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Nothingness.
That's how it all began. No dreams, no consciousness. All the miracles and beauty of the conception of life had been stripped down to scientific processes, formulas, equations, and a cold clinical gaze. From the very moment that brain function began in the lump of flesh beyond vital processes, a sedative was syringed into the crystal cyan solution the fetus was suspended in. Once the lump of flesh had reached any real substance and seemed secure in clinging to life, endless amounts of wires and other monitors were added to the tiny growing body with long rods ending in claw-like appendages. The only deviation from the detached endeavor was the small amount of hope buzzing in a scientist's chest. He was under pressure to make the project a success this time and things were looking fantastic. His eyes loomed distorted in every last one of the seven incubation chambers, nearly obsessive in his observation.
Nothingness.
It's hard to know what a fetus thinks and feels in the months trapped in a woman's womb. Whatever growth that takes place mentally during stimulation by outside variables such as sound was deprived of the developing clones. They heard nothing. Felt nothing, which was probably a blessing. Not even the laboratory lights would register through the soft filter of eyelids. Each and every one was numb; growing, but non-existent. They were never touched by human hands, not that they’d know. Basic mechanical arms inside the tube poked and prodded them as required. But despite being essentially deactivated, there’s scientific fact behind skin-to-skin contact with infants. Their minds might not know or care, but their bodies were craving the touch of a caregiver, the nurturing of their own kind to imprint comfort and safety. Instead was only the embrace of 98.6°F incubation solution and complete desensitivity.
Nothingness.
They were never thought of as people. As copies of someone who was once a real person but had since decided to stop breathing, they were simply experiments. Many eager hands awaited impatiently until they were mature and functioning. A lot of jewel was at stake here, as well as Dr. Raelin's reputation. His father, Dr. Raelin Sr, had met his end in a babbling haze, haunted by his repeated failures and the inhumane pressures the Magic Council imposed. History threatened to repeat itself with him as well, but perhaps not this time. Spontaneous cellular death had yet to occur. All his edits to the base DNA seemed to be compatible. They were alive, improved. All seven were stable, now toddlers as they aged at an increased rate due to the serum he'd developed.
Nothingness.
Childhood was dead. Stolen away. Slept through. The vital times of shoving geometrical blocks into inappropriate holes, matching colors, and general imaginative play were exchanged for the blackness of sedation. None of them were allowed to eat paste and realize their mistake, overestimate their abilities and take a painful tumble. No imaginary friends or refrigerator art. A child’s naturally learned behaviors over time from blissful ignorance to crushing disappointment to coping with anger and sadness were swept along during their deep sleep. Dr. Raelin preferred it this way. There had been others before this batch that he'd developed more traditionally. The surrogates became unsuitable and tried to keep the specimens. Once he managed to pry the clones away and hush the women up, he found the infants and toddlers unbearable to control. Children were irrational and chaotic, two things that were terribly for experiments. On top of that, the previous attempts suddenly died just as they reached teachability. Using his big, overly educated scientific mind, he set to designing a way to maximize results while also saving himself the time and effort of corralling small sociopathic monsters. Instead, he'd keep them safely and conveniently out cold until he had them to an age he could deal with.
Beep.
To a developed adult mind kept perfectly blank and unexposed to any sort of sense early on, the beeping of laboratory machines would hardly be cause for alarm. Imagine how horrifying it would be, experiencing thought for the first time only for it to be a chaotic mess of abject terror of everything. Simply becoming aware of their lives was too much at once. A chemical entered their veins simultaneously on Christmas day. It was like a present to Dr. Raelin. He'd managed to grow seven clones to adulthood! It was a celebration, yet every single thing was a new horror to the beings he'd created. Brand new consciousnesses were stirred just in time for blurry eyes to open to monotone blue, the solution burning their eyes and the beeping warbling through the draining liquid. Dripping, draining, beeping. Breathing, wet skin sliding down wet glass, blinding light. The nutrients pumped into them were enough to keep them healthy, but being in stasis was no way to build enough muscle to sustain their healthy weights. Crumpled messes of invalid limbs writhed in the bottom of each tube, one by one discovering their voices enough to begin a horrible chorus of wails. It might as well be a twisted Christmas Carol to Dr. Raelin.
