Psi

Behind the bulletproof Plexiglas, one of the researchers oversaw the experiment preparations while the other returned from his break. The latter, Nicholas, took a long swig from a can of sugary energy drink, and twitched. Pounding the at the control panel, the scientist actually watching, Thomas, attracted the attention of Nicholas, barking, “Pay attention! We’re supposed to be overseeing this test-thing and I don’t want the boss yelling at me for something I didn’t do again!”

The head researcher of the entire experiment, Suzuhana Shiranami, otherwise referred to as “Suzanne”, applied the finishing touches to the machine. The contraption, resembling a colossal laser scalpel, was constructed in a stark, white room, and served a purpose that only a handful of researchers and the site director knew about. Ironically, even as head researcher, Suzanne was one of the many left in the dark, and was, of course, oblivious to the fact that she could be used as the second-phase test subject later, due to her extraordinary intelligence.

Suzanne adjusted her glasses and tossed the wrench she used aside. Nicholas, within the safe confines of the control room, gave a thumbs up signal. Suzanne stood back as the primary-phase subject (which will now be referred to as Subject A), a creature resembling an extraterrestrial, was brought in, bound down to a slab, by a hazmat worker. The machine directly above Subject A whirred to life, emitting a cacophonous ambiance of machinery and an intense red light as it vibrated and tremored furiously. After about fifteen seconds, a familiar wrench was chucked into the machine, incapacitating it.

However, it remained online long enough to perform its one function.

Suzanne, panicking, ran to the site of the incident. Subject A remained unharmed for the most part, but it was still struggling and the machine was damaged in its essential areas, completely disabling it. “Oh no, no, no,” Suzanne said, stressed. “What happened?” The machine sound like it was going to burst. “Uh-oh…” she said to herself. She attempted to back up into the control room to yell at Nicholas and Thomas, but standing in the way of the exit were the main director’s elite guards, clad in heavy Kevlar armor. “I’m afraid that this was a failure,” one of them said to Suzanne. “According to protocol, as you were within the vicinity at the site of the incident, making you liable for termination.” It was no set-up imposed by the director. Suzanne had an expression of horror and shock. “W… w-what?” was all she managed before a guard made a left hook at her face, knocking her unconscious.

She was forcefully thrown into a dingy, unlit jail cell located within the facility. Suzanne paced back and forth on the cold concrete ground, jumped on her bunk occasionally, and finally decided to try and lounge on the uncomfortable bed. She rolled over a few times, her back chafed by the tough cushioning. Sitting up, Suzanne scratched her head compulsively. For a jail cell, it was surprisingly sterile and clean. A strange hissing sound gradually became more audible. Suzuhana took one last breath before she was fumigated by the sleeping agent.

She awoke once, witnessing surgeons incising upon her innards, applying gauze to bleeding areas. Suzanne tried to gasp in horror upon beholding her own organs, but another surgeon prepared another full dose of anesthetic, and before she knew it, she was asleep again.

When she awoke again, several areas of her body were bound by belts onto a vertical slab: her head, her body, her arms, her legs. A gag was in her mouth. Suzuhana was then subjected to a series of graphically violent animated video clips. Breaking a sweat, she shivered and convulsed violently, struggling from her binds. She was Subject B now.

Suzanne was thrown back into her cell. Still shivering viciously, she climbed onto her bed, and sat down, gazing at her cell door with wide, blank eyes. Her breathing was very heavy and labored, almost like a soft growl and her fists were clenched so hard her knuckles were white. Elite guards stood guard in front of her room. A bell rang and dinner was delivered to her cell and the neighboring cells in almost an instant. A tray of gruel sat beside Suzanne. Convulsing more than ever, she picked up the tray by the utensils. Suzanne pushed down on the knife, piercing the tray, and pulled sideways, breaking the tip off, and then discarded it. She took the fork in her fingers, staring at it intently with twitching eyes.

She snapped.

Suzuhana was flung into a savage fit of severe seizures and convulsions, flailing herself about on her bed, screeching vociferously at the top of her lungs. Nearing the end of her fit, she thrust the fork into her temple, generating a bloody mess. Gouts of blood gushed out of the side of her head profusely, the bedsheets blossoming with stains of blood. Loosening her grip, Suzuhana let the fork slide out of her temple. Death was near.

That was when she perceived a connection with Subject A. Fragmented thoughts of humanity drifted across her head. She could feel Subject A from within its biofluid encapsulation chamber.

She lay on her cold bed, motionlessly silent. The blood dried, the muscles mended, the skin healed back together.

Suzanne sat up straight, still twitching aggressively. She stood up, cracking her neck. She lifted her fork hand and launched the utensil. The fork, spinning, escaped the cell precisely through the door window, and strangely returned back to her from midair. The guards took notice, startled at the situation.

"Uh, boss, something's wrong, something ain't right," one of them said through his intercom.

Within moments, a line of guards had surrounded Suzanne's cell, assorted guns raised. The door was ajar, and gradually and slowly opened. Inside their helmets a message blared in their ears: "Warning! Potentially catastrophic psionic disturbances detected. Caution is advised." Just as the message finished, the door swung open, Suzuhana hanging upside-down from the top of the doorway, hands behind her back, her entire body still trembling visibly. Her face was devoid of real emotion: her eyes blank, brows furrowed; her mouth in a permanent scowl, inhaling and exhaling audibly. The troops opened fire. Not a single shot managed to hit her, because something had caused them to be redirected to the walls around her. Suzuhana slid down from her perch, gazing upon her hands.

She clenched her five fingers into a fist and spread them out in front of a guard, and within seconds he was crushed into a singularity and split into five pieces vertically, blood everywhere. He screamed in pain while he was still alive. She pretended to squish one of the troops with her thumb and index finger, and instantly he was squished into a bloody mass of flesh, killing him. She made another gesture as if she were popping off a cap on a champagne bottle with her thumb; the soldier in front of her was crushed as if he were squeezed by a giant hand, and then his head was ripped off, still attached to the spine, the spine which was still halfway inside the body. It protruded out like he had a tall neck, and a massive fountain of blood emerged from where his neck was supposed to be. Suzuhana stared at another intently, and shortly, he detonated in an explosion of gore and viscera.

The other soldiers, frightened beyond belief, tried to escape, but they suffered the same, grotesque doom their allies did.

Suzanne walked down the corridors, her arms held out feebly in front of her, her body still quivering.

The head of security witnessed it all behind closed circuit television. He shook his head quietly upon watching his soldiers suffer horrible deaths. "This isn't good." He chewed on his cigar and pushed a button on the control panel. The warning sirens and alarms activated, and the cell block corridors were immersed in the vermilion glow of the alarm floodlights.

Suzanne mumbled in a choked whisper, "You can't hide from me..."