#gmo_sniper

I begin putting on my undergarments. First the sweatpants and sweatshirt, then a specially made bodysuit with built-in ventilation and cooling. Already got my diaper on, though I don’t have bowel problems. Always better to have one than not. Just in case.

The suit I slip into is specifically made for environments that don’t allow traditional cooling, like space. To minimize sweat, water-filled tubes line the inside of the costume to cool the wearer’s body. Additionally, little vents are built in to exhaust moisture that may appear as a result of exhalation.

I wonder how much harder this might have been all those years ago. What were those men feeling when they put these on for the first time? How about when they put them on before their fateful accomplishments?

Was there anxiety? Excitement? Fear? Wonder? There must have been all that and more, but tied to something never before experienced by anyone. Something that can never be accurately imagined, only really felt. Something that happens for the first time ever. No person prior found themselves in the same position as you: the first. No person after will ever be able to say they were the first. It’s all you and that very moment.

Do you know who the second man that went to space was? Alan Shepard. Okay, maybe you did know that one. But what of the third? The fourth? The fifth? At some point a thing ceases to be so amazing and becomes another occurrence. At some point, you stop keeping track of the numbers. But you still remember the first. Who remembers the 825th?

What about the second man who stepped on the Moon? Buzz Aldrin, right. Back when I was a kid, I was a total geek about space. Whenever the Moon landing came up, I’d always give Aldrin his due credit. Instead of “Neil Armstrong was the first man to step on the Moon”, I’d make sure to say “Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin were the first to land on the Moon”. That way, both men would get recognition. 

I don’t say that anymore. Life is not a participation trophy. They may have indeed landed at the same time, but there is only one who was the first to step out. That man’s name is more than immortal. It is etched into the very fabric of human achievement. The second guy to step on the Moon’s surface is just about as important as the 825th guy to go to space.

After putting a cap around my head, I slide on the bottom half of the bulky white spacesuit. I then float through the air effortlessly, slipping into the top of the gear. I attach everything together, gloves too. The huge suit isn’t as heavy as you might imagine. There is no gravity, after all. The helmet is the final component. I slot the piece over my head, the barrier between me and my surroundings becoming palpable. I find myself contained in what is essentially a glove for the whole body. 

It’s nothing I haven’t done before.

I’ve achieved more than the average man can ever dream of. Something that was inconceivable for the majority of history. Not just human history. All of history. Only a century ago this would all have been beyond the realm of imagination. You already had people theorizing what was out there, but there’s a big difference between the real deal and what people conjure up.

Even this great triumph is now a commodity. 825. What a fucking joke.

As I grew up, I figured I’d just kick the can down the road until I got to my own first. Like the pieces would fall into place on their own. I breezed through university. Hardened myself through the rigorous training. Now I’m here, and I’ve never felt emptier. 

I’ve never wanted to live. That doesn’t mean I wanna die. I don’t want either. I don’t really care to be honest. Don’t wanna live, don’t wanna die. I have nothing to live for and no reason to die. It’s quite odd, and I never realized that until I went up here for the fifth time. I just don’t want it all to have been for nothing. To have done all this just to be a footnote in a history book. Just to have a Wikipedia page with a hundred or so paragraphs (I’ve counted but it tends to shift). I’m not some ant to be rolled over by the march of history. Once humanity becomes fully spacefaring, what difference will there be between the 825th and the one billionth?

The airlock closes behind me and the air flushes out. The doors open into deep outer space. Endless black void for eternity, an incomprehensible space filled with an incomprehensible amount of celestial bodies scattered around. Not my first spacewalk.

The first men to die in space were the three Soviet cosmonauts of Soyuz 11. Georgy Dobrovolsky. Viktor Patsayev. Vladislav Volkov. They fully boarded the first ever space station, Salyut 1, and spent a total of twenty two days in the craft. When they were making their journey back to Earth, a valve ended up damaged due to no fault of their own. The men died of asphyxiation in less than one minute. Their bodies were recovered upon landing.

The crew perished 68 kilometers above the Kármán line, the boundary between space and Earth. Thus, they were the first to die in space. If only the valve had failed 68 kilometers lower than it did. If only it had failed below the Kármán line. If that had been the case, the first death in space might still have been up for grabs.

It’s not the end of the world. I’m nothing if not adaptable. I crawl my way over to the panel we’ve been instructed to repair. The tether hangs onto me despite me cutting it earlier. If I really floated away, I assume it would just gently slip away with me. Right now it just hasn’t experienced enough movement.

Don’t worry, they’ll remember. Everyone who ever set foot in space thought of Gagarin. Everyone who ever set foot on the Moon thought of Armstrong. That’s the way it’ll be for all of eternity. Men larger than life. Synonymous with the future of our species. Men who it will be impossible to forget.

Using controlled bursts of nitrogen I launch myself away from the panel I pretended to fix. Launch myself at the other astronaut whose tether I also sabotaged. Whose thrusters I damaged before we went outside. Rookie mistake for him not to check his equipment more thoroughly.

For centuries to come they will talk of me. For millennia. I will be in the back of every astronaut’s mind. During every spacewalk and every psychological evaluation. My name forever known. My achievement mine and only mine. I will be here. Inseparable from humanity. No matter how far they go, they will all be aware. 

Tanner steps out of the airlock, now in a plain white labcoat. I turn the camera off and hand Tanner her cup of coffee, the one I made before the test. It’s cold now.

“Thanks.” she takes a step towards the whiteboard while sipping the once-hot cup. Several tests are written out on the board, mostly the cognitive kind. Each test has a few numbers assigned, corresponding to our subjects. They were loaned to the facility by the government after their discovery. Technically, they are still the property of the Slovak Republic. We do get a lot of scientific freedom over the hands-on testing, which varies from facility to facility.

“You can’t teach it language. They’ve been in there for centuries.” I protest.

“No, maybe not the older ones.” Tanner speaks like somebody who has heard this a thousand times before.

“Then why keep at something you know won’t work?”

“Because we have the money to do it.” She dismisses me like I’m just some petulant child.

“Tanner, if we want these things as productive members of society, there are other marks to consider. We need to cut our losses. Maybe you can still make something of the children, but you gotta admit the adults are a lost cause. The linguistic trials are nothing but a pit to burn money in.”

“What else do we use the funding for?”

“The other marks of civilization. I’ll introduce something that needs no intervention from the research team. Something which will have an effect on them even in their spare time.”

“Whatever.” She finishes her coffee and bins it. She’s pissed because her tests haven’t gotten us anywhere. She’s been neglecting the core of the scientific method. You can’t be afraid of pivoting.

Progress is an unstoppable steam train, though you still need to ensure the machine runs smoothly. You must burn away the slime bogging down the wheels with the cleansing flames of efficiency. 

Let’s face it, these baboons will never learn how to talk. Never. And they don’t have to. Let’s not pretend you can’t get by in society without the ability to speak. The only thing that interests me about the speech thing at all is whether their throats are even evolved enough to vocalize words, or if it is simply a matter of learning. Nature and nurture, you get the idea. Perhaps only with a new-born specimen will we be able to truly tell whether language can still be taught. Until then, it’s a shame one of them hasn’t died so I can dissect their insides and know for certain.

“Some of the purest marks of civilization are tender and property. Objects are assigned a certain imaginary value through societal agreement, and property is what societies have developed around.” The group we were assigned is a family of four, two child specimens, two adult specimens. Mother, father, daughter, son. They are the perfect unit to civilize, “We divide the playpen into their own private properties, and we introduce monetary exchange for goods and services.” To finally tame those orangutans.

Tanner perks up at the suggestion. I’ve got her. Not without pushback, “As far as we know, they have no concept of numbers and how they might relate to a societally assigned value.”

“Then we’ll teach them.”

“You might not like this, but those association tests will have to continue. You can’t just throw them in that simulation and expect them to get the hang of it on their own. They’re not there yet. We’ll need to introduce the concepts ourselves first.”

“Fine. You can have a fucking abacus, too, while you’re at it. I’ll get started with the set-up. As long as we don’t lose sight-”

That’s when I notice it. The hydraulic door never closed. I look in the room through the observation window. Tanner is asking me what I’m looking at. Over in the chamber, barely louder than our conversation and slightly muffled by the layer of glass and hazmat, Hoch is giving instructions to the primate. He’s saying something while shaking it by the shoulders. It just looks down at the table. Catatonic. Lazy. I approach the glass and buzz in through the speakers.

“Hoch, do you read me?”

He doesn’t say anything for a good few seconds. Then, “Yeah. It’s not moving. It’s not responding to me at all.” It should know the procedure by now.

“Well, you are allowed to ask me for permission to use force.”

Upon hearing this, Hoch unclips the baton from his belt. He nearly swings it into the air before I can stop him.

“I repeat: You are allowed to ask me for permission to use force.”

Hoch loses his enthusiasm like a kid that has to do his chores before he can go outside and play with his friend. Brawn is upset that brain is still in control.

“Permission to use force?” the hazmat asks me through the glass. The thing at the table hasn’t moved a micrometer since the exchange began. Sulking, maybe?

“Permission granted, Officer Hoch.”

Louder than any word ever spoken in that room, shattering the muted barrier of the glass and traveling right into my ear canal is the youthful crackling of electricity. Blue flashes through every wall and vent. No crevice can escape from it. Hoch gets ready to swing the baton. The ape looks up at him. So now you wanna react? 

It barely has time to cover itself before the beatdown begins. 

Smash. Smash. Thud. Smash. 

Interrupted by a howl or a groan every once in a while. It falls to the linoleum floor and twitches on it like a dying bug, before it stops moving entirely, save for a chest that travels up and down. Oh how I loathe him for having that stick. Despite my interruption, some enjoyment of the protocol flickers in Hoch.

He picks up a walkie-talkie and shouts into it: “Requesting security officer reinforcement at Linguistics Lab 3A immediately.”

I buzz in again, “That won’t be necessary. It’ll take a whole ten minutes for somebody to come here, suit up, go into decontamination. It’s pointless when you can just drag it back yourself.”

“He’s a heavy guy.” Whiner. That’s literally the only thing we pay you for.

“You’re strong. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

I turn back to the unamused Tanner and we begin the walk to the cafeteria. I hear today’s lunch is pizza.

***

“I hear there was an incident at the lab today.” Doctor Bocian blurts out. No tact about it. He’s one of my underlings.

“What? What did Tanner say?”

He rolls around in his chair to face me directly, “No, not Tanner. Hoch said you were being a dick about the permission thing. That you made him ask for permission after already signaling you were giving it to him.”

“Hoch hears whatever he wants to. He’s just pissed he can’t go full apeshit on the ape’s shit. Haha.” He doesn’t so much as flinch at my joke, even though my wordplay was pretty clever, “Listen. If it wasn’t for guys like you and me, all those guards would have no idea what to do and would be spending their whole day beating all our specimens into burger meat. Hoch should be thanking me that I’m there to stand between his sadism and a living organism. If that’s his problem, he can suck me, I honestly don’t even care.”

Bocian looks at me with a kind of admiration. He’s one of the good ones. However, if being ‘one of the good ones’ is all you have going for you, you’re not actually worth all that much. Grit is what really gets you places.

Bocian rolls around to look out the observation window, “I’m just worried what might happen the day one of the kids misbehaves.”

“What, why?”

“They wouldn’t like those batons.”

***

The playpen is a simulated natural environment. Filled with beautiful trees, lush bushes, wild blades of grass and even a small pond in the middle. Of course, none of it is real. It’s easier to create all that out of plastic and fabric than to actually bring it in. The excavation permits alone would be a nightmare, not to mention transportation and set-up. The decontamination would also only serve to complicate everything, so we brought in the fake stuff. 

