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THE DOZEN.
i. RELEASE
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THE DOZEN HADN'T interacted with anyone in days. Usually, someone would come to each of their individual cells just to bring food and water at least twice a day, but not this day. Not any of the days that possibly could have passed prior to this one; they had no way of knowing exactly how much time had passed since their last meal, but judging by the rumbling in their stomachs and their dry mouths, it had been, at the very least, a day.
It was deafeningly silent, and that was never good. The noises of the facility had become more of a background hum just because of how used to it they were, but in this moment, all was quiet. Except for a single, muffled gunshot that some had convinced themselves was nothing, and then the mechanical hissing as every cell door slowly rose and created an exit.
The first to exit their cell was Subject Three, who virtually rushed out of the narrow room as soon as the moment was opportune. "Okay," he began, loud enough for the other eleven subjects to hear him, "so, who in the actual fuck is responsible for..." Three turned, ready to continue in the face of whoever it was that kept them uncared for, but all he was met with was destruction. What was once a booming lobby was now nothing more than a mass graveyard. Bodies littered the white tile floor, blood splattered onto nearly every surface like a grotesque mural. "Oh."
The other subjects were soon behind him, wide-eyed and gaping at the sight before them. There was no time to acknowledge that this was the first time they'd been in the same room since Tag Day, not when the entire facility reeked of death. "Oh, my god," a small, meek voice spoke up from the back of the group. "No..." None of the group had to turn to see who was speaking; the girl had rushed out in front of everyone and to a lifeless body lying on the floor in a matter of seconds. "No... No, no, no... C'mon, get up. You have to- God, they're all... they're all dead..."
Subject Nine was never given the privilege of having a family. Her own parents sold her at birth, and that would've been seriously traumatizing if not for the multiple scientists and doctors who did all they could to support her the way her parents should've. She'd even made the mistake of calling a few Mom or Dad, but that was the kind of figure every adult aspired to be in the young girl's life, even if the Director advised against it. With the severity of everyday experiments and tests, the staff thought she'd at least deserved some sort of parental figure.
But now, she really, really wished they'd have just stayed away from her. Seeing them all dead was a pain she couldn't even begin to accommodate, like how she simply made room for the pain of knowing her own parents would rather have money than a daughter. This was different; this was real. It was something that was right here, right now; not something she could just push to the back of her mind and ignore.
Everybody watched, but no one spoke. Not until a man, a bold four on his arm and amusement showing in the form of raised eyebrows and a small smirk, crossed his arms over his chest and said, "Rightfully so."
The girl's face faltered and she turned her head to glare at the smirking man. Contempt showing in her brown eyes, she vehemently questioned, "What is wrong with-"
"Okay," another one of the men spoke up, humourlessly chuckling as he stepped forward. "The last thing we need right now is an argument." He opened his mouth to continue with something he felt the group needed: instructions - a direction to go in, so they weren't just loitering. But then he thought of the girl just behind him, how insensitive he would be to disregard that she was obviously hurting. It only took a moment to convince himself to turn in her direction, taking intent steps towards her.
All she saw in her peripheral was his shoes, and then his knees as he bent down to her level, and then a hesitant hand on her back. Her head turned, glancing at the 6 printed on his extended arm. "Um... It, uh - It really sucks that you, um... are grieving," he haltingly stated, almost making it sound more like a question than an apology. "But, um, none of us feel... that way," he continued, choosing every word carefully; the girl was blatantly in a vulnerable state and saying the wrong thing was the last thing he wanted to do, "so... That's why none of us are, you know, down here with you. I'd say take all the time you need, but we really need to find out what happened and then probably get out of here, so... Just, um, y'know... Yeah."
It was the thought that counted, she mentally told herself to stop from pointing out the futility of his monologue. Silence fell, and that tense quietude was what led to Subject Six standing to his feet and turning back to face the group. "We, um... We should go get help," he hesitantly began. "But we should probably look for survivors, try to find out what happened, you know?" He'd never admit it, but he had absolutely no idea what to say. He felt obligated to say something to the group of closed mouths and wide eyes, to assure them of... something. Anything. He genuinely didn't know what they needed to hear, but he was giving it his best shot.
