To Kill

Red huddles against the corner, clenching his teeth together. Only now, after almost a year of his life, has Doctor Roget told him the reason he was created-- and only now does he feel terrible because of it.

The reason that he lives is to kill.

And to kill what? Humans.

And for what purpose? The military. An institution based on the protection and security of a singular, selfish country.

He wants to rebel. But he wants to obey. But he doesn't want to kill. But he wants to find out what it feels like. Is killing the same as destruction? Is it as easy as breaking a window of glass? He isn't so sure of himself anymore, and neither are his brothers as they hold each other in fear of what will happen to them next. No one in the room is sure of what they should do.

He could try to run away. But that would only get him to the outside world, and what would he do once he was out there? Fulfill his life's purpose and kill any human in sight? Or hide in the darkness and be afraid for himself? Defend his brothers from the grasping, greedy hands of other scientists, or let them go and venture on his own?

Red holds his horns. Gripping them tightly, he tries to make all his questions disappear. If only there was a way.

If only.

"Red." Roget's voice follows with the sound of an opening door. The Shadow lifts his head immediately, his eyes bursting with anger and sadness and all sorts of overactive emotions. "Come with me."

Roget stands still in the doorway, waiting for him to act. Reluctantly, Red stands up from his position against the wall and sluggishly makes his way toward the exit. Both Christopher and Blake, terrified that they will lose him forever if he leaves the room, grab at his hands. "Don't go, Red!" they plead with him, horrified.

He shakes them off. "I'll be fine." Though his own leader-like voice is now much weaker than before, his brothers shy away from his sides and allow him to go.

Roget looks at them. "He'll come back."

The door shuts. Roget takes hold of his wrist. And Red has never felt so afraid of the unknown.

"...Quinlan," he mutters, unwilling to add either "mister" or "doctor" to the name, "what is... 'killing', really?"

Dr. Roget leads him to a somewhat empty chamber. Only a wall made of glass and a strange, furry creature trapped in a clear box inhabit the room. "You know already," he answers quietly. "I explained it to you and the others."

"Yes." Red huffs. "It's taking something's life. But... but how do you do that?"

"That's what you're figuring out." Roget motions to the furred creature in the little box. "There are different ways of doing so. But a main process is to stop the beating of a living thing's heart, or however many it has. If you have figured out how to do that... you have killed something." He turns to leave the room.

"Try to kill that."

The doctor shuts the door, and Red can hear him lock it several times. He shivers, knowing that he will have no escape from this blinding white room until he kills this creature.

In the bottom of its clear box are small wooden chips. The creature sniffs around in the chips, digging itself a small hole to sit inside of and keep warm. Its small, pink nose searches for something to eat or drink, something to satisfy its inner longing for nurturing and life, but it finds nothing. Only air. Unaware of the fact that it has been left here to die, it lays back, slowly closing its beady black eyes, until it is soundly asleep.

Red stares at it intently. It's so... so... small! He has never seen such a small living thing before. Perhaps he has seen plants, but plants never responded to his speech or poking at their stems much like his brothers or Roget did. This tiny animal is really alive. It is alive just like the science-men are, just like his brothers are, just like Dr. Roget is, just like he is. It is, in a sense, just like him.

A thousand thoughts come to him at once. Are there humans this size? What are they called? What do they know? Do they speak? Can they walk? Do they wear clothing, like Roget and the science-men do? Do they babble? Do they have hearts? Do they breathe? Do they eat? Do they drink?

He leans his head forward and listens. He can hear the lights buzzing in the ceiling, and he can hear Roget's heartbeat from behind the wall of glass, and he can, too, hear the heartbeat of the itty-bitty creature. Its heart hammers in its chest, vigorously keeping its animal host alive and well. He is surprised to hear that the heartbeat has a sound almost like a drum would, thunking again and again in a captivating rhythm.

He steps forward hesitantly. He must stop that captivating rhythm.

It is his purpose. It is what he has been created for. The advancement of the military; the uprising of a new life-form capable of instantaneous destruction. His purpose is not to have feelings or emotions, not to take care of his brothers, not to sing and dance as he would like to, not to be free-- his purpose is to kill.

He has no other choice. If he does not kill this creature, he will not be able to leave his room, and he will not return to his brothers.

Red swallows. Quiet as he can be, he moves over to the creautre, making sure not to wake it from its doze. He reaches out and lifts the plastic top off the cage, setting it to the side, and peering in at the furry animal.

It is still sound asleep.

What if it feels pain, he wonders? What if it is in pain while he kills it? He does not want it to be in pain. He does not want it to feel anything at all, but rather he would like to kill it. Perhaps there is not a way to kill it without any pain. Perhaps that is how all living things die.

Perhaps everything must suffer.

The Shadow child places his hand on the creature and raises it out of the box. It is awake now, after being taken out of its warm confinement. It stares at him fearfully, wiggling its little legs, asking him to set it back down so that it might be stable and live. Its eyes are wide open.

...He feels a new sensation. It isn't his own fear, which is a most unpleasant, burning feeling that rises in the back of his throat and prevents him from speaking. It is not his own anxiousness.

It is the terror of this creature in front of him.

It is afraid of him.

He likes that.

Red knows, suddenly, how to kill it. He should never have had to ask. In one swift movement, he turns the creature's neck sideways, and all at once a numerous amount of feelings wash over him. The satisfaction, oddly, of having relieved it of its life. The gratification of his desire to hear what its silenced heartbeat would be like. The understanding of knowing what "killing" means.

And the taste.

He could taste its very fear.

The subject looks at the dead creature in his hands. Lackadaisically, he sets it back in its little box, and his eyes, looking up, are dead set on the form of Dr. Roget, who stands just behind the glass wall.

He can taste that fear, too.

*Part 4 coming soon...*