Scum

Devon sat slouched in the chair, coarse looking ropes binding her forcefully to it, if however she were to move or strain against them in any way; she knew that those ropes, which looked so ordinary, would shock her with an electric charge that would leave her numb and dizzy from pain. The darkness and deep shadows were a comfort to her, she had lived her entire life in the cramped alleyways of the medieval era town, it was a strange mix of times and cultures her world was. The Aristocrats owned everything, ruled everything, and dictated everything. Devon was part of the lowest class, the Scum. In some ways she was glad of her position she was better able to see the world as it actually was, some of the lower class truly thought they were in the medieval times; they had no knowledge of technology, or the Aristocrats. At the thought of the word, Devon shuddered. The door opened and a short balding man with sickly pale skin walked in, ignoring her and deftly using his tablet which was a wafer thin translucent rectangle of smooth stone-like and touch sensitive material. Immediately the slight vibrating sensation of the ropes vanished. They were off. Devon spurred into action, she swiftly and gingerly typed in the code onto her palm with the fingers on that hand. The gloves she was wearing covered her palm and the upside of her hands stiffly, if she needed to use her fingers beneath them, no-one could tell; so far so good. Her left contact lens turned on, and began analyzing the ropes that bound her to the chair. She received blueprint images that highlighted the areas that could be cut through without danger. Everything was ready. The sickly man looked up, revealing sharp, intelligent black eyes. “Well then, Devon, we finally found you.” He said absentmindedly. Devon remained immobile, staring dully at the floor, her every muscle tensed for the move she would soon make. The man’s monotone voice broke her train of thought, “We have looked long and hard for you, you’re a legend amongst the Scum.” He spit the word out like garbage. “In fact, so much like a legend, that we doubted your existence, until we looked at our files.” Where had she seen him before? “And remembered the eight year old girl that made underground history. You have many aliases… but one thing gave you away as who you are.” Devon’s eyes slowly moved up, meeting his, “And that is?” She said softly, her voice barely louder than the whisper of the wind over grass, but somehow stronger and more threatening than the most ominous thunder. The man shivered, suddenly cold, then he chuckled, “All your aliases start with the letter D. Dallas, Dacey, Dana, Darien, Deka.” She blinked slowly, giving him no satisfactory response, he continued. “and that was because you came from sector D. Where all the experiments are made…but you rose above that, didn’t you, D11-3…” His voice was now the softest whisper. Rage rose up in her throat. How dare he meddle with her emotions! She turned on her technology, a red light appeared over the door, warning him to run, he turned to flee, but it was too late, a razor sharp blade had already sliced through the rope and she was already up had vaulted past him and through the door he had opened in his haste to get out. He started to shout, palming his tablet hastily, but Devon already had used her tazer, he was out cold. She had bought it in the black market; such things were dangerous and rare, but clumsy nonetheless. Devon had fine-tuned the weapon so that the object of prey was simply knocked unconscious. No-one else had such an effective and quiet weapon; the odd little man would be unconscious for at least three days. The room flashed red briefly, she crouched down like a cat, her contact lens had located a camera, it zoomed toward the location and she quickly broke it by deftly reaching up and snapping a few wires. Her lens affirmed that she couldn’t be seen. She climbed up skillfully a supporting Grecian pillar like a cat and laid herself flat out on the ceiling, her gloves and boots stuck to it firmly enough to keep her from falling, but loose enough for her to still detach herself. Four guards rushed into the room, glanced hurriedly around, and took of, each taking one of the four passageways. Her contact turned blue briefly, flashing a map of the underground maze. She took a second to memorize it, and then palmed a brick between two doorways. A door, previously invisible, briefly outlined itself and then clicked out from the wall. Devon silently entered shut it behind her. They had changed the maze from when she had first survived it, at eight years old she had used her own intuition to get through it to her goal. Now, at seventeen, with the highest level technology in the world, easily ten times smarter and more observant than her genius eight year old self, was scared. She shook her head and drove such thoughts from her mind, scanning the passage with her lens. To her surprise; there was no tech in this portion of the passageway. Alarm bells were rang in her head, her instinct said no, this portion had some sort of unexpected trap. She reached down and felt the floor. Wood. The walls? Wood. The ceiling? Wood. More specifically, dry old wood. Immediately she stood up and scanned the room, this time with a higher sensitivity, seeking for gas or fire. There was both, in ten seconds, the hall would lock and go up in flames. Devon immediately sprinted forward, panic welling up in her chest she shook her head and pushed it down. Suddenly a wall of electric charge showed up in her lens, not visible to the naked eye, but visible to her. She turned around to face another wall, this one of hungrily licking flames. A round hole appeared in the floor, light pouring through. Without a choice, Devon slipped quietly through into what she knew would be her capture and very likely, death.