The most recent additions are wooden fences that divide the land into four quarters, for my civilizing experiment. Each quarter has been given a new coat of paint, ranging from red, to blue, to yellow to teal. A 360° view of the environment is provided thanks to a large one-way mirror that circles the entirety of the playpen. Behind the mirror is a plethora of guards and scientists, only a few of whom I know well. Sometimes it feels like they’re avoiding me on purpose. I don’t know why everybody is so interested in what I’m doing all of a sudden. Almost like the entire facility has stopped by just to see my personal failure.

“When’re they getting back?” Bocian taps a pencil on his desk impatiently.

“It’s been about a month of education, which should be plenty. Tanner says she’s taught them basic counting, and I’ve seen them grasping it. Hell, I’ve even acted out buying things in front of them. This will work.”

Bocian looks at me funny. “That’s not what I asked. When are they getting back?”

“Right.” Before I can say anything else, the four hydraulic doors open up, all corresponding to a quarter of the playpen. Several guards push the subjects inside. Some with more force, some with less. The specimens themselves appear confused and disoriented. Baffled by the place they only recently got accustomed to. They are now wearing jumpsuits, each jumpsuit colour corresponding to that of their quarter. The doors close behind them. I've spent more than a month planning this. Please, let it work.

The four scan the environment, then exchange glances with one another. It’s the young boy who braves the first steps inside. He scurries to the middle of the playpen, right up to the pond. Only he finds that it is separated by fence, encompassed by his mother’s quarter. My heart quickens in pace.

Tanner walks up behind Bocian and I. She stares at the boy just as intently as the two of us. It is at this moment I realize that everybody else behind the glass is in a trance, captivated by the scene unfolding before them with every single cell of their person. All of them asking the same thing, the same thing as I, or Bocian or Tanner, but none outloud: Will this work?

The boy begins to reach into the pocket of his jumpsuit. He pulls out a fake bill and hands it to his mother through the gaps in the fence, since the construct itself is too tall for him. She wanders over to the fence, pulls the bill out of his grip and crumples it. Then shoves it in her pocket greedily. He points at the water. I can feel my eyes tearing up. My heart is racing now.

The mother follows the trajectory of his finger with a determined gaze. She notices the lack of any container for the water, so she takes the bill over to her daughter, who has also approached the fence by now. Only the father is still by the door. 

In the daughter’s quarter sit wooden objects shaped like bowls. The same ones found at the site where they lived. Please take them. Take them to mommy. Please.

The daughter takes a bowl and tries to give it to her mother. But the damned fence is too high. She’s on her tip-toes. Oh God. 

The mother nearly cranes her body over the fence. She tries to reach for the bowl, but the planks dig into her chest, preventing her from fully bending down. The daughter tries throwing it over but the fence is too high. The fence is too high. I think I’m feeling sick. I feel like my stomach is being dropped from a height. A kind of rushing tingling sensation.

Crowding around that center like ants. They keep trying to push the blow through. Reach it. They lean against it but it just won’t come through. The hole won’t get bigger, you idiots. They step back one by one. They study it with disapproving looks. Like you could do any better.

Then, the daughter runs in and kicks it. Once. Its efforts are almost adorable. Like a little capuchin, it kicks at the fence a few more times. No matter what it does, it’s barely enough to shift it in the slightest. It lifts its tiny fists and drums on the planks ruggedly. It keeps doing this, even though the fence stands firm. Switching between tiny kicks and little punches. What’s the point? 

The son closes the distance between the fence. He’s a bit younger. Raises its fists and begins to smash and kick as well. Sometimes taking breaks just to shake it. My jaw drops to the floor. The goddamned apes are breaking it down. 

Then the woman-ape joins in and begins to kick and tear at it. The fence dangles ever more precariously. It could fall out and fall at any moment. Oh no. No. You fucking assholes. I won’t fail. All three beating and beating and beating at the fence. Each hit is another indictment.

The father is the last. Don’t you dare. Wasn’t last time enough? Slow and careful steps carry the beast while it studies the fence. Studies the rest of the family. Scars from the previous beating cover it head to toe.

I swear to God, you goddamn apes, if you break that fence down I am going to kill you. Do not break it down. Do not break it down. Don’t even touch it. Stop touching it you brainless savages.

That gorilla hobbles over closer and closer. I can see everybody else in the room tensing up. I refuse to be stagnant in the face of their mocking judgement. I get up and book it to the stairwell. The fire exit door is easily breached by a single shove from me. I begin the sprint up the stairs. Adrenaline pushes me forward. I skip and trip over step after step but I never slow down. I breach the other door, the one to the second floor of the deck. The floor with the intercom. 

I stumble and tumble into every wall and desk while circling the perimeter to make it to the button. I’m certain they’re all looking at me now. I don’t care. I need to use the intercom. The father ape is now within a hair’s distance from the fence. We’ve never had the need to use the intercom before. Because they wouldn’t understand. They don’t speak. And yet, I can’t not try something. 

I’m almost there. There’s Hoch sitting behind the intercom button. Mouth hanging open like some lobotomized idiot watching a kid's programme on a television. This isn’t television you feckless asshole. This is my life. 

I shove him out of the way. He makes contact with the floor. I smash the button with all my strength. My hand hurts. The intercom buzzes to life when I speak into the microphone.

“This is Doctor Derrick speaking. If there is any ounce of consciousness in that primitive peanut-sized cranium of yours, then I urge you to listen and listen close: If you break down that fence, I am going to kill you.”

He stops. He looks around the entire habitat. Then at his family. He looks up and stops his eyes dead center on the central speaker. Like as if he’s staring it down. Staring me down. I think I stopped him. I think that stopped-

It begins to beat at the fence. The fence cracks. They wore it down. The final punch takes down the whole thing. The ape-man delivered the coup de grâce.

I feel sick. I gotta sit down. I slump down into the nearest chair and wipe the sweat caressing my brow. What the hell.

I notice Tanner making her way around the bend toward me.

“What the hell was that?” Oh she is relishing in this. Whatever I say next makes the difference between some kiddy kindergarten pictures and us getting some actual results.

“It’s funny you should ask,” I stand up from the chair, “Because it was you who was supposed to teach them monetary value and how to behave like normal fucking people.”

She looks at me with the rage of a rabid dog, “Are you saying this debacle was my fault?”

“Well, I don’t think it was,” I lean closer, “There’s nobody to blame but the apes.”

The look of realization setting in is way too sweet. The embarrassment would kill her. Keep your tail between your legs.

“Yes. You’re right. Fine. We’ll take a different approach.”

“I still have a few ideas to test.”

***

I almost leave the observation decks before Hoch grabs me by the shoulder.

“Hey, so, when you shoved me back there. That wasn’t okay. I want an apology.” 

What? What is this guy even on about? Whiner.

“If you don’t want to get shoved then don’t stand in the way. Asshole.”

I resume my walk but the tall bulky man pushes me back.

“Is it really that hard to say sorry?”

“For what?”

He pauses for a second before continuing, “If you don’t apologize to me I’m going to talk to our superiors about what you said.”

“That I won’t apologize to you? Yeah, good luck.”

“No, about killing our subjects. It is completely unprofessional and no doubt grounds to get taken off the project.”

He’s starting to piss me off. Really. “Listen, Hoch, if you ever want to tell the suits about anything I did or didn’t say, you can take me along with you. I’ll back you up.”

Hoch furrows his brow and walks away. Chump.

***

The lecture hall is filled to the brim. Management clearly wasn’t expecting this high of a turnout. I can be sure of that because half the audience is crammed and standing and only the other half gets those flimsy plastic chairs. 

The applause is deafening when my name is called. I am careful to not trip over any of the steps shrouded in the darkness of the hall. The only light shines from the projector in the middle of the room. The beam settles on the large screen on the podium. The hardwood floors make my steps sound like sticks and stones banging against one another. Echo. The applause fizzles out completely once I finally step behind the podium.

“Thank you for the introduction, director. Indeed, we will be moving the experiment in an unprecedented and revolutionary direction. It appears that all attempts at civilizing the subjects have failed spectacularly on account of the cognitive limitations of their underdeveloped sentience. While cognitive tests appear to indicate some base activity comparable to teenagers of the Homo sapiens in the adult specimens, they simply lack the ability to form any linguistic vocalizations key to expressing something like human language. Whether that is due to organs which did not evolve for this purpose or lack of cognitive capability remains to be seen. Permission for euthanasia and subsequent autopsy of a singular chosen specimen pending. Any concept of civilizational hallmarks such as monetary exchange or private property seem to be lost on the subjects, in fact, they seem to exhibit stress-behaviours resulting in irrational outbursts of aggression. This sets their only remaining value: As a workforce.”

I allow the silence to settle in before a single hand comes up.

“Yes?”

“Have you decided which subject you’ll submit for the euthanasia?” I recognize the voice as Bocian’s.

Yes. The adult male. I’ll kill the father. “No, not yet. The matter is still up for rigorous debate and consideration. This decision cannot be made lightly.”

Another hand shoots up in the darkness. I can barely see the face of Doctor Kis. He was invited to the lecture among the other applicants to work at the facility. Culture Studies. I was thinking about approving him when new spots open up.

“Yes, Doctor Kis.”

“Are there any traits of cultural development present in the subjects? Art and the like.”

I remember when we arrived in that valley for the first time. I was sent to scout for samples and information. Beyond the brown paths which were stomped out by centuries of walking, there were only the caves they led to. Inside were animal hides, primitive tools and campfires. Most curious of all was that no wall of any of the inner caves was untouched, no centimeter pristine. Every nook and cranny covered in murals and paintings. You wouldn’t be surprised at the skies, bears, deer and humanoids. More interesting were the planes, guns, tanks and villages. I wonder why they don’t paint anymore.

“There are some traits that seem to imply artistic behaviour in the gibbons…” I notice my slip-up. The room chuckles. ”My apologies. The behaviour in the subjects. The matter is not yet decided. Personally, I’d wager it to be a fluke.”

***

It’s late. Only a skeleton crew of researchers, guards and technicians rounds the perimeter during the night. The most committed few. I wish that was worth something.

I begin to drift off, eyelids getting heavier by the moment. Consciousness slipping into darkness. I still have to work out the logistics of putting them to work. Falling asleep now would be pointless. I haven’t slept much since the direction of the project changed. This has to work. I sometimes have nightmares about that day with the fences. If only they were more intelligent. If only it had worked.

I stop thinking entirely when the darkness washes over me.

…

Thud. Thud. Thud. 

Loud knocking on the door. Some fucking animal chimping out on the other side. Any sleep I could’ve gotten dissipates with no mercy.

Tanner bursts into the office before I can even compose myself. 

“Euthanize? You’re going to euthanize one of them?” She is fuming. No self-control. Everybody in this facility is one wrong word away from a temper tantrum.

“What of it? It could be years before one of them dies of natural causes or in some accident. That could cause untold damage if we’re not careful. It’s better we control the circumstance, rather than leaving it up to random chance.”

“We only have four of them. You’re short-sighted, like always. If you kill the father, what other pair will we get to reproduce? Those kids between one another? Or maybe the son with its mom? Think for a moment, Derrick.”

“I never said I would kill the father. It’s still up for debate, you witless moron.”

“Ha. Please. It’s clear who you’re going to pick out to be killed.”

“Well, now that you brought the father up, I guess it would make the most sense… It’s getting old, and we’re not here to nanny something with no value. Plus, unlike the mother, it can’t get pregnant, which negates all merit in the subject beyond a coroner’s report.” I almost want to not pick the father out of spite. Just to see her be wrong.

“Oh, great fucking act, Derrick. Now, now you suddenly realize the father would be the best candidate for your petty little revenge plot? Everybody can smell your shit for kilometers from here. You think it disobeyed your orders, ones it probably doesn’t even understand, and now you’re taking advantage through a little egotistical powertrip. I won’t let you sabotage this project, you goddamn narcissist.”