Would anybody, though? The last thing any of them expected to see when let out of their cells was a complete massacre. And deep down, he was petrified that whatever happened to the staff would happen to them. He knew everyone else was scared too, and a fearful group was a futile group. They needed a leader who seemed like he knew what he was doing, even if that leader was stuck in the same place as them.
His eyes flickered over to the only face he recognized in the group: Parker Adams, Subject Ten; the very reason Subject Six got stuck in the hands of the government. He nodded towards the slightly younger man and instantly turned on his heel, walking away from the group. It was presumable that his best friend got the silent message, as his quick steps were heard lingering not far behind, until, finally, they were walking beside one another. "What are you doing?" Parker was quick to ask. "What are we doing? What-"
"I really don't know," Subject Six cut him off. "I just... don't want to sit back, you know? I, um... Yeah, I just - I'm not going to do that." He turned his head to watch what should've been a cluster of test subjects but was instead a group that was gradually separating and going their own ways. Some went into their designated cell, probably to recollect themselves; others continued down the multiple hallways in search for a phone to call someone, a survivor who could tell them what happened, anything. "We should definitely stay together, though, yeah?"
"Yeah," Parker agreed. "I mean... Who knows-"
"I've, um... I set this to play three minutes after I finish recording it," a male's shaky voice echoed throughout the facility, booming from the speakers built into the walls and ceiling. "I... Fuck. God, forgive us for being such arrogant dumbasses. I'm sorry, I - I should get to the point."
Subject Eight was in the midst of searching for her father's room. The decision of living in the facility was a quick one; Eight had always wondered how he could just abandon his own wife and daughter, and then have the audacity to act like there was nothing wrong with it. If he felt bad for committing more to work than his family, it wouldn't have been so hard on Eight, but he genuinely didn't see a problem with it.
"I've, um... I set this to play three minutes after I finish recording it. I... Fuck. God, forgive us for being such arrogant dumbasses. I'm sorry, I - I should get to the point," Eight stopped at the voice echoing throughout the hallway, but then blocked the man's voice out of her mind. She had to focus on finding her father; dead or alive - she just needed to find him. "Mankind is, uh... It's collapsing, if that's the right word, and we have no one but ourselves to blame."
Subject Nine finally stood to her feet. Her bloodshot eyes, filled to the brim with tears, hopelessly stared down at the lifeless body of one of the many scientists. Though, it wasn't just any scientist; it was Doctor Madison Fletcher, the only staff member to have stuck around the entire time Nine had known them. A lot of scientists relocated or just simply disappeared without a single goodbye, and deep down Nine knew that Dr. Fletcher didn't stick around for the troubled subject, but she still appreciated it.
Nothing else mattered in the time that she was beside the corpse. She had unconsciously blocked out the voice sounding throughout the facility, but it became hard to ignore when the voice scoffed, "Some big fucking idea we had this time... Like we could attempt to kill off a quarter of the global population and have it go smoothly." Her eyebrows furrowed and she looked up at the nearest speaker as if somehow that would help her understand what he was saying better. But it didn't; the very thought of so many people dying was... unfathomable. The voice sighed, though it sounded more like a brash burst of static, and continued, "I'm the last one alive here... Everyone is dead – well, everyone except The Dozen. Hopefully, that's who's listening to this right now. You twelve deserve to know just how badly we all fucked up."
Subject Twelve had absolutely no idea where she was going. Her only objective when abandoning the lobby was to just get away from all of the corpses and blood and... That's all she wanted. She couldn't bear to gape at them any longer. Overall, she got what she wanted by navigating the narrow halls of the facility, but she never meant to wander so far from the main room.
The name engraved on the plaque on the wall stopped her. Dr. Steven Whitmore. The name certainly sounded familiar to her, and at first glance, she couldn't place him, but then it all came rushing back. The countless experiments, tests... The only doctor to be absolutely fascinated by her and her persistent fear of males. He could never explain it, no matter how much he tried to justify his interest.
With a hesitant hand, she haltingly opened the door beside the plaque. The office was more pristine than anything she'd seen in the facility thus far; the walls not tainted by dark red stains, no dead bodies lying on the tile. It was definitely a welcome change, but not one she was happy to accommodate. She knew it wasn't good, for her sake, to be entering the office, but she couldn't help herself.
