Omega-Psi
The truck’s going fast. Me and another soldier had been assigned to The Building. They usually only assign elite’s to The Building. I’ve been at the camp about ten years, but it doesn’t mean I’m qualified.
I was taken from my parents when I was five, and put in a truck with the other neighborhood kids. The part of Japan we lived in, we had never seen anything like it. It looked so futuristic. They had barged through the doors of the homes and pulled children from their mothers. We were poor, so I had been wearing boys clothing. My hair was grungy and past my knees. As were the other girls. We were told to keep quiet, but so many of us were crying and trying to climb out of the truck. Our parents were lined up on their knees and men and women in white held large guns to their heads. The doors shut before we saw anything else. But we could hear.
There’s a white boy standing across from me. He’s quite a sight to behold. Tall, strong jaw, muscular, blonde. He’s handsome. I’ve seen him before around the camp. He doesn’t look like a prisoner. He’s looking over my head and I’m looking at his chest. It’s at eye level.
The American’s are our allie, which means we share resources. They brought whatever is in The Building three years ago. All they said about it was that it is essential to winning the war. They also brought children from their land. Maybe that’s what he is.
We were put into squads based on our ability to learn, track, fight, and listen. There are a total of eight squads, Elite/E, S, U, C, L, and D. D is Death Squad. If you fall to that level, you’re put down. I am in S Squad, it means Superior. I’m the only girl. It's mostly made up of the American boys.
I am a tan Japanese girl with small brown eyes and short black hair. I’m thin, but the best fighter in my squad. I’m attentive and follow orders. However, I’m one of the worst trackers. There are thirteen of us in S Squad. I rank number one. That’s probably why they assigned me to The Building.
We were given a new recruit maybe five months ago. He has dark skin and eyes, and doesn’t talk. He sometimes stares at us when we’re not looking. He quickly gained second place. The only reason I’m first is because I beat him in combat. He’s probably American, the way he looks at the landscape.
The boy I’m riding with isn’t like him. He looks bored and relaxed, where the other one was always attentive and eager. I look in his eyes to try and see what color they are. They look blue, like the sky, with a dark green circle around them. Specks of white dance through them as the dim light in the truck falls upon them. Back and forth, back and forth. He sees me. We’re looking each other in the eye. We stay like that for a matter of seconds. I don’t know what to do, so I look back at his chest. He’s still looking at me. I can feel his eyes burning into my forehead.
The truck stops and I shift slightly to the side. Our commander steps into the truck and I salute him. A raised gun, not cocked, but ready for war. They white boy does the same thing.
“At ease.” We lower our guns to our abdomens and wait for orders. The commander is a young American man with mousy brown hair and a 5 o’clock shadow.
“Privates Ishahiri and Winston. You’ve finally made it.” He says gruffly.
“Walk with me.” We simultaneously step out of the truck onto a dirt semicircle in front of The Building. We follow the commander up the front steps. It is a tall, wide building with tinted black windows. I can’t see the top from where I stand.
“Voice recognition, please.” says a lady.
“Commander Reids.” He’s done this a million times.
“Welcome commander.” There’s a buzzing and the door opens automatically. We step through after him and follow him down a long hallway. It looks like a hospital. There are even bags of blood on shelves, strewn about. We come to a large stairway made of marble. We take the steps, passing the second floor, to the third level. The hall here looks identical to the first. We walk down this hallway and take a right, to the end. There’s a large metal door, bright and shining, waiting for us.
Reids turns around, and we stand up straighter.
“Hold out your right hand, Winston.” he’s looking at the white boy. He unglove’s his hand and holds it out. The commander grabs it and swiftly pokes what looks like a shot, into it. The boys eyes widen and his hand tries to retract, but Reids has a tight grip on his wrist, so the hand falls limp. I look on in awe as a thick, red fluid fills the capsule. The commander takes the needle out and caps the shot. The white boy puts his finger in his mouth to suck on it, like a child. He puts his glove on as the commander places the shot in his pocket.
I expect the same thing to hapen to me, but Reids just turns back to the door. He steps up to a retinal scanner and opens his eyes wide. There’s a beep, and the door slides open, slowly. He steps in, and we follow. He puts a key into a slot and turns it to the left. We start going up.
I’m standing to the side, so I can see through the glass window in the back. It's rainy and damp outside, but dry and cool in here. I can’t see the camp, but I can see how far up we’ve travelled. The elevator is very fast, and even though we’ve been on for only a few minutes, the truck looks like a spec of dust. The commander is looking at the door and waiting, so I think I’m safe.
I feel eyes on me. The white boy’s staring at me with confusion. He saw me looking out. His eyes are paler in the brighter light. He looks like a ghost.
We come to a stop, and Reids looks at both of us, staring at each other.
“If you can’t be professional, I can easily send you back.” He says, threateningly. I turn my body to him and look straight ahead. The boy follows suit.
“You both were hand picked by me for this project. If you let me down, you will demoted to D Squad, and I will have been made a fool of. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir!”, we say, simultaneously. Hand picked by Commander Reids? Me? That’s truly an honor.