“What? The orders? Like with the fence experiment? I don’t give a shit about any of that. In fact, I completely forgot that whole debacle happened. Haven’t thought about it since that day. Not all of us are as obsessive and compulsive as you, Tanner,” Evil bitch. “I know exactly what this is about. When they’re a workforce, we won’t need little doc Tanner anymore. Once I whip them into shape and make them into productive and competent units, we won’t need somebody to repeat words for them over flashcards. You think I’m sidelineing you? You think you’ll be out of a job? Well, you’re right. Why the hell would we keep around somebody we don’t need?”

Tanner stands speechless. The disgust in her face is etched so deep it might become permanent, I reckon. Dammit, I can’t stand these crybabies. She tries to hide it, but we both know this is about her job. Like she gives a shit about those four primates. I can’t let her undermine me.

“That’s not what this is about. Joke’s on me for letting you shift the blame on the apes. You tricked me. We had a silent partnership. I guess that’s toilet paper to you. Be careful: You won’t get away with this. You won’t get rid of me.”

“Listen, Tanner. This is bigger than you. This project is bigger than you, bigger than me, or either of us or anybody else. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Wouldn’t you agree? Look at it this way: When the steam train of progress needs a bit more fuel, are we gonna shut the whole thing down to save a few lumps of coal? Toe the line and maybe you can stay. I don’t mind you, Tanner. In fact, I kind of like you. It would be a shame to lose somebody of your mind.”

She looks at me for another ten seconds with the expression of someone who just had their child beaten bloody right in front of them. She storms off and leaves the door unclosed on her way out. 

***

 Empty buckets, formerly filled with paint, are now discarded on the floor. The walls of the playpen, formerly mirrored surfaces and padded white walls, are now home to scribbles and paintings from one end to the other. If those jackanapes could climb, they’d surely have defiled the ceiling, too. I’m pretty sure I recognize the hazmats and the vehicles we arrived in a year ago among the drawings. Also numerous are the depictions of nature, flora and fauna, represented in almost equal fashion.

“Well, what else can we do? Spray it down.” I turn to Bocian.

“But how did they get the paint? It didn’t get here on its own.”

“You let me worry about that. This is an ample opportunity to get your hands dirty and get some real experience. Put on that hazmat and get the hose.”

“Should I really go in alone? Can’t Hoch or Tanner come with? Or you?”

“No, I’m afraid not. You’ll do great, champ. Make sure those chimps don’t get you like some chump.” Bocian once again ignores my clever wordplay. He makes for the locker room which leads to the decontamination chamber. He’ll manage. 

Bocian might be the only person in this entire facility I trust. Everybody else is a suspect, from the janitors to those other “researchers”. Bocian has a keen deductive mind, another trait we share. 

This was sabotage, plain and simple. Sabotage of my lead authority on the project. Somebody wants us to go back to pointless linguistic kiddy play. 

Those murals are a bit of a sore anyway. Ugly little pictures. Who’s ever heard of an animal making art? Thank God nobody else is here to see this. 

While Bocian sprays them down, I’ll head to the central security station and figure out who the hell was here to give the primates their paint.

I am nearly out of the room when I see one of the orangutans wiping their ass with the leftover fake bills after taking a mighty shit. 

Fucking ape. I gotta get out of here before I throw a fit.

***

Deleted. Every single tape. I keep scrolling through the files. The entirety of last week is just gone. And the only person with the abilities and access needed to do this is Hoch.

“You alright, doc?” Hoch comes back from his lunch break. Earlier than I expected. You’d think a guy like him really savours every culinary experience, maybe gets a second helping, if you know what I mean.

“Where the hell are the tapes from yesterday?”

“Oh. I deleted them.” The words are thrown at me with such bluntness it almost appears like he doesn’t even care.

“What are you jabbering about? Primitive asshole, this is no time to joke.”

“I’m not joking.”

I have to calm myself. I take a deep breath before continuing. “Why’d you delete them you shit-for-brains?”

“To cover up the paint I brought in.”

Oh this is rich. You’re going to do this shit to me. Fucking brainless moron, if it wasn’t for your senseless brutish violence we wouldn’t even have you here. What worth do you have beyond being able to swing a big stick and listening to me? None. Genuinely zero. An orangutan can swing a fucking baton. I bet those assholes in the playpen can swing better, too. You dare disobey me? See how far that gets you. What use is a baton that doesn’t follow orders? Fucking idiot. Let’s see if you’ll care so little after this, asshole.

“That was really careless, Hoch. I think I might have to report your behaviour to management. Introducing unapproved variables into the experiment is unprofessional and unethical. You act with complete callous disregard toward our subjects, and I’m forced to have to request your removal from the project.”

“You’re gonna fire me?” The question is genuine but the tone is still unbothered.

“Your lack of rhetorical tact is extremely telling. Yes, you’re getting ‘fired’.”

“Listen, Derrick, if you ever want to tell the suits about anything I did or didn’t do, you can take me along with you. I’ll back you up.” I’m shoved into the wall. I lose my balance for a second. Ape. Fucking ape. Hoch is totally off his rocker.

“You idiotic moron, of course this is all you know. I could have you decapitated and then replace your head with a goddamn lemon, sincerely tell me if you think a single thing would change. You’re nothing, Hoch. Little beyond a little entertainment-monkey who I tell how to dance. You’re out of line. Completely and utterly. You’re a sadist and an idiot, and that’s the worst combination. You don’t have the smarts to make up for sadism, or the humanity to make up for your derangement. Now stop wasting my time and start packing your things.”

“No.”

I could kill him right now. Strangle him to death. It would be so easy if he didn’t have that baton. That fucking baton. My fucking baton. I designed that thing. 

What sense does it make that some brute carries around such power and the brains of the operation have nothing to defend themselves with? It’s completely ridiculous. What kind of world do we live in, where the educated are subject to the whims of instinctual strength? You’ll get your chance to testify, fucking idiot. Be careful what you wish for. You just made my list.

***

I take the landline off the wall and dial the director’s number. It takes only a single ring before the phone is abruptly answered.

“Hello, Derrick.”

“Hey, I’m calling about the security tapes in the facility. Let’s say someone hypothetically deleted them, is there any way to retrieve them?”

“Oh. Yeah, there is. You can’t even delete those. They get uploaded to company servers. Why?”

“Hoch said he deleted them.”

“Hoch. Haha. That makes sense. From how you describe him, it doesn’t surprise me at all. You can delete those in the security station, but they’re still on the server. He sounds a bit daft.”

“Yeah. He is. You wanna know why he wanted them deleted?”

“Tell me.”

“Because just today he smuggled several buckets of paint into the Central Environmental Simulation without any approval or screening.”

“Right. That’s bad?”

“Hoch is an idiot. Imagine if he didn’t decontaminate properly and the paint now carried germs into the environment. That could mean the immediate death of the subjects and put a stop to the entire project. The success of this project is unattainable as long as he remains. You must fire him.”

“Really. Huh. Hoch.”

There is a short pause on the other end.

“Everything alright?”

“No can do, Derrick. That guy’s union. This entire project is secret, if I share just cause with the union the whole thing could get out. Just cause overrides the NDAs. Not to mention, most of the other employees are union, too. This isn’t just a Hoch problem. We fire Hoch and the entire facility would go belly-up.”

“What? What the fuck? What the fuck are you talking about? He’s jeopardizing the entire experiment you nincompoop. You have to fire him. You have to-”

“Shut the fuck up, Derrick. Just for once, shut the fuck up and listen. All I ask. I’m helping you and the best thing you can do to repay my kindness is to shut the fuck up and let me do my work. I know it’s not ideal, but there’s nothing I can do. You’ll have to tolerate him for a little longer while we manage the security firm he works for. Their contract expires this year, you can handle a few more months of him.”

I want to explode at the phone. Scream every expletive I know, and even that wouldn’t be enough to get my rage out. Fuck. Oh God. I’m trapped. Everybody is out to get me. Everybody. These people are going to ruin everything. Ruin me.

“Derrick? You there?”

“Yeah. I’m here. The steam train of progress can’t run if these assholes keep pouring concrete on the train tracks.”

“… Uh huh. Since you’re calling, there was something else I wanted to bring up with you. You remember the euthanasia proposal?” 

How could I forget. “No, not really. Why?”

“Tanner submitted a counter-proposal just this morning. I read over it and-”

“That bitch. That fucking bitch. It’s her and Hoch and all these other incompetents, hypocrites and liars. Brutes and assholes, the lot of them. Half of the stress in my daily life would be gone if they just fucking died.”

There is a prolonged silence on the phone. I can hear a low hum of static on the other end. He’s still there. Just say something!

“Well, I read over it. I think it’s pretty solid,” Oh, save it dumbass, “But I’m not gonna consider it going forward. Just so you know I’m looking out for you. The euthanasia of the… Adult male specimen… It’s still a go. Gave it the greenlight.”

I could almost jump up and down with excitement. No doubt he’d hear that over the phone. Fucking yes. Hell yeah. Still got it. I can’t stop winning!

“However…” Fuck, “It would be incorrect to say Tanner’s proposal has zero merit. I’ve decided to strike a middle ground.” I guess “not considering” means accepting the thing completely. Cleanshirt asshole.

“The euthanasia you scheduled is way too soon anyway, so I’m moving the date forward for the following month. It’s possible to extend it further along if there’s a good reason. Anyway, gotta go. Talk to ya later.”

“Fuck! No, wait. Hold on. What if she extends it further along again?”

“Then you send me your counter-proposal.”

He hangs up. Fucking Tanner. Fucking Hoch. Fucking primates. Cattle. Wild cattle that refuses to be herded, to produce. Sick. They’re all sick. Looking to infect me. Sick things forget their place. Sick things must be put down.

***

The playpen is back to how it was before that idiotic revolt. No fences, no quarters, their jumpsuits are white once again. The father and the child-specimens are currently playing beneath the tree. The father is throwing the kids up into the air and catching them. Nothing cerebral, it’s the exact kind of fun any limbed animal could have. The giggling of the children is uncomfortably hoarse and guttural. Monstrous, really. No giggling from the father. Not even a smile.

On the side of the room opposite them is the structure I recently had installed. The older female sits in the metal chair of the contraption. Today is its turn. On a silver table beside her is an oblong machine with a single crank. The ape looks tired, about to give out. Its hand turns the crank in a circle. More and more ruggedly as time passes. It takes a break every once in a while to caress its hand. 

The device is connected through the ground to a battery in the basement of the facility, for back-up power in emergency scenarios. Eventually, I might have them power even bigger things. Maybe even the actual facility itself. These simians are gonna pay for themselves. 

Once enough power is produced to satisfy the quota I set, food is dropped through the newly-installed trapdoor in the ceiling. I doubt Tanner could do anything like this. 

It’s been ten hours now. I’ve been here, watching the whole thing. Originally, the quota was two hours of labor, but I’ve been slowly increasing it while watching the ape-mother working. I’m going to make you earn that meal.

I can’t believe it's been doing this for so long now. Maybe if you didn’t take all those breaks, you’d have had the food by now. These things’ learning curves are comparable to flatlines, even with all my help.

Eventually I’ll have all four of them turning cranks, pressing levers and pushing pedals. All three members productive and important. Science is a process, however. Today, it’s just the mother, turning a single crank. Tomorrow they’ll switch her out. And, eventually, they’ll all learn the dignity of toil. This is probably the best outcome I can gift them.

I look over at the father and the kids. They’ve stopped playing. Now they’re huddling together. Hugging each other, practically glued to one another. What a pathetic sight. It really makes my stomach turn. Huddled like some cold, scared, shivering monkeys. 

