Whenever I wake up, the first thing I always notice is the camera.

It stares at me, with it's emotionless glass eye, a small red, blinking blot next to it showing that it was activated and watching me, recording every move I make. At first, it bothered me. I tried to find ways to escape it's gaze, move my bed out of it's line of sight, sleep directly under it, but it always found me, always watched, always recorded.
After a few months, I got used to it.

So, the camera. What's next.

Ah, yeah. Throwing off the white blanket. White. Dominant colour here. Walls are white, Floor is white, blanket is white.

White as snow, white as bones.
I walk over the white tides. One step, two steps, three steps. After six steps, I'm at the other end of the room, I put my hand against the small indentation in the wall, a soft buzz, then the wall glides away to the side. Another, smaller room behind it. I don't know if there are any cameras in here, never bothered to check. I don't know. Maybe they get their kicks out of watching a teenager shower.
Am I even a teenager? I suppose so. They think I am around fifteen, maybe sixteen. I myself don't know on what day in which year I was born. I don't even know what year it is now.

I forgot.

I shower. Hot. Steam rises towards the white ceiling, warm water exits the small hemisphere in it and pours down on me.

Sometimes I sing, or at least hum, some melody I made up, no clear rhythm, no clear lyrics. Just something I make up.

Today, I don't sing. I just let the water pour down on my head, let it run down my body until it drips onto the floor again, where it vanishes inside the small shower drain.

The water has it so easy. Just has to run down that drain to escape. I can't do that.

Ten minutes later, I step out of the shower, grab one of the white towels and wrap it around my hip. My hair is pretty long. Reaches down to my shoulder blades. The others say it makes me look like a girl. I ignore them.

The others? Yeah, there are more like me. Twelve, to be exact. Some of them around my age, some younger, but none of them older than the lab-coats.

The mirror is still a tad steamed up, so I wipe over it with my elbow until I can see myself in it once again.

I'm thin. Not skeleton-thin, but 'thin for my height and age', the lab-coats say. Six feet tall. Around sixty kilogram. Hair is a darker shade of blonde. Stern, Greyish-green eyes. Not really muscled, there are no real opportunities for workouts around here.

Oh yeah, almost forgot.

I've got a third eye. Right on my forehead, slit-like. It's colour is of an even darker green than my normal eyes, deeper, glowing. Pupils like that of a lizard.

It doesn't blink, but I can close it though. I have to. If I close my normal set of eyes, I can still “see” with it. Auras. Everyone here emits something like a colour, a glow around them, some stronger, some weaker, some colourful, others bland and greyish. I think it depends on their mood.

I stared at the three-eyed boy in the mirror for quite a while, with him staring back silently.

I dried my hair, let the bangs fall over my forehead in such a way that it concealed the third and left eye. I didn't like showing it around. Made me feel even more like a freak than I already was. The lab-coats know about it of course. They know every single spot of our body, but they don't know how we really work.

Pretty sure they did installed cameras in here.

Just in case they did, I made a grimace at the mirror, probably something along the lines of pulling my tongue and rolling my eyes back in their sockets.

Then I walked out of the bathroom again, let the door close behind me again. White wardrobe to the left, opened it.

Surprise, surprise, the clothes where white.

Wonderful.

Long, a slightly baggy pants, a thin hoodie. I leave it zipped down. I dunno. Just don't like shirts I guess. On the left sleeve of the hoodie, a number is sewn in, black on white.

13.

Not just my number.

It's my name.
Subject 13.

At least, that's what the lab-coats and the others call me. Did I ever have a true name? I'm pretty sure I did.

Something beginning with L.

That's all I remember. If it is even my memory.
I forgot.

Actually, none of us really have names. We are all numbered. One to Thirteen. Thirteen subjects.

I'm fully dressed now. Well, pants and a loose hoodie don't really sound like dressed, I'm still barefoot, no shirt, but nobody cares. Well, the lab-coats sometimes furrow their brows, but that's it. The camera emits a small whir as it turns in it's socket, following me moving through the room, back to my bed. A small digital clock tells me that it is 4:53 am. Two hours and seven minutes until the doors open, and the fun begins yet again.

A small ring, a light blinks and the main door opens. Like every morning, I contemplate wherever I should just keep lying on my bed and not go out for breakfast, but my stomach always convinces me otherwise. So I stand up, walk out. The camera exits it's socket. A small, hovering sphere of white plastic, glass, copper wires and red lights. A strange duo we are, as I walk down the corridor.

Was it white?

You bet it was.

To the left and right, there were more doors. None of them opened yet though. Six to the right, six to the left. Above each door, a small plate with a number on it.

One, Three, Five, Seven, Nine and Eleven lived on the right.

Two, Four, Six, Eight, Ten and Twelve on the left. I was the only one whose door was at the end of the corridor, neither on the left or the right, but right in the middle. Not belonging to either side.
Corridor breaks up in front of me and I follow the path to the left. I walked it so many times by now, that I could find my way in my sleep, with shackled hands and feet. So far, I am the only one who is walking through the halls. I know that at least some of the lab-coats are awake, as I sometimes here the whirring of the opening and closing doors, a few hasty steps, some mumbling, but no one crossed my path.

The dining room was empty as well. Figures. None of the others were awake as of yet. I snatched a tablet from one of the staples, a plate. Fork, knife, a spoon, a bowl. Then to the food dispensers. Fill the bowl with cereals. Chocolate, pour in milk. Walk to the trays next to them, take some toast, bacon, salami, some tomatoes, a fried egg. They keep us well fed, at least, and the food tastes good.

I don't know how bad food tastes like, and to be honest, I wouldn't mind tasting something bad for once.

I always eat a lot. Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner, my plate is always full. I just never gain weight. The lab-coats don't know why, but then again, they don't really know that much anyway. Sure, you here them talk a lot whenever they check your body for changes, test your abilities, but they never bother to explain it to us. And most of the time, they scratch their heads and mutter about how 'gifted' we are.

 

Tea.

I love tea. The other twelve only drink coffee, milk or juice. I am the only one who likes tea. I don't know when it started, that sudden love of tea, but I remember a young me, probably when I was twelve, walk up to one of the lab-coats and declare that I wanted tea. He had stared at me with big eyes, and asked me, if I even knew what tea was.
I had no idea what it was. To be honest, I can't recall ever having even heard the word tea before. I just knew that I wanted some.

So they provided me with tea.

I picked Chai tea today. My favourite.

It calms me down...and it reminds me of something. Or someone. Sometimes, I can see something inside the steam. My third eye, it sees...a silhouette of someone. Two someones, drinking tea together on the ground, laughing and talking.

I think one of them is me.

With my tray full of food, I move to the other end of the dining hall, sit down at one of the tables. I start eating slowly. No need to rush.

 

The familiar buzzing of the doors sound, footsteps and groaning herald the arriving of the others. In don't look up. Just picking lazily through my fried egg and bacon with my fork.

One, Three and Four sit down at the table next to me, mumbling a “Good Morning” to me, then continue to talk amongst themselves quietly. I just nod.

Three and Four are twins. Tan skin, even though we never get to see natural daylight. Brown, short hair. Brown eyes. Three has a birthmark under his left eye, and Four is missing the tip of his left index finger. Three was a bit louder than Four, and much more abrasive. He always picked fights he couldn't win. Liked to brandish his sharp teeth, which his brother possessed as well.

One was a pale girl with blonde hair, which she kept in a ponytail. Her left eye was green, her right one was blue. And I mean completely blue. No pupil, just a glowing, pale blue.

Two, Seven, Eleven and Nine were had chosen the table next to the twins and One. Two was fat. Actually, fat would have been an understatement. He was obese. His skin was pinkish-red, rolls of fat wobbled where they weren't supposed to wobble, a piggish snout, small, bead black eyes and short hair.

His voice was surprisingly calm and soft, despite his pig-like appearance. One of the lab-coats said, he sounded like a well-tuned violin, whatever that was.

Seven was a girl with dark skin and wavy blonde hair, a button nose and large, blue eyes. Here and there, white, soft roots of what I assumed to be fuzz were growing o on her shoulders and neck, and even some small, white feathers.

Eleven was probably the oldest amongst us, tall, freckle-faced, fairly muscled and with long, red bangs, which tended to fall into his eyes, which were just as crimson red as his hair. He always looked stern, stoic, and never talked much. But his eyes were very much alive, scanning his surroundings, jumping from one person to another.

Nine was a small girl with round glasses, wild, straw-coloured locks, a small nose and freckles. She was rather quiet, preferring to listen to the others talk while concentrating on eating her baked beans.

Five, Twelve, Eight and Ten were the loudest table, the kind of loud people that throw their food everywhere and at everyone currently in the room. Five had his hair styled to look like it had been hit by lightning, standing up in all directions and with the weird, crazy, fluorescent green eyes to match. He was constantly grinning, showing that two of his yellow teeth were missing, which he lost during one failed test.

