A Chance Encounter

"Punishment Administration. All residents required to view the lesson."


Adam growled at the blaring speaker, but obediently went forward to watch through the glass wall of his cell. In the space below, a fair-haired youth of about sixteen, naked and defenseless, was flanked by two men dressed in black. Although the guards were well over six feet, the blond towered over them, yet he appeared passive as they approached the padded bench. The bastards! Of course everyone must have a clear view of the exhibition.


Three feet from his fate, the youth stopped short, and refused to move. Good for you, Loki. It wasn't his real name, he was only a number in a classified database, but Adam thought of him as the Norse God, a shapeshifter and a consummate trouble maker. He admired the boy's spunk, but it only earned him more punishment.


They must have withheld his drugs to make sure he felt every stroke of the lash. A third guard came running, then a fourth, and between them, they dragged the unfortunate boy to the bench, kicking and screaming. Adam couldn't hear him, the transparency of the cell wall gave the illusion of freedom, but the barrier was just as confining and soundproof as the solid steel of the other three walls. Still, the blond's contorted face and open mouth told the story. Finally, the guards manhandled the young man to the whipping bench, forced him to his knees so his chest lay across the padded top, and restrained him.


Daric, the commander of the guards, stepped up, a long rattan cane in his right hand. He flexed it as he spoke to the victim, making him wait. It was all a show, as much about psychological torture as physical. The humiliation hurt as much as the flesh wounds.


Suddenly Daric brought the cane down and made contact with the victim's buttocks. The young man fought the restraints and jerked with each blow, but there was no escape. Years of practice had given Daric a good aim. The welts formed immediately and reddened within seconds. Adam could imagine the whistling sound of the cane as it sliced through the air, finally landing on that bruised flesh. He didn't need to hear the screaming and pleading of the victim, it echoed in his memory. He'd been the recipient of Daric's expertise more than once.


Daric paused between strokes, part of his sadistic game. One interval lasted longer than the others and Adam hoped the boy's torture was over, but Daric was only inspecting his handiwork. Once again he lifted the whip and let it fly through the air. Finally, Daric stepped back and let the cane fall to his side. He glanced around the room, his expression a warning. Disobey and this is your fate. Then sneering triumphantly, he looked straight at Adam. Refusing to back down, Adam pressed his palms against the thick security glass that separated him from the rest of the laboratory and bared his teeth. Daric's mouth took on an unpleasant twist and his expression turned more resentful. Adam's pedigree always brought him more punishment than the others, but he didn't care anymore. He'd already been beaten countless times for insignificant infractions. What more could they do to him?


The nameless blond was now lying motionless, his white flesh a mass of raw, bloodied meat, his long blond hair matted to his face by tears and sweat. He hung limply as the guards lifted him from the bench. Each guard took an arm and he stumbled between them. Locked away in his cell, the youth's physical wounds would heal quickly, but the emotional ones inside would grow and fester. How many wounds could anyone sustain before his entire system became infected?


Everyone returned to work as if nothing had happened. The laboratory once again became a swarming beehive of activity. Men in white coats, their heads bent over test tubes and computers, mad scientists playing with anatomical models and rats dying in cages. A small voice whispered in his head. Lab rats, like you.


No. Not like him. He was a man, not some failed experiment that could be discarded like so much biohazard waste. He'd seen enough of this house of horrors to last a lifetime, and watching his jailers moving about freely while he was confined to a space twelve feet by twelve feet was far worse than any beating he'd had. His existence was as silent, and cold, as the frozen tundra he'd seen in his geography lessons.


The only furnishings in his isolation cell were a narrow iron bed, a sink, a toilet, and a monitor on the wall. No sounds penetrated his prison, except what they wanted him to hear--transmissions on a monitor, and lessons designed to educate him about a world he couldn't see. The glass wall and fancy surveillance equipment allowed the scientists, guards, and trainers to study his every move, and the moves of the others, the ones he saw when the guards took him out of his cell for training and exercise or "Special Ed," the euphemism for punishment. The sight of the others made him cringe, because he knew he looked just like them. They were all caged animals, stripped of clothes, dignity, and hope, vulnerable and impotent behind glass, their cells lining the long wall of the immense laboratory. Compliant lab rats, never knowing anything but confinement, happy with a pat on the head or a special treat at mealtime. Their only value was as tools of the government.


I might look like them, but I'm not like them. He hadn't always lived here. Once he had a different life, and a mother who cared for him. Twenty-five years ago, Dr Shepard was a young military scientist doing research into the mixing of genes from different species, genetic engineering at its worst. His father tampered with the blueprints of human bodies, his ultimate goal to create the perfect soldier. When his wife gave birth to a boy, he experimented on the infant to see if the human body could be unnaturally manipulated. He called his son Adam because he was the first of his research subjects, and the only one with Shepard blood flowing in his veins.