A sight not too dissimilar from what my ancestors may have been going through millennia ago. Going through unimaginable harsh trials just to barely make it out alive. Stooping to places so low. Places where only animals dare go. It makes me want to retch. My own blood, my ancestors, my forefathers. Starving and huddling while sharing food scraps like cockroaches. In some cold and damp cave. It’s impossible for this to not have been the case. I don’t even wanna think about it anymore. Thank God we are where we are today. If we’ve truly come so far, then why the hell are these assholes still huddling?

“Hey, this is Doctor Derrick,” I speak through the intercom, “Since you guys are taking the piss I’m just gonna disable the machine. No food today unless you wanna get serious and stop wasting my time. Peace.”

The silence settles in for a moment. The crank-monkey looks at the speaker. Then, she begins to spin faster and faster. The rest of the family watches on in silence, the huddle broken up.

How interesting.

It takes only about thirty minutes of hasty cranking before the trapdoor opens up. Finally. The mother falls to her knees on the floor and clutches her hand in agony. Could Tanner achieve anything like this? Ever? Genuinely. Could anybody?

A single pack of food tumbles out the trapdoor and lands down in the pond. All four of those baboons rush over to it. What comes next shocks me completely. In something reminiscent of a Mexican standoff, they stare each other down. Watching and waiting. Every single one. They know that the pack cannot feed all four. 

Then, the son finally jumps into the water. He swims for the pack.

I did it. I finally did it.

“So now you wanna stop being animals? Good! I’m watching. Show me what you’re really worth. Convince me you’re worth my time.”

Little capuchin. He’s so quick, and seemingly a good swimmer. He grabs the pack with his teeth. Begins to swim backwards across the water. The mother and father rush over to the side where he’ll emerge. They begin to snap at him with their hands, trying to nab the pack from him. He stops swimming. Stays floating in the water. The daughter, who is opposite the parents, whistles into the air. The son turns around and throws the pack to her. Huh. I guess they teamed up?

The son beaches himself on the shore of the pond and joins the daughter. The two parents run to the two and begin to attack them. Survival of the fittest. The children growl at the two adults aggressively, before jumping on them and bringing them down to the ground. The adults get up and scurry back into the corner of the room. The children retreat into the area under the tree and share the spoils. Gray lab slop. High in nutrition. I came up with the formula myself.

I buzz in one last time, “Well, I’m happy to see we all learned something. You guys clearly have an aptitude for cooperation, when you’ve got something to fight over. A common enemy goes a long way, too. You’re individuals in the making. Look, I’d love to stay behind, but I have some colleagues to boast to. Enjoy your meal.”

I might not have to euthanize that beast after all. Whether it's a needle or starvation, the result stays the same. It will die.

***

“Bocian, have you seen Tanner?”

“No, not for the entire day. Why?”

“No matter. I’ll just tell you what I was gonna tell her,” I take a seat opposite him at his office table before continuing, “I did it, Bocian. I introduced labour to those cavemen.”

“Congrats, Derrick.” Bocian says, unenthused. Sleepless nights, probably. I know what that's like.

“Thank you. The mother specimen turned the crank for approximately ten hours, and once food was dispensed, the tribe seemed to shatter into smaller units who fought over the food scraps. They’re great at learning the value of self-interest.”

“Who got the food in the end?”

“The kids beat the adults for the nutrition pack.”

Bocian pauses for a moment and scratches his chin. Then he taps his pencil on his forehead before saying, “Well, isn’t that a bit weird?”

“How do you mean?”

“The kids overpowering the adults for the food. I mean, yeah, the dad got beaten like, once, months ago, and the mom worked for those ten hours. Still, are the kids really so much stronger than the adults? Aren’t they actual tweens?”

My heart skips a beat. He’s absolutely right. This was a ploy. A performance. The adults took the fall on purpose. So the kids wouldn’t go hungry. Those fucking apes tricked me. Why would they do this to me? After all I did for them? If they refuse to be people, there’s nothing else I can do for them.

I storm out of the room and run a marathon through the white corridors. I must get back. As soon as possible. I ignore all the stares of the other researchers who see me running through. I barge into the observation decks. The sight in the playpen sinks me to the floor.

Orange flickers dance on the walls of the pen, projected from the center of the room. Smoke dispensed from the flames floats up toward the ceiling. On the fire, simmering above the orange flames, is the carcass of a wild boar. Lab slop discarded in the corner. Around the campfire are the simians. Tearing at the boar barehanded and passing its meat to one another.

Fuck you Hoch. This is how you wanna play? You’re finished. Actually done. I’m not even mad. You just signed your own death warrant.

***

I spin the dial with aggressive urgency. The phone cycles through two rings before it is picked up.

“Hey Derrick.”

“Hey. Sorry for the call-”

“Oh, I don’t mind. Always happy to hear from you. By the way, during my last visit I found some really odd toilet graffiti. The word scribbled most often was ‘cleanshirt’. Any idea what that means?”

“Nope. Listen, you won’t believe what just happened. That buffoon Hoch just led a wild boar into the CES. He did the same thing with the paint before, remember?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“I once again implore you to consider the possibility of contamination-”

“You can be honest with me, Derrick. We both know it’s not about the contamination.”

I stop for a moment to compose myself. 

“He keeps going under my nose because of his pathetic vendetta. It’s because I’m the only one who will stand up to him. I can’t work with someone like that. He’s the type to sabotage the entire project just to take revenge on one person. I need him gone.”

“Look… We already talked about this. I can’t fire Hoch.”

“The contract with the security firm?”

“Breaching a contract isn’t as bad as pissing off the union. We have better lawyers. They can exploit the clauses and everything the security firm missed. We can always have a settlement or something, it’s no biggie. However, most of our science personnel, security officers, maintenance workers, technicians, they’re all union. Imagine Hoch goes to the union. They ask me why I fired him, where the just cause was. I can’t give them that because we need this whole thing to stay under wraps. Then they call a strike and we lose productivity for God knows how long. It’s just safer to wait until his contract runs out.”

“Well. There’s more than one way to get rid of somebody…”

“… What?”

“Just give me the word.”

“… It’s getting late, Derrick.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake…”

“You’re getting a bit excessive with all that cussing, y’know.”

“Fuck you. This is my life. You fucking bureaucrats sit around in your offices and the little guys like me bear the brunt. No more. You don’t wanna fire Hoch? Fine. Then I walk. I can’t stay in a toxic work environment.”

“You’re gonna walk away from the project?”

“Yes.”

An exasperated sigh escapes from the other side of the line. The phone clinks on some kind of hard surface. My guess is a table. A muffled exchange between a man and somebody else barely travels through. Some paper is shuffled. I begin to slowly wrap the cord around my finger. The phone is picked back up on the other side.

“Derrick. You’re a pain in the ass. And you’re proving to be more trouble than you’re worth.” What? If this bastard calls my bluff and embarrasses me I’m adding him to the list as well. “I’m not gonna take on the union just for you.”

“… Fine. See-”

“Wait. I wasn’t finished. Maybe if another high-level researcher like yourself complains, I might think of another way out of this for us. It’s not worth it just for you. I need to see that somebody else has a problem with Hoch before I do anything.”

Haha. Oh this is rich. You’ve made it too easy you moron.

“Alright. Stay on the line, I’ll call Bocian-”

“I said high-level.”

“… There’s only two high-level researchers in this facility. You want me to go see Tanner.”

“I thought there’d be more. Huh. Well, I guess Tanner it is.”

I grab the landline and rip the cord out of the wall. I smash the phone against the floor and up the wall. The cracks spiderweb across the dented wall and small chunks fly around the room. Fucking cleanshirt. My life is hell.

***

My life is one long humiliation ritual. Splayed out for all to see. Every second I am mocked and ridiculed. This is what they do to winners. They try to force them down. Into the gutter. But I’ve never been one to stay in the gutter too long. I always rise. Like a mighty phoenix. I can bite my tongue. Just this once. It’ll make vengeance all the more sweet.

I knock on the unassuming glass door to Tanner’s office.

“Come in.”

Tanner’s sitting at her desk. I’ve been here a few times before. The models of brains, throats and vocal chords on her shelves look like the collection in a serial killer’s backyard.

She looks up at me with what I think is surprise.

“Hey Derrick. Actually, could you grab that?” She points to a cardboard box in a pile of them in the corner of the room, “I need an extra pair of hands. Gonna pack my things, since you guys obviously don’t need me anymore.” she chirps cheerfully.

“Yeah, about that-”

“Once word got around that I might be leaving… You wouldn’t believe the outpouring of support. Letters from friends, family, colleagues. Twelve universities have asked me to come lecture and three other labs are seeking me out for projects. Can you believe that? I thought this was the worst thing that could have ever happened to me. You’ve helped me see how many people really care about little doc Tanner. Thank you, Derrick.”

She stuffs a model brain into another box, one beside her desk. She reaches for another model and begins to lower it down. Slowly. Carefully. Savouring the words I’m about to say. Psychotic egomaniacal shrew. The embarrassment never ceases.

“Yeah. Really happy for you, Tanner,” I say while fighting against the urge to vomit right then and there, “I actually need one small favour from you before you leave for good.”

She stops lowering the model into the box and lays it out on the table instead.

“Oh? Really?”

“Yes. You know Hoch?”

“Not really. He’s a security officer, right?”

“Yes. I need you to back me up with the director. Hoch’s been contaminating the playpen without consulting anybody first. I’m sure you understand the danger this poses to the project.”

“It’s not my project, so…”

“You have the chance to do an objectively good thing here, Tanner. Help me take Hoch out of the picture. Help me save the project.”

“I don’t know, Derrick. Nobody’s got as good of a swinging arm as Hoch. Plus, you don’t seem to care a whole lot about the good of the project either. With the killing and all.”

Oh. I know what you’re getting at. Manipulative psycho. Fine. I’ll think of another way out later.

“Doctor Tanner. I would be honoured to let you play a more present role in the direction of the project, in some capacity. I apologize for my unwise decision to take you off the project. I would additionally be happy to postpone the euthanasia of the subject by six months.” Which is when Hoch’s contract ends entirely, meaning he can’t come back. Meaning I can kill the baboon without having to worry about compromising in these machinations and shady deals.

“Right. But isn’t six months from now when Hoch’s contract ends? You wouldn’t happen to be delaying it just until the air is clear so you can kill the subject right then and there?” Oh my God. It would be so easy if I could submit assholes for euthanasia, too. Unfortunately, having the IQ of a kindergartener isn’t legal grounds. People like this are unworthy of the status of human.

“I didn’t realize.”

“Well, Derrick, I’m pleasantly surprised. Not many men are so humble as to come begging someone they clearly don’t respect for help. Not many are willing to apologize, either. It’s a real show of humility.”

Maybe I’ll kill her right here right now. No, I’m patient. It won’t matter once I get my way. Some groveling is fine. She’ll pay though. Make no mistake. “… Yes. I’m quite ashamed. ”

“Well, Derrick… I’d be happy to come back on. Provided the euthanasia proposal is taken off the table entirely. In fact, I’d be happy to write a proposal alongside you to bar any possibility of euthanasia in the future.”

“Fucking bitch. You’re so petty. You think this is all about you? How the hell are we gonna learn from their corpses if we don’t have any? Real subtle, Tanner. Gratuitous and unashamed. You’re killing me. You’d sink all of human progress so long as it means you get to go to a 9-5 and make a little green. I’m killing the gorilla.”

“Then no deal.”

She lets me absorb the silence. We stand there for an uncomfortable minute. I take a deep breath. None of these temporary humiliations matter. I have to keep the end goal in mind. One temporary compromise won’t matter when Tanner will be out of the picture in the end anyway. None of this will matter when I get my revenge.

“Fine. I’ll help you with your proposal. And I’ll retract my own proposal for the euthanasia. So long as you help me with Hoch.”

