Yes, I know I’m a little late…5 days to be exact. So I got all in the mood, and have decided to post a little story I made awhile ago. You may think I’m a bit creepy after reading it.
Listen to the music below for the full effect:
Darrow took a deep breath, and cranked the vault door open. A loud hiss escaped from the edges and his lab coat gently fluttered from the pressurized air. The UV light from the inside of the cylindrical vault illuminated the dark laboratory, flinging sharpened shadows across the room.
He swung the round door open wide, and examined the only two objects inside. He glanced behind him, and was satisfied to see that he was still alone. Everyone was at home at this hour. He cracked a smile and turned back to the vault.
He tugged on gloves and gently removed a small plastic syringe and a beaker, the red liquid inside quivering. His eyes widened at the sight of it, as they always did. He swallowed and looked around the room again, even though he knew he wouldn’t find anyone. He had made sure of that. Not even Dr. Ravidson knew about this.
He felt a bit guilty for not telling his boss, as they were good friends, but he knew that Ravidson would not approve of this kind of experimentation, so he refrained from telling the old scientist what he had been working on late at night for the past few months.
Blood. Well, blood cells, to be specific.
Darrow smiled at the familiarity of the term. To him, it sounded like the name of an old friend. Blood cells were the subject and key of what he was trying to accomplish. He walked over to an empty white table, scooping up a spare tripod from another table as he did so. He set down the tripod in the middle of the table, placed the vial inside it with a soft clink and laid the syringe next to it. Tonight would be the night.
He stepped away from the table and rummaged through a nearby set of filing cabinets, taking out a black leather folder. He flipped it open, and removed several sheets of paper with diagrams and notes written and typed all across them. A couple of them had dried dark spots on them, but Darrow paid them no mind. He shuffled them, placing the most recent notes on top of the old. He laid them out next to the tripod, and flicked on an overhead lamp. The light flickered a bit.
He studied the papers, then sighed and slipped a little black canister from his pocket. He uncapped it, and shook out a small metallic cube. His crowning masterpiece. The diamond to go in the crown. He smiled fondly at it. Once he went through with this, he would become world famous, and he would kill Leukemia with his world famous super blood. An image flashed through his head: His mother, bald, coughing up blood. “It’s gonna be alright, baby.” She had told him as he cried, trying to hold back tears of her own.
He closed his eyes. Now it will be, mom. He thought, holding the tiny cube above the vial of blood.
He stood there for a moment, taking it in, and then dropped the cube into the dark liquid. The cube dissolved as soon as it hit the blood, and Darrow watched it filter to the bottom of the glass. He glanced at the syringe, at the tiny amount of clear liquid tranquilizer. Now is the time to take control, Darrow. He thought to himself, and then smiled as he spoke out loud. “Literally.”
He picked up the syringe, and pulled back the collar of his white coat. He traced the needle along the back of his neck, closing his eyes as he did so, before finding the small bump that indicated the beginning of his spine. Just a little higher. He planted the needle right above the bump, right where he knew a cluster of nerves was gathered, nerves that received commands from the brain and sent them out to the rest of his body. He took a deep breath and pushed the needle into his neck, wincing at the sharp pain it caused. He continued pushing until he felt a different sort of resistance, and he spasmed slightly at the shock it gave him. Those would be the nerves.
