Modified- The Complete Manipulated Series

by Harper North

Oh crap. Any sound from this thing is bound to alert the guards. I stuff it in my pocket, pressing my hand over it as it emits three muffled beeps. The device vibrates, and something pricks my wrist. I jolt back, my head bashing against the back of the crate, and my head spins.

  CHAPTER 2

  My eyelids blink and my focus returns.

  What happened?

  The throbbing sensation coming from the back of my head brings me to my senses. On my hands and knees, I scurry to the corner of the crate. I peer out through the crack, catching a glimpse of Lacy, or at least her legs. A guard stands with a long stun weapon pointed out at Drape.

  Drape raises both hands up, stammering, “I-I-I…” He steps back, shaking. “Don’t shock me,” he pleads, but the man gets Drape right in his gut and he doubles over, landing next to Lacy.

  Panic floods me. I know that coming into the shipment area was stupid, but knocking out the two trespassers with that weapon is an overreach of power. These are the only people I have in this world. I can’t lose them. My fingertips tingle, and a warm sensation floods my body. I touch the device in my pocket and the memories flood back. I feel different. My vision whirls and an urge to sleep consumes me.

  Breathe, Fin. Your friends need you.

  Heart racing, I slowly rise. Instinctively, I flex my muscles, and every nerve ending pricks under my skin. Yes, I’m very different. My thought speeds in a million different directions, but I’m also calm. My heart rate returns to normal, and a strange sense of peace and clarity overtakes me.

  I pull the device out of my pocket and flip it over. The letters GMK are printed on the back. Somehow, I decipher the acronym, like the answer was yanked from memory. The device is a Genetic Mod Kit—the type of device used to manipulate the genetic structure of human beings and turn the elite into the privileged Enhanced Human Coalition.

  Twenty minutes ago, if a person had asked me to explain exactly what an EHC was capable of, I doubt I’d have known. Now, it’s as though my brain is a computer with an advanced search engine. All the data I’ve ever collected is back there, stored, and all I need to do is recall it.

  EHC’s… what do I know about them? There are always rumors flying about advanced strength and stamina, enhanced intelligence, and that their cells can replicate quicker to help heal skin affected by radiation.

  I work myself up out of the wooden crate with a plan to distract the guards. Silently, I land on bent knees, still hidden by the crate. I look around; no one saw. Near the edge of the crate opening juts a sharp nail. There’s no rust, and they update us on tetanus anyway. I suck in a breath and drag my finger across the metal, wincing. Blood flows from the wound, dripping down my hand. I let the blood drop to the floor in a tiny puddle. Good. This will do.

  Around the corner, Yasay’s waving away the two guards, who are dragging the incredibly limp bodies of Lacy and Drape.

  “Just bring them to the holding cell!” Yasay orders, turning his back to me.

  I dive between two smaller crates just as Yasay goes behind the one I’ve just left. A third guard joins him in his search. How in the world am I supposed to get around these two to go after Lacy and Drape?

  The new guard grabs a step ladder for Yasay, who climbs into the crate. He lets out a string of profanities. He has to know the genetic mod kit is missing.

  “Those kids are dead! Dead!” Yasay roars.

  Before Yasay has a chance to climb from the crate, a guard bends to the floor to check out the little pool of my blood.

  “Hey, Yasay,” the guard says. “I found someth—”

  With a swift kick under the ladder, I bounce it up in the air and catch it with both hands. The poor guy doesn’t even know what’s happening, and I fling the base of the ladder into his face and knock him out cold.

  “What’s taking you so long? Pass me down the ladder!” Yasay shouts, probably thinking the guard is waiting for him.

  I kneel and snatch the guard’s pass card. A small part of me feels bad for Yasay. He’s older, and I’m sure worked his whole life in the miserable mines before becoming who he is now. The other part of me is just impressed his fat self was able to climb into the crate with the ladder to begin with, though not bad enough to help him, of course.

  I make for the exit to find Lacy and Drape. Yasay said something about holding cells. As if my mind is a step ahead of me, I can perfectly envision the entire underground city. By simply analyzing everything I know, I’m able to deduce the exact location of these so-called holding cells. I pat my pocket for the device, and I curve down the tunnel, racing to my imprisoned friends.