“Oh, and I want learning trials to start up ag-”

“Now you’re just taking the piss! Sink money back into that hole? You’ll burn through the budget so long as it means you remain ‘important’. Forget those tests, I’ll keep you on the payroll even without them, why the hell-”

“Derrick. These are my only terms. This project is bigger than you or me. This is about the good of progress, the good of the world. Throw away your ego. Or do you not care about anything else?”

I nearly deflate. I am stuck. I genuinely don’t know what to do. Hoch needs to go. Immediately. I’ll figure out the rest as I go along.

“Fine. I agree. Whatever.”

“Swell. But if you pull any kind of shit like last time, after that debacle of an experiment when you tried to shut me out, I’ll be prepared. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

***

The director seemed almost surprised when Tanner backed me up. Underestimating me will be their final mistake. I’m still in a deep pile of shit. Hoch is gone, but in his place is Tanner wasting money and my stamp of approval on a paper arguing against the killing of that pompous gibbon.

I am nothing if not resilient. Nothing if not adaptable. There is nothing I can’t bounce back from. I am an impenetrable fortress. No matter how low the supplies ever get, no matter how bad the situation looks, I always recover. I always reorganize and go back on the offensive.

The director doesn’t want a strike? Well, fuck him. I’ll make it happen. And when all the guards are gone, when only the skeleton crew is left in the facility, I’m going to do the world a favor and kill them all. I’m going to kill those fucking apes. 

I catch Hoch in the parking garages, about to leave in his truck.

“Wait, Hoch!”

He jerks back in surprise. His expression scowls upon seeing who I am.

“What? I’m off.”

“I heard you’re leaving. I’m really sorry to hear that.”

“Huh? You’re sorry? Why?”

“It’s because of me. I convinced Tanner to report you with me. I never wanted you to get fired… I-”

“Tanner? Fired? What the hell are you on about? I’m getting paid leave.”

I know exactly what you’re getting, Hoch. Pretending to be some dolt who has no idea what’s going on is going to hurt me more than anything else. Fingers crossed that Hoch cares more about his ego than getting to sit around and do nothing, with pay.

“Paid leave? Huh, I guess that’s one way the director can get rid of you. I’m surprised you accepted.”

“Accepted? Get rid of me? Wait, wait wait wait. I know what this is. You guys couldn’t get me fired. So you put me on paid leave. You piece of shit! I’d expect this from you Derrick, but not Tanner. And after that paint and the boar… I thought she’d have my back! That backstabbing bitch!”

Tanner? Paint? Boar? Now that’s interesting. I’ll think about the implications of what he said later. I can’t afford an outburst right now. Gotta ignore that. Gotta focus. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Hoch. It’s just that nobody here particularly likes you. You’re a bully hiding behind a baton. You’re getting what you deserve.”

“Oh that is it! Fuck you Derrick! You want me gone? Good fucking luck. I’m not taking the paid leave. I changed my mind. I’m going to make your life hell. You think you can buy me like some sellout? Tough titty.”

Hoch storms off away from his truck and back into the facility. It’s a gamble. This must pay off. I’ll need to put more pressure on the director. Thanks to Hoch’s pride, that amygdaloid idiot won’t back down. The director will be stuck between a rock and a hard place. Hoch gets fired, the union strikes, I get some alone time with the father.

I’ve just loaded the steam train with one hundred passengers. I’m shoveling coal aggressively. Derailment is an inevitability.

It makes sense that it wasn’t Hoch working alone. Tanner stays on the list, and I’m making sure she pays. Insolent treacherous shrew. They should be thanking me for all I’m doing. Instead they go behind my back and disrespect me. Looks like it won’t be just the father I put down during the strike. I’ll have to make it look like an accident. Or an escape.

Yes. The apes escaped after the facility was sabotaged by Hoch, who was clearly obsessed with me and wanted to use the experiment to hurt me. During the escape attempt, Tanner murdered the father, and the family retaliated against her. This is gold. I should’ve been a goddamn writer instead.

***

I’m called into the conference room. Already sitting at the lengthy table is Tanner. Smug and self-satisfied. I wonder how you’ll be able to keep a modicum of that attitude when your face is beaten into a bloody pulp and your eyes are gouged out. Stupid cow.

I sit right next to her.

“Hey Derrick.”

“Tanner, Hoch knows. He knows it was us that reported him.”

“What? How?”

“I don’t know. This is what we get for underestimating that psycho.” I hold back the urge to giggle.

“What’s it matter if he’s on paid leave?”

“He doesn’t want to leave. He thinks this is an attempt to sideline him.”

“He’s right.”

“Yeah. Now he won’t leave. If you want to spend the next half a year with him constantly undermining us and making our lives hell, then be my guest. I, personally, don’t want to be obstructed at every fucking turn by an unhinged disgruntled employee. We gotta pressure the director to fire him. There’s no other option now.”

“Hoch is still an employee, he won’t do shit to us. This isn’t the wild west. If he does, there are legal channel-”

“He doesn’t care. He’s been intimidating me, picking me out and picking on me,” Nice wordplay, “Just because he doesn’t like me. He’s a wild ape with a stun baton. You think he’ll stop at paint and swine?”

Tanner takes a deep breath. “I’ll take my chances.” She begins to get up and leave before I drag her back down into the chair by the sleeve.

“Derrick! What the fuck?”

“The project’s still going in my direction. I call the shots. We made a pact. You have to honour it.”

“I don’t have to do shit. You’re sick, Derrick. Go to a fucking therapist before you hurt yourself.” Myself? You fucking idiot. No foresight, no capacity for planning. I might as well put down a wad of cash on a mouse-trap and let you exit yourself out of the gene pool.

“Fine. Don’t do shit, and I make sure the linguistic trials never happen. Enjoy your fifty fucking universities and one hundred labs you’re pulling out of your ass. Fifty universities where, on the fucking moon? And I’m shredding that proposal we were drafting up and putting down that wild orangutan.”

This strikes a chord with her. She’s clearly taken aback.

“Derri-”

“Hey, how’s my favorite science team doing?” A conference phone I didn't notice before in the middle of the table interrupts us. Out of the speaker comes the voice of the director.

“Yeah, great. I’ve got Tanner here with me.”

“Hey Clive.” Tanner greets him.

“Oh, how wonderful! I’ll tell ya, when you guys get along, you’re a real power couple! You really ought to work together more often.” I consider arranging some kind of visit on the day of the strike from the director himself, just so I can kill him, too.

I steer the conversation: “Yeah, that’s great. Listen, Hoch refused the paid leave.”

“So he did. Huh. He was fine with it until today. What changed his mind?”

“I don’t know. You need to fire him.”

“My hands are tied, Derrick. If he doesn’t wanna go on a paid vacation-”

“You said I need to get another high-level researcher. I got another high-level researcher. Now you’re shutting down again. When will you let us stop jumping through these fucking hoops and let us get back to our jobs? That’s not rhetorical, either. Genuinely tell me.”

“We’re already on thin ice with the union, Derrick. This could be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.”

“I. Don’t. Care. Either you take Hoch out of the picture, or I walk. And Tanner walks with me.” After saying this, Tanner jerks back and looks at me with a combination of disgust and shock that I don’t think I’ve ever seen in a single person’s face before.

“You’re too funny. Tanner, is this true?”

Tanner opens her mouth to answer. Before she can, I pull her close and whisper: “I’m bluffing. Help me out now and you can do whatever the hell you like.”

She slowly leans back and relaxes in the chair.

“Actually, before we sort out Hoch, Derrick wanted to tell you he wants me back on as project lead.”

“What the fuck?” I can’t control my mouth.

“Project lead? You sure we’re talking about the same Derrick?” the director asks. 

“Yes. I. I actually said co-lead. Tanner misspoke.”

Tanner frowns but stays quiet.

“Wonderful! Great! Awesome! But what’s it matter if neither of you works here?”

“You fire Hoch and you get both of us as co-leads. That’s the pitch.” Tanner speaks.

An extremely long silence follows. Both Tanner and I feel it. We begin to look around. I almost want to ask the director if he’s even there.

“… Fine.”

I jump out of my seat. I could almost begin dancing. If only there was nobody else in the room.

“Oh my God. Good work, Tanner. Now that fucking cleanshirt can-”

“Cleanshirt?” The director is still on the line, “I didn’t realize that ‘cleanshirt’ was an insult directed at me personally. How delightful, thank you so much! How about thanking me personally for building this company and dedicating almost 10 years of my life to it, you ungrateful ignoramus.” He hangs up.

“Let’s hope Hoch still gets fired and you didn’t just sink our whole attempt.” Tanner hurls the words at me.

“Yes. Let’s.” Because if the strike doesn’t happen, I have no idea how else I’m going to kill all of you.

***

“Doctor Derrick!” I see Kis racing down the hall towards me. I approved him earlier this week. He’s not integrated into the skeleton crew, but he’s also non-union. The perfect witness to stumble upon the tragedy the next morning. Hoch had a track record of sneaking in disallowed materials out of misplaced sympathy for the subjects. This was his revenge. Taking out the security systems entirely. Well, not yet. That’ll happen later.

“Ah, Doctor Kis. How are you liking the facility?”

“It’s really something else. But it’s nothing compared to the prestige of working with you, Doctor Derrick. I never got the chance to thank you for approving me,” Alright, this guy’s going places. He might even be a better Bocian than Bocian himself, “I mean, working with a professional such as yourself is the greatest academic honour a person can have bestowed upon them. And of course, Doctor Tanner is equally-”

“Alright alright, did you like the tour?”

“Tour?”

“Everybody gets a tour their first day.”

“No. There was nobody here to give me mine. The strike is going on.”

“Ah, I see the negotiations didn’t go well?”

“I guess. Why aren’t you out there as well?”

“It’s the weirdest thing. They hound nearly everybody else to go union. They’ve never asked me.”

“Huh.”

“Well, I’m happy to have seen you today, Kis. It is getting late, however…”

“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodbye.”

The skeleton crew’s shift begins.

***

Bocian and Tanner are already in the observation deck by the playpen, seated around the intercom. I wonder why they’re not taking the time to do anything else, watch any other place. Why do they feel it important to watch the playpen specifically?

“Hey guys. I’m actually gonna be doing a test here with the… Subjects.” Maybe I can shoo them away.

“During the night?” Tanner asks.

“Yes. I want to test the labour capabilities of the subjects during nighttime.”

“Well, I’m sure you won’t mind if we stick around to watch.” Tanner leans back in her chair.

I grit my teeth, “Of course not.”

The apes on the other side of the glass are passed out on the fake blades of grass, rolling around in their dreams. The lighting inside the playpen is low to simulate nighttime.

I turn up the lights inside the playpen to a blinding white. I’ll skip the sunrise phase. I buzz in through the intercom, “Hey guys. It’s me, Doctor Derrick. Just wanted to perform another test. Get to work, if you’d be so kind.”

My voice and the light shake each of them awake. The father, mother and son get up the quickest. They all take up their individual spots at their stations. The father mans the lever, the mother the crank, the son sits at the pedals. The hamster-wheel is completely empty.

It appears the daughter specimen doesn’t wanna get to work yet. She stays laying on the ground, covering her eyes from the brightness. I buzz in again.

“Hello. It’s Doctor Derrick. Again. Would you terribly mind getting up and working the dials? Work can’t wait for one person. We’d all like to sleep in, but that’s just not very productive.”

She stirs on the ground. Rolls around and covers her ears. She’s belly-down, eyes to the ground to avoid the light. Ignore me, will you?

I step away from the microphone and turn to Tanner and Bocian.

“I’m going in.”

I take a hazmat off the locker room rack. Slipping into this protective layer. Doing the subjects an undeserved courtesy if anything. Of course, with no guards around, I fear I’ll also need to put on the utility belt on my own. I clip the stun-baton on the belt. Just by swaying my hips it swings around like a pendulum, back and forth. It’s so heavy.

