Lab Rats

The woman's eyes dart rapidly, scanning the dilapidated Los Angeles streets as her heels pound through the rubble, shattering splinters down the pavement. The city, vibrant from a distance, shows cracks in the convincing facade when viewed with scrutiny. Buildings, once state of the art, line the streets crumbling in disrepair after years of tyranny and war, covered in ivy and inundated by squatters. The upper floors, however, tell a different story of luxury, dominated by Skyborn. In the skies, airships streak by, some blimp shaped and bulky, others streamlined and luminous. The woman is simply a blip in the idealistic landscape.

The woman’s eyes flash downward with distaste as she distances herself from thoughts of the people in white and continues to count the steps until salvation. She bursts around a corner, tucking herself into the alcove as her pursuers thunder past followed by a burst of bone-chilling wind. Frantically groping her neck, she sighs in relief as her fingers grasp cool metal. The ancient locket, centuries old and tarnished beyond recognition, dangles until her limber digits encapsulate the silver heart. She pants and stumbles fumbling for a door handle nearby. Picking the lock, she slips inside.

On floor one hundred thirty seven a continuous beeping drones throughout the halls. Echoey footsteps, placed with trained precision, march along the reflective tile. In the distance, a population in white gathers. Dressed in identical sheaths but consisting of distinct features, it is as if they simply shift forms and faces.

The Skyborn gaze at tablets depicting images of the scene on the ground. There, they zoom in on a lone girl in a dank house, sitting at a table, clutching her neck. The house is a simple room with a cot in one corner and a small basin in the other. Cracks line the walls and the squeals of mice are not so distant. A basket-shaped light hangs from the ceiling and flickers off and on. She seems to stare off into space, a distant look in her eye as if something was missing. Perhaps it would come to her at a later time. She blinks and looks away.

Satisfied that the woman is stagnant for the night, the Skyborn begin to collect their coats and briefcases to head back to their quarters. Imre, walks back first with sure steps. As she reaches her room, she types in a lengthy code before the door retracts with a slight whoosh. Sighing, she shakes her shoulders out and meanders to the fridge, bored of her routine life. Once she reaches the steel appliance, she rips the door open revealing bare shelves save for three clear jars.

The jars, not unlike the rest of the operation, are quite peculiar. Each is over eighteen inches tall boasting a width of almost twelve with locking lids shined to a perfect sterling. Inside two of the three containers is a milky liquid, but, submerged in said liquid, are fleshy blobs. She reaches out and twists one jar, reorienting the shape inside. Her eyes gazed into the jar and soulless eyes gazed back. Reaching toward her own face, she starts to tug around the edges as her facade falls. She tugs firmer and peels. The sheet falls into her gloved hands and she plops it into the empty jar. It is as if a weight has been lifted from her as she removes her daily mask.

Across the compound, the six thousand seven hundred and fifty two other Skyborn will be participating in the same process, freeing themselves of their fleshy disguises and revealing impeccable metal below. Tomorrow morning, she, and everyone else, will unplug and apply the skin of the people below, the ones who do not make the cut. Tomorrow, they will place another heart-shaped locket on the thirty second floor and watch in scrutiny as unsuspecting humans plan to steal the heirloom.

Unbeknownst to them, the Skyborn are watching, waiting, for one to steal the necklace. For one to grasp the metal and feel their thoughts and dreams float away as their memories and identities are stolen. They will resume their routine growing increasingly haunted by the missing piece of the puzzle, that seems almost heart shaped.

The woman on the ground is already feeling the effects, but this is to be expected. It is considered to be a failure when they take more than the evening to regress to insanity, as there will be fewer results the following morning.

Sometimes Imre considered the simple-minded creatures below, so oblivious, so human, so willing to risk their lives to steal a simple piece of jewelry. Had they not been so eager to take, they would not fall victim. The humans of the past did this to themselves, Imre believes. If they did not want to fall, they never should have created a superior species. She wonders if they knew the lab rats were soon to be the masters of the experiment.