The Seraphim Project

Chapter Six

Hawk didn’t open his eyes when he woke up. In fact, he didn’t move at all. It was a trick he’d learned years before; as he had no use of his eyes, when he woke, he would lay still with his eyes till closed. In this way, he could observe his surroundings without anyone nearby knowing he was awake.

The first thing he noticed was the vast size of the room and the number of people inside it. He knew immediately where he was as memories of the night before came rushing back. The Labs. He was in the containment room with all of the other experiments.

There was movement in the isle in front of him, so he cut off his thoughts so he could listen better. There were five sets of footsteps. Two were adults, most likely men, while the other three were so light they had to be children.

“This is the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for,” one of the men that he assumed were scientists said. “Just imagine: a Generation Three angel! We may finally be able to create a Seraphim!”

“And not just any Generation Three angel,” said the other scientist. “3-1! The very first of her kind!”

“I can’t believe that idot was smart enough to save the most valuable experiment we’ve ever created.”

Hawk’s blood ran cold. They were after angel 3-1. He resisted the urge to reach up to his dog tags. He already knew what they said. Hawk: Angel 2-15. Not 3-1. But he knew who 3-1 was.

Kite.

That’s who they were after. Angel 3-1. Kite. Not him. Not yet, anyway. But he couldn’t help but wonder if the rest of the misfits had been captured like he had. Listening to the breathing of those closest to him, he knew that they weren’t right next to him. He could recognize anyone in his family by the sound of their breathing. But it was a big room, and it could take him days to search the entire thing from this spot.

The scientists stopped in front of him. He almost stopped breathing he was so scared, but he knew that would be suspicious, so he didn’t. “Which one is it?” the first scientist asked.

“The one on top,” one of the children said. It was a boy, maybe ten years old, but his voice didn’t have any inflection in it. He sounded almost like a robot.

They moved closer until he could feel their breath on the top of his head. He fought the urge to move, to cower from the men that had created him and made the first eight years of his life horrible. And then he realized.

There was no one above him.

“This is her? Angel 3-1?” the second scientist asked.

“We captured the angel with the smallest wings. This is it,” another of the children, a girl this time, responded. She had more inflection than the boy, but not much. Hawk assumed she must be a Generation younger than him.

Keys rattled for a moment before there was a click and the door to his crate opened. He wondered if they would leave him alone if they thought he was still unconscious.

They didn’t. He was yanked out of the crate and onto a table, where one of his wrists was handcuffed down. He didn’t make a sound, but he sat up and yanked on his wrist, wincing when the cuff cut into it.

“It’s a boy,” he second scientist said. “I thought angel 3-1 was a girl.”

A hand grabbed at his chest, where his dog tags were. He shrunk away, but couldn’t get far with the cuff around his wrist. There was an angry grunt.

“Hawk: Angel 2-15,” the first scientist read. “You idiots! You took the wrong angel!”

The girl had a little more inflection in her voice when she spoke again. She was confused. “But we took the one with the smaller wings. This is it.”

There was a frustrated sigh. “How many angels did you see?”

“Two,” all three children answered at once.

A hand slammed down on the table, and Hawk flinched away from it. They were angry, perhaps not at him, but because of him. Would they take it out on him?

“How many did you see total?”

“Six,” the boy answered. He cried out as a hand connected with him. Hawk flinched, afraid that he would be next.

“There was another! They were all there, you just didn’t pay close enough attention.”

The last child spoke, and she sounded a lot younger than the others, and a lot more intelligent. “Please, sir. We didn’t know there were supposed to be three angels. We only saw two experiments with wings, so we took the one with the smaller wings.”

The first scientist, who seemed to be in charge, said, “Have them punished. Ten lashings each.” The children were crying, and the little girl was pleading, but he slapped the table again for silence.

“And what of the boy?” the second scientist asked.

There was a moment of silence before the first scientist said, “He did try to escape from us… Have him punished as well. Ten lashings for each year he was gone.”

“But sir—”

“Don’t question me!”

“I’m not trying to be disrespectful, but that many lashings… It could very well kill him.”

A hand grasped his chin, making him face the first scientist. Hawk could feel his breath on his face, and it stunk. He wrinkled his nose, and the action got him a slap in the face before he returned to the same position, resisting the urge to hold his nose.

“He is damaged. He cannot meet my eyes. This boy is blind. We have no use of him. If he dies, then so be it.”

Hawk shook with fear, but he didn’t plead with him. He knew it would do him no good. He was released, and it was only then that he realized the table he sat on was on wheels. He was wheeled through the room by the second scientist, with the three children sniffling and following behind. He didn’t know where the first scientist had gone, but he was glad that he was not staying.

He wasn’t glad for long. They exited the containment room and he was pushed through a series of hallways until they reached another, smaller room. This one reeked of blood, and he knew where he was. The punishment room.

He had never been punished before. Before they’d escaped, he’d always been a good boy, never breaking the rules, always doing what he was told. But he knew the stories, knew that as few as twenty lashes could be enough to kill. He could only hope that he would be able to last longer because he was older. But then, he wondered if it would be worth it to survive. He would be stuck in this place, in this hell.

He dismissed the thought almost immediately. As the children were given their lashings, he focused on one single thought: Kite will find me. He knew it with every ounce of his being. Kite would never abandon him, and he was sure that she wasn’t here. She would find a way to save him. All he had to do was survive until she could get here.

When it was finally his turn to be lashed, he didn’t bother fighting. There were other scientists there, curious to see the Generation Two angel’s tolerance. Even if he did try to fight or escape, he would only delay the inevitable, and would likely bring more lashes upon himself.

He was stripped of his shirt and pushed against a wooden pole, his hands bound above his head. He pressed his forehead against the pole and closed his useless eyes, the very things that were the reason he was being punished now. He clenched his face, gritted his teeth, and braced himself for his punishment.

Hawk screamed as the first lashing struck his back, right between his wings.