I unclip it just to hold it in my hand. The weight of the object adds so much importance to it. Heavy as a pistol. The end of the stick is covered by metal strips, the ones that conduct the electricity. I textured the strips similarly to a cheese-grater. For maximum instilling of obedience. Holding the stick feels like a reunion with a long-lost friend.

Between the locker room and the halls of the inner facility are the sterilization airlocks. Small pockets of hallway with all kinds of gadgets on the walls and ceilings. The door closes behind me and out of the walls I am sprayed with ethylene oxide. Its hiss continues until the entire room is filled up. The vents evacuate the chemical before the door into the inner area opens and I am allowed to roam.

I don’t get to see the inner hallways often. So white and bland. Absent of any furniture or distinguishing features, save for the fluorescent bulbs and coloured markers so the guards know where they are. Even in the outer layer you usually have lockers, shelves and couches. I only notice their presence out there once they are absent in here.

The playpen door is a giant metallic gate. If I’m correct, this should be the eastern entrance. My card unlocks the door. It opens with heavy sounds of hydraulics whirring the door.

The playpen greets me inside. It’s a strange feeling. I’ve never seen those simians so up-close. I’ve never before been in the same room as them. They all stop working for just a second, looking at me. As if they are deciphering my intentions. The girl remains on the floor.

“Don’t worry. It’s me, Derrick. You guys can get back to work.”

I enter the pen entirely. It’s so spacious. They’re very lucky they get to be here. Any lesser lab would’ve just given them the bare minimum.

The girl’s still sleeping on the floor. I unclip the baton. I poke her once with it. She tries to wave it off. Treats it like any other nuisance, distracting her from the most important thing in her life right now. The nap. Every once in a while one of the other jackanapes sneaks a glance at us.

I begin to shake her. Please don’t listen to me. Please don’t wake up. 

“Hey there. I’m gonna need you to take your post. Would you mind doing that for me?”

She groans. I prod her with the baton once again. Her eyes peek out from behind the eyelids. For a moment she’s still processing what’s going on. Will you get to work now?

She closes them again and goes back to sleep. Just as I had hoped.

I raise the baton high.

My thumb digs into the red button with the lightning bolt symbol.

The electricity explodes from the top of the baton. Crawling up and down the metal strips. The entire interior of the playpen takes on a blue hue. Everybody’s attention is on me now. They’re frozen. They’ve stopped working entirely. Too scared to continue work. Too scared to help their family.

Her eyes are now wide open at the sight of the baton. It’s almost like she doesn’t understand what it is. But we all have to learn someday. Better sooner than later.

My heart begins to drum in my chest. Loud and quick. 

I swing the baton down at the ape.

***

I’m wondering whether I should clean the blood off the baton or let it cake in the ridges. Keep it there, together with the blood that’ll come later. Like souvenirs. 

The sound of my boots stepping on the floor is heavy. I realize I forgot to take the hazmat off. How strange.

Bocian stares at the floor. He doesn’t want to make eye contact with me.

“Oh, come on. You’re so sensitive. Now, you mind? You could’ve intervened at any other point. You had a million chances to do something and prevent this. Don’t act like you feel sorry now.”

Bocian still doesn’t look up. Moper. Tanner meanwhile is staring at me unamusedly.

“You know, Derrick.”

“Yes, Tanner?”

“You hit like an ape.”

A shiver rushes down my back. I can feel a lump forming in my throat.

“Excuse me?”

“Like a monkey. You hit like a rabid baboon that just lost control. Bearing your teeth and smashing all around you. Like a wild monkey.”

Oh, so I’m the fucking monkey? Thanks a lot, Tanner. Insolent idiot on a powertrip. I unclip the baton from the belt. The weapon comes to life. The blue projects unsettled shadows on her face. The electricity screams its battle cry at them both. 

Bocian looks at me for the first time. Thank God. Oh how I wish I could live in this moment forever. Or take a picture. I’ll just have to savour this while I can. 

Their fear complimented by the crackle, accompanied by blue. Tanner looks like she wants to say something. The electricity’s voice is much more powerful anyway. You’re so pathetic when you’re afraid. Shivering primitives in the face of a deadly predator. Their terror is more beautiful than any sensory experience those miscreants have ever bestowed upon anybody in their entire misbegotten lives.

However. The security is still online. And the playpen is one of the only parts of the facility with 24/7 cameras. The only other spaces are the lobby, the cafeteria and the garage. I’ve set the two bombs, one in the central security station and one in the server room, to detonate in about… I check the clock on the wall. Ten minutes. If I kill them both here, right now, everybody will know. And even if there were no cameras, there are two of them. You can’t cull in front of the entire herd. Or else the others will panic. And run off. You must pick them off one by one. Somewhere secluded.

I turn the baton off and slot it back on the belt.

“Jesus fucking Christ Derrick. You scared the living shit out of me.” Tanner sighs out, relieved. Bocian goes back to staring at the floor.

“Haha. Yes. Great prank. Anyway, gott-” Before I can finish, the facility announcement system rings to life.

“Doctor Derrick, please navigate yourself to the nearest landline.” the robotic voice drowns me out.

***

I pick up a phone in one of the hallways leading to the lobby. On the other line the directo-

“Derrick! What the fuck was that!”

“What was what?”

“You damn well know what I’m talking about.”

“With the specimens?”

“What? Who gives a shit about those. I’m talking about Hoch. The company reviewed the security footage from the garage,” Two minutes til derailment, “Why the hell did you spill? What the fuck was that for? I’m actually curious. Did you want the strike to happen?”

“No. I felt guilty. Some of us have a conscience, you know.”

“Fuck you. Fuck you. You’ve created a shitstorm for me. And I thought it was on accident. You’re a goddamn bastard. I don’t know what you were planning to do, but it’s over. You’re fired.”

Oh. Well. That doesn’t change anything anyway. One minute til detonation. Til derailment.

“I’m fired?”

“Yes, Derrick. Pack your shit, we’ll send a convoy to pick you up in the morning.”

“I mean, it’s a few hours until then. I can still do some work.”

“You’re not understanding me. It’s over. You’re finished. Use this time to pack everything. Whatever you don’t take with you gets burned.”

“The strike made you into a total megalomaniac. I shouldn’t be punished just because you’re a bad overseer.”

“Are you being serious?”

Before I answer, red light fills the halls and alarms blast in every corner of the facility. The sirens shout in short consistent bursts. Err. Err. Err. I wonder which blew up first. The server room or the security station.

The line has gone dead. Beeeeep. All communication has been cut off. Every single door has opened. All cameras and systems offline. I unclip the baton. I swing it around in the air. It feels a bit heavier now. I have a job to do. A responsibility. It’s time to begin the hunt. I’m on the prowl.

The frantic footsteps of Bocian get closer and closer in the hallway. The sound of his running carries himself toward me faster than the actual doctor. Echo. The first victim of those apes stops right in front of me and tries to catch his breath.

“Derrick! It’s all gone tits up. The doors to the playpen opened. The family is out. What do we do?” He says this between laboured breaths.

“I guess there’s not much we can do.”

“What do you mean? Can’t we call the security team?”

“They’re on strike. Where’s Tanner?”

“I don’t know. We ran off in different directions when they came out. We gotta hide.”

“Hide? I’ve got the baton.”

“There’s four of them and two of us. Baton or not, do the math.”

Oh ye of little faith. “Bocian. Do you still like me?”

“Huh? What?”

“I saw how that beating got to you. I don’t want it to put a wedge between us.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? We have to hide. Pronto.”

“Yeah, yeah I know. It’s just, you never laughed at any of my clever wordplay back before the containment breach.”

“Maybe it just wasn’t too funny. Listen to me, we really gotta go.”

I guess it doesn’t matter. “Sure. Lead me wherever.”

Bocian turns around. Eyes looking down the hall. Crackles burst through the corridor. The baton launches up into the air triumphantly. It dwarfs the two of us. Then it descends like an eagle on his neck. Bocian was the first casualty of the ape family.

He screams out in pain and falls to the floor. I can already see valleys forming in his skin. Getting filled by blood as seconds pass. His eyes are wide. Shock, confusion. Fear. You shouldn’t have mocked me. You shouldn’t have doubted me. You pick those animals over me? This is what that gets you. Karmic retribution.

The second swing is to his jaw. Crawling and screaming. Blood seeping from the mouth. Worm. Groveling little worm. Puts his hands up and I smash those too. He begins to cry. Tears well and travel down his face intermixing with the blood from the jaw and neck. Drops on the floor.

I hit him again. This time in the stomach. He clutches it. Inhuman howls escape his maw. Like some uncanny creature trying to replicate the sound of man. But you’ll never fool me.

I strike again. And again. And I continue to strike. Face bloody. Wouldn’t know it was Bocian if not for the name tag. Labcoat red. I strike again. Bocian stops moving. Stops breathing.

I wonder what got it first. The shock, the bleeding? Maybe it choked on its own blood from the jaw? Only an autopsy can tell.

***

I stalk the halls of the facility. Looking for Tanner. Or the family. Whichever I’ll see first. My answer comes with the pitter patter of naked feet on bare linoleum. Eight legs. It’s them.

The baton once more crackles to life. The music bounces off the walls. Traveling down down the corridor until it reaches them. And then they look at me. Terror dispensed at the slightest show of dominance. If I’m lucky, those expressions will be the last grimace they ever make. Engraved in their faces for eternity. I’ll taxidermy them all and have them bow to me in my office. That’s the only thing you’re good for. 

“Come on! Come here you bastards! Face me!”

They begin to back away. Slowly. Except for the adolescent male. Little capuchin. It stays where it is. Firm, heels digging into the ground. Clearly afraid, but firm.

They begin to holler incomprehensible noises at it. I assume it’s to convince the thing to retreat. Listen to them. Or don’t. It won’t help you anyhow.

The boots are so heavy. The thuds they make on the floor make me sound so big. The crackle of electricity is my anthem. The choir that accompanies the hunt.

Why is it just standing there? I ready the baton. All common sense would dictate you should run. Of course, these creatures lack any of that. And what a shame. I could’ve made something of you all.

The baton floats into the air. Carrying my gripped fist with. The baton is more of an arm to me now than the appendage holding it. The boy keeps looking. It’s still afraid. It keeps standing. 

I swing the baton. And it grabs hold. What?

We tussle for the baton. A fucking child isn’t going to rip the baton off me. We tug for the stick. Back and forth. I see its hands slipping further and further back. Eventually it’ll have to touch the strips. It’ll get shocked. Slip-up by attrition. I’ll win.

Then the daughter rushes in. Still got wounds from the beating. Red seeps through makeshift bandages out of the fake blades of grass. It takes hold of the baton as well. Both of them are pulling. Shit. How can two snot-faced chimps have such strength?

The mother runs in and hugs both the children by the waist. She’s pulling them off the baton? No. It’s helping them take it away. Fucking monkeys. Let go!

The father hobbles over. Watching its family struggle. The monkey doesn’t pull on the baton. Or on them. It’s hesitating. Then it directs that gaze to me. I feel the rage of a burning forest in that gaze. The gorilla gallops over and punches the hazmat’s faceshield.

Crack. Punches again. Shatter.

Punches again.

I’m launched back into the corridor. Blood pours from my nose. What the hell is going on?

The family takes the baton and passes it around. Father presses the button. Electricity illuminates their figures. Colossal silhouettes project on the wall behind. It’s so bright.

Then they turn to me. I’m quick to take the pepper spray out the belt. In my haste I don’t check where I’m pointing. The liquid launches into my face. 

It burns. I can’t open my eyes. I can’t open them. No matter how hard I try.

They begin to howl. I notice what it is they’re saying. I can make it out.

