it: one, the vampire would be able to use their powers during the day; two, for a limited time, their power would multiply exponentially, surpassing all chartable levels.
Naturally, we are doing everything we can to prevent this from happening. If the vampires get hold of Subject X’s blood, they will be able to subordinate all other races. Resistance will be futile, even impossible. A global institution has been established to receive support from nations worldwide, creating a global network of dedication to the protection of Subject X.
Protection. I tore the paper into shreds with slow, simmering hat
red. This is slavery, not protection.
Behind me the lab door slammed open, and a man started yelling. I closed my eyes and let them lash me back to the stretcher.
It was less than a month after I my luxurious two minutes of privacy that I was suddenly informed that I would be moving laboratories due to an expected vampire invasion. It was not a question, so I did not answer. They rarely wanted to hear what I had to say, anyway.
At dawn the following day a caravan of armored vehicles left Paris bound for Amsterdam, with me inside. I was more curious than afraid of vampires, and it was with some amusement that my ten-year-old self witnessed the frenzied precautions taken by the humans. The normal humans, that is. I am human. But nobody on earth would call me normal.
They knew vampires can only attack at night, but their motions spoke of panic nonetheless. I almost smiled, watching them. Before long the entertainment of their distress waned, however, and I grew bored. I was the consummate master of boredom.
Through a tiny window I watched the speckled pavement blur by. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the inner side of the vehicle, letting the hum of its engine and the rattling of its movement lull me. Hours passed, and I drifted in and out of sleep.
Then something happened. Half-asleep, I didn’t know what it was. An attack. Or a crash. My head slammed against the metal dashboard in front of me and rebounded with vicious speed. I lurched backward, hit it again, and plunged into blackness.
The next span of time I can’t really say what happened to me. It was all foggy, and I was never sure if it was real or dreamed. I felt my blood being extracted, a familiar, almost soothing feeling. I had had blood extracted nearly every day for the past ten years of my life. Then there was pain, great, hot, bone-deep pain, as if my limbs were being torn off one by one. Reeling, I lost consciousness.
My eyelids flickered open. I squinted reflexively, expecting the glaring white of operation-room lights, but there were none. Confused, I pushed myself slowly into a sitting position. Which was odd, because whenever I woke from a test I was strapped to the operating table. This time my hands and legs were free. I regarded them in vague awe. Then I looked up.
Trees surrounded me. Tens, hundreds––thousands, probably. I had never seen so many trees in my life. Scrambling to my feet, I spun a slow circle, dizzy in my awe. A whisper of breeze rustled their branches, and pine needles dusted down around me. I held out my hand, and one slipped through my fingers. Where, I thought, am I?
There was no one around. Only trees, and the gentle slope of the forest floor. Forest. It was a strange word. I had only ever thought about forests before, never seen one, much less been in one. Hazy sunlight filtered through the trees, swirling motes of dust that flashed lazy glitters of evening sunlight.
Evening. I turned until I could see the sinking sun through the tree trunks. It was orange with the dying of day, halfway gone already.
For an indeterminate amount of time I stared, unable to comprehend the beauty of the sun. I could not remember the last time I had glimpsed it. Had it been years? How many? Shut behind laboratory walls, shut away from windows to the outside world . . . .
Numbly, I began walking toward it. There didn’t seem anything more pressing to do. Both scientists and vampires would be hunting me with feverish determination, and hiding was my only defense. I didn’t know if I was heading deeper into the forest or out of it, but I needed shelter for the night. Having incredible healing powers did not make me immune to cold, and I could feel it setting in already.
For hours I kept both cold and fatigue at bay, fighting them with the stark resolve of one who tastes freedom and feels the hunger for it burning inside. If I could escape both scientists and vampires, I told myself, I would be free. If I could find a place to hide.
It occurred to me briefly that being caught by the vampires might be preferable to being caught by the humans, but I discarded the thought. Neither, I told myself. I won’t be caught at all.
Night came and the cold deepened. I hugged myself, shivering as I walked. After a couple hours my flagging strength began to betray me, and I stumbled over hidden roots and rocks. Living life strapped to an operating table, I hadn’t developed strength or stamina worth mentioning. By the time three hours had passed, by the estimation in my head, I fell every few minutes and my vision was failing. Combined with the dim moonlight and shifting forest shadows, it made the going even slower than before.
And still I saw nothing but trees. Trees. Trees. They were beautiful and frightening, but they were not anywhere I could hide. I needed something harder to find, harder to search. Perhaps underground . . . .
