Transformation

I may end up making this into a book...sci/fi type stuff going down it this story. ;)

“What the heck have I gotten myself into?” I said, scowling, shaking my head. The steel table in the dank room felt cold beneath my muscular body. My wrists and ankles were shackled; I was immobile, right where they wanted me. The stone walls were illuminated by fire held in old fashioned sconces. Procedural instructions, much like one would find in a doctor’s office, marked the walls. On a table in my peripheral vision, there laid several tools. One looked like a saw, more apt to cut down a tree than to do anything else. It was rusted…and tinged with blood. Cold seeped into my veins, poisoning my thoughts, making them reflect the atmosphere. “This is what helping a person gets you, I guess.”

                I heard footsteps approaching; the sound of solid, heavy work boots. My stomach rolled, I feared this morning’s rations would flood my mouth. I remained composed. The smug looking General Marx approached. He was intimidating to most when in uniform, but not to me. He was a coward behind his men. “What a surprise to see you, Nick.” He looked around the room with pleasure, stroking his grey beard in admiration. “Your insubordination has finally placed you in a proper prison.”

                Playing dumb, knowing it would get me answers, I responded, “Get to the point, General. Why am I here?”

                Marx picked up the saw, examining it (for what I couldn’t say, perhaps the soundness of it), “You know why.” He said simply.

                “What, for attempting to save a pregnant woman from mutilation, from your insidious tests?” I snorted, “What are you doing exactly? Trying to experiment on them? How will it benefit you?”

                Marx set the saw down abruptly, “We are doing no such thing.”

                “Don’t lie.” I said, through gritted teeth. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

                Marx appeared to stifle laugh, a chuckle died in his throat, “Quite pushy for a prisoner, aren’t you?”

                “If I’m going to die, I’m going to go down knowing that I’m dying for a reason.”

                “Oh, how little you know.” Marx said with an unctuous smile. “We don’t kill traitors; we reform them. We make them better.” He saw me open my mouth; he saw my eyes flash. Make people better? I could take no more lies from the government. “Stay silenced. I will tell you what we are doing. Your credentials will be gone soon anyway.”  He took a metal stool from under the table and slid it over near my head. He sat down, holding his distinguished looking face over mine, so I could not avoid his gaze. “Now we can talk. What would you like to know?”

                My eyes were wide, his voice held honesty, which astounded me. There was no greater liar than Marx. “What tests are you doing?”

                “We are running simple diagnostics on the gestation period of human beings. We are attempting to make it shorter.” My body tensed as he spoke. They played God, those monsters. “I’m sure, despite your lack of physical change, you find it awful. Sure, some women don’t survive. The drugs have side effects. One particular woman had an especially bad case; the drug rotted her flesh from the inside. There was massive organ failure, a tragedy really…” He trailed off as if lost in a pleasant daydream. “All for the sake of progress, though.”

                I pulled hard on my restraints, wanting to rip open his throat. “How could progress justify this? Those women are people, they have feelings�"they feel that pain. So do the unborn!”

                “Don’t give me any of that hippie bull, Nick.” Marx said. “We ruled out the fetus’s ability to feel centuries ago. It is just a form of potential energy, suspended animation.  The faster women can spawn, the more people we have to protect our government from danger.”

                “What danger? You’re the danger.” I couldn’t hold my tongue.

 I expected physical punishment, but only received a smile. “You’ll learn soon enough, after your transformation. “

                “What?” Tears glistened in my eyes, an unwanted attribute. “Tell me what you mean!”

                “You’ll learn soon enough…We are not the danger. The cyborgs are.”

“Cyborgs? That’s crazy. You can’t make a man part machine. It’s against nature.”

“Well, we didn’t make them…if it is any consolation to you; which no doubt, it isn’t.” He got out of his seat and strolled around the room. “The cyborgs are a willful act of resistance created by the anarchists; people who believed we have slaughtered their families. People like you, Nick.” He picked up the saw again as well as a device that looked oddly like an ice cream scoop. “These cyborgs have killed innocent people because the anarchists lack the scientific background to control them. They’ve killed innocent people, Nick; they’ve killed children, little boys and girls barely able to walk, or talk, definitely not the soulless killers you see us as. You can like a principle, but does the end always justify the means?”

My brain hurt, all this psychological mumbo jumbo evinced my rage. My face contorted and twitched. “At least they have a principle.”

“So do we. We protect our citizens; we make them stronger. Our principle is not to cause chaos, to be rabble rousers, but to act as a government should, with a firm and just hand. They kill while we merely filter out the broken cogs in the machine.”

“I’m a broken cog, aren’t I?”

“Yes.”

                “I believe I’ve done nothing wrong.” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “Show me to my fate.”

                “So be it,” Marx said decisively. “Since we are not as soulless and mislead as the anarchists, we do not use innocents to indifferently slaughter innocents. We use criminals to eradicate criminals. It eliminates the pesky problems that riddle all societies, problems that make them weak.”

                “You don’t…” I asked in horror, staring at the saw and the mechanized ice cream scoop.

                “Yes we do. We use criminals as our cyborgs. We make you a machine, and then we rewire your hard drive.” He tapped the dull side of the saw on my already shaven head. “Since you would like to begin…I will restrain myself no longer.” He grinned, malicious teeth showing too white in the dusty room. He stood, ripping off the lower part of my cargo pants, revealing my right calf. He brought the rusty blade down on my leg and began to saw.

                I roared, having experienced no pain such as this in my life. My vision threatened to fade to black, but I breathed deeply. The dirty air burned the opening. I felt the wetness meld into the upper part of my cargo pants, and I heard the scraping as he sawed bone. I continued to breathe deeply, trying not to picture the pints of blood oozing from my veins. I felt pressure on my thigh as the General made a tourniquet, to staunch the blood flow. They couldn’t make a cyborg from a dead man.

                He ripped off my black sleeve and continued where he had left off on my leg. I bit my lip hard, seeking to eliminate the satisfaction he took from my screams. I tasted copper and felt a sting from my lip, which did little to distract me from the blinding pain as he cut through nerve tissue. I once again heard the scraping of bone; my vision blurred. In my prone position, I felt blood lap at my neck, and heard it drip to the floor. He created another tourniquet when finished.

                Marx picked up my removed appendages, now too pale and flimsy. He held them in front of my face, “Care to say goodbye?”

                I turned my head quickly, the rations of the morning spewing forth. I only half succeeded in vomiting off the table. The viscous substance slid off my shoulder and onto the floor. There was nothing quite as disturbing as seeing an arm and leg where they had no means to be�"away from the body.

                Marx chucked the limbs to the floor, and flicked a switch on the ice cream scoop. It buzzed like a miniature chainsaw. He’s was taking my eye, all cyborgs have an optical piece! I couldn’t bear the thought. “All for the sake of progress…” Marx said, in a cacophony of maniacal laughter, jabbing the scoop into my cornea. My world faded to black.

Author's Note

enjoy! I wonder if it leaves you wanting more or if it suffices as a stand alone piece.

Reviews

[Kayla]

This is really good, I love the detail and definitely want more!