Adam barely remembered his mother, just the image of a woman with kind eyes who tucked him in at night and sang to him. When she died, Adam's father brought him to his new home at the laboratory to be raised with the others. Adam was the first and the only one of his father's new army to be raised as a human child. The others, sired by anonymous sperm donors and born of nameless women, were raised in the laboratory from birth. Sometimes Adam thought they were better off than he. Being the doctor's offspring did not make his life any better. Adam came to look forward to his father's rare visits, filled with excitement and the hope that his father would take him home. Instead, the doctor would check the progress of his studies and order more tests. More than anything, Adam wanted his father's acceptance. A clever boy, Adam quickly realized his father was playing God, tampering with the DNA of animals and humans to create perfect assassins for the military, crossbreeding to spawn hybrids meant to serve, protect, and above all, obey. Striving to be perfect, Adam hoped he would find the way to his father's heart. The doctor's indifference only made him try harder to win the man's approval. As long as Adam gave his father doglike obedience, he was treated relatively well.


But along the way, something went wrong.


Adolescence, that period of transition between childhood and adulthood, brought predictable changes. Adam grew tall, strong, and sexual. A trainer, armed with the ever-present stun gun, came in his cell one day and caught him masturbating. Adam was on the man before he could raise his weapon. Shifting in midair, he pounced. Two huge paws landed against the trainer's chest, pinning him to the floor. Baring his canines, Adam had lowered his muzzle, dripping saliva on the terrified man's face. Adam didn't know who was more surprised at his transformation to a wolf. He didn't have time to think about it. A tranquilizer dart stopped him cold. He woke in human-skin and the guards dragged him out of the cell for punishment.


Adam learned that the others displayed the same unique ability to shift into the animal whose DNA had been spliced with theirs. Animal training was added to Adam's regimen and although he tried to obey, he couldn't always control his shifts. His father decided that conditioning had been started too late, and he kept his volatile creations under control with beatings and drugs, ensuring they wouldn't cause trouble while he studied them. He never considered any of them human, but now they weren't even good enough to be soldiers. Adam had fallen short of his father's standards and he would never get the approval he craved. It was only a matter of time until the doctor decided his unstable creations were of no further use.


Although Adam was a six-foot-five pillar of muscle, escape was out of the question. They guarded him too closely and his fangs and claws were useless, kept under tight control by the drugs they fed him. He almost wished they would terminate him and get it over with.


Pacing his cell like a caged animal always brought unwanted attention, but he couldn't help it. The drugs weakened his body, but his mind still worked perfectly and it upset him to see how badly the blond had been hurt. Three men stood on the other side of the glass, watching. A technician held a wire basket containing his meds; beside him, Daric gripped an electroshock weapon. The third man, tall and gaunt in a white coat, the angles of his face harsh in the artificial light, was Adam's father.


The glass at the edge of his cell slid open and Adam stomped toward it, fists clenched and nostrils flaring. He knew what would happen next but he couldn't stop himself. The projectile, a barbed dart, containing a small high-voltage battery, sent pain coursing through his body. Momentarily paralyzed, and rubber-legged, his muscles started twitching when he hit the floor. Strong hands grabbed him under the arms and dragged him to his bed.


He lay there growling softly, but helpless with the gun pointed at his chest ready to discharge again. He shut his eyes, letting the effects of the electroshock dissipate.


The familiar smells of formaldehyde and alcohol wafted through the open doorway. His brow furrowed at the underlying odor of rotten eggs, faint but easily detected by his ultra-sensitive nose.


When he opened his eyes, his father was staring down at him. "Father--"


"Punishment doesn't seem to work with you." The man's icy glare froze him to the core. "You're stubborn, and you can't control your feral instincts. That makes you dangerous." Not an ounce of caring showed on the doctor's gaunt face. "I take full responsibility for the failure--and for the remedy. Take comfort in the fact that you were helpful in paving the way for future creations. They will be far superior."


The blood left Adam's cheeks. He'd expected this, but it hurt to hear the words from his father's mouth.


"This pains me greatly, Adam. Admitting failure is never easy." Brushing back a lock of white hair falling over his brow, he nodded at the guards and turned away.


Rage flowed through Adam's veins like molten lava and he bolted up. "You bastard. What gives you the right to play God? Why should we die for your mistakes?"


"I'm on the brink of a major advance in medical science. There's always a risk of collateral damage during research."


The doctor left his cell and Daric shoved him down and aimed the gun at his chest, while Gerard attached a needle to a syringe. He injected it into a small vial and an unfamiliar blue liquid filled the barrel. He reached in the basket for an alcohol swipe--


And all hell broke loose.