Twelve was more roundish shaped, not a cannonball like Two, only a bit large, but she too had an almost constant, warm smile on her face, even when she missed her mouth by a landslide and poked the fork with fried pork against her cheek, she still laughed along. Her blind, grey eyes shimmered slightly in the artificial light.

Eight and Ten had the faces of rats, plain and simple. Long noses, thin hair, small eyes. I'm pretty sure they were not related, but I didn't even knew what gender they were. Too ambiguous body shapes, to ambiguous sounding voices.

I don't know what they talked about at their tables. They left me alone whenever they could. I know that something is bothering them about me, every since we all first met here. They never show it openly, but whenever they turn their faces to me, I can see something in their eyes. Something not at ease, uncomfortable, and they quickly turn away again when they notice that I see it.

Well, all but one of them didn't show it.

The door to the room opened yet again, and in staggered a small, shy-looking girl, with black hair that she usually kept in two long pigtails, an ever-apparent blush on her cheeks, and dark-blue eyes that hopped from one table to another.

Her “name” was Six, and she was scared of me.

Whenever she looked at me, her face turns pale, she backs away, starts to stutter, and tries to flee into the safe haven that were the other kids. Today was no different. I just slightly raised my head when she entered the room, and as her eyes met mine, I could see the fear inside of them growing, along with the thought of turning around and running out, back to her room and locking herself inside of it.

Apparently, she still decided against her instincts, as she, with shaking fingers, took a tablet from the staple and put some food for herself onto it, before she hurried away to the table where One sat, who greeted her by ruffling through her hair. I stared back at my bacon, which was probably cold by now, shrugged, and stuffed my face with it before it would become even colder.

I must have looked like a small child, but none of the others dared to laugh at me. I wouldn't have minded being laughed at. That would at least mean some form of attention from the others. Finished with eating, I shoved my plate away and flushed the small rest of food down with a sip of warm tea.
A crackling noise made everyone, including me, raise their heads, then a voice echoed from a small hemisphere clinging on the ceiling.

“Good morning, little angels!” a woman cheered.

I hated her. Seriously, 'little angels'. Made us sound like babies.

“After you've finished breakfast, would One, Six, Seven, Eight and Subject Thirteen please come down to Lab B-3? We have prepared a new test for you to further study your gifts. Don't let us down! The others may spend their time until lunch however they want, watch some TV, go into the garden, your decision. Have a good day, everyone!”

The woman's voice faded away. I don't know what she looks like, but judging from her overly cheery and piercing voice, probably far too young with far too much dyed hair and nails.

I pushed myself away from the table and stood up, with One, Six, Seven and Eight doing the same. The others wished them good luck, while at me, they merely nodded sheepishly.

Something that always summoned a slight sting in my stomach, was that I as the only one that was not plainly called by their Name-Number.

I was the only one called Subject Thirteen. Which had a reason.

Originally, there were only Twelve 'gifted' ones.

Me....I came here a year later then the others. My mere existence had freaked the lab-coats out, made them tear their hair out.

But they never told us why.

And we never asked, who we were, before we were mere numbers.

Or did we?

I forgot. As I forgot many other things.

2: Gifted

Chapter 2: Gifted

 

The elevator doors closed silently, with the same whirring sound as every other door inside the facility. I stay in one corner of the elevator, away from the other kids, who whisper frantically. Then and then, I can hear some scraps of their conversation, but I do not partake in it.

They wouldn't answer me anyway.

“What do you think, what'll it be this time?”

“Who knows, maybe heave-”

“Or shatter? Or bend, we didn't do that in a lo-”

“...- think they once dropped one of those tanks on Eleven, and he barely even flinched...”

The tests.

Every day, the lab-coats would call some of us downstairs into one of their giant labs, filled to the brim with machines, glass walls, dispensers, glowing lights and beeping computers and perform their little tests. “To train our gift” they say. To find out, why we are different. They always assure, that it is in our best interest, to understand our powers, so that we wouldn't harm anyone.

When I first arrived here....or was I born here?
I forgot.

I didn't even know I had this 'gift', as they call it.

I didn't even have my third eye.

It all only appeared after a few weeks or months.

I notice that Six is throwing small looks at me from time to time. She hadn't said anything, just tried to hide her small figure behind One.

I tried to talk to her once, but she ran away, back to One and Eleven, who threw glares at me, as if I just had threatened her life.

I only wanted to talk.

Not anymore. Nowadays, I ignored her fearful looks.

-5.

-6.

-7.

Ding!
The elevator doors opened, and we step outside. Two lab-coats greet us with wide smiles, clipboards and pencils ready. They lead us past two doors, then to the right, and once to the left, down a wriggling corridor and through the entrance to Lab B-3.

One had started to chew on her lower lip and Eight's rat-nose was twitching with anticipation. We were seated around a large, round table, on which several glass crates were placed. Inside of each crate, sat a large, white rat.

Rattus Norvegicus.

Has been used in experiments for ages. I watch the little albino rat in front of me. It has been marked with a black thirteen on the right side. It's tiny nose twitches as it stares back at me with it's red, pearl-like eyes.

Two prisoners, staring at each other, feeling each others pain.

I take a small glance at the others. Six had extended one finger and laid it softly against the glass of her crate, with the rat behind it tapping it's own paw against it curiously. One's rat was lazily lying in the back of it's crate, not even bothering to notice her waving hand. Seven sat there like a statue, a small scowl on her bird-like face as she grimaced at her own rat, who was currently showing her his tailed behind. And just like I predicted, Eight and their rat had practically fallen in love at first sight. One of Eight's parents must've been one huge rat itself.

“Now then,” one of the lab-coat's said, a small man with Gray-streaked black hair, a small goatee and a huge pimple on his forehead. “For today's test, we'd like you to use your gift, and try to...communicate with the rat in front of you. Dive into it's mind, make it exit it's crate. It should be the same principle as with the lab flies we used last week.”
“Eight doesn't need his gift to communicate with his rat,” Seven mumbled. Eight gave her an angry glare, but One and Six giggled, and even Goatee's mouth twitched slightly.

I continued to look at my rat.

Last week, the five of us had been called down here to try control the minds of a bunch of lab flies, with varying success, Eight had managed to make his fly do some complex air manoeuvres, while Seven only made her fly to charge right into her nose and stay there until One managed to get it out again, all while Seven screamed bloody murder.

She hated everything that was “filthy” in her opinion. And the “filthy” usually hated her back in return.

Karma.

 

A rat's mind is far more complex than that of a fly. Intelligent enough to learn how to navigate through mazes, open cages of their fellow specimen and free them.

Still not complex enough for me. As my mind touched the rat's mind, it froze, probably with shock, stood still like a statue...

Then, as a test run, I ordered it to move it's tail. It followed suit. It is strange. I can see the rat in it's glass crate, the table, the others sitting around it, and yet at the same time, I see through the rat's eyes, feel the glass under it's tiny feet, taste the far-too-clean air inside of it's container, feel every muscle in it's body as I directed it towards the cage door and studied it's lock.

Huh.

This wasn't a normal dead bolt lock. This one needed a key.

Unfortunately, there was no key inside of the cage. I made the rat wail it's tail with annoyance.

The others apparently had similar problems. Especially Seven, whose rat was still refusing to look into her eyes and instead had started to let loose most of what it had been eating today through the rear.

One's rat had already started to fumble with it's lock, using what seemed to be a string made out of a bundle of straw. Six was still stumbling around clumsily, testing her new body and exploring it's small cage.

I focused on the lock in front of my rat again. There was no straw in my cage like in One's, hell, there wasn't any sort of object I could have used as a lock pick.

So, I went with a much more simple solution.

I broke the lock.

Okay, understatement again.

I shattered not just the lock, but also the whole cage door, scattering glass and plastic shards over the whole table. The others stopped whatever they were doing, disconnecting from their respective rats and turning their heads towards me.

“Amazing...,” Goatee mumbled and scribbled something down on his clipboard, only to jump back as Six suddenly shrieked and fell of her chair, crawling backwards as fast as she could, her eyes bulging in their sockets and her mouth moving, uttering a string of words that she repeated, over and over and over again...
 Goatee and One immediately ran over to her, trying to calm her down.

My rat shivered. Blood was running down it's cheeks and from it's nose, it took one last staggering step, then it collapsed on the table.

Dead.

The room went silence, with only Six's heavy breaths sounding through the lab, and One's whisper to her that everything would be okay.

“One, bring Six back to her room,” Goatee mumbled at last, and spectacled girl followed suit, leading her sobbing friend out through the door, but not before giving me one last hate-filled glare. Seven and Eight watched me silently.

I ignored their looks, and instead stared down at the corpse of the rat.

