zefielyn

To recuperate what was lost.

That was my goal. I never wanted to create. Creation is reserved for braver people than I. But if you could have seen the world like I saw it, slightly bulged out from the way the glass of beaker distorts everything, or so bright and cheery it all is when you step into the sun after twenty hours straight of fluorescent lights, it might change something. If you could have seen the world like I saw it, maybe you could understand. Of course I would never ask forgiveness. It’s just too much, but maybe an understanding would be enough. So here it is, the documentation of the sins of a budding idealist. Think of what I’m risking, and judge me as you will.

Just don’t ask me my name.

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"So take a piece, but not too much."

TaurusDemon23

So, just what the **** is your name anyways? I know, I'm a dick for asking, but being drunk makes me curious as hell. Please indulge me......

zefielyn

It’s not an excuse, but I had an uncle who had MS. I know that everyone has an uncle or a brother or something that you can blame everything on, that you were trying to fix them, but for me it was true. I don’t want to bore you with all the scientific stuff, but the principle was simple enough. You use a virus targeted to the specific area of the body you want to fix. That virus causes the cells to mutate. Either they go back to normal, or they mutate more until they can’t survive. Of course there was a small risk of cancer, but we can treat that pretty well. And cells replace themselves rather quickly. All in all, a simple plan.

But it didn’t work. At least not for MS. We didn’t have a good virus going to the muscle we could manipulate, but we did have one for the brain. That was how I would have cured Alzheimer’s, Graves disease, and a how range of others I had never heard of. When the mice we were using started to show signs of mental improvement, I took the whole lab out for champagne. It was nice, and everybody seemed to have a good time. I never thought that there could be a leak. That information would be leaving faster than we could produce it. There were so many things in my idealistic naivety I never thought of.

Most importantly, I never thought of testing the virus on normal mice.

I remember Dave showing me that normal mice would complete the mental tasks we had set up in record speed. They were smarter than before. And I was so scared because I knew what could happen. I started killing mice left and right and ignoring my voicemail that was filling up with nasty calls from different agencies. And I remember hating Dave. How much I still hate Dave. My brain went at ninety miles an hour. If the government, or any government, got ahold of this, they could literally create a super race of humans. They could make scientists much smarter than me who could create the virus that went to the muscles, making an army of Supermen. The possibilities were literally endless and I was terrified.

Of course I couldn’t destroy everything, and of course they wouldn’t be content to leave messages on my voicemail for too long, but thank God our freezer is in the hallway and thank God Tsai saw some weird looking guys in suits with something else in their hands.

And I remember running. Without giving myself away too much, I was at a major institution. But you already knew that. I mean, think of what I was doing. When they found me, empty flask in hand, near over half the national supply of flu shots, of course they stopped all vaccination for the year.

Even though I had never given myself some of our “super virus,” I wasn’t stupid either. You see, I didn’t put it in the flu shots. It wouldn’t have survived. What made a nice home for my little virus was the antiviral used to treat influenza, prescribed in record highs that year because there was no vaccine.

That’s how I became a creator.

Splyker

um i dont understand it sorry i dont know much about medical stuff

TaurusDemon23 youre a jerk

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What do you see?

zefielyn

For Splyker and anyone else wanting to know exactly what's going on, here is the synopsis:
Narrator tries to make a virus to cure brain problems. Finds out that military wants to take it and create super soldiers. Narrator releases into general public so they will be able to fight super soldiers. Narrator hates what he did and goes to find these new super intelligent people for advice to stop the new race he has "created." The story is his search for and encounters with those people.

For Tarus: The name of my character is actually Eugene Dryfus Myrian Welleck, but don't tell anyone or he may be arrested.

__________________
"So take a piece, but not too much."

zefielyn

Detainment took a little while, left me standing to in the darkness of my own imagination and gave me time to think. Time to slip in to self loathing as the papers I read told of children with abnormal powers and abnormal disabilities. I didn’t think about all the kids being hurt like that, honestly.

When I got out, I was a different man with different thoughts and different plans. They didn’t think I was smart enough to really be any danger. See, I believe in karma, but you got to make it yourself, and Dave got what was coming when I blamed the whole thing on him and HIS genius. I, nor anybody else I knew, say Dave again.

Anyway, when I got out I had a plan. I read about him in the April 1st edition. A joke, I know, but still I had to see. Have you ever heard of La compstela santa? It’s a Spanish legend, where all the spirits walk around at night in a sort of ghostly parade. To lead them, they enslave a human and take his soul. He comes to your door knocking, and then you die. Like a whole flock of Grim Reapers. Well, there in that paper was the name of another town affected by these kids I made. They were calling them psychics by now. The people were afraid for their lives. Everytime this boy came to their door, the one who opened would die the next days, in a variety of ways. The people were too scared to even try to kill him. His parents were long dead. All of my doing.

So I set out right after I got out. I wanted to find this guy. I wasn’t another hero who goes to fix the world he screwed with. No, I wanted to see the kid because I wanted death. I wanted to end the hurt of it all, and I didn’t have the guts to off myself. Besides, I sort have liked the poetic justice of it all, the created killing the creator. I packed my bags and headed to Ohio.

__________________
"So take a piece, but not too much."

TaurusDemon23

So, this is just a story? Hmm, well, you definitely got something interesting going on in that head of yours. This sounds like it could be something worth following.

Your character, sir whatshisname is pretty unique for a story like this. Usually the guy who creates the nifty, mutating virus is the villain. Keep going with this, I'll read it.

zefielyn

I found him in a church. No, he wasn't living there, so don't get ahead of yourself.This isn't like those old cartoons I used to watch where everything is so black and white the contrast makes my head spin. He was praying for his immortal soul, or something like that.

It took him a while to notice me. See, he was talking to the empty people in the pews. He was the only one there, and looked to me like it had been that way for years. The Holy Water had long dried up, and I looked inside the thing to see some kid's cigarette butt. It's funny how the mind works. Like a magic 8 ball, things come to the surface and drift back into the darkness, and you still aren't satisfied with the answer. I can't remember how my sister looks, but God I can still remember those cigarette butts in the Holy Water vat.

"La compostela santa?"
"Is that a question or an accusation?" He still didn't look up.
"I know what you can do, so just get it done with already."
"What are you talking about? And you can't call me 'La compostela.'"
He laid the bait and I bit.
"Why?"
He stood up very slowly and I could see his spine was more than a little crooked. When he turned to face me I had to suck in my breath so fast so I wouldn't let out a yell. What I was looking at was a living skeleton, or the closest you can imagine. His skin was stretched like tight canvas over a jutting, bony frame. If he wasn't in a white T I could have counted his ribs. His skin was white and shiny, like he had a fever or had never seen the sun. And his eyes were the worst. His eyes are what did it, made my stomach turn. Like two little cigarette butts in the Holy Water. I don't know where I got the strength from to speak. He might have been sixteen.

"I want to die." The words came out cold and robotic.

That breathing skeleton, standing under a crucifix smiled. His gums were red and the came too far down onto his yellowing teeth.

__________________
"So take a piece, but not too much."