“Doktor Derik!” they scream. All of them are screaming my name at me. It stings. I think I might be crying. Then comes the blow.

Pain. A sharp pain in my gut. Then the second blow. Crack. My ribcage feels like it just got torn apart. Thud. Another blow. This time to my leg. It feels like it could shatter just with that. 

I can’t move. The beating continues. Can’t open my eyes. Pain. Can’t move. The lightning jolts through my entire body. My muscles cramp. Pain in every single limb. Every muscle. Every bone.

Fire in my body. Fire in my eyes. My throat swells. I’m having trouble breathing.

Strike. Smash. Thud. Cough. I begin to cough. I’m sorry.

Stop. Please stop. I’ll do anything. Just make it stop.

Bam. Smash. Thud. Pow. Strike. Crack.

I think they’re taking turns with it. They’re still screaming my name. Why are they screaming my name? Stop. Stop it. I don’t want it anymore. I don’t care. I beg you.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

You’ll never be human. You’ll never be like me. Not a single one of you. You’re savages. Fucking savages.

Smash.

***

I spent about two months in the infirmary. Tanner lives. Bocian had a funeral. The union made sure Hoch was given his job back. For the next four or so months.

Above all: The subjects escaped. The company asked the Slovak Armed Forces for assistance. A small detachment was deployed into the valley where the specimens were originally found. They waited there for weeks, but nobody came. The family was eventually discovered not too far from the lab, strangely enough. Already expired. Contact with human diseases did them in.

I wonder why they didn’t return back to their home. Instead they stuck around some random lake in the middle of a heavily wooded area. They lived for quite some time before their passing. 

The lab is polarized. They’re all looking at me. Half the researchers with admiration. The other half with seething contempt. Before the breach, it would’ve probably just been the latter. Kis was the one who found me. He called me a brave bastard. I can’t believe he’d call me a bastard.

I spotted Hoch with his other guard meathead buddies. He was firing up a baton to make sure it still worked. I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sight. The sound. I felt like crying. I told him to put it away and instead he started waving it around. Fucking sadist.

Been using crutches. Leg’s in a cast and my ribs are yet to heal. Any drastic movements are still painful. I waived my right to financial compensation in exchange for my job back. Still got it. 

Now I’m being called into the conference room. I can already see Tanner waiting for me by the door. Stone faced.

“Well, Doctor Derrick. Congratulations on your recovery. And your job back.”

“Thank you. Is there anything that’s happened in the lab while I was gone?”

“I think you’re caught up already.”

“Did anybody get to dissect the escapees?”

“Yeah.”

“W-Who?” Why did I stutter? 

“It was me. I stepped up, since you weren’t here…”

“G-G-G-Great.” I have to keep myself from berating her. Any sudden movements and the ribs might hurt. “What d-did you find?”

“We’re still going over the nitty-gritty. Most interesting was a uniquely developed gland nestled by their heart. We’ve found it to be a natural cure for cancer. Since I’m the one who discovered it, I’ll probably name it after mysel-”

“Oh f-f-f-fuck you! C-C-C-Cure for c-cancer? Are you s-s-s-serious? F-F-F-Fucking hell. W-Wrong. T-T-This all went w-w-wrong. I just came out of the infirm-m-mary, are you trying to put me b-back in? Icons-s-siderate s-s-sociopath.” My chest stings deep into my body. The ribs still haven’t healed. I almost fall to the floor. I have to grip the wall so I don’t tip over. Why am I stuttering so much?

“You alright, Derrick?”

“Yeah. W-Whatever.” Stop fucking stuttering.

I made my own discovery. It wasn’t any of your bullshit that they said. My name was their first words. Nothing you ever taught caught on. It was me. I’d boast, but then she’d know about their linguistic potential. Can’t have that headache start back up. I’ll save that information for a vulnerable moment.

We’re called into the conference room. Finally. I’m spared the further humiliation. At the table sits the director. He tells us to get seated, and we do. Across from him.

“Happy to see you guys made it out alive. You’re real heroes, y’know.”

“I’m surprised you even came d-down here.” I spit the words out.

“Don’t worry, Derrick. It’s the last time you’ll see me. The board has decided the company needs new vision. I’ve been voted out.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Clive.” Tanner says.

“No worries. The strike was a total disaster, and the escape attempt after… Don’t even get me started. It was a failure in nearly all departments. That poor Bocian boy got killed. The subjects escaped. Bummer for everybody.”

“D-D-Do we know w-who did it?” I address the elephant in the room.

“No. Not yet. I’ve been following the developments of the fact-finding commission. The most likely suspect at the moment is Officer Hoch. I trust you won’t tell him any of that, however. In fact, if anybody asks, I didn’t even tell you.”

Jackpot.

Tanner leans closer to the director, “You said it was a failure in nearly all departments. Where was that fuck-up not a total failure?” 

“By drawing attention to ourselves with the escape, the Slovak Republic took notice of our very own Doctor Derrick,” He points to me, “They share his… Unorthodox vision of the new species serving as a useful labour force. His theory is considered vital to understanding the species. This is why he is now the foremost authority in the country. After pressure from the company and state authorities, Derrick will oversee the construction of a new lab. The state trusts us so much they are willing to loan us all the specimens from the species which were in the hands of the other private labs. About two-thousand live subjects. For them we’ll build a super-lab with a much larger simulated environment, better equipment, and no union workers. To make sure we don’t repeat the mistakes of the past. The security force this time will be a private armed group, one that can be trusted to keep their mouth shut.”

“So Derrick gets to call the shots on everything and that’s it?” Tanner jumps up from her chair.

“You’re in luck, Tanner. I fought for you. And I fought hard,” It’s like I’m not even in the room, “You guys just work too well together. Think of yourselves as a duo of accountability. Keeping one another in line. That’s why you’re still co-leads.”

I’d stand up and scream at this buffoon. I’m too tired. Still healing. I wouldn’t want to stutter, either.

Tanner looks over at me and reaches her hand out. I stay seated, but take her hand anyway.

“I’ll be happy to work with you on this project, Doctor Derrick. I look forward to our partnership.”

Her fake smile is so obvious. Then again, I also have the same fake smile on my very own face. Both of us shaking our hands, pretending we’re okay with this. That this isn’t a total insult.

“L-Likewise.”

A worn blue sign punctured by the odd bullet hole every once in a while reads the former name of what was once Hurbišovo, name crossed out with black paint. Or, Paradicsom, though that sign is torn down and discarded on the ground. 

I wasn’t sent here by my lonesome. The other guy, squeezing his own submachine gun, is Balvan. We’re both wearing a green-brown get-up, though I still wish we got real camo. Realistically, I wouldn’t feel any safer even then. 

The odd thing is that I’ve never learned what his real name is. Codenames were a necessity way back and they’ve stuck since. In any case, what matters more than the name of a man are always his qualities. Balvan’s hard-nosed and down to earth. He’s the kind of guy you’d want to have your back, but personality traits are irrelevant to Lady Luck. The only difference his attitude makes is whether we die today or tomorrow. In the grand scheme, that’s not much of a difference.

“Let’s check that building out.” Balvan points to a small house just a few meters away, probably one of the only two that are largely intact. 

The air inside is stale and musty, and the only light in the otherwise dark room comes in through the windows. Bullet holes and splatters of red adorn the interior walls of what might’ve once been a homey kitchen. On the floor lay what I assume are the former inhabitants of the household, the very same depicted in a shattered picture that escaped its frame on the hardwood planks.

“Was this us, or them?” I break the heavy silence, barely able to choke the words out.

“I don’t know.”

There is no smell assaulting my nostrils, meaning the bodies must be quite fresh. I don’t wanna be here for when they start to stink and flies come buzzing about, so it might be best to drag them out before we hunker down.

“Shame. Dying when the war’s almost over. It could happen to just about anyone.” Balvan feigns some sympathy.

“Yeah.”

“I mean anyone. Anyone.”

“No, I get the implication.”

“Good. Let’s drag these cats out before nightfall comes. Or else we might have to join ‘em.”

There’s three bodies, which seems to match the dropped photo. Well, almost. One family member is absent from the crimson-soaked floor. An infant.

“Wait, Balvan.”

“Yeah?”

“We could still have somebody else in the house. Wouldn’t want any surprises.”

I point at the photo with the barrel of my weapon. Balvan slowly turns his gaze to the photo and then jerks his head to face me.

“Are you serious? It’s just some baby.”

“The photo could be old. Maybe it’s a grown man now.”

“Doubt it. Even if: you’ve got a loaded magazine and your finger’s hugging that trigger like Jody’s spooning your girlfriend. What do you have to be scared of?”

“… Nothing.”

“That’s what I thought. Make sure to bend your knees when you’re lifting. And let go of that damn trigger. Don’t tell me they didn’t teach you any trigger discipline.”

“They didn’t.”

Tuck my gun in my pouch. I squat and grab a male corpse by the pits. I almost lose my balance because I overestimated how heavy it’d be. I mean, it makes sense. I doubt they’ve been getting much food in the middle of a warzone. All the food has gotta go to the soldiers. 

I drag the thin man out and set him on the porch. Balvan’s not too far behind, carrying on his shoulders a former man and woman. He drops them when he’s at the door and looks at me in disbelief.

“Really? The porch? Do you want us to draw attention to ourselves that bad?”

“Sorry.”

“We should place them on the lawn at least. Or, even better, in a different house. Smell and attention both pointing in a completely different direction.”

“Yeah, fine.”

It’s as we’re dragging the bodies to the other house that a loud whooshing zooms through the air. Closer and closer until… A flash of light followed by a sound so intense it sends me flying through the air. I lose consciousness.

***

A low hum permeates the atmosphere. Moonlight illuminates the compact kitchen. Itself now clear of bodies, though the bullet holes and blood stayed behind. Stiffness numbs my body, splayed out on the uncomfortable floor. It takes me a few moments to recall exactly what happened and get my bearings. I lift myself off the floor only for my strength to flee from me. I crumple down.

A “Hush!” follows the mild thud of my body crashing to the floor. I snap my gaze over to a figure shrouded in the shadows, the moon’s glow reflected in the eyes of the silhouette. I’m quick to reach for my submachine gun in the empty pouch. The realization strips me of any resolve I might’ve still retained. I fruitlessly grip the air inside, praying the metal weapon will magically materialize in my hands.

“Christ! Vrabec, calm the fuck down!” Balvan spits at me through a tense whisper-shout. It’s just him. I’m yet to fully calm down, even though his presence is good news.

“Sorry. Where are we?” I whisper back.

“Did the airstrike lobotomize you? Hurbišovo. The kitchen of the house. Hello?”

“Yeah. Okay. I know.”

“Then why’d you ask me?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. What happened?”

“Airstrike. Are you even listening? Who am I repeating this for?” he hisses at me like some snake.

I’m waiting for all my thoughts to return. Clearing the fog I remember my submachine gun.

“Where’s my gun?”

“Must be outside. I pulled you in pretty quick.”

“Do you still have yours?”

“Of course. I’m not some fuck-up.”

“What’s that hum? The one in the background.”

“Hum? You alright?”

“Yes.” Better not be a concussion.

“Good. Sit where you are. Better for us to wait til morning.” Balvan opens a small pouch on his pants and takes out a small bit of paper.

“Wait? For what?”

“You were there when they smoked us. Better if we wait for back-up. No more surprises tonight. Our guys will make the rounds in the morning. We’ll just have to wait this out.” Then he picks a pipe off the floor which was shrouded in darkness prior. Covered in blood. Or maybe not. I can’t really tell, it’s so dark. It probably belonged to the family.

“You’re not thinking about lighting that up, are you?”

“What? No, of course not. That thing’s got the dead guy’s saliva all over. Putting that thing in my mouth is like exchanging a kiss. And I’m not about to kiss a Magyar.” I can’t tell whether that last part was a joke to lighten the mood or his actual reasoning.

