No surprises.
When I was 16, I was kicked out. Left to rot in a gnarly steetlife. The city waited for me, the lights appealed to me. I can remember my first murder, blood caked onto my nails. I picked at the brains, matched every piece to the poster, put it together like a puzzle. I found happiness in a lie, I found myself wanting more. I searched the streets day after day, collecting. And when the cops finally found me, their skulls were already filled. Brains occupied, they moved. I made a science I myself could not bare witness to. Thrown into the back of a truck, watching biohazards unleash, that was when I saw them. A few blocks away, a man. He stared at me. One dark eye, one blue eye. A card in his pocket, I could see it peeking out. The man paid my bail, the man took me out to dinner. A beautiful steak dinner, he payed for it. He danced with me, yet at the end he finally allowed his true colors to show. He told me all about Murkoff, how they could use someone like me. Flattery gets you nowhere, but it brought me to his car. I didn't decline, but I didn't accept. He took it as one though. I knew he wouldn't take no for an answer, I could feel it. But it never hurt to be a woman every now and then. I asked him to send me a letter, I asked him to humor me. One more dinner, and I'll accept. I complimented him, I got under his skin, and in returned he burrowed into mine.
My body was his temple, kisses splayed across my flesh. My scars hadn't healed very well, weeks of picking never allowed them to. He still took me in his arms, thrusting. His head against mine, his head was a temple. I held onto him, I'll admit I submitted. I muttered my affection, I told him he had lips like sugar, he did the same. Our lips crashed, and the night stirred. The birds didn't sing the morning after, instead I woke up in his car again. Wrists tied, yet no gag. I understood, I woke with a smile. I gave my good morning, he seemed a little... Surprised. He returned it, looking up to the road. I pulled against the rope digging into my skin, not to escape, but to atleast feel as if I was not fooled. I asked him to untie me, he did not trust me. Nobody would go willingly. He knew I wouldn't. He was right. I might've choked him, would've dug my fingers into his eyes. I'd have watched the blood spray onto the windshield as his foot dug into the pedels, crashing us into something. Maybe off of something. We'd die in pain, but we'd die together. Connection, that was not how I ever wanted to die. But looking at him, at the act of love, I wanted to see. I wanted to see the reflection of affection, wanted to know how I would precieve my final moments.
I asked where we going, even if I already knew myself. He answered just how I thought he would, to where I belonged. I wanted to practice by myself, my genius kept away from the prying eyes.
I was not what they wanted, they wanted charisma. They wanted workers. Truthfully, I was still a young woman. Now in my twenties, yet sometimes I still felt 16. I was not welcomed with open arms, I was put through tests. How loyal could I be? I was enough. They took me in, and I was Dr.McCallion.
Project Burner
Do not mistake my own regret for failure. I regret all that I did. I did not fail, and that is why I regret. I did not enjoy any of it. I grew from where I was, my feet planted. I am none but a seed in such a life. But I did not want to plant myself. I despised what they did, how they did it. Because I was no stranger. They saw me as less, as new, as none. I was as worthless as a labrat, as the very Reagent we held in our cage.
Day after day, they did what we were told to do. Stripped him, beat him, left him. 6 months of isolation. 6. Months. He was a broken man, wanting none but connection. The hostile, drunk gaze of a mans inebriation was nothing new to what they did. The project was soon reserved to specific researchers. One of which included me. I would be there if he died. The mental torment left him regressed, left him a state of childhood fear. Nothing elss than a violation of all I held in my moral capacity. He did not appreciate what they did, it only hindered the subject more traumatized. Truthfully, it ruined everything. Close contact was ruined, the one god damn thing we fucking needed they ruined it for their own sick pleasure. Nights spent taking care of the child, of this creature. This abomination of a man. I hold only hate for how terribly they made our project go. It was Hendrick that got to him, that broke his walls. In return, he turned doglike. Almost childlike. Hendrick reveled in that power, his very own son. A man broken, rebuilt, but it was his.
FOXHOUND was the successor to Jacobs, FOXHOUND was just what we needed. FOXHOUND was perfect. A soldier, traumatized, just as our reagents. Perfect. Easier to break, easier to mold. Trained to resist, but they could not resist the loophole of American torture. Not just torture from random soldiers, from men waiting to go back to their famalies. We have none, we are our family. We will not be punished if they do not return. Blood, bruises, we were allowed all of it. And in the end, we made an animal. It was perfect, no longer a man. Not braindead either, not a slave, but instead a true true animal. Left to instinct, still craving the affection of orders.
I hold no regret for what I did to them. To Conrad, to Rye. Jacobs was younger, that was my regret. Failing to keep excess away was my regret. But we learnt from him, and we made art. I will always and forever be proud of my work.
I still hold love for the man who brought me here, he visits on occasion. Long aged by his long worklife, one day I will get out and let him plant his seed in me. We will be a family together. I will be his wife.