Subject Seven

Daddy was dead. He lay on the ground unmoving. Mommy would be so very angry.

Seven looked around the bloodied room and saw the front door that went out into the Other’s world and shook his head. No. He would not be in the Other’s world! He wanted his own world without the Other.

More guards were waiting for him when he left the house the way he had entered, but he barely even noticed them.

Much as part of him wanted to hurt all of the people in uniform, he had to leave. He had to get away before they could stop him with the yellow liquids. And they would. They had before.

He could not go home again. Not now, not ever.

He ignored the primal desire to hurt them and ran as fast as he could.

They barely even saw him before he was past them and pushing through to another part of the building, knocking everything he could find down behind him to add to the obstacles they would have to get over to get to him.

There were more doors to his left, to his right, but he didn’t bother with them. He knew the door he was looking for would be bigger, stronger, meant to keep him inside and maybe to keep others out.

A man stepped in front of him, wearing a guard’s uniform. He spread his arms wide as if he meant to hug Seven, but Seven knew better. He jumped and smashed into the man, knocking him backward. Both of them fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Before the man could try anything else, Seven used his hands and crushed the guard’s face into a new shape.

Finally, there was a door that looked like it must be there to stop him. He moved toward it, wishing with all of his might that it would open for him and let him free.

And to his surprise, it obeyed his wishes. The double doors split apart and the air temperature changed in an instant; a much colder wave of air washed into the hallway as he charged down its length and a new series of smells revealed themselves to him. Some scents were familiar and others completely alien. One of the familiar ones belonged to the woman. The woman who sometimes talked to him and other times studied him from behind thick, dark walls of glass as if he couldn’t smell her, hear her behind the shiny surface.

He hated the woman almost as much as he hated the man. But now was not the time for her. Now was the time for escape. More guards were coming for him. He could hear their footsteps past the sound of the alarms. There were so many of them, so many more than he expected.

The door and the darkness beyond it were ahead of him and so was the woman, holding something in her trembling hands. Her eyes were wide and she stank of fear. Her heart beat so fast, twice, maybe three times as fast as usual. She pointed the barrel of her weapon at him, and her hateful voice called out: “Seven! Stop right now!”

He did not listen.

He charged instead, screaming his rage at her, a battle cry, a call for blood that she answered with fire.