The next few weeks were blurs to number 7. The beeping never really stopped. At some point, she came to know it was called beeping, and which machine it was coming from. Her body was constantly messed with, being forcibly moved limb by limb until she could do it on her own. Food easily swallowed became more solid and needed chewing. Pencils and notebooks were constants in her hands as an overlord with a book barked orders and imparted knowledge. Former impulses and feelings in her head were now linked to words, so thoughts and noises alike took shape in the default language she was being taught. Communication skills developed. She learned to walk, then to run. In just months all seven clones were developed enough to gather together for communal physical and mental training classes, which would continue for the next five years of their lives. They'd know nothing and no one outside the laboratory, Dr. Raelin, and his few assistants. It might as well be its own dimension just the the chosen few.
It was during math class one day that the last clone realized her designation was actually a number. In fact, all of them were called by numbers. That seemed odd since Raelin, Chaevyra, and Gustav weren't numbers. When she asked about it, she was extensively lectured about why she would never have a name like the white coats did. It conveyed a sense of identity as well as implied she was a normal human with parents to name her. Neither was true in her case. 7 was never to bring it up again, so she didn't. And as much as she tried to kill her longing for a name, she could never quite shake it.
More problems for the last clone of the batch arose over time. She had little issue keeping up with her sisters, but there were troubling extra developments to note. The six others were utterly void of emotion and wills of their own. They were efficient and utterly serene. 7, on the other hand, was more chaotic. She showed signs of stress if she perceived her inferiority to her peers in any way, especially during physical training spars. She was more likely to ask questions to make sure she understood instead of wordlessly obeying. Performing her best became an anxious obsession. Even more troubling was her sleeping habits. More than once had her shrieks of terror and thrashing about in her sleep chamber woke the entire laboratory. The fear of sleep and the dreams gripped her so entirely, no amount of medication or special procedures could rid her of it. Soon she resisted sleep in general. Most of the time it wasn't an issue, but it did introduce inconsistencies to her performance when her body and mind eventually shut down from exhaustion.
Something with less of a biological impact but possibly even more troubling was 7's tendency to talk to herself. It was an anomaly in the group, as most of the clone's other idiosyncrasies were. She was a bit too old for it to be an imaginary friend, and while the pink-haired girl insisted the person she spoke to wasn’t imaginary, no one could see this ‘person’ but her. It wasn’t mentioned much, allowing her to continue on as if it was completely normal. 7 never questioned the white-haired girl that spoke to her sometimes. She was referred to as “The Sage”, a thing only discussed away from her. A thing the other clones were ordered not to consider or comment on.
In light of all these things, more than once Dr. Raelin considered terminating her as a failed experiment. Ever the scientist, though, his natural curiosity was better served to find out exactly how it would end. Even as a failure, things could be learned from her, things that would better his research and possibly provide him enough insight to avoid whatever resulted in her skewed existence.
The end of the five years of training came, yielding very capable soldiers. All the traits the Magic Council wanted to be weeded out of their clones seemed to be eradicated. They were fluent in all common languages and even some dead ones. Their knowledge in history and science were top notch. Their social and communication skills were a bit stiff but polite and sufficient. They weren't commissioned to work with the general public regularly anyway. Their prowess in hand-to-hand combat and use of weaponry was on the level of experts. Six of the seven were perfect and exactly what they wanted. 7 was on the level with them until it got to magic use. Her sisters had excelled in that path as well, developing simple but potent elemental magic. 7, sadly, was at a loss. No matter how much she tried, her magic wouldn't come. It didn't make sense to her. It defied the very logic she'd been indoctrinated with, and thus her education served as her roadblock.
Lack of magic wasn't her only downfall during the exam that dictated whether she'd be purchased along with her sisters or not. Having spells to cast wasn't a must, but her fears, anxieties, and budding identity were deal breakers. The person she was cloned from had been a stubborn thorn in their sides, wild and emotional and thus uncontrollable. No matter how capable and absolutely obedient the rose-haired girl was, they didn't want to take that chance. Why take the defective one with six perfect ones were ready to go?
Her sisters left with the Magic Council, and she was left behind.
