Chapter Eight: Page 7Mature

“What?”  He frowned at me, confused.  Doctor White likewise frowned as she began to pull her long blond hair up into a high ponytail.

“I mean, I knew I healed fast.  I knew that I was stronger than I was, that I could move faster than I should be able to, but I just outran a bullet that was aimed at my friend.  I got hit and spat the bullet out of my mouth!”  I slammed my fist on my lap, knowing that if it came down on the desk, it would surely shatter into a million pieces.  “I need to know more about what I am!  About what you made me into!”

Doctor Everett sighed and nodded.  “Come with me, Mina.”  He walked me farther down the hall, up two flights of stairs and then a little farther down another hallway.  We stopped outside a set of heavy metal doors with a mechanical lock on the outside.  An intern dressed in the same color scrubs as Doctor White was fiddling with a monitor and jumped as we approached.

“Doctor Everett!  Katerina!” he said, running a hand through his light brown hair.  Doctor Everett rolled his eyes and pushed the boy to the side so he could swipe his ID card through the lock.  “I’m sorry, I was just working down here because it’s quieter, but…”  He squinted at me and whispered, “Is…is this her?  Is this the girl?”

“Mina, come on,” said Doctor White, pulling on my hand.  She glared at the boy and added, “Ignore him.  He’s an idiot.”  The boy glared back at her and pushed his machine away and watched us walk into the laboratory.  The heavy doors were solid and sturdy, the room completely soundproofed.  Every free inch of the walls were covered with designs and tests.  X-rays, MRIs, CT scans…

All of me.

“What the…” I whispered as Doctor Everett unlocked a drawer on the filing cabinet across the room.  “This is…horrifying.  Oh my God, it’s like a scene out of a torture film!”

“It’s all you, Mina.  You’re a very special case, the first of your kind.”  He reached inside of the drawer and pulled out a group of rolled pale blue papers, which he proceeded to spread across the stainless steel table in the middle of the room.  “You wanted to know all about yourself?  Then come and see what you are.”  Slowly, I wandered over to glance at what he was talking about.

Blue prints.  All of them were blue prints.  They showed every part of how I now worked: the computer puttering away in my head, which was little more than a postage stamp sized chip.  Notes were written out in margins, in Doctor Everett’s chicken scrawl and Doctor White’s flowing cursive, all of them detailing exactly how much of my blood was mixed in with the oil and the chemical makeup of the pills I now chucked down my throat.  My organ donors’ names were over each of the parts that had been donated.  Everything about myself was now lying bare on the table.

“What’s that?” I asked curiously, pointing to something on the design.  The picture wasn’t clear, but my right hand was holding something shaped slightly like an L and there were gaps in the makeup of my forearm.  A note next to it, in a handwriting that I didn’t recognize, explained how I could eject the item from my arm into my hand.  It wouldn’t hurt to try.  I curled the third, fourth, and fifth fingers on my right hand and an instant later, after the sound of machinery moving, there was a gun in my hand.

A gun.

I had had the components to a gun just sitting in my body for the past three months.  And I’d had no clue.

Oh my God.

The End

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