I hadn't disconnected my mind from it in time. I had felt how it died. How it's small brain degenerated, collapsed, burst apart.

The same had happened to the fly last week, to every animal that the lab-coats ever placed near to me.

I carried death with me, wherever I went. I pushed the chair away and stood up.

“Are we done here?”

The sound of my voice makes Seven and Eight twitch, and Goatee nervously licks his lips, before he nods hastily.

“Good.”

Raspy. I think that would be the best way to describe my voice. I turn around, leave the lab, Goatee, Seven, Eight and the dead rat behind me. I don't look at anyone, not at the other lab-coats I meet on the way, not at Eleven and Two that exited the living hall, whispering to each other as I passed them.

I returned straight to my room.

The camera was back, rotating in it's socket as I entered. I ignored it, threw myself on my bed.
Hid under the blanket.

Cried.

 

 

Subject 13

Birth name: Classified
Age: Between 15 and 16 years, date of birth classified

Gender: Male

Eye Colour: Dark green

Hair Colour: Dark-blonde

Height: 6'

Weight: 62 kilogram, slightly underweight

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Special features: Third eye on forehead, vertical scars on shoulder blades

Recorded Abilities: Specimen has displayed signs of the so far common abilities the other Apostles seem to possess. Strangely, unlike the others, he has not shown to manifest his wings as of yet.

The specimen continues to confuse us. So far, Subject 13 has shown rebellious tendencies, disobeying and questioning orders, acting on his own instead of staying with the group, trying to evade camera installed in his room and seems to develop an immunity against Ambrosia.

When testing his abilities, Subject 13 always chooses simple, yet surprisingly effective tactics to reach the goal of said tests. Shows destructive tendencies.

 

Side Note: Six seems to be afraid of him, and the other Apostles avoid contact with him whenever they can. Whenever we test his telepathic abilities, the test animals die shortly after he has taken control of them.

 

Tanner watched as the chairwoman slowly read through the report, her fingers tapping against the surface of the table. A slow, self-repeating rhythm, that made him even more nervous than he already was. Finally, she laid down the report and folded her hands.

“Dr. Tanner, please, tell me once more what Six said when she broke down during today's test.”

Tanner scratched the pimple on his head, yet another tick, showing his nervousness.

“I am not completely sure, Ma'am, but if I understood correctly...”

His voice trailed off.

“Yes?”
“She said, 'His wings are black.'”

 

3: Wings

 

In my dreams I am free. I am not inside the facility. Not inside my room. Not inside of my bed. I see things. Memories, I believe. Images from before I was stuck in here.

There are...people. Faces. They come and go, appear and disappear. Phantoms, ghosts, forgotten faces...
Are they even my memories?

I am not sure, but inside of the dreams, I don't care.

I am free.

Sometimes I can hear them talk. Their voices, they are...comforting. Friendly. I can trust them. I don't know who they are.

I see...two boys. Two girls.

And myself.

We're sitting or lying underneath a tree.

Are we sleeping? Maybe. Smiles. Smiles on our faces.

The dream changes.

Rats.

Rats everywhere. I'm surrounded by rats. White ones, black ones, brown ones, giant teeth, giant claws, sodding noses, fangs dripping with spit. Blood runs from their eyes and jaws. They turn to me, their eyes are glowing with hate and fear.

“Black wings, black wings, black wings...”

Six's voice sounding from their moving mouths, as they back away, collapse. My hands are moving on their own accord, fingers spread and twitch, as black, roaring flames consume the rats, burn them to crisps, fur, skin, flesh and bones, turned into heaps of ash. They surround me, a torrent of black, grey and white, swirling around, the centre of the storm.

Wings.

The ashes are my wings.

Tendrils of ash, darkness and blood, sprouting from the scars on my back.

I am lifted into the air, by my wings.

Black, ashen wings.

Into the sky, away from the burning rats, away from the lab-coats, away from the facility, away from everything.

Free.

I am free.

I can see them again. The ones from my dream. Friends.

 

“He is moving again,” Chiara commented.

Tanner looked up from his paperwork. Chiara was standing in front of a wall covered with screens. Wide, flat screens. Thirteen of them, to be exact. On each of them, the scientists could see the children in their beds. Sleeping silently, their faces calm, their breathing relaxed.
Except for Subject Thirteen. The blanket was lying on the ground, a crinkled heap of white cloth. Thirteen's face wasn't calm at all. His third, eye was open, a green, glowing fireball in the dark. He was shifting on his bed, sweat ran down his forehead and his mouth was moving, forming inaudible words as he threw himself around, from the left to the right.

“This is the fourth time this month. Twice as much as last month. I think...I think he's regaining his memories.”
Tanner furrowed his brows and moved away from his desk. Chiara made some space for him, not much, but he didn't need any, one of the few benefits of being short.
“How high is his Ambrosia dose?”

“Same as the others. Five millilitres in every drink.”

“Hm.”

“Samuel?”

Tanner turned his head.

“Yes?”
“Is what we do...is it the right thing to do?”

Chiara's shoulders were trembling as she spoke, her eyes fixed on the screen displaying Seven's room. The little girl was sleeping safe and sound, a small smile on her face. Frail, like a tiny bird. Tanner's hand went through his hair, a sigh coming over his lips.

“I don't know, Chiara. I try to tell myself that what we are doing is what has to be done for the sake of both the children, and the rest of the world. But whenever I look at them during the tests...”

His voice faded away.

For a while the two just stood there. Then Chiara raised her voice again.

“Apostles, we called them. Derived from the twelve disciples, chosen by Christ to spread his word...but what were these twelve children chosen for? By whom? By what?”

Chiara's voice was almost but a whisper, melancholic...and perhaps, even a tad bitter.

“And Thirteen...,” Tanner started, but, not knowing what to say, remained silent again.
“Subject Thirteen. The one who came later...”

Chiara stepped closer towards the screen on which Thirteen had turned yet again, his third eye trembling on his forehead as it stared at the two scientists. As if knowing that they were there.

Tanner glanced at Chiara from the side. She reminded him of a bird. Like an eagle, to be exact, just as tall, just as proud.

She had turned away from Thirteen's screen again and took a last look at Seven, who hadn't moved at all.

“Death follows him. When we first found him, on that highway... he was unscathed. The only one alive, inside that giant crater. Cars smashed, people dead, the road rippled and cracked and he just stood there, crying for his parents, in midst of the chaos and destruction...,” she whispered. “I was scared, Samuel. None of the other children have shown anything like that when we found them. Two hundred people, dead, his own parents among them...”

Tanner put his hand on her shoulder, for which he had to stand on the tip of his feet.

“That, is why we keep them here, Chiara,” he said softly. “That is why we give them Ambrosia. That is why we help them to control their gifts.”

Chiara just nodded, but she, just like he himself, knew that this was just empty talk.

The two remained like this for a moment, two silhouettes in front of the glowing screens, before they quietly parted ways, Samuel back to his paperwork, Chiara back to her own desk.

 

The alarm clock on my night desk woke me. I was freezing, my blanket lied on the ground. Must have kicked it off while I slept. I was still wearing the same things as yesterday, the white, thin hoodie and the long pants. They stank. Smell of rats. I wrinkled my nose, then rolled out of the bed and towards my wardrobe. Threw off the clothes.

Screw the camera. Grab a pair of pants, put them on.

My back felt sore. Specifically, the area around my shoulder blades. I entered my bath again, turned around in front of my mirror.

I looked at the two scars on my shoulder blades. We all possessed them. All Thirteen. The lab-coats never told us what those scars were, nor how we received them. They had always been there. Just like my third eye.

What were we?

A question I asked myself every single day. Any wounds we received healed almost instantly. We could hear other peoples thoughts. We could take control of animals. We could see things the lab-coats couldn't. We couldn't get sick.

What am I?

They, the other twelve were called 'Apostles'. I was called a 'Subject'.

I turned around again and stared at my face. The third-eyed face, with the long and messy hair. If I was anyone else, I would've said the boy I saw in the mirror a freak. Pathetic.

And since I was myself, I could do nothing but agree with him.

 

At breakfast, I was left alone again. One in particular gave me angry glares as we ate, one hand placed on Six's shoulder, who was slowly sipping a glass of hot milk. She didn't look at anyone at her table, nor did she threw glances at me, for a change.

“You made her cry.”

I stopped piercing the slice of bread on my plate with my knife and looked up. Eleven was sitting on the opposite side of the table. His red eyes were boring themselves into me. Slowly I placed my knife back on my plate.

“I suppose I did,” I replied, resisting his fierce look. “It was an accident.”

“Was it now?”

He didn't raise his voice at all, but I could feel that he was only moments from exploding. The others had stopped their chatting and turned around in their seats.

“Yes. We had a test. I used our gift. She overreacted.”

Flames.

