Redemption Prep - Samuel Miller Page 0,100
in pain.
“Ex-except th-this school is done.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Ah!” Evan screamed, another cut, this time on the right side of his forehead. “Emma knows everything,” he grunted through the pain. “And sh-she’s already long gone.”
Dr. Richardson walked back over to the desk against the wall without looking at him.
“Th-this whole fucking place is about to get sh-shut down. In fact, they’re on their way back right now. With authorities.”
She pressed several buttons on the keyboard in front of her, typing slowly. The pain set in further on both sides of Evan’s forehead.
“S-so have your fun with me!” he screamed again. “This is the last—”
“Evan.” The screens in front of Dr. Richardson began to blink green with light as she turned around, smiling. “This school has existed for almost two hundred years. Do you think one student with a wild imagination is going to have any effect on our work? Do you think there are ‘authorities’ over this kind of work?”
“It’s not just one student.” Evan fought to keep his lip from quivering. “There’s five of them.”
Dr. Richardson rolled her eyes.
“Y-you’re lying.”
Dr. Richardson shrugged. “It’s your prerogative to think that.”
“Y-you’re lying!” Evan screamed. “You almost killed someone over Emma, earlier. You’re t-t-terrified of her getting away and ex-exposing you. If n-not, why would you e-e-even care?”
Dr. Richardson paused, looking slightly pained. “Because she was almost ready.”
All the screens on the walls came to life, and the entire room pulsed with green and yellow light. In the lights blinking off the sides of her figure, Evan could see Dr. Richardson loading up a syringe with milky white liquid. He felt vomit forming behind his teeth, foaming to get out. His heart was beating so fast it was beginning to hurt his ribs.
Dr. Richardson spun, the syringe in her hand. “Come forward and join us. It’s time to speak with your creators.” She stood perfectly upright, her hands held out on either side like a cross, bowing at the center. It wasn’t a cross—it was them. The light of the world, he realized, was their brains.
“E-everyone saw what you did tonight—”
“No,” she said. Her voice was still perfectly flat. “Everyone saw what you all did. Everyone saw that I handled it.”
“B-but—b-but . . .” The copper wires and the restraints and the humming machine were pushing Evan’s stutter to a breaking point. “When p-people see that Emma is—”
“See her when?” She walked over with the syringe. “You think she’s coming back here?”
“A-are you—you putting me out?”
“No,” she said. “I’m waking you up.”
The tip of the needle glistened. “The movement of the electrons through the brain is at its highest when stimulated by emotional response. This is a hormone, created by Yangborne’s students, to help you out a bit.”
The needle hit his forearm and Evan screamed as she forced the drug into him with increasing speed. “L-let—let me—”
Dr. Richardson smiled and removed the needle as Evan sputtered himself to a stop.
“Most people think that human evolution is based around acquiring traits that make us more able—physically and mentally stronger. But evolution is led by one central, nuanced tenet: the ability to survive. So yes, physical, mental strength, these are all necessary components for an evolving species, but we didn’t conquer the Earth by evolving physically past whales or developing more mental capacity than computers. We evolved emotionally. We built social bonds, responses to fear and sadness, collective pain . . . these are the processes that encourage us to sustain and improve life.
“These are the processes that will close the gap between us and the Alohim. Their social bonds are so strong, they no longer need to speak. Their internal controls are so strong, they can modulate their emotional response effortlessly to motivate a reaction, either from themselves or their fellow Alohim.
“Which is why our training here is geared toward that one end goal—the deepening, and controlling, of emotional response.”
Dr. Richardson turned, and all around him, on every screen built into the wall, images of Emma appeared. She was sitting in a chair, staring up at the camera in front of her, smiling and talking comfortably. She was laughing, biting her lip. Evan could feel himself leaning forward, trying to hear her silence, trying to read her lips.
He shot back in his chair as the video was interrupted, for a single second, by a bright, overwhelming flash of light, erupting from the center of the screen. A screeching noise, higher than any he’d ever heard before, blared through his eardrums. Static shocks rocked the copper wires,