He pushed the handle down and immediately he began to relax as the powerful sedative began to take hold of him. He had to act quickly before he fell unconscious. He quickly took a scalpel from the desk behind him and cut a deep, narrow slit into the nape of his neck, where the nerves were located. The feeling was completely alien, as he felt no pain, but could still feel the knife sliding into him. He gently extricated the knife from his neck and slipped a small metal disc about the size and shape of a quarter from his pocket. He pressed his thumb on it, and a small green light flashed once from the other side of the disc. His eyes drooped, and he almost allowed himself to panic. Setting his jaw, he reached behind his neck, and pushed the small disc into the cut. He took the scalpel, and used it to push the disc as far down as possible. He could feel warm liquid trace its way down his back, but he didn’t care. Once he felt the disc touch the nerve, he pulled out the knife again and sat down in a chair, bent over, hands on his head. The disc would do the rest. Deep inside Darrow’s neck, the disc activated, turned on by the heat of his blood. The green light blinked once more, and several tiny threadlike tendrils uncoiled from the sides of the disc, searching, prodding. Darrow grimaced. He could feel them, the microcoils. Although not painful, it was a strange sensation that he wouldn’t miss. The tendrils found the knot of nerves and immediately wrapped themselves around it, pressing the disc against it. They coiled tight against it, fitting themselves into the miniscule grooves afforded by the nerves, and sent a small jolt of electricity up into his brain. The word “READY” was imprinted onto his vision for a split second before fading.
He grinned at his own ingenuousness, then looked up at the vial of blood on the table before him. This is where the cube came into play. He concentrated, eyes focused on the blood inside the beaker. He could see the dark metal dust begin to swirl around the vial, before disappearing. Disappearing into the blood cells. Each particle of that cube was another cube, designed to dissolve upon his command. The cubes would dissipate into smaller cubes until small enough to fit inside, and take control of, individual blood cells. They were controlled by the chip in his neck, which was controlled solely and explicitly by him, Darrow.
As he watched with growing anticipation, the blood in the vial slowly began to turn. It started slowly, unaccustomed to having a master, then began to pick up speed until it was a tiny whirlpool of blood, spinning wildly. Darrow watched with wide eyes as the spinning blood began to rise out of the vial, still in the shape of the beaker. He swallowed, and willed it to rise faster. The blood rapidly rose out of the vial, and Darrow’s grin got bigger and bigger. Finally, he couldn’t help it and let out a little chuckle. He lost his concentration and the blood, free from his control, splattered all over the table and floor, all over his lab coat.
But Darrow didn’t mind. In fact, he was so happy, he walked over to the lab’s private fridge, and pulled out a black bottle of Pinot Noir and a glass. Tonight was a special occasion. He hooked up his iPod to the large Bluetooth speaker (courtesy of Dr. Ravidson), and began to softly play slow jazz. Wouldn’t want to wake up the security guards.
As he sipped the fantastic wine, he began to slow dance in the blood splattered room, just an ordinary scientist celebrating his amazing accomplishment.
A couple more glasses of wine and songs later, Darrow was just giddy to try controlling his new servant again. Just some fun, off the record fun. He dramatically raised his hand upwards, and the drops of blood from all over the room suddenly wound, dripped, and flowed their ways toward him, coalescing into a puddle of dark red in front of him and leaving the room otherwise spotless. He tilted his head to the left, and the blood began to rise up into the air, eager to do his bidding. He smiled at it, smiled at his new best friend, and tried to make the growing column of quivering blood reach his hand. It only went about up to his calves before it go any further. He frowned. He needed more. He had to have more. His face suddenly brightened, and leaving the column of wavering blood where it was, moved over to the table where the scalpel lay.
He picked up the blade, and tilted it to the side, so that light glinted off it’s spotless blade. He sighed. Let there be blood.
He slit each of his palms three times, and allowed the blood to drip out of him, the drops tickled his palms as they slid down and off his hand, thanking him for their release. He willed them to become part of the growing pillar of dark, swirling red. When the blood stopped flowing out of his hands, Darrow was very pale indeed, and the tower of blood now stood as tall as he was. Darrow focused (although he did believe it was becoming easier), and the blood took a vague humanoid shape. He pressed further, and it solidified into a mirror image of him. Blood Darrow. He laughed in delight at this, and stretched out his hand toward Blood Darrow. Blood laughed too, and took his hand, his grip a mix of cold and warm blood. Together, they shook hands, cementing their new friendship.
“It’s nice to meet you.” They both said. “I’m Darrow.”