She took a small step in, her shoulders rising with a deep inhale. Her eyes scanned the small room for anything of interest and only landed on a file cabinet with the label 12446. She couldn't even begin to process that he had an entire cabinet dedicated to her, seeing that it was filled with countless files and several small audio recorders once she pulled open the drawers. Just as a voice began to blare throughout the facility, she pressed the play button and held the device to her ear to drown out the louder voice.
"July 19th, 2009," Dr. Whitmore's voice started. "In the two weeks that she's been here, numerous doctors have reported that Subject 12446 has shown signs of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. It's what can be expected, but it still puts a ding in our plans nonetheless. We're unable to experiment on a subject who refuses to be touched. It's still in the works, but we think this is a great time to test out MI-273. Once injected with the serum, the subject should remain at ease when in the presence of both male and females. If not... Well, we'll just have to find another Subject 12."
She didn't want to hear any more - she wasn't even sure she could bear it. Swiftly, she tossed the recorder back into the drawer and closed it to muffle his voice and soon, her screams. Having the memories themselves was hard enough, she didn't want to indulge in his very own recordings of it. She left the ominous office as quickly as she could, and that was when she could clearly hear the voice booming from the speakers: "The nations came to an agreement; we, uh... we all agreed that a global population of 19.3 billion was just too much. Something had to be done, you know? We created a compound: Compound XS-126, distributed it out as a mandatory flu shot that everyone needed to get. If not, they'd get taken to a prison and injected with it anyway... An estimated 4.9 billion was supposed to die, and they did, but... they were supposed to stay dead."
If Subject Eleven had known about the full magnitude of the project, she wasn't sure if she would've eagerly agreed to become a part of it. Of course, she had the option between prison and the project, but she expected the latter to actually be better than prison rather than a mere equivalent. She wasn't working on the project, but the other staff members always went on and on about how much progress they were making, making it seem so fulfilling and satisfying. How one could find satisfaction in another's misfortunes, she wasn't sure.
"The dead are rising and they're out for the living," she listened to the voice say, quietly sitting on the edge of her bed. "Just... Do not get bit by one. It's the compound combined with death that turned them, but the bite kills. Chances are that it'll kill any of you, should you manage to get bit, who the fuck knows... All that matters is that it got down here and it spread like fucking wildfire and now everyone's dead... All that research... gone to waste." Of course, he was more upset about the research rather than the lives lost. She expected nothing more from any staff member of the facility. She never thought she'd be happy to say that she was no longer employed by the government.
"I need you to listen to me, all of you. Get to DC - The Pentagon, The White House... Something. Just tell them who you are and they'll let you in. They'll protect you there," the voice faltered. "Godspeed." Subject Six's eyebrows furrowed when the recording stopped, leaving the facility to linger in an uncomfortable silence. It was way too much to take in all at once; billions of people were killed and then they came back to life, only to try and eat the living? It was too far-fetched, he wouldn't believe it until he saw it.
But nonetheless, he wanted to get to DC. If it was a means of protection, he'd stop at nothing to get himself and the other eleven subjects there. Though, he'd admit he was slightly apprehensive; why go back to the people who held him and eleven other innocents captive, subjecting them to merciless experiments for a project none of them knew anything about? But if the world really had gone to shit, if civilization had truly collapsed, being in the hands of the government seemed to be the best way to stay alive. It made more sense than everything that had happened in the last five minutes.
He shared a glance with Parker, who seemed to be a mix of both fearful and utterly confused. Tongue swiping across his chapped lips, Parker's eyes flickered down to the microphone atop the desk beside them. It was hesitant, but he eventually reached down and pressed the button on the microphone. As he did so, Subject Six turned on his heel, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep sigh.
Parker cleared his throat, the noise bursting from the speakers. "Uh, is this - Yeah, okay, I can hear myself from the speakers," he faltered, Subject Six hearing the hesitant voice from both the speakers and from just behind him. "Okay, if you guys could, you know, come back to the, uh, big room... That would be cool."
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don't mind me i'm just trash
actually highkey nervous about this though so like all comments and votes are greatly appreciated
i love all of you ok bye
word count: 2833