"So I just happen to have these supernatural powers, and I belong to this exclusive group of science experiments?" I ask, stitching up the pieces in my mind. It makes sense scientifically but I still can't help but wonder if I really am as extraordinary as these explanations make me out to seem.
"In simple terms," Doctor Grazinski nods his head wildly, bouncing his glasses on the bridge of his nose, visibly more excited than he should be.
"It sounds like I'm the main character of a poorly written science fiction novel," I laughed coldly but instead of appreciating my humor, Grazinski hurries over to the right end of the bed I'm sitting on, the end away from the headrest. "You sound very lugubrious, Ms. Berkeley," He says as he pulls out a small, rusty, silver key and jams it into a keyhole I can't see. With a turn, a control panel unfolds revealing an array of buttons and switches that I really want to play with. Almost as if he senses my desire to press buttons, he looks up and tells me with a stern expression, "Don't even think about it." I can't help but roll my eyes at his blatant, yet warranted, accusation.
"Lay down, head on the headrest," He commands. A reflection on his glasses shows him fervently pressing keys in a sequence my eyes can barely catch, each one lighting up in a bright glow with a light touch. I do as he says and swing my legs around so that I can no longer see what he's doing. "I'm just going to administer a bit of the drug from yesterday," He says, "Just to get another look at your ability. While I'm observing the external changes, this table will read any differences in vital signs. Meaning changes in your mental, and physical state that can't be observed from here." He straps down my arms and legs before I get a chance to object, the metal pressing a little too tight on my skin.
My muscles clench as I instinctively try to move from the restrictions to no avail. Grazinski picks up a needle and makes his way towards me, flicking the syringe twice with his gloved hand. Its contents are opaque and fuliginous. Before reaching the table, he waddles to the other side of the room to turn the lights up all the way, blinding me. I wince and turn my head away from the fluorescent bulbs hanging above me, the paper under my head cracking as I turn. The last thing I feel is the professor grabbing my right arm, a sharp sting as the needle goes in, and the serum it was filled with finding its way through my veins.
I'm taken back to that dreadful time in the Arctiviose, my breath is escaping me and it's becoming harder to breathe. I can feel the fluid from the injection weaving its way up my arm, the liquid sending a rush through me, adrenaline knocking any sense I had out of me. My hands clench as the dark indent deepens and the black smoke surrounds me once again. It leaks from the newly appeared mark and within seconds, is ignited with a simple snap. I let out a shallow groan from the piercing pain the releasing of mist is causing, and more so from the fire burning on my arm.
I feel the dark mark wrap around my arm, inching up to my elbow with what feels like pinpricks. The paper under me rises with the dark flames, the corners burning black with the fire. My hair wavers uncontrollably, pushing itself out and then back in my face, flowing with the heat. For what feels like forever all I could feel was the darkness around me and all I could hear were my teeth clenching and my blood boiling.
I wallow in my own heat for about two minutes before the chemicals start to recede and its effects lessen. The black smoke slowly makes its way back into the indent on my arm and the fire fades along with it. The shadowy glow of the room disappears, as does the fading mark, leaving only the small scar on my wrist. Laying still with my eyes closed, I could hear Professor Grazinski flip the switch to dim the lights, and make his way over to my table.
"Interesting," He says, unstrapping me from my restraints, "Very interesting indeed." When he finishes, I sit up and rub my wrists, a red band looming around them along with the lingering sensation of the cuffs.
"What'd you find doc?" I ask, curiosity breaking through my dizzy haze.
"It was awfully strange. Externally, I saw the same black fire and mist surrounding you as I did last time, but internally, it was something I've never seen before. Your organ functions, blood, brain scans, everything was split. Half of you functioned normally while the other half turned black." His voice grew quiet, and his tone was stern. "Your blood type changed, you had two different blood pressures and heart rates, it was almost as if you had two different organ systems, two different brains. Like you were two different people." My mind wanders back to the Karma supplier. Back to the dagger with the strange black smudge on it. Back to the dark substance sinking into my skin. Was my intuition correct? Was it still...alive after all?
I motion towards the scalpel on the surgical station near me, next to the disposable needle bucket where Grazinski dumped the syringe. "Doctor, would you mind?" He looked at the knife, then back at me, then back at the knife, and scurried over quickly once he realized my request.
"You can call me James, Doctor is much too formal," he says as he hands me the scalpel.
"James," I repeat, taking the knife from him carefully. I nod to him in gratitude and he stares at me in confusion.
"Now what do you plan on doing with that?" he asks, eyeing the knife. Without answering, I dig into my skin. I grit my teeth a bit at the pain, but once I was through the initial shock, the blood pooling over was all I could concentrate on. I wish I could say I was a little shocked, but I wasn't.
Instead of the crimson red I'm used to seeing when I get a cut, half of my blood was black, swirling alongside the glossy shine of the normal ruby color. It was hard to deny, but that day back in the market changed me.
I explained to James everything that happened that day. Starting with the dagger and ending with the excruciating pain. He furrows his brow as he grabs my torn hand and inspects the cut, his eyes widening a bit when he sees the marbled mixture of black in my blood, like a deer caught in headlights.
