I: Holding Your Fate

Red. And white. That is all she could see. And black: that too.

red: the primary color at one extreme end of the visible spectrum, an effect of light with a wavelength between 610 and 780 nm.

black: lacking hue or brightness; absorbing light without reflecting any of the rays composing it

white: reflecting nearly all the rays of a light or similar sunlight

The words flash across her mind like a neon board in Times Square.

Times Square: Area of Manhattan formed by the intersection of Broadway and--

She opens her eyes. She is in a white, clean room, lying in a clean bed, her lower half covered by a white sheet. Some form of a hospital dress is covering her body. She turns her head. A needle is attached to her right arm, right above the elbow. This needle is attached to a tube, which led to a bag hanging on the wall, which was full of some clear liquid. Next to her bed is a small silver table on which shining instruments gleamed.

She sat up and put her head in her hands. The door to her left opened. Instinctively, she grabs a scalpel from her bedside table and clutches it tightly in her hands. A tall man wearing a lab coat enters the room. The girl looks at him, noting everything about him. He is dressed in white pants and shirt as well as his lab coat, which had two pens, one blue and one red, in the chest pocket. He is holding a brown clipboard. His brown hair is cropped close to his head, and his dark blue eyes looked vaguely sleepy. He gives a little start when he sees her holding the knife.

"Its okay. We aren't going to hurt you."

She looks at him with wide eyes, disbelieving. Her breathing quickens, and she graspes the knife tighter. "Where am I?" she asks. "Who am I? Who are you?"

"You're safe now." He answers with a smile.

She shakes her head.

"Look, I couldn't hurt you if I wanted to. Do you want to see something interesting about yourself?" He pulls a small knife out of his pocket. "Give me your hand."

"What do you want with it?" She is scared, her eyes darting around the room looking for an exit.

"It's a little test."

"If I fail?"

"You won't. Now, the hand."

She extends it, her pulse quickening. It had served her well these past few minutes. She didn't want it taken away from her.

He presses the knife to her hand, drawing it across her palm. It leaves a sliver of blood about two inches long.

"Look."

She bends over. The cut gleams on her hand. She feels nothing.

"Can you feel anything?"

"No."

"Good. Now watch." He uncaps the blue pen and scribbles something on his clipboard.

She looks down at her wounded hand. The skin closes itself, leaving no mark behind.

"What the- What the heck?"

He traces his finger along where the cut had been. "Excellent." he mutters. She snatches her hand away. "Tell me who I am and how I can do that. Now." Her voice is strong and commanding.

He looks up. "Fine." He runs a hand through his hair. "Let's start with how you can do that. You are special. And different. In you are...let's say...qualities that enable you to heal yourself."

"And who am I?"

"You were made for a purpose. You are the thirteenth subject in the Titus project. In short, you are the beginning of a new age. You are the only one who can save us all."

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