I could smell them, as they burst through his shoulders, two small flames that grew in size. The others gasped and backed away as long, whipping, tendril-like flames sprouted from his shoulder-blades, shedding the room with red, flickering light. There was no heat emitting from them, but whatever they touched, be it walls , tables or floor, left long, scorched black streaks and the smell of burning charcoal.

Wings.

Al of the Apostles had wings. They appeared when they used their gifts. Or when they were pissed off, just Eleven was right now.

Before I could react, the table between us was yanked to the side by one of the burning tendrils, and the next thing I felt was a wave of force, slamming into my chest, throwing me off my chair and across the room.

Pain.

Pain in my back, pain in my head. Cracking, not the cracking of my back, but of the wall. The wall, by the way, was made off solid, white, polymer-coated concrete. It broke like sugar glass.
“ELEVEN, STOP IT!” Six cried and jumped up from her chair. The red-haired boy ignored her and climbed through the hole in the wall.

I blinked, felt blood running down my head, warm, sticky. Drip, drop, blood dripped and dropped on the ground. A hissing sound, the wound closed. I crawled over the ground, got on one knee.

Not fast enough. The blazing, whip-like wings blew away the rubble and dust with single flap, then Eleven extended his left arm and put his hand around my neck. Lifting me into the air. Effortlessly.

Weak.

“You will pay.”

The Apostles had gathered behind the hole, watching me hanging from Eleven's grip, limpidly, helpless.

“Eleven, let him go!”

“Yeah, you should listen to them,” I croaked. Eleven's grip merely became even tighter. The flames were now spreading, from his shoulders down his arms and up again, towards my neck.

I acted, instinctively. I raised my own hand, smashed it's palm against his face. This time, it was his turn to be flung off of his feet and backwards, just a few feet, but at least he let go of me. I fell, hit my shoulder on the ground. In front of me, Eleven regained his balance, grunted, then he stomped towards me. His fiery wings twitched and flapped, slicing through the walls and ground like hot knives through butter.

The fiery wings, the tendrils of blazing fire approached me, vengeance, having taken physical form. Eleven reached out with his fist, red, burned skin, scarred, ablaze by with his own flames and put it's bulging knuckles across my cheek. I whirled around, I felt one of my teeth going loose, my tongue bled, then his fire slung itself around my ankle, lifted me into the air, smashed me back down into the ground, back into the air and down again, up and down, up and down.

Pain.
Pain from my bones and muscles tearing and breaking, pain from them healing back together, a cycle that seemed to go on forever, until he grew tired of it, throwing me away like a broken toy.

During my beating, I hadn't uttered a single word, nor a whimper, or any sound at all. I rolled over the bone-white floor, felt it crack and ripple, came to a stop.

Lied still for a moment.
Felt how my skin reconnected, how the shattered pieces of my spine, that stuck out of the gaping wounds glued themselves back into one piece, sinking back into it's right place.

Hear the stomping of the crimson-haired boy's feet on the floor, the begging of Seven, Ten and Four to stop, the cheering of Five and Three, the crying of Six.

The roaring of the flames.

Slowly, I rose up again, first onto my side, then on my left knee, then both feet. Staggering, limp. Eleven closes up on me again, he raises his hands, ready to break what would mend immediately.

I replied, with a fist of my own.

Smashing it against his nose, send his reeling back. He staggers, reaches for his nose, surprised, startled.

Grab him by his collar with my left, pull him towards me again.

Make his face meet my fist once more.

Blood spurts from his nose as it broke and healed almost immediately with a loud crack, but it was enough to dazzle him.

A jab in the gut, kick against his knee. He weighs about fourty kilogram more and is more than a foot taller than me, but I still yank him up into the air, send him flying with a kick in the stomach..

Now it's his body's turn to break and tear. He groans and as he scrambles back onto his feet, I can see that his wings flicker and sputter, loosing solidness, growing smaller.

 

I have no wings.

I think I should've told you earlier. All the Apostles have wings. I don't. Yet another thing that sets us apart. That makes them the Apostles, the lab-coats' 'little angles'.

And me the Subject. The abnormality of abnormalities.

A piece of rubble bounces off my chest, another barely misses my head.

Somebody had rung the alarm. Red light filled the corridor. A siren roared.

Another piece of concrete hit's my neck. It snaps like a twig, only to turn back into it's correct position, it's bones mended in but a moment. His wings blaze up once again, he roars, a cry of pure rage, hatred, frustration that none of us where able to battle to the death.

We sprinted towards each other, leaped off the ground, met midair, fell back onto the ground.

The impact shook the entire floor.

“Kill him, Eleven! Kill him!” Five yelled.

Bastard.

We rolled over the ground, exchanging jabs, kicks, headbutts, breaking our bodies a hundred times over and over and over again, healing, getting back to fighting.

We split again, struck by each others punches, back agains the walls.

We charged again, when something stepped in between us.

Small, fragile. Black pigtails.

Teary eyes, the palms of her hands facing us.

 

“STOP IT, PLEASE!” Six cried, tears running down her cheeks and dripping onto the ground.

Eleven came to a stumbling hold, his wings snuffed out, only trails of dark smoke ever proving they existed. He opened his mouth to say something.

However, I didn't stop.

I passed Six, saw the panic in her face from the corner of my eyes, leaped into the air, one arm outstretched.

I couldn't help but feel how a manic grin began to form on my face, how my eyes bulged in their socket's with sadistic glee as the palm of my right hand collided with Eleven's face.

The detonation consumed Eleven, it's shock wave strong enough to throw Six, the other Apostles and me off our feet.

Eleven fell backwards, his body a stinking, charred black, featureless form.

He screamed.

But he couldn't die. None of us could.

As he lied there on the ground, I could see how the burned skin already began peeling off, revealing the new, regenerating skin underneath. His crimson hair slowly sprouted back and his chest was rising and forming, slow, but breathing.

But his eyes were still closed.

Six cried out, ran to his side, cradling his unconscious form.

He attacked.

I defended.

We attacked.

We defended.

Loud voices, the thumping of heavy boots on the floor.

The clacking sound of guns being loaded.

Ten shots.

Each of them hitting me in the neck, back, shoulder and arm. The drug did it's job and I collapsed, sent over the edge and into the abyss of everlasting sleep.

 

Eleven

Birth name: Classified

Age: Estimated to be between 17 and 18 years old, official date of birth classified.

Gender: Male

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Eye colour: Red

Hair colour: Red

Height: 7'2''

Weight: 110 kilograms

Special Features: Is far taller and muscled than his age and given circumstances should allow. Despite there being no real opportunities for heavy exercise, Eleven displayed even as a child a muscle mass akin to that of a grown, healthy man.

Just like the rest of the Apostles, he possesses two, vertical scars on his shoulder blades.

 

Eleven is perhaps the quietest of the Apostles. He rarely takes part in their conversations, preferring to stand by in silent, however he seems to hold a certain position of authority amongst them.

First manifestation of wings was at the age of 12, after a heated fight with Thirteen.

Wings manifest as tendril-like appendages, made entirely out of flames.

 

Side note: Seem to have founded a close bond with Six, watches and guards her at every opportunity.

 

Six

Birth Name: Classified

Age: Estimated to be 15 years old, official date of birth classified.

Gender: Female

Ethnicity: Eurasian

Eye colour: Dark-Blue

Hair colour: Black

Height: 4'5''

Weight: 38 kilograms

Special Features: Vertical scars on her shoulder-blades

 

Six is a shy girl but with huge potential. She masters her gift faster than most of the other Apostles, only exceptions being Eleven, Seven and Subject 13.

He speciality seem to lie in the area of psychic clairvoyance and telepathy, but otherwise also shows the usual abilities common among all twelve Apostles.

Wing Manifestation at the age of 9. Avian, golden feathered.

 

Side Note: Eleven and One seem to act as protectors of sort. Subject 13 inspires fear in her, whenever they are in the same room, she panics, and when too close to him, she seems to suffer from nervous breakdowns.

Tests of putting the two of them into a small, contained room with no supervision resulted in her suffering a complete emotional breakdown, crying and begging to be released, despite there being no sign of Subject Thirteen being a threat to her, or noticing her at all.

These tests were canceled and it was made sure, that either One or Eleven would always be nearby if Subject 13 was as well.

 

 

 

'His wings are black.'?

 

4: Wounds

 “What's their status?”
“Stable, both of them. Eleven should wake up in an hour, tops. Thirteen...will take longer. We had to increase the dose of Ambrosia this time. Tens shots. Last time, we only needed two, at most. Now he soaks up five times the amount before passing out.”

Tanner nodded slowly and wiped the sweat off of his forehead.

The two children levitated inside of two large, cylinder-shaped glass tanks, asleep, oxygen masks over their mouths and noses. The tanks were filled to the brim with a glowing gold liquid.
Amrita.

