A gentle knock sounded at my door the next morning: it was Alex. He told me that one of the new staff got fired and that he felt bad for the guy. All that came tumbling out my lips was a guilty "okay..."
"So what are you planning on doing today?"
He asked me with a smile that resembled the warmth of the sun. I shrugged and pursed my lips,
"Don't know. Haven't got anything on my mind. Don't you think it would be cool if I could get two cheat days every month? That would be the dream of my life."
He raised his eyebrow as if he had just heard something preposterous.
"I know, I know. It's not gonna happen, but I can dream, okay?"
I threw my hands up in the air and complained jokingly. He mirrored my actions and said defensively,
"Okay, sure. There's one thing you gotta know though, and that is I have a lot of work to catch up on today. If you've got nothing to do, I guess you could possibly help me out?"
I was always treated as a 'friend whose also serves as an experimental subject' (The postmodifier was the important part). This was the very first time anyone has ever assigned me to a mission ever since my arrival to the shelter. Stoked, I pushed aside the covers and jumped to my feet like a child on Christmas day and asked,
"What is it?"
Flashing me the famous 'Alex grin', he put his hand on both of my shoulders and said,
"I need you to fetch some paperwork for me. The security department is having skeleton staff at the moment. You know where to get the documents, right?"
I nodded at such a profuse intensity that my neck started hurting again. After I told him that I'll meet him at the security office once I have got everything done, I burst through the door and perambulated down the hallway and entered the printing room.
The interior of the room was a complete mess. Papers of different sizes were stacked all the way up to the ceiling. The only illumination to the place was provided by a tiny yellow lamp standing on the coffee table in the center of the room. Walking over to the corner where the printer quietly sat, I took a few A4-sized papers and shoved it into the machine. With a brisk click on the on the computer mouse, I selected the file of the document that Alex wanted and started the printing process. Despite the old age of the printer, it was working at a considerable speed, spewing out documents steady. I paced around the room as I waited impatiently for the papers to be ready.
The combination of dim lights and the sound of paper flying out of the printer was almost hypnotizing. Soon I was lost in my own thoughts, only brought back to the moment when a sharp pain traveled up my body. "Ouch!" I cried as I stubbed my toe against one of those paper towers. It swayed violently, threatening to fall over and smack me in the face as retribution for not watching where I was going. At last, the tower had mercy on me and stopped swinging. Now it was looking like the leaning tower of Pisa, with most of its weight shifted to the right.
Carefully, I moved under the roof made of documents and unused paper and attempted to give the pile a little push. With several meticulous nudges, the papers edging out slid back into place, which proceeded to reveal a research form with my name on it. I was not authorized to handle research archives but after all, this document was about me. I felt like Eve, that I was betraying mankind just to quench my curiosity.
"The apple was dangling right in front of me and it would be a shame not to take it"
The serpent inside my head whispered in my ear. They couldn't possibly know me better than I know myself, right? I thought to myself and extracted the document from the dangerous spire coyly.
I quickly lost interest after reading the first few pages. The paper was mostly about how my body functions and described the capability of my blood. It also featured a bunch of words that I did not know how to pronounce, which led me to think that scientists are all just show-offs disguised as professionals. When I was about to put down the paper, my peripheral vision caught sight of a small box of words printed on the last page.
The subject, Nathan Michael Herber, was rescued from the Washington captive facility on 6/3/2015. After spying on the subject's family, we are affirmative that the subject was actually sold to the government by Maria Wake (Mother) and Denise Herber (Father) for an unknown sum. More information may be added in future revisions.
The document slipped from my shaking hands and landed on the floor with a genteel sigh.
So is this what it is?
I stormed out the printing room, leaving the documents in the printer. I had a feeling that I might pass out if I did not clear out my mind, so I did exactly that as I sprinted through the corridor. I have known this place for years. I could draw the map of the structure in my head, yet at this particular moment, I seemed to have lost all directions. I did not know where the security office was. I did not know where my room was. I did not know where to go. The thought of returning home shot through my mind like a bullet, but I knew that was not an option, not anymore.
After a lot of mindless running and exploring, I had finally found my safe place. The darted toward the utility room, weeping as I went inside and locked myself in. Flashes of joyful memories penetrated my brain as I covered my sweaty face with my hands. I could see my father tossing his five-year-old son in the air and catching him again in his arms as the boy hollered. My mother was laughing in the background and recording those precious moments on her newly brought camera. She had said she wanted to make a montage out of all these clips she had filmed of me. I could remember the pleasant smile on her face when she said that. All I ever wanted was to go back to those days when the sun was always shining bright in the sky.
About an hour later, the rusty metal door opened up with a swift pull. It was Alex again. He shot me a worried glance as he helped me up,
"You okay, man?", concern clear in his voice.
Unable to stop my body from tremoring, I replied wryly,
"I don't know who to trust anymore..."
Upon hearing my words, Alex's troubled expression turned into one of surprised. He took a brief moment to process what I had just said and tilted his head down. Taking in a deep breath, he said,
"I'm sorry."
He pitied me, he always had. Out of all the staff members in the shelter, Alex was always the one who had the most sympathy in his heart. Maybe that was why we got along: we both had that tinge of human kindness in us.
"Did you know?"
My voice cracked from all the sobbing I have done for the last hour. His lips curved inward and became a thin line. Silently nodding his head, he confessed,
"Yes, I knew that from the day I've met you."
I could understand why Alex did not tell me the brutal truth, for I did not want to hear it either. Proactively unraveling the truth is like standing under a tree in a thunderstorm: you are asking to be struck. If anything, I wish I had not known that it was my parents to gave me away to the government, that the ones who I was so desperately trying to get back to were the people who sold me out in the first place. As Alex patted me on the back, he kept repeating the same phrase over and over again,
"I'm so sorry."
It, obviously, was not his fault, but I did feel better after hearing him apologize for something that he did not do. I guess I just wanted someone to console me, that was all.
After wheezing for another hour, I decided that I wanted to be left alone and just contemplate the reason of my existence. I returned to my room and requested Alex to stay out of it, because I did not want my best friend to see me at this mental state. The place was eerily quiet, which only accentuated the sound of my cries. My family photos were still clinging to the wall, but the eyes of my parents did not feel comforting anymore. Instead, they were condescending and vile. I swept them off to the floor, which was painted a pale brown to imitate oak wood. The glass on the photo frame shattered upon the impact and flew all across the slick surface of the room. I braced myself in the tight hold of my blankets, which felt like my parents' hug. I hated it, but I simply could not stop holding onto them.
A gentle knock on the door tore me away from my sleep the next morning. I felt much better after one night of restful slumber. I could tell from the sound of the muttering that it was Alex who was behind the door. Standing alongside two guards, he looked weirdly strict (and sad) today. He brought me out to the lobby, which was filled with a bunch of strangers. They were all wearing black, but one man, in particular, had a briefcase in his hand.
"Dr. Jensen!"
I called out to him and he walked by, his face devoid of emotions. He turned around to look at me and shook his head slightly. He took the briefcase from the man and nodded toward Alex, who brought me up to the group of black-suited men and patted me on the back for one last time,
"I'm sorry you found out about this yesterday, but you know, the government really does pay plenty for you. We've gotta do it. I'm sorry."
So is that what it is?
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