It was sometime during the second hour of hiking I began to feel them watching me. I didn’t know who they were, or where, just that their eyes were tracing my every step. The feeling wore on through the third hour, and by the fourth my hackles prickled at every shadow that stirred. Still I kept on. My limbs dragged like lead and my breathing came in heavy pants. I whispered to myself, over and over again as I staggered through the woods, “Don’t fall. Don’t fall. Don't . . . . fall . . . .”
I fell. The exhaustion overcame me and I tumbled to my knees, crumpling forward until I was curled on the pine needles, a small, cold, weary body. My eyelids batted, struggling to stay open. It wasn’t until they were nearly closed that I noticed the silhouettes slinking from the forest toward me. There were dozens of them, human in shape, but featureless in the darkness. All I could see of their faces were glowing eyes.
Vampires, I thought distantly. So they are the winners. Resigned, I watched blearily as one of their number crept closer to me. He looked male by his stature and movements, but I was too weary to trust my judgment.
The vampire crouched in front of me, and his face hovered into view. It was too dark to make out more than the glow of his eyes and the dim contour of nose, mouth, chin. His lips moved, saying something, but exhaustion had closed my ears. My vision guttered, and I slipped into blackness without hearing a word he said.
An indeterminate time later I awoke, my subconscious mulling over the dramatic dream I had just had as I yawned myself into alertness. Then I opened my eyes, and I was in a room with wooden walls. It wasn’t a dream. The thought crashed into me like two tons of lead bricks.
You have to understand something. When you live your whole life in a science lab, there are some things you take for granted. Some things, perhaps, you don’t even know enough to know aren’t normal. For instance, I took waking up strapped to a white-sheeted lab bed in a white-washed room with a steel door as normal. It was how I had started every day of my life so far. Think––every single day.
Maybe now you can begin to understand what shocked me so incredibly about waking up to find myself in what resembled a log cabin, though at the time I didn’t know that’s what it was called. There was a window to the right of my bed––which, by the way, was covered in downy sheets and a forest green bedspread, both breathlessly gorgeous to my lab-trained eyes––and that was what drew my eyes first. The window. A window! Never before had I slept in a room with a window. They were too dangerous at the lab. Either a vampire would break in or I would break out. But here . . . .
My eyes strayed into the room. There was a mahogany writing desk, legs carved with graceful scrollwork, its varnish deep and dark and almost mirror-like. Next to it was a chair with a padded seat. The upholstery was plush and burgundy. That alone held my eyes for nearly a minute. I could not fathom the texture of it, the gloss, the . . . . But what was the word? I had never seen something like this before. Something lavish. Elegant. All I had ever seen was stark whiteness.
Across the room form the foot of my bed was a wardrobe. When I crawled out of bed and opened one of its doors just enough to peer inside, almost terrified in the awe of my excitement, I found three sets of clothes hanging neatly in a row. Clothes that fit me. It was a novelty. I had never had clothes before. My whole life I had worn a shapeless white robe, one easily taken on and off between
experimentations.
Staring at the clothes in the wardrobe, my skin prickled with a sudden realization. It started slow, then swept my body like a pulse of electricity. Not only were there clothes hanging in the closet. I was wearing clothes. Cozy purple pajamas that felt like fleece when I rubbed them between my fingers. Giddy with delight, I would have done some sort of dance, had I known how to dance, or move at all.
Having neither talent, I simply stood where I was, benumbed by it all. Perhaps the most magnificent realization of all was that I was alone in this room. My trained eyes searched for cameras and saw none. The door was closed and I was alone.
Alone. The word was like the kiss of a snowflake on my lips. That’s how I imagined it, at least. I had never touched a snowflake.
Behind me the door handle clicked.
Goosebumps flared along my arms and I practically leapt across the room, swinging the velvet-padded chair in front of me. Crouching behind it, eyes wild, I watched in terror as the door handle turned. The door opened a timid inch. Then two, then a whole foot, then it swung wide.
Stifling a whimper, I huddled closer to the shadow of the chair. Perhaps you think me a coward. After all, I cannot die. Why should I be afraid of anyone? These were obviously not humans––humans would have had me back in a lab before I could draw a breath. These were vampires, then. Still––why should I fear? My blood regenerates instantaneously.
Let me tell you. I don’t care if I’m immortal, or if pain only lasts a split second. There is something inhumanly horrifying about the experience of meeting a vampire face-to-face, of seeing their glowing eyes and their glittering fangs. And when they come for your blood . . . . It’s the dread that gets you, not the pain. Dread like nothing you’ve ever known.
So as I crouched behind that chair, shivering in terror, it was worse than the deaths I had so often imagined.