  I turn a corner down another deep tunnel with smooth walls. It’s more like a florescent lit science lab than the rugged caves I’m used to. I hear voices and duck into a darker corridor.

  “Where’s Yasay?” a man asks, followed by the dull clunk of boots stomping by my hiding place. “He was supposed to meet me twenty minutes ago.”

  Stuck in that crate.

  “Who knows?” the other man says. “Maybe checking the latest shipments. He just sent those two kids down here from there.”

  The shadows from the men in the bright lights dance across the ceiling, and soon it’s quiet again. They’re gone. I grip the wall and notice the cut on my hand has nearly healed. It wasn’t that deep, but it should still be bleeding.

  I hurry for another door. It requires a pass card as well. I swipe a different one.

  “Access denied,” it says.

  “Unbelievable,” I mutter.

  Not giving up, I study the exit, forming a plan. A ledge sits just above it, and to my right is a stairwell leading up. I scurry up the metal stairs and throw myself over the edge, gripping the bottom of the ledge with my fingertips and the stairs with the tips of my boots. I wait.

  An echoing mechanical voice sounds through the loudspeakers, but I can’t make out the words because of the ringing in my ears from hanging upside down. I’m fairly certain the alarm is meant to alert the security staff. Yasay likely got out of his hole.

  The doors slide open. A man from the inside darts out as I release my feet from the stairwell and swoop down, landing square in front of the guard.

  “Hey!” he yells, and I throw a violent kick into his kneecap.

  Snap.

  The man screams and falls to the ground. A pang of guilt shoots through my core until a description of a person sounding like me is blared via the alert system. The feeling vanishes and I race outside just before the door whooshes shut. The now-closed entrance stifles any cries of agony the man makes out in the hall.

  Alert blaring, I one-eighty and do a mental scan of the room. A schematic forms in my mind. I visualize the three story space and its exits from all angles. I bolt for the single area—under one of the ledges—in the enormous room where I can remain unspotted from all angles. Right beside me is a door with the words HOLDING CELLS etched into it.

  Luck or destiny?

  Four guards appear from various doors simultaneously—two on the second floor, one on the top, and the other on the base floor. As I calculated, not one can see me. Like a hawk, I watch the guard on the main level. He’s the one most likely to spot me.

  “Some girl stole Yasay’s shipment?” one of the guards from above shouts down toward the man standing nearest to me. A simple twist of his head, and he’ll spot me.

  “Yeah! You got a name yet?” the guard on the main level yells back. “I didn’t hear the alarm. What’s this tramp look like?”

  “You didn’t hear the alarm? Are you deaf?”

  The guards above continue arguing. The one standing way too close for comfort rotates to me, but I’m too fast for him. He barely does a double take as I fling a fist at him, nailing him in the throat. He gags and can’t do much more since I twist him my way and wrap my arms tightly around him, choking him until he passes out. I ease him to the floor out of view of the other men. Understanding the proper technique to overpower a guard like that was effortless, and having this new strength do
esn’t hurt either.

  “Sorry, but it’s me or you,” I mutter, not that he can hear me.

  I swipe the security card off the unconscious guard and run it through the scanner. The door beeps quietly and I dart in.

  “Hey! Over there!” one of the guards shouts.

  The door whooshes closed behind me and I kick the control panel, shattering it. That should keep them out. I whip around and get right to work on locating my friends.

  “This is just stupid! Why am I in a jail cell for just screwing up?” Lacy’s patronizing voice echoes down the hall. “Haven’t you ever been young once, buddy? I’ll bet you were a lady killer in your prime!”

  I wince. Lacy, Lacy, Lacy… what will I do with you? I dart down the hall to find her.

  “I swear, if you don’t shut up, I’m gonna zap your tiny—” The guard pauses and turns in my direction as I round the corner, scowling when he sees me. This man is tall and well built, much larger than me. I guess I should have waited before bolting around the corner, assessed the situation a bit.

