Rebirth_Intro

There was a man, once in the future, who had a revolutionary idea.

Through the research of countless men and women, he had discovered what it was in the mind that allows one to manipulate the world by mere thought alone. Dr. M.J. Braddack was awarded the Nobel Prize for his work and discovery, and in return for his great work he was granted the opportunity to take twenty-seven men and women of various ages for experimentation in an effort to further his research and findings.

Twenty-seven men and women were taken from their lives and brought to Dr. Braddack's laboratory. Many would argue that the edict for this research was unethical, and thus it was with the utmost secrecy that these men and women were kept in isolated cells. Their brains were tampered with, their memories toyed with, and in some cases their very personalities altered. They were made to be obedient, and for most patients the testing was in a way nearly enjoyable; being the center of such great research was, as they were often told, a privilege.

They were worked on in this manner for seven long years. Various images and ideas were shown to them, and various methods of training were given to them. Many methods were far less than humane, yet the patients minded little; most had forgotten any other way of living by now --whether on their own or due to the tampering of their minds it is not known-- and most were so enraptured with their newfound abilities that they cared little of what was done to them. Instead, they were told to focus on their abilities; to become stronger.

Some could read minds when not in their isolated cells; some could call forth fire with a mere thought; some could leave their bodies for a time to travel about in a form that was no longer physical but pure energy alone. Others could move things, lift things, and crush things with their very minds. So many abilities were discovered, and more were being uncovered all the time.

And yet, they were obedient, content to continue learning new abilities. Those that worked in the lab felt little remorse for their more sinister deeds --screams faded from memory after a time-- and somehow they had never considered their patients to be capable of anything but compliance. They were, after all, in control of their minds.

Of the twenty-seven men and women held and tortured for the good of science for seven long years, only one rebelled.

Many would argue over the cause of #17's disobedience. Some would claim that he had somehow retained his memories of his life before the lab; others, that it was simply the age and the information being fed to him through screens. Only the single remaining laboratory assistant would have any real idea of the cause of #17's malfunctioning, left alive only because she was sick on the day the incident began and had called in to work.

"Seventeen had never been a normal subject," she would later say in retelling the story. "Always withdrawn, but always content. We never knew --never even guessed-- the sort of horrors our subjects could possibly have been capable of."

On a day much like any other, #17's cell was opened for a routine training session. Proficient in pyrokinesis, none had realized #17 was capable of telekinesis on such a profound level. Not until October 3rd of that 7th year, when 44 of the 45 scientists working at the laboratory were destroyed. The following recounting of the tale is drawn from the memories of #17 himself, taken from him after the event had finally ended.

---

The door creaked open ominously, breaking the strained peace of his cell. Dr. Llewellyn, a man of 35 or so, opened the white cell to retreive him for a routine training session. He was to be testing #17's pyrokinetic powers against the strength of various objects and substances that day. Afterword, #17 would be escorted to the electroshock test room in an effort to isolate the exact portion of his brain which allowed his pyrokinetic ability to function.

He knew. Oh, he knew that pain well; knew it as well as the screams which echoed in his mind and soul, no matter how thick the padding of the walls that imprisioned him.

"Come on, #17," drawled the man. Uncaring in every way, he leaned against the door lazily as he scribbled something down on his chart.

#17 did not move. What reason did he have for getting up? He would be placed here again soon-- here again where the screams always echoed and never did truly fade. Here, where time was little more than an illusion; where the sterile white walls were made of the darkest bricks paving the road to hell.

After a moment, Dr. Llewellyn cast a disdainful look in his direction, pushing off the wall and stalking towards the corner in which he sat. "Seventeen, get up now."

Slowly, #17 raised his head and said, quite simply, "No."

Llewellyn's eyes widened, his form freezing mid-steop. He would have screamed as he was turned upside down and flung him across the hall into the door of #16's room, but by then his vocal cords had been squeezed tightly enough to stop them from functioning.

Slowly, #17 stood, shaggy black hair falling across his eyes as he made his first act of free will in seven long years. His heart was racing, and yet he was filled with a sense of calm; a sense of rightness.

Tentatively, he stepped out into the hall.

As he did so, he found several scientists who were stunned into silence by the sudden horrific outburst of violence from a seemingly quiet and content individual. He stood there, silently observing them and noting how not a one of them moved. They were frozen utterly in fear. It took him a moment to realize that this was the first time any of them had ever considered him to be a threat at all.