Balvan begins to pour the tobacco into the small paper he pulled out earlier. His hands are shaking. Bet half of it ended up on the ground, but I can’t see. By the end he’s stuffing his fingers in the pipe and digging out the remaining tobacco.

“Listen, I really don’t think you should be lighting one up.”

“Jesus! Why don’t you let me worry about that? I haven’t had a smoke in days, so just fuck off and keep it to yourself.” There’s that whisper-shout again.

He licks the paper and rolls the cig into a cylinder.

“You should at least hide off in some corner. What if they see the flame through the window?”

“Shut the fuck up, Vrabec. I know you’re a dimwit, but you try. Which is why I’m not hard on you. But now you’re really making me regret it. Just let me have one smoke.”

Balvan leans over to a spot that’s outside of the window’s field of view. A lighter I didn’t see him take out before illuminates his face in bright orange. Hand holding it glides over to the cigarette sticking out of his mouth.

The flame vanishes when Balvan leans back and takes the cig out after a long pull. Smoke vents out into the air and stinks it up. His silhouette deflates almost instantly. A slow blink hides the glimmer in the eyes, the one visible moments prior. Then they open back up. The cigarette’s glow dies down.

We bask in the night’s hum for what feels like quite some time. Judging by his earlier confusion, I can't be sure whether he also hears the hum or not. I'd ask, but I don't want another scolding.

“None of this would’ve happened if we’d just expelled them all with the Decrees the first time. We wasted our shot, and now we’re paying the price.” Balvan is the first to break the silence. A low flame tracking his cigarette travels to the area below his eyes. I assume he’s sticking it in his mouth, but I really can’t tell. Too dark. He takes another drag and the end of the cig flames up again, casting some light upon his face, though not as much as the lighter before. His eyes are lit with yellow, reflecting the tiny blaze.

“Yeah. Maybe. I wonder what we’ll do to them once the war’s over.”

“The war will never be over as long as they stay here. Thank God for Rybár, honestly. You can be damn sure the Decrees’ll look like baby shit compared to whatever he’s cooking up.” Balvan takes another drag from the cigarette. Orange rushes to fill the ridges at the end.

“Y’know what I heard about Rybár?”

“What?”

“I heard Rybár’s Riders are gunning for Budapest.”

“Hah. Right.” I squirm at how loud his cackle is. Like a gunshot cutting through the air. Were we anywhere else, it probably wouldn’t even seem that loud. “Been watching Hungarian news? Everybody’s always fishing for dirt on Rybár. Sounds like the exact kind of fear-mongering a propaganda department comes up with. When they’re not dehumanizing us, they’re smearing our leaders. That’s the thing about Magyars: lying is all they know.”

“Whatever you say. But I did hear it. Once the country’s liberated, every square centimeter, they’re not gonna stop. They’ll roll into Budapest with tanks. And they’ll flatten it to the ground. They’ll kill them for what they did to us.”

“Sounds like a solid plan. If he wants us to lose all our backers.”

“Rybár’s a madman.”

“Oh, no doubt. Even before the war. However, he’s not stupid. He’s not gonna throw away international support just like that.”

It’s at this point that I stop responding. It feels like we’re getting way too loud. Balvan’s still sucking the life out of that shrinking cig. Getting shorter with each pull. Little orange light. He proceeds to drop the thing on the ground before putting it out.

We sit for a bit longer before… 

Cough! Cough-Cough!

Balvan is overtaken by a fit. Louder than the entire conversation prior. Wheezing and spluttering. 

“Dude, shut the fuck up!”

“Give me…” Cough, “a minute…” Cough.

He collapses himself to the floor and covers his mouth. I don’t see him doing that, but I can hear it. The coughing gets only slightly quieter. He finally forces himself to stop once another sound pierces the night’s low hum. 

Loud wailing, like from a small infant, reverberates from the outside and into our shelter.

Balvan’s no longer coughing.

Shit.

***

“Will that baby just shut up?” I sigh. We’ve both been keeping quiet for the past few minutes. It’s now I decide that the loud bawling outside has gotten way too bothersome for me. Something about babies crying makes me really uncomfortable. 

“Baby? What baby?” Balvan asks me in a kind of infantile tone.

“Have you lost it? Don’t you hear all that crying?”

“Oh, the crying. I do.”

“Well? We gotta go get it.”

“Go and get what, exactly?” Though I can’t see it, I’m pretty sure he’s smiling. You can always tell by the way a person’s inflection changes.

“The baby. We have to bring it inside.”

“Why?” His questions feel less like genuine confusion and more like he’s toying with me.

“Because it’s cold out. The baby might die.”

I begin to pick myself up off the ground. I’m halfway up before Balvan leaps up at me and knocks me to the floor.

“Stop! Stop, right now!” he whispers in my ear while holding me down.

“Get off me! What are you doing!?” I try to wiggle him off, simultaneously careful so as I’m not louder than the wails.

“That’s not a baby.” he says through the sharp screams outside.

Balvan lets go and I slither to a corner opposite him.

“What else is it then? An old lady? Never heard a baby crying before?”

“Vrabec, I’m telling you right now, that’s not a baby.”

“Then what is it?”

He looks out of the window for a long while and then back at me.

“It’s a drone.”

“What? What are you on about?”

“It’s a drone. Think about the airstrike. They saw us here.”

“What of it?”

“God, how did you ever make it past tactical training?”

“I didn’t.”

“They know we were here. They’re just checking if we made it out alive. That sound is coming from a drone. They want us to go after the noise and put ourselves in the open. Then, they send a second airstrike. To finish the job.” he says with such confidence I no longer have any idea whether to believe him or not. I mean, he wouldn’t sound that confident if he wasn’t sure, would he? Then again, the sobs outside tell a different story.

“Why not tell me from the start?”

“I didn’t think you’d try and go out there.”

“… I still think we should look.”

“Are you mental? Are you out of your fucking mind? That’s not a baby crying out there. It’s a trap.”

“And what if it’s not? What if it’s a real baby? We have to hide it, at least. Think about the cold. The night.”

“Who cares? Why do you care? Why is this the hill you wanna die on?”

“It’s just a baby.”

“I’m telling you, that’s not a baby. It’s the sound coming off a drone.” I notice that he hasn’t blinked for a while. His gaze is glued to me.

“How can you be sure? How do you know?”

“The hum you heard, remember? Drones all have a hum.” That very hum is indeed still here.

“… What if it’s something else?”

“Oh, right. I guess it’s the washing machine in the basement. C’mon, Vrabec. Use your one brain cell to consider this for even a second. That’s how they get idiot saps like you to die out there. It’s a cruel and effective tactic.”

“Alright, let’s say there’s a drone. What if the baby’s out there at the same time?”

“Then there’s still a drone on our hands and we die anyway.” He blinks for the first time. The baby’s still wailing out there.

“I’m gonna go out.”

“Vrabec, if you step outside, I am going to shoot you. Right here.” Balvan stiffens up, clearly on-edge.

“Why?”

“You’d be killing both of us.” I spot his hand inching closer to his holster. Not there yet, but getting close.

“Okay. I won’t go outside.”

“Good. I knew you weren’t a total moron.” His hand relaxes but his posture is still tense.

There is a significant and heavy period where we don’t say anything. All that keeps us company are the shrieks outside of the distressed baby and complementary humming. The night is far from quiet.

“It makes me wonder.” I ask to keep our minds off it.

“What?”

“Do you miss home?”

“We won’t have a home if we don’t finish the job, Vrabec. You have to be strong. Not just for you or me, but for every Slovak out there.” I wish I could focus on the words he’s saying. My mind keeps coming back to the obvious. “A man’s country is all he has, and there is nothing more honourable than fighting to defend it. Slovakia is what our forefathers fought for. Don’t disrespect them.” I hear the words but I’m having trouble processing them.

“Sorry, the baby’s kind of making it-”

“Just forget the baby. It’s not even real. It’s psychological warfare and you’re putty in their hands. They got you right where they want. If guys like you called the shots, we’d all be speaking Hungarian right now.”

“We have a moral obligation to at least take a look.”

“Moral obligation? Excuse me? Fucking Christ, do you really have a death wish that strong? Where was this conscience when we were moving those bodies?”

“This is different. You know that.”

“Different? Different how? You’re just making shit up as you go along. If you’re not even consistent, why bother? If you want to kill yourself then let’s wait til backup arrives and I can get you in front a firing squad.” It’s here that I notice how loud we’ve gotten. Like the cries of the baby and our argument are in a tight competition to see who outscreams who. I don’t even care about the noise anymore. I’m not backing down.

“You’re going to kill me? You’re a psychopathic asshole. That could be an infant out there. How do you plan to live with yourself, knowing you didn’t do anything?”

“At least I’ll be alive to figure that out. Trust me, tomorrow morning our guys are gonna find a drone and you’ll look like the idiot everybody already knows you are.”

“This should concern you, too. If it’s really a baby, it's crying’s going to attract unwanted attention. If they’re not watching us already, they’ll surely hear us and come by because of the noise. You’re the idiot if you haven’t realized that!” 

Balvan sits, unmoving. Processing the dilemma on his own. Every second or so he looks outside the window and back at me. I wonder if the crying slices through his thoughts as well.

“Listen to how loud we’ve been the past few minutes. If they were listening, they would’ve struck us down by now. It can’t be a drone.” I don’t know if I even believe my own words at this point. I have to sound like I do, at least.

“Just because they haven’t struck us yet doesn’t mean they won’t once we go outside. They could be waiting for a better shot.”

“If you’re wrong, that baby’s blood is on your hands. And we stood by for no reason.”

“If you’re wrong, we’re both dead for no reason.” Balvan spits out at me.

“I don’t care. I’m going outside. And I’m the one doing the pragmatic thing here. Those shrieks are gonna have the whole Hungarian Army here by now if we don’t step in.”

“No.” He stands up and unsheaths his gun. “You’re right. I’ll go outside and have a look. You stay back. If I die out there, I’m coming back to haunt you until the day you die.” The sudden change of heart takes me aback. 

“Wait, why are you going outside?”

“Isn’t this what you wanted? And you’re right about the attention all that crying could draw to us. Better nip this in the bud.”

Balvan retreats into the shadows, gun drawn. Despite the heavy boots, his footsteps are soft. I can barely register them over the screams coming from outside the house.

I can hear the front door creaking from here. Now it’s just me and the darkness. Neither the cries nor the hum retreat. Balvan is somewhere in-between the two.

An eternity passes, and then an eternity more. Still, the crying continues. The hum persists. Any second now I expect to hear that whoosh again. Another explosion. This time I’ll be the one rescuing Balvan. If there’s anything left of him.

This was a stupid idea. Maybe I was wrong to send him out. This could very well kill him. What’s the likelihood of a baby surviving that long by itself out there anyway? 

A single shot stops me in the middle of my doubt. A decisive shot. Louder than any I’ve ever heard before slices through the air.

The crying’s stopped.

The door creaks once more. Heavy steps make contact with the floor completely carelessly. I scramble to hide under the table. Just in case.

Balvan steps out the shadows, weapon already pouched. He sits back down where he was back when I first woke up. He picks up the pipe off the floor again and begins scraping for more tobacco. 

“… Balvan?”

“I’m gonna light myself a smoke.”

“What happened?”

He takes his time rolling another cigarette. Hands steady. He lights it in his mouth, orange once again illuminates his features. Deep shadows expose the wrinkles in his worn face. Eyes yellow.

“Hungarian drone.” he says through the cigarette. Smoke puffs out of his mouth.

I swear I can make out the faintest hint of blood smearing his person. Then, I look once more. It’s gone. Then there it is again. It’s too dark for me to be sure. I might just be imagining it.