2013 Diclonius

Part Two

When I awoke, there was light pouring into my room. The concrete walls splashed with white light. I turned over, a man in a white lab coat standing over me, and a guard with a large gun pointed at me. "Number 52, time for breakfast." He said plainly. The man's feature were stiff as if he was scared of me. I would not blame him. I got up, my white nightgown stiff from lack of movement. My feet hit to cold floor, and I wished I had a pair of slippers to keep them warm. It took about ten minutes to get the door of my room which was in fact large, made of steel, and nearly impenetrable. As I walked through, more men with guns emerged. A woman came forth, guiding me through the room with a wall made entirely of glass and controls for my cell. I knew how it worked. We walked down a steel corridor to the Specimen Cafeteria. Inside, a large room with white tile walls and floor, steel tables bolted to the floor as well as the matching chairs. Numerous girls and boys, my age and older, sat in the chairs with food trays each had a designated scientist. All the specimen girls and boys, had various shades of pink or red hair with various shades of pink and red eyes. I was the only white hair. I went to the counter, whom the cafeteria lady was also in a white lab coat. She slapped equal amounts of eggs, toast and bacon onto my plate and put it on my tray. She gave me a glass of milk and a fork, hen she shooed me away. I sat at the table in the middle with my helper, who's name I never deemed important. I never spoke. I did not have to. They did it all for me. Never asking my opinion. I ate my breakfast quietly, noticing the helper jotting down a report of my behaviors like some kind of animal. I sighed and pushed the remnants of my food foreword. "Number 52, what's the matter?" A demented chair came flying past us, bolts attached and everything. A little girl of maybe five years old with pale pink hair with matching eyes and the usual starch white nightgown was standing on the table. "She's not one of us, that's what!" She yelled, her shrill vice ringing through the cafe. "Number 68! Please get down from there!" called her helper, numerous men with guns had already accumulated around us. I could see her vectors. One foot in length, and she only had the two. She had yet to grow. I stood up, getting on my table facing her. "Number 52! Not you too!" said my helper. None of us moved, but Number 68's and mine did. We pounded our fists together, but after two minutes, Number 68 began to weaken visibly. She began to sweat and pant, and her limited range began to diminish, the result of being beat. She collapsed on her table, and immediately was sedated and taken away. I got off my table, many guns still pointed at my head. I resumed eating, and they backed away slowly. My helper was rage writing. After our little show and finishing my breakfast, I was brought to a hospital-like room. A long bed lay in the middle, surrounded by rows of utensils used for many things. My helper sat down by the steel door, and watched. The doctor, unremarkable by appearance, was apparently the best at his job. I undressed, dropping my gown to the floor and lay on the table. I closed my eyes, and the doctor began his dream job.