The golden liquid that speed up their healing process, filled them with replenishing nutrients, absorbed by their bodies, in and out, in and out.

Amrita. The drink of the gods, that gave them their immortality.

How appropriate.
Tanner looked down at his clipboard. So many, hastily scribbled notes. He could hardly even make out what they actually read out, and he was the one who wrote them down in the first place.
Ten shots of highly concentrated Ambrosia. Even Eleven could only take three or four at most in his winged state before he would pass out.

The wings.

A phenomenon none of the scientists understood.

Heh. To understand.

They've researched the Apostles for several years now, and yet, they seemed no way closer to an answer on what they were. Why they were. How they were.

Tanner turned away from the healing pods and to the small, white desk that stood in another corner of the small medical lab. Chiara was already sitting on it's left side, a small notebook in her hand and a pencil in the other. Opposite of her, sat, a warm cup of cocoa in front of her trembling form, Six. Her body was shaking like a leaf, and she had her eyes fixed on the white surface of the table, trying her hardest not to look up at the two pods in which Eleven and Subject Thirteen swam. To her left and right, sat One and Two. The spectacled girl had put one hand gently on her younger friend's shoulder, but her eyes were piercing themselves into the sleeping body of Subject Thirteen, glowing with an emotion that Tanner could not quite pin down.

Two had his stubby fingers folded In front of him on the table, his small, beat-black eyes looking at Tanner curiously. Underneath him, the chair creaked ominously, fighting a fierce battle against the Apostle's weight.

Tanner sat down on the last free chair, and cleared his throat.

Six's eyes flared up for a second, the she stared down at her cup again.
“So,” Chiara started. “Are you feeling alright, Six?”
The small girl flinched a bit at the sound of Chiara's voice, but she nodded quickly.

“No nightmares?”

Quickly she shook her head, a bit too quickly for Tanner.
“Alright then. Six, I need you to tell us, in detail, what exactly happened yesterday during the test down in lab B-3, and what you saw.”

Tanner held his breath for a moment and waited for Six's reaction.

He wasn't disappointed.

The young Apostle cringed and grew pale, bit onto her lower lip as if to hinder it from spilling out anything. Her hand grabbed for something to hold onto, found One's jacket, held it tight.

One quickly whispered something into her ear, comforting words that seemed to calm her down a bit. However, she still shook her head at Chiaras request.

“Please, Six. We're only trying to help,” Tanner pleaded.

Six turned her head to One, then to Two, quietly begging them for help.

One and Two only nodded at her.
“Tell them, Six,” Two said and put his hand on her shoulder as well.
Six swallowed, then, with a shaking voice, she began:
“W-we were downstairs, using our g-gift on the rats. I-I was still letting mine w-walk around in the cage, trying out how it's body worked. Y-you were there, Mr. Tanner, y-you remember?”
Tanner nodded, as the girl stopped for a second, rearranging her thoughts .

“T-then I heard a loud crash. Explosion. I-i lost control of the rat, l-looked up a-and...”
Six's voice trailed off again.

“Six? Stay with us. What did you see?”
Six looked up, directly into Tanners and Chiaras eyes. Tears ran down the Apostle's face, her pupils had grown so wide, you could barely see the purple irises.
“I-i...I saw black smoke. S-solid darkness. Flames, a-ashes...they all sprouted from h-his back, h-his wings they were...h-he didn't even stretch them and y-yet hey filled the entire lab. O-one of them b-brushed my arm and...”

Before Tanner or Chiara could do anything, Six's voice faded and she buried her face in her hands as she started crying.

One and Two exchanged worried looks, and One put an arm around Six's trembling shoulders.
“Shhhh....everything's fine...,” she uttered as she hugged Six. “Just calm down...”

“Six...what happened when his wings touched you?”

Six froze...then she slowly reached out for her sleeve- Started to roll it up her arm. Tanner and Chiara gasped as Six revealed the large, black gash on her arm, an oozing, gaping fissure that went from just under the join of her hand, down the entirety of her lower arm and up towards the shoulder.
“...Why didn't you tell us?” Chiara asked, her eyes widening over the blackened gash.

Six didn't answer, instead she only sniffled quietly and covered the black scar with her sleeve again.
Tanner leaned back in his chair, massaging the bridge of his nose with his left hand.

“That doesn't make any sense...,” he muttered. “So far, all of you manifested your wings only after your 'gift' properly awakened, and whenever any of your used your 'gift', those wings appeared as well.
“So why is it, that Subject Thirteen is in full possession of the same psychic and physical abilities as you, but without ever manifesting his own wings? And why is Six here the only one who can 'See' them?”

Chiara only shrugged helplessly. Two and One looked at their younger friend, who had now slung her arms around her torso, as if she was suddenly freezing.

“Six...,” Tanner suddenly asked, and the young Apostle turned her head up, her eyes meeting his.
“Are you sure that you don't have any nightmares?”
“...N-no...,” she admitted.

“Dr. Tanner, please, she needs some more rest a-...,” One protested, but Six suddenly shook her head, her body stopped shaking and as she opened her mouth to speak again, her voice sounded a lot calmer, still scared, but without the stutter she possessed before.

“I've been dreaming, yes. Some of them normal dreams, but most of them nightmares. I remember some of them, vaguely. The oldest dream I had...

“In it, I saw someone. A silhouette, standing in the middle of a long road. There was fire, destruction, death everywhere. The road had been rippled and shattered, man, woman and other children lying dead underneath heaps of molten metal and shards of iron. The one standing in the middle of it...he was crying. I think it was a boy.”

Next to Tanner, a startled gasp sounded from Chiara.
“...The nightmares, they became more recurring after Subject Thirteen first arrived here, didn't they?”

Six nodded, and continued.

“At first, it was always the same dream, but something changed about it every time I had it. The silhouette, the boy in my dream...he grew his wings. Giant, black wings, spreading like clawed fingers, everything they touched...died, became ashes.

Then the dreams changed entirely.”

Six took the cup of hot chocolate in front of her, and took a deep sip from it, spilling some of it in her haste over her shirt and the table.

“In the new dreams, sometimes I was running. Running down the corridors to the dining room, through it, towards the elevators. I never looked behind me, but I could feel that something was there, following me, destroying everything in it's path.

I was scared, because everyone else.. they had just somehow...disappeared.

Other times, I was standing in front of a huge door, along with Eleven, Two, One, Five, Seven and Nine. We were holding each others hands, out wings were spreading, like a huge barrier that would protect us from whatever wanted to harm us.

The only recurring element in my dreams was once again...a winged, dark figure. It's wings were made from ashes, darkness, blood, fire and dust, everything they touched darkened and fell apart...and the only thing that shone from it, was a dark-green eye on it's forehead.”
Six fell back in her chair, as if all of her strength that had just filled her had vanished.

Tanner could feel pearls of sweat running down his forehead. Chiara had stopped making notes, and just stared at Six, her eyes gone solid and blank with fear and confusion.

The child let her head sink down on her chest again.

“...T-thank you, Six...One, Two, please, bring her back to her room...,” Tanner muttered. The two Apostles nodded and reached for Six's shoulder, when a small shriek rent the air. Tanner, Chiara and the three Apostles whipped their heads around.

“D-doctor Tanner...,” one of the medical assistants stuttered, a a thin, young woman, barely out of her teens with thick, brown locks sprouting from her head, and pointed at the left healing pod. The two scientists slowly approached the Amrita-tank.

Thirteen had opened his eyes and looked down at them through the thin glass walls of the pod.
 

 

One

Birth name: Classified

Age: Approximately 17 years old, Date of Birth classified

Gender: Female

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Eye colour: Left eye green, right eye blue.

Hair Colour: Blonde

Height: 5'5''

Weight: 58 kilogram

Special Features: Heterochromia, right eye lacks pupil, Myopia, Vertical Scars on Shoulder-blades

 

One is probably the closest the Apostles have for a leader, fitting, considering she was the first we found and the first to manifest her wings. She seems close with all of the Apostles, however, there appears to be tension of sorts between her and Thirteen.

She and Eleven have formed a close bond with the young Six, and protect her at all cost.

Her training of her 'gift' advanced fairly well, possesses high skill in many of her psychic abilities, but seems to hold back most of the time. Why, is yet to be answered.

Wings manifested at the age of eight, in the form of bright tendrils made entirely out of solid light.

 

Side Note: Seems to slowly regain her memories back from her time before she was found by the organisation. It is advised to heighten the Ambrosia-dose in her case.

 

 

Two

Birth name: Classified

Age: Approximately 15 years old, Date of Birth classified

Gender: Male

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Eye colour: Black

Hair colour: Black

Height: 5'9''

Weight: 109 kilogram

Special Features: Vertical Scars on Shoulder-blades

 

Two is an odd one among the Apostles. He speaks to everyone, and everyone speaks to him, they respect him or at least are on friendly grounds, even Eleven and Five. Soft voice, proven to have once almost accidentally lulled one of our scientists in with it. Otherwise no special or outstanding behaviour. Wings manifested at age of 8, transparent, more spectres of wings rather than solid forms.