"Release the others," he voiced softly, brown eyes so dark they were nearly black; he knew because he felt the fire burning within them. He waited a moment more, and when they did not move, he imagined a pressure so great against their skulls that the sight of each one crushing reminded him of the smashing of pumpkins, the dull cracks echoing down the long white halls.

He looked with a calm gaze to the locks on each cell door as he passed. They were simple enough to disengage when one knew what parts needed to be moved which way. Pausing before the door labled #16, he gently pressed it open with one hand. Inside the dark room, painted as black as the depths of the sea, sat a girl with long blonde hair pooling about her, bright blue eyes half closed and somehow empty. A visible aura surrounded her-- so bright, in fact, that she seemed to glow in the black padding of her cell. For a moment, she didn't move; then she seemed to breathe in a great sigh, her eyes focusing as she entered her body once more. Blue eyes --eyes like a calm sea-- turned to look at him in wonder as she slowly rose to her feet.

"We are free," he told her in that soft voice of his, and she nodded; she knew, for she'd been with him in his cell since the beginning. No one had suspected that any two subjects were capable of communicating with eachother through the walls of their cells, though this was the case with several; they both knew that also. "Will you come with me?"

She smiled, stepping forward and taking his hand firmly yet gently all the same. Her gestures reminded him of a child-like angel, full of innocence and wisdom, compassion and strength.

"Where will we go, #17?" And as she spoke to him, he could hear the others stirring in their cells, sensing the change of things in ways only those twenty-seven could.

He closed his eyes then, inviting her with the gesture, and briefly felt her enter his thoughts. Knowing his plan now, she quieted, listening for the clicks of the locks on the doors to the lab testing rooms as they were shut and pressed until broken, locked forever. She smiled a sad smile as the screams began from the rooms beyond, where fire had sprung from no apparent source to consume those now locked within.

He opened his eyes slowly, giving her a long, searching look. She waited patiently for him to speak. It was a while before he finally did.

"We are no longer numbers," he said, and for the first time there was a certain undeniable passion in his voice, which at long last mirrored the passion held in the depths of his dark eyes. He ignored her questioning look, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "I am not Seventeen anymore. Nor are you Sixteen."

The screaming seemed to him to fade into the background; unimportant now, at any rate. Sixteen looked to him, almost as if afraid to ask what she should then be called if not this number which identified her. A name --what was it?-- so long forgotten now--

He took in a shaky breath, and then gave a sudden, fierce grin. "I am Jacob. It is a pleasure to know you, miss...?"

He saw her eyes widen, and his grin grew; never, in seven long years, had he --this Jacob-- smiled, and now he did so as if he'd never done anything else. Her voice seemed to speak of it's own volition, and from somewhere outside herself (though not truly outside herself, as she did that often enough to know the feeling well) she heard herself speak.

"Alice. I," she paused, gaining confidence, knowing as she said the name that her words were true. "I am Alice."

The two shared a look that spoke volumes of words-- words which cannot be written, for there are no words to describe such emotion; only words of the heart, written on the soul. Walking slowly out into the hall, they opened doors, Jacob breaking the locks and Alice sending a wave of calm to those who lay inside the cells. One by one, the people emerged, confusion and something like a dawning realization, slow and yet bright as the most beautiful sunrise, on the faces of many.

In the hallway, where the screams echoed as they aways did (though with new voices this time around) Jacob automatically caught the attention of nearly all those present. No special powers were used to do so; a natural aura, something like charisma but quieter, seemed to surrounded Jacob in this long hall, where the pages of time and history were beginning to shift.

'Revolution' was the word that hung like a thick curtain in the air, clinging to each soul and every whispered word, thought, and sound.

"Today, for the first time since many of us will remember, we are given our own paths to take," he began softly, and yet his passion carried his voice to every open ear and heart within reach. "Today, we are given the gifts of Freedom, Choice, and Will. Today, we are no longer numbers. I am not #17, and she," he said, gesturing to Alice, "is no longer #16."

Many around the room seemed confused, and slowly he felt rather than saw the memories returning to them the way rainwater returns to a stream; a cycle with no right to be broken.

"We all had a name once, and it was stripped from us. Whether you remember that name, or whether you choose a name for your own, let us cast away our numbers. Let us walk out of these doors with a purpose and a desire to live-- truly live. Let us, today, become human beings again."

He cast a searching look to all those twenty six others, one that nearly seared the soul in it's flame-ringed honesty. He smiled, pleased to see smiles being returned with a quickly growing sense of joy. A feeling of hope rose in the air, entwining with the word 'revolution' to create a new word; a new world; a new life--

"I am Jacob. And today, we are reborn."

--Rebirth.