  “Fin?” Lacy’s staring out from her cramped, windowless, cement prison, eyes like saucers. Drape bolts up from his seat and stands by Lacy.

  Growling, the guard snags his radio and calls into it. “I found the brat the EHC is searching for—”

  I leap at him and kick the radio out of his hands. With a thud, I land firmly on my feet. He scowls and lunges for me, reaching for my arm. I move back and grab his wrist. His eyes go wide as I pull him into his lunge. He trips, fumbling toward me. With my free hand, I throw a solid punch into his gut. The man exhales and gags while doubling onto his knees. Still gripping his wrist, I fling a second punch into his jaw. He collapses, out cold.

  Not sure if I really like my new self, but I could have used this skill for bullies back at the Oven.

  Above, I get a clear view of my friends. Lacy’s eyes are wide, but she's obviously quite impressed with my maneuver. Horror blankets Drape’s whiter than usual complexion.

  Lacy throws herself to the bars. “What the—”

  “Get back. We gotta go.”

  Without question, they obey. The bars are weak and rusted, and after a quick analysis, I determine the lock is of poor design. Breathing deeply, I step back. Just two kicks and the lock on the heavy iron door cracks.

  “Pull,” I say.

  Lacy and Drape walk forward, each grabbing the bars and giving a quick tug. The entire door shimmies free, clanging as they fumble to push it out of the way.

  “Follow me.” I rotate, racing from the room. The screech of electric saws sounds from the entrance with the busted panel. If there was an alternate door in here, the guards would have taken it to get to us instead of attempting to break down a perfectly good one.

  There must be at least two ways in.

  I dash the opposite way of the saws. We race down the corridor and stop when it comes to a dead end. I scan the space for an escape and find it. I point. “There.” Lacy and Drape glance up to see an air shaft high above our heads.

  “Um…” Drape mutters. “No way we're getting to that, Fin.”

  I ignore him. “Get ready to boost me.”

  Lacy and Drape give each other a confused look.

  “You’re wasting time. Just do it,” I say.

  The two wait across from one another in the same manner they had earlier for the crate business. I step back to get a running start and both of them wince.

  “Have some faith.”

  I jolt toward them and scurry from their palms to their shoulders. With a leap, I grab the gaping shaft and pull myself up and into the vent.

  “Whoa! Nice!” Lacy exclaims as I reach down to them. Drape is shorter than Lacy, so he climbs up onto her shoulders. I yank him up.

  “How’d you get so strong?” Drape asks, making his way past me in the cramped shaft.

  I clutch his arm. “Hold on. I’m lowering you down to Lacy.”

  “Fin, I know I’m not the biggest guy and all, but there’s no way you can pull us both up,” he says.

  I furrow my brow. “No, she’ll climb up you.”

  “And you’ll hold us both?” he asks.

  A loud creaking sounds from the entrance. The guards have almost gotten in.

  “We don’t have time to practice.” I push the poor kid head first out of the shaft, gripping him by his knees and ankles.

  “Don’t drop me!” he yelps.

  Lacy obeys me and climbs up him with ease. “Impressive.”

  “Get back,” I hiss as the shaft starts to groan under the weight of all three of us. Lacy scurries further back into the vent, and I haul Drape up just as a clanking noise, followed by a huge bang of the door falling in, echoes our way.

  “Come.” I lead them through the air shaft on hands and knees. In my mind, I map out the vents. Our best bet is to head toward the Slack and get lost in the incoming and outgoing crowds of people.

  Lacy and Drape stay close behind, putting an incredible amount of faith in me. Shouts resonate from beyond the shaft. At one of the vents, we spot loads of uniformed EHC members pouring into the space below. Dark and tactical in appearance, they dress for function and intimidation. It’s always pretty serious when they bring in the EHC, so I’m positive our little jail break initiated an automated EHC alert. I can only imagine what they’ll do to us if they catch us and then find out we have a stolen mod kit.

  Finally, we get to the area we need to be, the middle of the Slack’s tunnel systems. “Stop,” I whisper. “Time to disappear.” I kick a vent cover down and round to them. “Listen up. Land on bent knees and tuck and roll. It’s a long way down.”