* * *
They say people who have nothing left to lose are the most dangerous. I didn't understand the truth in those words until almost no one had anything left to live for. The streets were - are - filled with savages: humans who've lost all humanity, picking off the defenseless because that's what it took to live.
I was one of them. I held no regard for human life, I just had one thought in my mind. Survive.
After I took over the Tetra Karmas - after I killed a person that I can't even remember - I lost my sanity. Torture was a sport that I couldn't possibly lose at, and I loved winning.
I was visiting his old storage room again for the fourth time that week. Whenever Devon asked me where I was or what I was doing, I'd always give the same innocent answer. "I just took a walk," or "I just went to pick up a couple cantos," I'd lie through my teeth. I didn't have the heart to tell him I was contracted into a group of terrorists and murderers. I didn't want him to know yet anyway, so I wore my jacket over my arm and hid all of the payments the Karmas gave me.
Tattoos on the neck are easily removable, just a swipe of a special solution of alcohol and some foul-smelling chemicals. The wrists are permanent, because once you're a leader, you'd only quit if you were dead. I understood that mentality at first. The power, the prestige, the fear, the idea of everything that came with the title was overwhelming and a clear choice. It was hard to deny the benefits, so much so that it was easy to be blind to the downsides.
The walls were still stained with blood and the air still smelled like dust. It was thick and difficult to inhale, like it was trying to choke me. At this point, I would've been glad if it did. The room was dark except for the light bulb swinging in the middle, over the red chair that was originally white, ropes still hanging from the handlebars. He was still the only person I've ever killed, and every time I visit this wing of Karma headquarters, all I can see is the terrified little girl, cowering as she stabbed the life out of her predecessor. Call it masochism, but I swing around these corners way too often for it to be any level of comforting.
I'd leave through a door in the back which opened into a market owned by one of my subordinates. It was only a tarp covering the entrance from the streets, but it was enough. The stench of rotting fruit filled the air, so did the mutant sized flies swarming around them. The back was empty, and what separated the shade of the tarp from clouds that hung overhead was a stand filled with almost inedible goods. Brown apples sat on the right, and oranges, melted from the heat, sat on the left. The store was normally deserted with the exception of an occasional customer looking for some cheap produce. Today there was a young frail boy, no older than fifteen. He swept the rows of fruit with his eyes searching for something, anything, that would make his frame look less like a half-dead corpse.
I crouched down a bit to make sure that he couldn't see me enter through a mysterious door in the back, but the stand was tiered in a way that I could still see him. Empathy grew in my heart when I thought of the family he probably didn't have, and the food he couldn't eat.
He was scanning the unwanted goods before picking up a halfway decent apple. He looked around the streets and inside the booth, probably for someone to help him pay. I was about to stand up and tell him that he could buy two apples for one canto when he dashed.
He ran past the crowd, contorting his body to fit between two young ladies, sidestepping right to avoid a large bulky man. I followed his movements, screaming behind him for him to stop. He didn't stop. He should've stopped. Two Trinity guards saw our chase and both started tailing him. They trapped him in an empty alleyway and when I rounded the corner, all I saw was the young boy laying on the ground, blood pooling around his head. One guard loomed over him while the other watched a foot away. I stared in shock, disbelief, disgust. All he did was steal an apple, it wasn't worth what those ingrates stole from him.
"Ma'am this is a sensitive situation, but don't worry, we've apprehended the thief, you're stand is safe now. You're welcome," the guard closest to me said, trying to calm me down. Fury swirled in my eyes, a vendetta breaking through the cloud of my judgment. I saw two men who were praised in every form of media, but in my eyes were no better than those who prey on the weak to make themselves feel superior. They justified their actions as my father did all those years ago. They're no better than any of them. Than me.
"I'm welcome?" I spat, "He was a thief," I pointed to the lifeless body, "you are scum!" I pulled the knife from my boot and in one clean swipe, I slit his throat. The hatred rose to my lips, but my actions spoke louder than words. These guards were the reason that reminded me why I hate people.
His face was shocked as he fell, blood pooling on the ground around his neck. His eyes were open in a grotesque stare, disbelief being his last thought. His partner looked on in horror, running as he left the two corpses to rot in the heat. I chased after him knowing full well I'd end up in a cell if he got away.
We stood in the heart of Trinity Central, busy people with lives to move on with brushed past us. One girl saw the bloodstained dagger in my hand and screamed creating a small clearing for me to find the cowardly guard pushing towards Cardinal Tower.
I caught up to him as he struggled past a group of Lutums begging on the street, and thrust my arm forward, marking his entire back with one large gash. He sank to his knees and fell face first onto the dirt, his blood soaking in his uniform. When the adrenaline left my system, all I could see were the faces looking on in horror, children trembling at the sight of what I've done. Without looking at the dagger, I wiped the blood on my jacket, hid behind my curtain of hair, and ran. All they could see would be a shadow evading the scene.
The next morning, it was in every newspaper, every tabloid. Everywhere I went, everyone talked about the headline:
"The Black Death".