This is a part of a story idea I’m test-running currently. I’ve decided against actually putting the full story on here– at least, for now– since I want to actually publish it, eventually. BUT I did want to give you guys a taste, just a little teaser of the prologue, before asking what you think of it, if it’s any good or anything. This story is entirely unrelated to my “Junk Collector” series, or my special aforementioned pet series that I will also not be posting on here. It is a part of an entirely different story, a story all of its own– a couple of ideas I’d like to play with. In short, I want to plan a sort of story that is similar to, in some ways, Marissa Meyer’s “Lunar Chronicles,” albeit NOT with fairy tales, but with something else, yet staying true to the truths in that “something else”. My own neat little twist on a classic, and this is only the prologue. Feel free to tell me what you think!
“You can do it, can’t you?”
The young boy froze as the man’s equally icy tone came within hearing range. He knelt, further curling into a ball at the base of his father’s desk, hoping to remain hidden. Secret. Safe. Sneaking inside had been no easy feat; he’d nearly been caught one time too many, but he was silent, stealthy as a shadow. All the boys at the academy he went to knew where their fathers worked, were often proud of that fact. His best friend even had a grandfather that was a world-renown researcher. His had been the odd one out. He was lucky his father, who was currently seated at said desk, had not acknowledged his presence; the boy knew one thing, and one thing only: He was not supposed to be here.
The question of why was a complete mystery to him. But, perhaps now…
Shifting ever so slightly, the small boy managed to snag a glimpse of another lab coat clad scientist, back to them, talking with the man. The man with the stone-cold voice. The latter was tall, with a black suit and neatly combed dark brown hair, with coffee eyes that were as dark as his voice, his demeanor.
“It-It’s not that we can’t do it,” the boy heard the scientist say, and with a slight jolt he realized it was someone he knew: Dr. Isaiah Maple. “It’s more of a question of… of ethics, rather than ability or scien–”
“Ethics?” The black-suited man gave out a cold chuckle. “Are you saying you believe we’re paying you for the research on simple-minded ethics? Or do you not realize what’s at stake, here?” The boy heard a soft click, and he knew. He knew that sound, had heard it all too many times at the academy, during practice sessions.
It was the sound of a poke ball being dislodged from a belt.
The black suited man’s fingers encircled an orb half white, half red, about the size of a golf ball, but the boy knew that one click of the singular button in the orb’s center would enlarge it to the size of an orange. Two would release the deadly power it contained inside, enough to seriously harm or even kill. The man’s fingers lightly stroked the orb’s surface. “I am a fairly tolerant man, Dr. Maple, but the one thing I will not, and cannot, under any circumstances, tolerate is insubordination. Surely you were aware of that when you agreed to be a part of this pivotal project?” The man raised an eyebrow, regarding his companion carefully, as if he were a chess opponent, and was waiting for his next move. One click echoed faintly around the room. The boy sat stiller than the statues that adorned the lab. Why doesn’t father do anything? His father, above him, seemed only occupied by his computer monitor in front of him, completely ignoring the nearby scenario.
Dr. Maple gasped, backing slightly away. “I- I meant no disrespect, sir,” he stammered. “I only meant…”
“Can you do it or not?” The man’s cold and calculating voice had suddenly gone more lax, cooler. But it had not lost its dangerous edge. “One simple question that requires one simple answer, doctor.”
The boy saw Dr. Maple suddenly stiffen, as if a rod had been shoved down his narrow back. He couldn’t read the scientist’s face due to his position, but the he appeared more confident suddenly. “It’s not that I can’t do it– that would be the easy way out. It’s more of… I won’t do it. It is one thing to collect samples for research, to do fieldwork and collect information for you. What you’re talking about now is corrupting and mutating that research– literally– to create something else entirely. Something beyond our comprehension, beyond what any man should be allowed to create. You’ve passed the boundaries of ethics and science into an unknown and forbidden realm, and for what? Profit? Or something else?” Dr. Maple’s body quivered as he spoke, and the boy wondered if it was from defiance of orders, or fear– or both. “So, my answer is no. I will collect data, certainly. I will analyze results of that data. But I refuse to corrupt and mutate what is beyond human limitations. It is unnatural, inhuman, and immoral.” He folded his arms firmly across his chest, and the boy saw him wait with baited breath for this intimidating man’s response.
The man’s cold, dark eyes narrowed, appraising him; in one instant, his index finger lowered so rapidly the boy was certain that it would hit the ball’s button faster than he could blink. But then, it stopped. Hovering only slightly less than a millimeter above the button’s surface. Dr. Maple tensed, as if waiting for rebuke, punishment, a beating. The man slowly reattached the poke ball to his belt, beneath his suit coat. “I will give you one last warning, Maple: Do not defy me again, or you will pay the price. Do as you are ordered, and this incident will be conveniently… forgotten.” Then the man smiled, a cruel, casual little smile, like the kind the boy had only seen in his worst nightmares. The kind that suggested you were about to be ripped to pieces, no matter what you did. “That is all, doctor.” The man in the black suit calmly turned and walked out the door.