 

Side Note: -

 

5: Amrita

Gold.
Liquid gold encased me, flowing down my nose and mouth, filled my stomach and lungs, absorbed into my body through my skin, warm, calming, relaxing.

Invading.

The Amrita. Another one of the lab-coats many ways of enslaving us. The drug did it's job, invading my body and mind and surrounding me with illusions of false security, a feeling of tiredness and the absence of pain. The Amrita was a very powerful substance, something like a mixture of various narcotics, analgesics, nutrients and some other things that was, according to the lab-coats, lethal enough that any dose higher than 10 millilitre could kill a normal human.

And my body swam in a 2x2x4 metre glass tank filled with it to the brim. 16000 litres. I should have died 16000000000 times over by now.
This wasn't my first meeting with Amrita. First time was when I was...some time ago, at least. A test had gone horribly wrong, and I was exposed to dangerous chemicals. My healing factor had immediately started to clean my body from the poison...but it hurt, felt like someone had set my insides on fire.
A lack of pain is apparently not included in our physiology, as with every injury I had received through the years, the pain that came with my body stitching itself together at rapid pace was often even worse than that coming from merely receiving said injury.
Back then, they had injected me with 15 millilitre of Amrita. I remembered how the pain had been dulled until it had become nothing but a tiny sting, then I had fallen asleep half an hour after the injection.

Then they increased the doses for all of us as the 'gift' inside of us evolved. Then they stopped using it as a medical substance, and instead for suppressing and keeping us in check.

I feel something around my mouth and nose. Oxygen Mask. Air supply. Clean, far too clean air, pumped along with several other gases through the various vents on the machine, running up the black, squiggling and turning tubes and into the mask. Tubes that looked like the intestines of a slaughtered beast. And I and Eleven were in it's stomach, these bloated pillars of glass, incapable of escaping, unable to resist as our minds were slowly eaten away...
The air.

It tasted just like the air in the rest of the facility. Clean, sterile.
Not at all like I would imagine real air. Then again, I had never been outside the labs...I think.
No, no time for musings.
I try moving my fingers. Yeah. They move. Slowly, since the Amrita is in its density pretty much akin to syrup.I tighten my left hand to a fist, loosen it, clench it again.
I make slight paddling movements with my feet, then I try to move towards the glass wall and look outside the tank.
I blinked heavily as I stared through the gold-tinted glass. At first my vision was blurred and my eyes hurt, then they slowly adjusted to the glass and the Amrita smudging my view.
The healing tank I was currently located in, was standing on a small, slightly raised platform inside of a large, circular room, with several large tubes reaching out from its base and connecting it to a variety of blinking machines, computers and scanners, which regulated the flow of oxygen, the tubes that pumped in and pumped out the Amrita and updated their numerous databanks with my vitals. A few of the lab-coats were standing or sitting in front of these machines, others had joined together in groups of four or three and seemed to discuss something while dramatically flailing their clipboards in front of each others faces.
I glanced to the right.
Another healing tank stood next to mine, it too filled with the golden Amrita. Inside of it, swam the still sleeping form of Eleven.
Most of his wounds seemed to have healed, but there were still signs of burned skin and scars on his shoulder, arms and the right side of his face.
...Oh yeah. And he was butt-naked.
Great, definitely something I always wanted to see. I turned my head away from Eleven...and looked straight in the eyes of one of the lab-coats assistants. She reeled back as in surprise, whirled around and stormed down the small set of stairs and towards a small white table, that stood a bit isolated from the rest of the lab-coats and the healing-tanks. I squinted. The assistant was obviously panicking, stuttering and gasping at a small, bearded lab-coat that sat at the head of the table.
Tanner.
Next to him, I recognized the face of Dr. Nelson, with her eagle-like eyes and blonde hair. And opposed to them, sat One, Two and Six.
My insides cringed at the sight of the three Apostles. They themselves didn't seem that happy to see me alive and kicking either. One's eyes narrowed behind her glasses, and her hands clenched into fists. Six reacted as always, with the same panic and fear I saw in her every day. Two was the only one of the three to remain calm and collected, with only his eyebrows rising slightly.
Just then I realized that Eleven wasn't the only one who had been stripped of all clothes and I let out an annoyed grunt, which made a stream of air bubbles rise from the oxygen mask and up towards the surface of the tank.
Tanner and Dr. Nelson had now stood up, and slowly approached my healing tank. Behind them, Six, One and Two remained at their seats.
I saw how the air around the three Apostles glimmered. Saw the glow around them.
Right now, One's usually blue aura had gained shades of dark-red and the wings on her back flickered in and out, from visible to invisible. She was angry, definitely. But also concerned, confused.
Six....something about her was off.

Usually, she was glowing with a deep-purple, but now, her aura seemed pale. Weak.

Sick.

She herself didn't look that good either. Her face had gone as white as snow, and she was constantly holding onto her left arm.

I tilted my head.

Her left arm.

There seemed to be no sign of her aura around it. The rest of her body still glowed, albeit faintly, but her arm emitted no glow, no indication of life.
Something inside my head whirred, my eyelids became heavy, I struggled to keep them open for much longer. The Amrita kicked in again. Weakly, I shook my head.

Had to stay awake.

Had to st-...

 

Tanner let out a relieved breath as he saw the green light of Subject Thirteen's eyes to dampen, then go out as the boy fell asleep inside the healing tank yet again.
“This has never happened before...,” Chiara murmured next to him. “The Amrita should have kept him asleep at least for the rest of the day.”
Tanner only nodded in response, not leaving his eyes off of Subject Thirteen face. Scowling, even in his sleep, his eyes slightly twitching.
“He's dreaming,” Tanner muttered.
“Lovely,” a sharp voice sounded from the other end of the room. Tanner, Chiara and the rest of the assembled scientists and assistants whipped their heads around.

On a small platform overlooking the room stood, guarded by two silent, heavily armoured men with assault rifles the Chairwoman.
Tanner always felt like running away or finding a small hole to crawl into whenever this woman showed up to inspect their work. She was as tall as she was wide, wore a black suit and had her short blonde hair combed back.
The worst thing about her had to be her eyes though. Most of the time, she merely needed two seconds of staring, and even the toughest of soldiers was reduced to a shivering wreck. And right now, Tanner was on the receiving end of this stare of all stares.
He cringed and focused his eyes on a spot a bit above and a bit to the right of the Chairwoman's face.
“One. Two. Six,” the Chairwoman nodded at the Apostles.
“Dr. Tanner, I would like to speak to you and Dr. Nelson. Alone.”
The last word teared through the air like a gunshot, and the scientists were far too eager to oblige. In only a few seconds, the medical lab was empty, with only Tanner, Chiara, the Chairwoman, the Apostles and the two guards remaining.
“When I said alone, I meant it,” the chairwoman snarled at her two guards. “You two, wait in front of the door.
“I must ask you three,” she turned to the Apostles. “To leave as well. This matter only concerns Dr. Tanner, Dr. Nelson and me.”
One opened her mouth in protest, froze, seemed to think for a second, the closed her mouth again. Two just silently nodded and reached for both Six's and One's hands, and led them outside.
The soldiers hesitated for a moment, then they followed the Apostles, closing the door behind them.
“Very well.”

The Chairwoman stepped towards the two healing tanks, her hands folded behind her enormous back. She remained like this for a few seconds.
Few, long, eternal seconds.
“I will be as straight-forward as possible. The people up high want results and they want them now. You two spend almost a decade to study these children. They want to know if they are ready yet.”
“R-ready for what, Ma'am?”

The Chairwoman turned around, her eyes reflecting the golden glow of the Amrita-tanks behind her.
“Are they ready to be used in battle?”
Snap.
Tanner's eyes shot to Chiara, saw how the pencil she had held in her right fell in two pieces to the ground, her eyes bulging out of their sockets as she stared at the Chairwoman, her face showing only one expression: fright.
“What? Ma'am, they're are children!” she protested.
“Do children take control of other people's minds? Do children manifest wings that destroy whatever matter they touch? Do children develop psychic powers beyond human imagination?”

The Chairwoman made a half-hearted smile.
“They maybe children for so long, but what about in five or six years? Will they still be Oh-so-innocent children as you think?”

Chiara opened her mouth, but the Chairwoman cut her off immediately.

“Let us take a look at what some of these 'children' did when we first found them, shall we?

“The twins, Three and Four, caused the collapse of the building their family was living in, killing their parents and their maid.
Eleven here,” she said and patted against the Apostle's healing tank. “had a breakdown in the middle of a school and burned down an entire classroom along with twenty other students and one teacher. We couldn't even identify which ash pile belonged to whom afterwards.”
The Chairwoman made a small pause, and watched the two scientists in front of her, like a tiger watching its prey.

