Alpha4367

"Doctor Correon, I think that's enough."

"Not quite, Alexander. I want to see how much she can handle."

I could hear them talking about me. Their voices echoed in the dark void where I existed; I could feel the intense burn of the radiation, searing the outermost layers of my skin. It hurt, but I couldn't tell them so. Even if I could, I doubted it would have mattered.

"Very good!" the Doctor exclaimed.

Alexander, his intern, was silent. I knew he was nearby- I could smell his cologne; a woodsy scent with a hint of citrus. The scent was comforting. Sometimes when the pain became intolerable, I focused on that smell. I tried imagining what Alexander might look like. Perhaps he was tall with golden skin and piercing green eyes. His hair was dark, I thought. He was from somewhere in Europe, I guessed- his accent was lovely. He was intelligent, like the Doctor, but not without sympathy. To him, I was still human.

I pictured Doctor Correon as an older man with grey, thinning hair and pale skin. His eyes were blue- but not the blue of the innocent. They were blue like ice, cold and unforgiving. They were the blue of a predator stalking its prey.

The burning lessened and then ceased and my skin tingled as it repaired itself. I could hear buttons being pushed and the machine whirring as it shut down, and I allowed myself to relax. I'd lain here for so long- I wasn't sure how much time had passed- but every day was similar to the one preceding it.

My eyes were sealed shut with some kind of goo. It was cold and tingled when reapplied, and it lasted for days. My body was useless to me. I couldn't move so much as a finger, let alone an entire extremity. I could feel the IV catheter in my right arm and the cold fluids that ran through the tubing and into my vasculature. I suspected it was some kind of isotonic fluid mixed with a strong paralytic. Every so often they would inject a new medication into the IV port to calm me down, but when it wore off, my heart began to race, and I felt like I was being buried alive.

I couldn't remember my life before this. I'd overheard enough to know that I was undergoing some kind of an experiment- genetic splicing, according to Doctor Correon. The project was secret- Alexander had mentioned a rigorous vetting process- and it had something to do with the Department of Defense.

The Doctor referred to me by my clinical research number, or CRN. To him, I was candidate number Alpha4367. Alexander was the only person who called me by my name: Ruthie.

When he used my name, it sparked memories or vague impressions of them, like the smell of coconut and seawater and the feel of sunshine on my skin; pleasant things that alluded to a life far away from here.

I felt the soft touch fingertips drifting across my left arm. The hand settled at my wrist and rested there. I imagined the hand belonged to Alexander; the skin was war and soft, like his voice. The Doctor only touched me to check my vitals or perform some other clinical treatment. His skin was cold and dry; his fingers were calloused, like his voice. I knew Doctor Correon was an evil man with a brilliant mind- those were the worst kinds.

"Alexander get me the other vial, if you please. The one labeled 'Tardigrade: R. V.'"

I listened to the sound of retreating footsteps and the clicking of a nearby keyboard. My limbs felt heavy. I tried moving them with no success. If only I could find a way to stop them from infusing me with paralytics! If I could regain my functions, I could escape this place. The lab was cold, and the instruments used were painful. I could feel the heat and the extreme cold as they were applied to me. I felt the scoring of flesh as the Doctor dragged sharp instruments across my sensitive skin. They'd starved me and submerged me in some kind of a water tank- all to prove that I could withstand it.

The object of their research, I'd learned, was resilience. They were developing a race of humans with the ability to withstand extreme conditions, like the tardigrade, a tiny organism found in most commonly in moist environments; but identified in other zones, such as mountains and tropical climates.

"The tardigrade is a unique creature," the Doctor told his intern. "They measure less than a half an inch- nearly microscopic-but they are capable of withstanding conditions that would kill any other living organism. They can suspend their metabolisms, you see," he'd say. "They can survive decades without nutrition. Imagine, son, if we created soldiers this impervious. Warriors that could traverse any topography in any climate, without the need of food or water to sustain them; Men and women that could withstand warfare. A nation with forces like these would be the most powerful in the world."

Alexander had kept silent while the Doctor rambled on about the scientific ramifications of what he was doing. He fancied himself a man of superior intellect and value, and absolutely necessary to national security.

"We are on the verge, Alex," he'd say at the end of every working day. "I can feel it."

But when the Doctor excused himself, leaving his intern to clean up the lab, Alex would creep over to where I lay and hold my hand, as if he knew I could hear them.

"I wonder... can you feel it?" he'd asked me. I would have given anything to nod. Yes, I could feel it. I could feel the weight of my limbs and the way my lungs burned when I was deprived of oxygen. I felt the way my skin burned and froze when heat or ice were applied. I knew when they stuck me in the pressure chamber, and my eyes began to bulge, and my head hurt from the compressive forces acting on my body. It felt like dying, only without the sweet release from suffering. Then they'd inject something into my IV and I'd drift off to sleep, only to awaken later to another bout of pain.

Yes, I feel it, Alex. I feel it all.