Half-Dead

Twelve: (Z)

Zac:

I hear footsteps in the distance and quickly log off the computer. I run to the door, but stop myself as I remember the only way to go, would be straight into whoever was coming down the hall.

I quickly spin around searching for someplace to hide, but everything was backed against the wall. The whole room was designed so no one could hide here. I sweeped the room looking  The bookshelf caught my eye though and I hurried over putting my new plan into action.

The two doors slid apart and in walked a high ranking guard,who I recognized as one of Martin's buddies.

"Zac, what are you doing in your father's office?" He asked, already reaching for the com in his ear.

I spun around with a book in my hand and one of the biggest frowns I could manage.

"I lost my stupid Airpad, and now I don't have any of my history notes, and dad's going to be pissed because I've been working on it for years." I rant, acting frustrated and angry.

"Woah kid, slow down, I thought you were finished with classes." He says his hand moving away from his ear.

"Yeah, so did I, but no, he sent me back again." I put the book under my arm and make my way over to the guard.

"Well, good luck with your history." He says hesitantly moving out of the way.

"Yeah whatever." I grumble trying to keep up my reputation. I head back to my room, relieved I got away with snooping in Martin's room.

The doors slide open for me and I almost drop the book on my feet. Martin was standing in my room looking out my small window.

"What do you want?" I huff throwing the book on my desk.

"Let me explain." He says, turning towards me. I look around the room avoiding his gaze.

"I thought you had somewhere to be."

"I canceled." Is all he says.

Other then my bunk bed the only other things in my room was a dresser, to store all of my clothes, a desk for class work, and a bookshelf that was mostly empty. I didn't have time to read, even though Martin insisted. When I wasn't training, I was learning about our past and more cover up stories.

"Forget about it." I tell him. I wasn't in the mood for one of his carefully planned explanations constructed from lies.

"I understand this is hard," He starts, in his annoying calm voice. I roll my eyes and lie on my bed, knowing this would take a while. "But I'm trying to protect you, and the less you know the better."

Lies. I turn to face him, trying to read a thought or two, but he's bound shut as always. He's keeping secrets.
They told us in lessons about how secrets destroyed people and that we should always be open and honest. I guess some people are just born to rebel.

He opens his mouth as if to say something but closes it, studying me. I lay my head back on my pillow and close my eyes waiting for some more of his BS.

"This isn't about me." He says all of a sudden. "It's about her."

I sit up so fast I almost hit my head on the top bunk.

"Don't talk about her." I warn, trying to keep my emotions locked deep inside, but my reaction made my feelings clear.

"It is important for you to understand, she's not human."

"Neither am I." I tell him. I wait for his reaction to change, but of course he has the answer to everything, except the questions I ask.

"You were raised differently, the other side of you was supressed."