“Five juggled two busses with his mind and smashed them into a supermarket while he was sitting in the backseat of his mother's car, waiting for her while she was inside the store. She was killed alongside over thirty other innocents.”

Every syllable was coughed out like a bullet that hit the two scientists in their chests.
“And I don't believe I have to tell you what Seven did, Dr. Nelson.”
Chiara lowered her head, her face had become a stoic mask. Only her lower lip trembled slightly.
“And then of course, there is our main winner...”

The Chairwoman turned around once more.
“Subject Thirteen. Responsible for the explosion in California. An entire highway section, no, everything in a one mile radius vaporized.. Over four-hundred people dead. ”
She whirled around and leaned forward, her voice lowering with every word.

“These children are walking, thinking, ticking nukes that could go off at any minute. And I, and many other people, would rather have them blow up in the faces of our enemies than in our own. You have two weeks to prepare the next memory wipe on them. And this time, you will take all of them away. Not just tidbits. I want a complete eradication of whatever they remember of their former lives, and may it just be the memory of a mosquito sting they once suffered. Did I make myself clear?”
Tanner and Chiara nodded in unison, not daring to look her into her eyes.
“Good.”
The Chairwoman straightened her position again.
“Let us hope for everyone's best that you do not screw up this time around. Good Evening.”

6: Calling

Tubes were growing out of my arms. Out of my shoulders, out of my back, black plastic crawling underneath my red, swollen flesh.
I was drowning.
Drowning in gold, an infinite pool of molten gold. The tubes crawled further and further under my skin, I felt how they wrapped themselves around my bones, extended into the tip of my fingers. I wanted to scream, I wanted to swim away, I wanted out of the liquid gold.
Away.
Away.

The tubes stopped moving, instead long, metallic arms drew closer, rotating claws and spinning needles.
They drove into my back and shoulders.
Pain.
Drilling.
Pain.
Steel and plastic, wires and cables, plates and joints, nailed into my skin, my muscles, right down to my bones, encased and trapped in a cage of metal. The nails grew, became limbs, became wings. My nerves were wires.
Flesh and metal merged, teared, swallowed each other.
I screamed and my mouth was filled with the golden liquid, it flew down my throat and into my blood, my stomach, my head.

Giant, metallic wings, flapping and swirling up the gold. I couldn't calm them, I couldn't control them.
I felt like my body was about to be ripped apart.
A light.
Small. White.
Almost like a star.
It appeared before me, this light, it drove away the arms and the tubes. Hands reached out for me and my dream changed.

“You try it first!”
“N-no, you made it, you have to try it out on your own!”
“Come on, don't be a such a little coward, drink it!”
Hesitantly I looked down a the cup he was waving in front of my nose. The liquid inside of it was steaming and of a strange, bronze-colour. The boy holding it had a big, toothy grin on his face, along with a mass of blonde hair, from which several bangs fell into his forehead..
“He doesn't have to if he doesn't want to. I wouldn't want to drink any of the stuff you brew either,” the spectacled girl next to us said and, to put emphasize on her dislike of our friend's brewing, pulled her tongue out and made a grimace. “Yuuuck!”
The boy pursed his lips.

“Come oooooooooon!” he whined and pushed the cup in my direction again. Slowly I reached for it, looked at it for a felt eternity.
The birds went quiet, the winds stopped blowing, the sun leaned forward in anticipation as I took a sip from the cup.
“Bluuuaaaaarggggghhhhhh!” I gurgled and let go of the cup, fell off the small bench and into the grass, where I started to cringe and shake like a leaf, spit was dribbling out of my mouth and my eyes were turning into the back of their sockets.The boy and the girl jumped up from their seats and ran over to my twitching self, the boy stumbled over the bench and fell flat on his face.
I continued gurgling and spitting, the girl grabbed me by my shoulders and started shaking me with a terrified look on her face. Her glasses seemed close to falling off her nose.
“W-what's wrong? Speak to us!!!”she stuttered, then she whipped her head to the boy who had given me the drink and snapped: “Get help, darnit!”
The boy scrambled to his feet, tripped once more and fell on his face again.
Then I suddenly stopped gurgling.
“Psyche!” I giggled and gave them the most crap-eating grin I could make.
For a moment the two were absolutely silent. Then they started shouting and tackled me.
We rolled down the small hillside, a giggling, yelling wrecking ball of tiny fists and feet.
After some time, we stopped our brawl and lied in the grass, laughing and trying to gasp for air.
“Don't...don't ever do that again!” the girl panted and sat up, small tears of laughter running down her face. I responded with incomprehensible giggling.
“Hey, the tea. You gotta tell me for real now, was it any good?” the boy asked after a while.
I looked up in the sky. How clear it was, how warm the sun shined down on us. I waited a while before I answered, enjoying the slight breeze of the wind, the grass tickling in my neck, the warming rays of the sun...
“Yeah. Yeah it was.”
 

The loud clicking of the metallic claw woke me from my sleep.
My eyes opened, I blinked. Lab-coats were running around outside the glass wall, yelling and gesturing, hitting buttons and pulling levers, pointing others into different directions, drips of sweat running down their heads and hands.
The eye on my forehead opened and closed, opened and closed. With every blink, it, I, saw the slight glow around the hectic people outside my small cell.
Nervousness.
Panic.
Fear.
The healing pod trembled and with a loud clang, the robot hand's metallic fingers attached themselves to it's top, the tubes at the bottom detached, and with a rumble, a whirr, the claw lifted the glass pod up into the air.

I closed my eyes again.
I hated this part.
As the robotic claw touched the glass, an ear-piercing screech went through the entire pod, echoing back and forth in my head, pressing against the inner layers of my skull. Every time this happens, I feel like my head is about to explode, shatter, burst like a balloon, paint the insides of the pod with red and taint the golden Amrita, turn it into a sludge compromised of bloody chunks and liquid gold...
Yuck. Sometimes my imagination goes way over my head.
The screeching sound slowly reduced itself from unbearable to a mildly annoying buzzing in the back of my head as the claw lowered the pod again into an isolated, complete in white-tiles covered room, where it was placed in a new socket.
Tubes crawled out of the ground once more and attached themselves to the grey socket, clicking, whirring, then they started to pump.
The level of Amrita lowered and lowered. First my head surfaced, then my shoulders, then my chest. With shaking fingers, I ripped off the oxygen mask as the last bit of the golden drug had disappeared in the hungry jaws of the black, worm-like tubes. The glass shifted, sunk into the socket and I stumbled out of the pod, naked, wet, my head still spinning and booming, I hunched over, one hand placed on my mouth, then I gave in and spilled the remains of my last meal over the white-tiles.
A small beep sounded, and the tiles on which I threw up turned upside down, and the yellow, chunky mass of stomach acids and half-digested food slid down into the dark.
I swiped my mouth with the back of my hand, trying to ignore the gross taste.
Another beep, and a door slid open.
For a second I considered if I should just sit down here and doze off until the lab-coats would decide to push or lure me out, though then I decided that no, had enough trouble already.
I slumped towards the door and climbed into the small corridor behind it. Another beep.
A wall of green light went through me.
Scanner corridor.
The lab-coats were checking my vitals, looking if I had received any long-term damages.
Already had that from being trapped down here the whole time.

“Well then...Thirteen. How are you feeling?”
I shifted around on my chair.
After I had passed through the scanner, water had been poured down on me, hot, steaming water that cleansed the last bit of Amrita off my skin. I was weighed, asked a few hundred times how I felt, checked if I had any mental damage from being exposed to the Amrita for so long.
A standard procedure, protocol, but ultimately unneeded. My body had already recovered. And what was already broken in my head, can't be broken any more.
Tanner was sitting opposite of me, on a long, white table in a big, white room. The only coloured objects in this room were Tanner's greying beard and hair, and the two guards that stood in front of the door that lead outside, black armour, black guns, black visors.
Puppets.
“I'm fine,” I muttered, arms folded in front of my chest, eyes fixed on the only crumb of dust I could find on the table, a few inches in front of Tanner's nervously shaking fingers.
He was always nervous. Especially when around me.

Couldn't blame him.
“If you say so,” Tanner said and noted something down on the clipboard in front of him.
He went through his hair with his one hand again. Quite distracting. Annoying.
“Why did you start a brawl?”
I furrowed my brows. Started a brawl?
“Eleven was the one who threw the first punch. I just defended myself,” I answered, tapping the fingers of my left hand repeatedly against my arm.
“Do you know why he started to hit you?”
I shrugged.

“Six overreacted at the test. He used it as an excuse. Who knows,” I replied, trying to sound as bored and annoyed as possible.
Tanner licked over his lips.
“Not quite,” he said. Something about his voice had changed, he suddenly sat straight. All nervousness seemed to have vanished.

