Subject G32-001A

The siren sounded around three o’ clock in the morning. At first that’s the only
thing that could be heard.
The Siren. The damn, bloody siren they sounded just about every chance they got. There was never any emergency. Damien thought sleepily. I was having a good dream, to.
“Or at least I think I was…” he murmured aloud. Try as he might he couldn’t recall any part of the dream. He noticed the sirens again, they usually only lasted about a minute; long enough for someone to realize there was no problem worth sounding the alarm for.
He looked around his room, his cell as he and his work friends jokingly referred to their living quarters, it was dark with night, still, features could be made out. He was lying upon a simply cot, covered in what might have been leather, but was more likely plastic, it was difficult to tell. Next to the cot sat a small nightstand which held his most valued possessions: a picture of his daughter, who would have been seven now, when she was three, the last time he got to see her; an old, worn pocket knife given to him by his grandfather, and a bottle cap of no significant past, he just liked it.
The siren continued still, and a growing dread built up in Damien’s stomach. What if something did happen?
He forced himself to laugh and got up, more energized then he felt he should be, judging by how he had just woken up. He could hear other noises now. People. They seemed to be running this way and that. Damien could hear things being turned over; he could hear shouts and curses.
“—the fuck is going?!” someone yelled loud enough for Damien to hear.
“Get into your quarte--,” another yelled but the rest of his words were cut off in the panic.
Then a curious new noise, wholly unpleasant, presented itself to Damien’s ears. At first he didn’t recognize it, but then he realized that they were explosions coming from the labs.
The labs! The siren is for real! Something went wrong in the labs and now the siren is for real!
His mind didn’t want to accept it; a problem in the lab was bad. He drew up the figures in his mind. Figures were always what he was best at. By how he figured his life to death ratio was three to five. This was about a 60% chance of living. Not enough Damien thought.
Another Explosion
The room shook. The door flew open. Something screamed. And Damien fell to the floor.
* * *

“Daddy, I’m scared.” Veronica Lambhart said in a small voice, scarcely more then a whisper.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of. They’re totally restrained,” Dr. Damien Lambhart said in a perhaps to business-like tone, “We’re totally safe behind this glass,” he knocked on it for effect, it didn’t seem to provide any sort of relief for his daughter.
* * *

She was never supposed to be there Damien thought to himself.
He had forgotten how he had fallen. He couldn’t get his eyes to focus, even still the blurred shape of something made its way to his body. It seemed to be moving in slow motion. It looked human enough. Perhaps someone’s come to help me. His eyes became more focus now that he concentrated. As he saw what it was it took a moment for it to register in his mind; almost as if his mind were fighting the information his eyes were sending it. Terror contorted his face as his version continued to grow sharper and more focused.

* * *

The people, test subjects he corrected himself, were lying on their metal rollers.
They were all failures. BioSynth Co. wouldn’t be too happy when they got the results back. None of the subjects survived longer than an hour. No, that’s not entirely correct Damien thought. There was one subject. Subject G4-867D. She had survived for two-hours, but just barely. Dr. Lambhart thought back to his confusing, but all to brief conversation with Subject ‘Mona,’ that’s what the lab hands called her.

“Subject G4-867D. My name is Dr. Lambhart. I am in charge of BioSynth’s Lab division.”
The thing looked at him. It’s flesh a mottled gray color, with darker spots here and there. She was technically nude, but part of the serum’s process was that the subject would not longer be capable of breeding; the reproductive organs seemed to just fade into nothingness. Like they never existed.  She was bald, with veins protruding grotesquely just under the skin, throbbing. The whites of   her eyes had gone black, the irises a dull yellow. Her legs had become bird like, at least in how they operated. Each ending in three toes. Her hands were almost human, but instead of fingers she now had talons. Still bloody from earlier. He could tell it wanted nothing more than to kill him. But he was safe. It was strapped-down.
Dr. Lambhart wondered what Mona used to be like. Before she went through BioSynth’s testing project.
“I know that you can talk. I have heard the recordings of your…Tantrum.” He was referring to when she had awoken she grabbed the nearest lab hand and gouged his eyes out. All before everyone knew what was happening. It was only due to the serum’s imperfectness that any of them were still alive at all.
Mona snarled at him, showing her teeth, each at least two inches long, all razor sharp. Dr. Lambhart, for a moment, felt terrified, but fought it back. He was a doctor. He had made this thing! It wouldn’t frighten him. “How do you feel?” Dr. Lambhart asked.
“I feel hungry,” He words were slurred, maybe it was her teeth. Maybe it was the Serum. Maybe it was the sedative. It didn’t matter.

* * *
Damien didn’t like the thing that crept ever closer to him. Its arms were to long. Its legs were to long. Even in its constantly crouched position it stood at least six-feet tall. Its clawed hands dragged along the cement floor, causing a very unpleasant sound. A smell. Damien smelled something. Like nothing he had ever smelled before. The closest comparison would have had to been the scent that the body pit took on when it was time to burn the contents.
It was three feet away now.  It bent down to be on eye level with Damien. He felt like he was going to faint.

* * *

Serum G1, The Super-Thing Serum Dr. Lambhart was fond of calling it. It was suppose to make for the perfect self-sustaining life. Something that could make its own energy, while doing complex actions such as manual labor, without any free thinking. Of course the government didn’t approve of it. Not publicly anyway, but under the table the serum landed Dr. Lambhart enough money to make him a fat rat for life. The serum would be the greatest weapon the military had, should it ever need it. But on the first human test subject, a condemned man named William Drogh, the effects of the serum were mixed. The outcome little resembled the original human. He had only lived for thirty-two seconds. The top-secret company BioSynth wasn’t happy with those results. But Dr. Lambhart promised that given enough time, and money, he could work it all out.

* * *

The thing was close now. Damien could see its eyes now. They looked so forlorn and betrayed. Then they seemed to melt into anger. It breathed heavily for a moment, then let out a load, screeching roar. Damien could smell its breath. It smelled of death.

* * *

“Daddy…Why are you doing this?”
Dr. Lambhart didn’t answer her. Couldn’t answer her. It hurt to much already.
His daughter lay upon the metal table, strapped down by leather restrains, machinery hooked up all over her body.
“Daddy please…don’t do this.” Veronica pleaded, tears sliding down her temples.
“I’m sorry, Veronica. The company says it won’t fond me anymore. I have to prove that I can do this. I have it this time! I know I do! You’re the only one left,” he put ear-plugs in. She had started screaming and crying, he couldn’t stand it. He had the syringe ready in his hand, the amber fluid sloshing slightly as he made his way to the table. We watched the needed disappear into the skin of his Daughter’s—No, the test subject’s—arm, and he drained the serum into her veins.

* * *

It was a success! I did it! Dr. Lambhart thought as he monitored Subject G32-001A’s progress. It did everything he told it to do, with ease and mock-competence.
Soon BioSynth was involved in Dr. Lambhart’s research again, even gave him lab hands to help him. Things are finally going to start turning out good he thought to himself.

* * *

The thing’s face kept getting closer to Damien’s. He opened his mouth once, twice, finally he found his voice. “I’m sorry,” he half-whispered, half-moaned.
The thing roared again, fury glowing in its eyes, “I knew! I knew all along! I was waiting! Waiting for you to make a mistake! I knew all along! You did this to me!” it screamed. It raised a clawed hand high into the air, “Are you happy DADDY!?”
A swishing noise, as the razor claws slashed through the air was the last thing Damien heard. The last thing he saw was his daughter. His Veronica. Her face just behind the shoulder of what he made her. Her innocence captured by film.