The room was white and spotless; pieces of paper covered the walls, they were stacked on white desks, tables and chairs. A queer large man sat behind huge horn-rimmed glasses on a plush swivel chair. When she entered through the ceiling he turned around slowly, “ahh…nice of you to er, drop in.” Devon frowned, what was this clown doing down here? He continued speaking lethargically, “uhh…D11-3 was it? Hm...I...never thought they should merely call you by a...Number...” Devon gaped, “you’re the creator?” “Hm? Yes.” He chuckled “Indeed I am.” She walked firmly over the seamless white floor. “Where are they?” She said through clenched teeth, tears peering through her black eyes. The man shuffled his feet, “Ahh…” Devon put her hands around his neck, slowly squeezing. “Tell me where they are. My sister and my brother.” He cringed, “Ah. My works of art, my soul. They were killed, you know that.” Devon sighed, loosening her grip, “No..they weren’t.” He chuckled suddenly, “clever, that you are. I think, possibly, that your brother escaped; but my dear, I really don’t know.” She let go of him and slumped hopelessly to the floor, staying there for a number of minutes, finally she spoke. “Tell me, who am I?” The creator looked at her keenly, “You are my creation, but more than that, you were a child. Ah…I have longed to look upon my handiwork so many times, and now here you are, more brilliant than I had ever imagined.” He sat back into his chair, “Your mother was a brilliant woman, keen and clever, witty and fun-loving, a Royal. Despite all her good qualities, she didn’t want the triplets she had been given, and so, through a long and laborious process that I cannot and will not explain, I saved you three, no bigger than freckles, and kept you in an imitation womb. I wanted you, who I considered to be my children, to have the most wonderful life I could give to you. I wanted you to be healthy and strong, long of limb and fair of face, strong of arm and keen of mind, geniuses. So I froze you in that stage of development for fifteen years, researching and learning how to give you these things I longed for you to have. My quest to genetically alter three small embryos was found out, and the Aristocrats desired to have eleven bodyguards, who were athletic and loyal. They gave me eight more embryos, and those eight, I tailored to fit their needs.” He paused, looking at her sadly, “But I could not give you three that kind of life. So I decided to give you the skills you would need to get out of this, this, prison. I gave you unreal flexibility, strength that was beyond human ability, but beyond that, your mind, it was a thing of beauty…” His voice faded away and he sat as if in a trance, staring blankly at the wall. Devon coughed slightly and he started talking again, “I loved you. You three never saw me, but I saw your every move and delighted at it, and when I heard that they had decided to kill you, seeing how brilliant you had become, I went days without sleep, wondering if all my effort to save you three would be wasted.” His eyes focused on her, “you were always the most intuitive of the three, Damien was reckless, because of his strength and skill his recklessness was often a good strategy and worked, your sister, Dulce, she was thoughtful, she would’ve made the best tactition in the world when she grew up, but…” A tear trickled out of his eye, “I watched her die myself. It was cruelty!” He said, banging his fist on the table, sending light papers flying into the air, “To lead an innocent child, but a babe into a room and just…electrocute her…as if she were an animal!” Devon closed her eyes and shuddered. “But your brother, no, I didn’t not see him killed, and he was one to act, which gives me hope. Unless…unless he died in the tunnels.” The old man coughed nervously and stood up, “but you, Devon, you were my work of art, the perfect mix of caution and recklessness…but we can talk about that later.” He tapped a small button on his jacket, which was white, and a door opened. “Go through that, don’t fear, just go!!”