  Not waiting for a response, I allow myself to fall. Not resisting the momentum, I tumble and roll. I pop back upright and look up the way of the open ventilation shaft, waiting for my friends. They stare down at me, wide-eyed and not moving. Twenty or so onlookers stare. I suppose I did just fall ten feet from the vents. I’d hoped this area would have been more densely populated at this time, but no such luck.

  “Hurry up!” I plead to my friends.

  Lacy, the braver of the two, mimics my fall to the best of her abilities. She lands well, but tries to fight gravity and smacks her face into the rocky earth. She grunts as she stands up, hands instinctively reaching for her scraped cheek.

  “You’re fine,” I say a tad harsher than I meant to. Drape has his feet hanging out of the vent, but he’s frozen. We probably shouldn’t have left him for last. “Drape, right now!”

  Shouts echo from the entryway of the tunnel. In the distance, men in black uniforms violently shove dwellers out of the way. EHC operatives, the big guns. Not good.

  “Drape, fall!” I command, heart racing. No way I’m leaving that kid behind.

  Somehow, the extra force in my voice compels him to do it. He lands in a heap, tumbling and shrieking. I shake my head and mentally cuss at him.

  “My ankle!” he cries.

  “Let’s go, you big baby.” I tug him to his feet and Lacy and I help him down deeper into the tunnel.

  “There they are!” a male on the opposite side of the crowd bellows.

  Drape is able to walk on his own, but he’s struggling. The EHC operatives close in so fast I can practically feel them breathing down our necks. The complicated twists and turns of the Slack mixed with adrenaline and fear messes with my logic.

  We skid to a halt.

  Oh no.

  “Dead end!” Lacy yells.

  The EHC operatives’ noise echoes behind us. As soon as they come around the corner, we’re screwed.

  “What are we going to do?” Drape cries. “Why did they call in the EHC?”

  My brain races a million miles an hour as it attempts to calculate a way out of this. Endless ideas reel, but every scenario I run ends with us in body bags.

  “They went this way, sir!” a distant voice shouts.

  A creaking noise against the cave wall whips me around. My breath hitches as a segment of rock appears to move, f
orming an escape.

  “Hurry! Inside!” a soft voice calls.

  CHAPTER 3

  “This way,” the tiny voice of our savior insists.

  If it weren’t for the small gas lantern the young girl is carrying, I wouldn’t be able to see in front of my face. She spins to face us, walking backwards, and raises the lamp in our direction. She’s gorgeous, perhaps ten or eleven years old, and quite short and petite. The child has beautiful blonde hair and blue eyes, and though she’s not smiling now, I am certain if she were, it would be lovely.

  “What is this place?” Drape whispers, his voice echoing.

  “It was a Deep Earth subway system pre-Flip.” The girl twists on her heels and walks forward again.

  Deep Earth sounds familiar. Then I recall seeing mining equipment with a logo and that name on it. In fact, it’s on most of the buildings where I live as well.

  “Who are you?” I’ve never seen her working in the mines before, but there are a lot of people I don’t know.

  “You first,” she says. “And why was the EHC after you?”

  She’s just a kid. She’s not a threat. “Finley A298. You can call me Fin.”

  “Drape G374,” his voice resonates from behind.

  Lacy hesitates. “Lacy A292. Now who are you?”

  “Cia. Cia Breslin.”

  No ID code? No wonder I don’t know her. She must be one of the homeless who hide out in the Slack. The only people I know of without ID numbers are the mine bosses and the EHC. I’ve heard people who live in the Slack give themselves last names, kind of like the way the world was prior to the Flip. I scan the shadowy tunnel. This hidden subway system must be one of their little-known hiding spots.

  “What a sweet name,” I say.

  We turn into another subway tunnel system, tracks intact.

  “Now, why were EHC operatives chasing you?” Cia asks.

  I open my mouth to answer when suddenly a boy appears, blocking the way. He grips what appears to be a plasma soldering torch—probably stolen from the miners. The homeless are even bigger thieves than I am. The torch seems to have been converted; it has a lengthy barrel like a rifle attached to it. I don’t intend to learn how it works.