“I expected nothing less. Now, each of you have been assigned to what we call ‘Weapon M75’. We have seventy-five specimens that we have injected with the Vester Gene. They are genetic mutations that have possible god-like powers, based on the hosts reaction to the gene. All but one, have either been sent to camps, or straight to war, depending on their ability. Some mutations are similar, but none are duplicates. The one that remains is called Psi. She hasn't had a discernible reaction to the injection.
“Private Ishahiri will be her personal guard until symptoms arise. Private Winston will be one of a select few that will train with specimen Psi when she develops. We don’t know when this will be.”
What am I supposed to do? I’m trained in war, not standing around!
“Are there any questions?”
The white boy raises his hand. “Will we get to see her, sir?”
The commander smirks and walks out of the door. He stops after a few feet when he realizes we’re not following. He lifts a finger and motions for us to come. The boy confidently struts to him, head held high. I’m more cautious, however.
This hallway is darker and filled with doctors whispering to each other. They’re mostly men, but they’re Japanese. They watch us as we walk past. I don’t look at them, but I can hear one of them say, “Extra food for our little sunshine.”
We stop at a door about halfway down the hall. We step through, and are in what looks like a shower. There’s a table to our right, with blood stains on it.
“Place your weapons on the table.” It’s the voice from the front door. Me and the boy place our semi-automatics on the table along with the hunting knives that are strapped to our thighs. The commander takes a small pistol out of a pocket on his jacket, and nothing more.
A white gas streams from a drain at the bottom of the room.
“It’s nothing to worry about. Just sanitation.” As the gas fills the room, the boy turns his head toward me. He looks scared. He’s still looking at me when the gas completely obscures my vision. I wait for a few seconds before the gas is sucked into the ceiling. Both of them are looking at me. The door opens in front of me and a young-looking Japanese man stands to the side of it, waiting. He wears soldier’s garb and has a buzz cut.
“Leave the weapons.” He says to us. They both turn around and walk out. I follow. The man holding the door loses focus when he sees me. The door falls out of his grip and slams shut. He seems to not have noticed. Neither do the white boy or commander.
We’re standing in a large room, lit by rectangular lights. It branches off into three ways and we take the middle. I can see the end of it from were we stand, but as we walk, we take a right to a single doored hallway.
We walk in and I immediately notice a young girl, maybe thirteen, strapped to a metal table wearing a white tanktop and shorts. She has a mouth gag and appears to be asleep.
“This is Psi.” The commander says. She looks so weak, but at the same time, strong. She has fair skin and pretty looking, shiny dark brown hair cut in a messy short way. Her features are masculine, but she has a very feminine figure. Her small chest rises and falls as she slowly breaths. Her muscles slightly bulge through her skin.
I was taken from my parents when I was five, and put in a truck with the other neighborhood kids. The part of Japan we lived in, we had never seen anything like it. It looked so futuristic. They had barged through the doors of the homes and pulled children from their mothers. We were poor, so I had been wearing boys clothing. My hair was grungy and past my knees. As were the other girls. We were told to keep quiet, but so many of us were crying and trying to climb out of the truck. Our parents were lined up on their knees and men and women in white held large guns to their heads. The doors shut before we saw anything else. But we could hear.
There’s a white boy standing across from me. He’s quite a sight to behold. Tall, strong jaw, muscular, blonde. He’s handsome. I’ve seen him before around the camp. He doesn’t look like a prisoner. He’s looking over my head and I’m looking at his chest. It’s at eye level.
The American’s are our allie, which means we share resources. They brought whatever is in The Building three years ago. All they said about it was that it is essential to winning the war. They also brought children from their land. Maybe that’s what he is.
We were put into squads based on our ability to learn, track, fight, and listen. There are a total of eight squads, Elite/E, S, U, C, L, and D. D is Death Squad. If you fall to that level, you’re put down. I am in S Squad, it means Superior. I’m the only girl. It's mostly made up of the American boys.
I am a tan Japanese girl with small brown eyes and short black hair. I’m thin, but the best fighter in my squad. I’m attentive and follow orders. However, I’m one of the worst trackers. There are thirteen of us in S Squad. I rank number one. That’s probably why they assigned me to The Building.
We were given a new recruit maybe five months ago. He has dark skin and eyes, and doesn’t talk. He sometimes stares at us when we’re not looking. He quickly gained second place. The only reason I’m first is because I beat him in combat. He’s probably American, the way he looks at the landscape.
The boy I’m riding with isn’t like him. He looks bored and relaxed, where the other one was always attentive and eager. I look in his eyes to try and see what color they are. They look blue, like the sky, with a dark green circle around them. Specks of white dance through them as the dim light in the truck falls upon them. Back and forth, back and forth. He sees me. We’re looking each other in the eye. We stay like that for a matter of seconds. I don’t know what to do, so I look back at his chest. He’s still looking at me. I can feel his eyes burning into my forehead.
The truck stops and I shift slightly to the side. Our commander steps into the truck and I salute him. A raised gun, not cocked, but ready for war. They white boy does the same thing.
“At ease.” We lower our guns to our abdomens and wait for orders. The commander is a young American man with mousy brown hair and a 5 o’clock shadow.
