I close my eyes, willing the odd sensation to stop .My nerves are in a frenzy, as the complex mechanics of wire and needless extracts my blood through tubes and into a computer. The hookup was an advanced piece of technology, a break through in medical engineering. Though I wasn't comfortable with the idea of being strapped onto a table letting the robot machine prey upon my blood, I had grown more accustomed to the routine.
The current Labcoat on shift types a demand into the computer. I recoil and scream as a rush of searingly hot liquid is deposited into my blood stream. The man operating the computer doesn't offer me a second glance at the signs of my distress. To him I am merely a lab rat. To myself I was simply a girl in an imposition.....
You see I don't exactly belong here in this place and time. I am the result of a time continuum gone awry. I am an Ex Gene, a term that referred to people born with one extra gene that provides them with a unique ability and subliminal purpose. In my case it's a term that refers to a life altering condition. I cannot move forward and I can not look back. I can't think about the portholes or the dimensions that exist in between time and space. I can't rationalize the impossible, nor dwell on my faults. I can't even rely on memories, as there are none. All I can do is exist, and thrive in this institute. It's not much, but it's everything.
I was found over a month ago. Passed out on the roof top of a skyscraper in the city. There was no reasonable explanation for what I was doing on top of the building. Police reports chalk it up to a suicide attempt. Even in my current state of amnesia, I know that isn't right. I know little about myself and my background, but I have instincts, if not emotions. Death is not something I'd bring upon myself. I was turned over to an exclusive boarding school. Xeninta, an institute that housed a large group of Ex Genes.
Along with clothing, food and shelter the institute gave me a better understanding of my potentials. I'm a porthole creator. That is the ability bestowed upon me by genetics. I can't even decipher the origins of those genetics. In truth I don't remember this gift, I don't remember my parents or anything else about my past.
The only thing that I know is I am not from this time. I am from 2012, though I haven't aged a day since I arrived in 2020. This conclusion was determined by the labcoats, who have poked and prodded me for the last month, referring to me as subject X1220 even after I continuously tell them .” It's Sera.”
“What the hell is that?!” I demand as the boiling hot serum continues to curse through my veins.
“Memory evoking Serum.” The technician mumbles, while jotting notes on his clipboard.
I smile. Instantly taken in by the idea of new “old” memories. The only ones I have now are from the events of the last month, since I was found on the roof of that building. The experience has been clinical and trivial. Poking and prodding doesn't exactly serve as the breeding ground for pleasant memories. I become all to eager to cooperate, for the sake of remembering.