 

“...What do you mean?” the boy said slowly, the annoyed undertone in his voice having been replaced with...worry? Fear?
Tanner put the tips of his fingers against each other, one of his glasses reflecting the artificial light from the ceiling. For once, he didn't look nervous at all.
“That was no excuse. During the last test, your usage of the 'gift' legitimately injured her.”
Tanner watched the boy's face as he uttered these words. He was surprised, to say the least. The long-haired boy's eyes widened a bit, not much, but enough to let the stoic expression on his face collapse completely.
“I...I hurt her?”
“Yes. Nothing major, at least we hope so, but Eleven's rage was, while inexcusable, not quite unjustified.”
The boy didn't answer, only pressed his lips together and stared down at the table again.
“The damage you two caused is not minor either. We have already started repairing it, but it still costs us a lot of money, resources and time that we need to help you children.

“Both you and Eleven will have to spend the next few days isolated from the others. No tests, but also no shared activities.”
Thirteen only nodded.
Tanner leaned back in his chair, sighed. On the inside however, he was still as nervous as before.
“These children are walking, thinking, ticking nukes that could go off at any minute,” he heard the chairwoman's voice echo through his mind. He knew that if he uttered just one wrong word, the largest of these bombs could explode, right in front of him.
“Why can't we go outside?”
Tanner blinked over his glasses.
“I don't understa...”
“Outside the labs.”
Almost automatically, the guards' grip around their weapons tightened slightly, and they exchanged a quick glance.
The lead scientist, confused by the sudden change of topics, didn't answer immediately, instead took off his glasses, cleaned them on his lab-coat while trying to find an acceptable answer.
The boy watched his fingers as they put the glasses back on Tanner's nose.
“I...god...how can I explain this...,” he mumbled. “It's... because of...”
“Of our 'gift'?”
Tanner closed his mouth, opened it again, closed it.
“...Yes,” he admitted. “There could be people who would try to...use you're abilities for their own ends, if they caught wind of you and the others existence...”

“Dr. Tanner?” Thirteen interrupted him. He broke off and raised one eyebrow.

“Yes?”
“Are you afraid of me?”

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. Tanners aura, the small, red flame around his even smaller silhouette suddenly glimmered up, started to pulsate faster and faster.
“I-i...N-no, of course not...”

He was lying, of course.
From the corners of my eyes I could see that the two guards grew similarly nervous, one of them reached for his collar, where a small microphone was attached.
They were afraid. Scared. They feared me.
 

For a moment, no one in the room dared to speak, move, or even think. Tanner felt a pearl of sweat running down his temple, over his nose and towards it's tip, where it lingered for a small moment before dropping onto the white table.
The boy was looking at his own hands.
“Can I...can I go back to my room now?” he asked quietly. His voice sounded as if it was on the edge of breaking. For a moment, Tanner forgot his own fear, the clump that had formed in his throat dissolved and he cleared it, before answering again, trying his best to keep his own voice steady and calm.
“Yes, go ahead.”

Creaking as Thirteen pushed his chair away from the table. The boy stood up, without looking Tanner or the guards in the face, eyes focused on the ground, he slowly slumped towards the door. The guards stepped to the sides as he approached them, the door slid open and Subject Thirteen stumbled outside.

“Did it work?” Six whispered with closed eyes. She felt One's hands on her outstretched arm, then heard her sigh.

“No...”
Six opened her eyes and looked down at her lower arm. The scar was still there, still the darkened, black, unclean gash. The slight glow around One's hand vanished and she let herself fall back on the ground.
“Should I try?” Two offered and raised his own hands. A similar, but stronger light emitted from his palms, but Six shook her head.

“No...don't stress yourself.”

The girl pulled her sleeve back down. Two nodded, albeit reluctantly, and lowered his hands again.
The three Apostles were sitting in the middle of the 'garden': a large, dome-shaped room, green grass covering it's floor of earth, large, exotic-looking trees grew high towards the glass ceiling, through which the light of an artificial, computer-generated sun shone down.
A bit farther away, the twins Three and Four were sitting on the ground with their legs crossed, focusing intensely on the ball of earth that floated between them. It was maybe as big as a melon, and shaped like one as well, but it's surface was completely smooth, not a single crack or bump in it's surface. Then Three tilted his head a bit, and the surface shifted, fine rifts appeared in it, shaping continents, oceans, islands. Then Four wiggled with his fingers, and on one of those small continents, thin pillars started to erupt, miniature buildings, streets, tiny skyscrapers...
Seven sat on a lower lying branch of an old tree, a book open in her lap with her fingers going over every letter as her mouth opened and closed, silently forming the read words.
“What is it with this wound?” One mumbled frustrated and folded her arms. “It should have healed now that I treated it, of us all, I know the most about healing after all!”
Two tipped his fingers against his chin, but remained silent. It was true, when it came to mending broken bones, reattach flesh and skin, One was the most skilled of all the Apostles, even the medical staff was willing to take a backseat when she offered her assistance. Seeing her this frustrated and angered over not being able to help was a rare sign, and he was glad that he wasn't the one her anger would be directed at later.
“As soon as Thirteen's coming out of his pod, he's so gonna get it!” One hissed to no one in particular and started to rip grass stalks out of the ground.
“No, please, don't fight again...,” Six pleaded. “It's already bad enough that Eleven had to provoke him like that.”

One looked at her with a baffled look on her face.

“Six, he hurt you, gave you a scar that will probably never heal again, and you say that Eleven, who right now has to rely on twenty-four hour stay in a healing tank, is the one who's at fault of the two?”

Six looked down at the grassy ground. One shook her head.

“You're too kind for your own good,” she muttered and ruffled through Six's hair.
Six didn't answer. Actually, she wasn't even looking at the ground anymore, or even at One. She was looking right past over her shoulder. Her eyes had widened and she grabbed her wounded arm.
Three and Four looked up from their sculpting, saw the one standing there and the small globe, on which several cities had already been erected fell out of the air and to the ground. It crumbled almost immediately. One followed their gazes and felt how her stomach cramped together as she saw the boy standing at the edge of the garden, the door he entered through closing behind him.
Thirteen looked back at them.
He was wearing the same things like yesterday. White, baggy pants. A slightly darker hoodie, opened so that one could see his scrawny figure. The thin hood was pulled over his long hair, but they could still see the glow on his forehead, the third eye that lied beneath the mass of blonde hair and white cloth.

One was the first to recover from her initial shock and stood up.
“...What do you want?” she asked coldly. Behind her, Two shifted his position so that he sat in front of Six, shielding her from Thirteen's wrath.
The hooded boy didn't answer, instead started to slowly approach the three Apostles. When only a few metres separated him from the three Apostles, One herself took a step towards him, her right fist clenched.
Thirteen stopped, but didn't move his eyes away from Six, who was now peeking over Two's shoulder.
“What. Do. You. Want?!” One asked once more. A crackling sound emitted from her clenched fist, growing louder and louder.
Thirteen raised his right hand, one finger outstretched. Pointed at Six.
One whirled around, wanted to throw herself between Thirteen and the girl, take the bullet, protect her at all costs...

And froze.
Six stared down at her arm. The black, bulging scar that had streaked her entire left arm was gone. Her skin and flesh were mended together once more, the dark veins that had protruded from the edges of the wound had vanished. Only a small itch where the new skin on her arm had reconnected told of there ever being an injury in the first place.
Silence.
Six moved her arm around carefully. Blinked. Shook her head.

The scar was gone.
One turned back to Thirteen. All colour had vanished from her face.

“H-how...w-why...?” she stuttered, unable to comprehend what just happened.
Thirteen looked away. Now she could see that his eyes were shimmering, wet, as if he had cried.
“...I'm sorry,” he mumbled.

And with that he turned around, hands in his pockets and walked away, out of the garden and back into the facility.

The storm was roaring outside. Hail the size of a grown man's fist plunged down form the sky, crackled, pattered on the ground.
I was inside of a cave. Long, wide, high. The walls were smooth, too smooth to be of natural origin. Things hung from the ceiling and on the walls...Photographs, ripped out newspaper articles, with letters engraved bones, with red ink written notes, pieces of strange machines...
In the middle of the cave, was s small campfire. It barely provided a dim, orange light that cast creepy, long shadows onto walls and ground.
Sometimes, it seemed as if they moved.
A stick.
Raking through the ashes and urning wood of the fire.
Sparks flew into the air.
A pale hand holding the stick, belonging to a lean silhouette that sat on a small stone. A long, tattered coat was draped around it's shoulders, a hood concealed it's face.
Then it suddenly raised it's head.
The hood fell off, revealing long strands of white hair. Two glowing, golden eyes, with pupils slitted like those of a snake.
“I've been waiting for you, Thirteen.”