“Privates Ishahiri and Winston. You’ve finally made it.” He says gruffly.
“Walk with me.” We simultaneously step out of the truck onto a dirt semicircle in front of The Building. We follow the commander up the front steps. It is a tall, wide building with tinted black windows. I can’t see the top from where I stand.
“Voice recognition, please.” says a lady.
“Commander Reids.” He’s done this a million times.
“Welcome commander.” There’s a buzzing and the door opens automatically. We step through after him and follow him down a long hallway. It looks like a hospital. There are even bags of blood on shelves, strewn about. We come to a large stairway made of marble. We take the steps, passing the second floor, to the third level. The hall here looks identical to the first. We walk down this hallway and take a right, to the end. There’s a large metal door, bright and shining, waiting for us.
Reids turns around, and we stand up straighter.
“Hold out your right hand, Winston.” he’s looking at the white boy. He unglove’s his hand and holds it out. The commander grabs it and swiftly pokes what looks like a shot, into it. The boys eyes widen and his hand tries to retract, but Reids has a tight grip on his wrist, so the hand falls limp. I look on in awe as a thick, red fluid fills the capsule. The commander takes the needle out and caps the shot. The white boy puts his finger in his mouth to suck on it, like a child. He puts his glove on as the commander places the shot in his pocket.
I expect the same thing to hapen to me, but Reids just turns back to the door. He steps up to a retinal scanner and opens his eyes wide. There’s a beep, and the door slides open, slowly. He steps in, and we follow. He puts a key into a slot and turns it to the left. We start going up.
I’m standing to the side, so I can see through the glass window in the back. It's rainy and damp outside, but dry and cool in here. I can’t see the camp, but I can see how far up we’ve travelled. The elevator is very fast, and even though we’ve been on for only a few minutes, the truck looks like a spec of dust. The commander is looking at the door and waiting, so I think I’m safe.
I feel eyes on me. The white boy’s staring at me with confusion. He saw me looking out. His eyes are paler in the brighter light. He looks like a ghost.
We come to a stop, and Reids looks at both of us, staring at each other.
“If you can’t be professional, I can easily send you back.” He says, threateningly. I turn my body to him and look straight ahead. The boy follows suit.
“You both were hand picked by me for this project. If you let me down, you will demoted to D Squad, and I will have been made a fool of. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir!”, we say, simultaneously. Hand picked by Commander Reids? Me? That’s truly an honor.
“I expected nothing less. Now, each of you have been assigned to what we call ‘Weapon M75’. We have seventy-five specimens that we have injected with the Vester Gene. They are genetic mutations that have possible god-like powers, based on the hosts reaction to the gene. All but one, have either been sent to camps, or straight to war, depending on their ability. Some mutations are similar, but none are duplicates. The one that remains is called Psi. She hasn't had a discernible reaction to the injection.
“Private Ishahiri will be her personal guard until symptoms arise. Private Winston will be one of a select few that will train with specimen Psi when she develops. We don’t know when this will be.”
What am I supposed to do? I’m trained in war, not standing around!
“Are there any questions?”
The white boy raises his hand. “Will we get to see her, sir?”
The commander smirks and walks out of the door. He stops after a few feet when he realizes we’re not following. He lifts a finger and motions for us to come. The boy confidently struts to him, head held high. I’m more cautious, however.
This hallway is darker and filled with doctors whispering to each other. They’re mostly men, but they’re Japanese. They watch us as we walk past. I don’t look at them, but I can hear one of them say, “Extra food for our little sunshine.”
We stop at a door about halfway down the hall. We step through, and are in what looks like a shower. There’s a table to our right, with blood stains on it.
“Place your weapons on the table.” It’s the voice from the front door. Me and the boy place our semi-automatics on the table along with the hunting knives that are strapped to our thighs. The commander takes a small pistol out of a pocket on his jacket, and nothing more.
A white gas streams from a drain at the bottom of the room.
“It’s nothing to worry about. Just sanitation.” As the gas fills the room, the boy turns his head toward me. He looks scared. He’s still looking at me when the gas completely obscures my vision. I wait for a few seconds before the gas is sucked into the ceiling. Both of them are looking at me. The door opens in front of me and a young-looking Japanese man stands to the side of it, waiting. He wears soldier’s garb and has a buzz cut.
“Leave the weapons.” He says to us. They both turn around and walk out. I follow. The man holding the door loses focus when he sees me. The door falls out of his grip and slams shut. He seems to not have noticed. Neither do the white boy or commander.
We’re standing in a large room, lit by rectangular lights. It branches off into three ways and we take the middle. I can see the end of it from were we stand, but as we walk, we take a right to a single doored hallway.
We walk in and I immediately notice a young girl, maybe thirteen, strapped to a metal table wearing a white tanktop and shorts. She has a mouth gag and appears to be asleep.
“This is Psi.” The commander says. She looks so weak, but at the same time, strong. She has fair skin and pretty looking, shiny dark brown hair cut in a messy short way. Her features are masculine, but she has a very feminine figure. Her small chest rises and falls as she slowly breaths. Her muscles slightly bulge through her skin.