enough for you, darling?” Eric asked. “Consider this thing a cousin of the pretty little boys you call chosen ones. They take less time to make. Their creators don’t waste all the years programming them into believing in the council’s crap. They don’t have the abilities, either.”
“Then why make them at all?” Henry asked. “I thought the point of the creators making the chosen ones was to produce a generation of flawless saps trained to follow whatever was commanded of them. The perfect humans.”
“That is the council’s higher purpose. But they’re losing the war, and they need infantry. So they commissioned these things. Strong. Brutal. Easier for us naturals to kill because of their lack of abilities, but good for mass producing,” McNair explained.
Henry edged closer to the unconscious man and hesitantly kicked him with his toe.
“Don’t,” I warned, afraid that at any moment the beast would awaken. But even as I said the words, I felt myself moving closer.
“Is it dead?” Henry asked, staring down at him with pure abhorrence.
“What about Jones?” Robert asked.
I looked over at McNair, who gave a slight shake of his head. My breath caught in my throat, and my chest tightened painfully.
A wry grin appeared on Eric’s face. “The abnorm’s not dead, but I sure did knock the shit out of him. You can touch him if you like,” he replied with a waggle of his eyebrows, like the abnorm was some prized object he wanted to boast about during some creepy version of show and tell. I didn’t understand how Eric could make jokes, knowing his friend had just died. But then I didn’t know whether they were really friends, either.
Henry crouched down and placed his hands on the being. With a considerable amount of exertion, he managed to turn him on his back.
I’d never seen a chosen one like this.
I sucked in my lips to keep from emptying the paltry contents of my stomach. Even the deformed chosen one I’d helped clear away my first day at Templeton was nothing compared to what was before us.
This was a creature of hell.
The monster’s forehead was covered in bumps and ridges. He had a misshapen skull that reminded me of the crust of the chicken potpie the compound served on holidays. Every breath the creature struggled to take caused the bones to ripple under his skin. Large scars—recent battle scars?—ran rampant across his face, hastily sewn with crude stitches. Everything about this creation was distorted. Imperfect. One eye larger than the other. His eyebrows and hair not groomed. His teeth pointy and jagged. And his body—this was where the creators put forth their real effort. I’d never seen muscles so large. This man wasn’t art. There was nothing beautiful about him.
When the chosen ones were first created, they were meant to be symbols of everything we hoped humanity could be: strong and resilient. Testaments to the power of science—its ability to make the sublime tangible.
This was a killing machine. He could end me before I had time to blink.
“You’re really telling me this thing was created by our council?” Henry asked, clearly shocked.
“That abnorm belongs to the western sector, all right,” Eric replied, nudging the body with the butt of his rifle.
“From the compound we burned down?” I asked, kneeling next to Henry to get a closer look.
“Why don’t we ask him?” Eric replied, nodding once toward the creature before walloping him on the side of the head with his gun. Suddenly, the creature began to stir.
I couldn’t stop the yelp that issued from my mouth as I scrambled to my feet, Henry close behind me. McNair and Eric clicked the safeties off their guns in a perfect synchronized series of movements as Robert came to stand near Henry and me.
The prisoner moaned and let out a series of sounds that resembled words but made very little sense. “Are we sure this creation can even talk? You don’t have to be able to speak to receive orders,”
“Then why make them at all?” Henry asked. “I thought the point of the creators making the chosen ones was to produce a generation of flawless saps trained to follow whatever was commanded of them. The perfect humans.”
“That is the council’s higher purpose. But they’re losing the war, and they need infantry. So they commissioned these things. Strong. Brutal. Easier for us naturals to kill because of their lack of abilities, but good for mass producing,” McNair explained.
Henry edged closer to the unconscious man and hesitantly kicked him with his toe.
“Don’t,” I warned, afraid that at any moment the beast would awaken. But even as I said the words, I felt myself moving closer.
“Is it dead?” Henry asked, staring down at him with pure abhorrence.
“What about Jones?” Robert asked.
I looked over at McNair, who gave a slight shake of his head. My breath caught in my throat, and my chest tightened painfully.
A wry grin appeared on Eric’s face. “The abnorm’s not dead, but I sure did knock the shit out of him. You can touch him if you like,” he replied with a waggle of his eyebrows, like the abnorm was some prized object he wanted to boast about during some creepy version of show and tell. I didn’t understand how Eric could make jokes, knowing his friend had just died. But then I didn’t know whether they were really friends, either.
Henry crouched down and placed his hands on the being. With a considerable amount of exertion, he managed to turn him on his back.
I’d never seen a chosen one like this.
I sucked in my lips to keep from emptying the paltry contents of my stomach. Even the deformed chosen one I’d helped clear away my first day at Templeton was nothing compared to what was before us.
This was a creature of hell.
The monster’s forehead was covered in bumps and ridges. He had a misshapen skull that reminded me of the crust of the chicken potpie the compound served on holidays. Every breath the creature struggled to take caused the bones to ripple under his skin. Large scars—recent battle scars?—ran rampant across his face, hastily sewn with crude stitches. Everything about this creation was distorted. Imperfect. One eye larger than the other. His eyebrows and hair not groomed. His teeth pointy and jagged. And his body—this was where the creators put forth their real effort. I’d never seen muscles so large. This man wasn’t art. There was nothing beautiful about him.
When the chosen ones were first created, they were meant to be symbols of everything we hoped humanity could be: strong and resilient. Testaments to the power of science—its ability to make the sublime tangible.
This was a killing machine. He could end me before I had time to blink.
“You’re really telling me this thing was created by our council?” Henry asked, clearly shocked.
“That abnorm belongs to the western sector, all right,” Eric replied, nudging the body with the butt of his rifle.
“From the compound we burned down?” I asked, kneeling next to Henry to get a closer look.
“Why don’t we ask him?” Eric replied, nodding once toward the creature before walloping him on the side of the head with his gun. Suddenly, the creature began to stir.
I couldn’t stop the yelp that issued from my mouth as I scrambled to my feet, Henry close behind me. McNair and Eric clicked the safeties off their guns in a perfect synchronized series of movements as Robert came to stand near Henry and me.
The prisoner moaned and let out a series of sounds that resembled words but made very little sense. “Are we sure this creation can even talk? You don’t have to be able to speak to receive orders,”
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