The first time she ate while out on a 'mission' was an eye-opening experience. Adequate meals void of enjoyment were the usual fare in the laboratory, but out in the world, there were so many flavors! Despite herself, 7 reveled in the tangy tartness of fresh fruits and the mouth-numbing sweetness of cakes and confections. Salty peppered meats and creamy sauces, buttery rice that comforted the soul and spicy fish dishes. It was colorful and was presented in a myriad of ways. No one out here ate from sterile gray tubes of straight required nutrients. Anything from plates heaped with vegetables and steaks with tiny bowls of frozen cream to small bags of thin fried potatoes from the market were available at a moment's notice. In fact, every single place her feet fell had some sort of snack vendor. She was particularly fond of the small squishy balls of sweetness on a stick, though she'd eat absolutely anything and loved it even though she knew she shouldn't.
That same first mission had its struggles, though. While she was sufficiently communicative, the man was put off by her 'robotic' nature. He kept refusing to call her 7, though that was the only designation she had to give. The man was also rather dim and very unskilled, though he insisted he must make it to the end of a cave deep in the Phoenix Mountains to retrieve some sort of secret item. It wasn't her place to question it, so she never did. However, he expected her to make all the decisions from start to finish, which didn't mesh with her protocol. 7 was the type to be ordered around with explicit instructions, not act on her own. She needed to know what he wanted and how he wanted it done. In the end the job was a disastrous failure and nearly cost her life. The longer 7 was out of commission recovering, the more resentful Dr. Raelin became.
[2119/2000 || B->A Exam WC COMPLETE]
That's how it all began. No dreams, no consciousness. All the miracles and beauty of the conception of life had been stripped down to scientific processes, formulas, equations, and a cold clinical gaze. From the very moment that brain function began in the lump of flesh beyond vital processes, a sedative was syringed into the crystal cyan solution the fetus was suspended in. Once the lump of flesh had reached any real substance and seemed secure in clinging to life, endless amounts of wires and other monitors were added to the tiny growing body with long rods ending in claw-like appendages. The only deviation from the detached endeavor was the small amount of hope buzzing in a scientist's chest. He was under pressure to make the project a success this time and things were looking fantastic. His eyes loomed distorted in every last one of the seven incubation chambers, nearly obsessive in his observation.
Nothingness.
It's hard to know what a fetus thinks and feels in the months trapped in a woman's womb. Whatever growth that takes place mentally during stimulation by outside variables such as sound was deprived of the developing clones. They heard nothing. Felt nothing, which was probably a blessing. Not even the laboratory lights would register through the soft filter of eyelids. Each and every one was numb; growing, but non-existent. They were never touched by human hands, not that they’d know. Basic mechanical arms inside the tube poked and prodded them as required. But despite being essentially deactivated, there’s scientific fact behind skin-to-skin contact with infants. Their minds might not know or care, but their bodies were craving the touch of a caregiver, the nurturing of their own kind to imprint comfort and safety. Instead was only the embrace of 98.6°F incubation solution and complete desensitivity.
Nothingness.
They were never thought of as people. As copies of someone who was once a real person but had since decided to stop breathing, they were simply experiments. Many eager hands awaited impatiently until they were mature and functioning. A lot of jewel was at stake here, as well as Dr. Raelin's reputation. His father, Dr. Raelin Sr, had met his end in a babbling haze, haunted by his repeated failures and the inhumane pressures the Magic Council imposed. History threatened to repeat itself with him as well, but perhaps not this time. Spontaneous cellular death had yet to occur. All his edits to the base DNA seemed to be compatible. They were alive, improved. All seven were stable, now toddlers as they aged at an increased rate due to the serum he'd developed.
Nothingness.
Childhood was dead. Stolen away. Slept through. The vital times of shoving geometrical blocks into inappropriate holes, matching colors, and general imaginative play were exchanged for the blackness of sedation. None of them were allowed to eat paste and realize their mistake, overestimate their abilities and take a painful tumble. No imaginary friends or refrigerator art. A child’s naturally learned behaviors over time from blissful ignorance to crushing disappointment to coping with anger and sadness were swept along during their deep sleep. Dr. Raelin preferred it this way. There had been others before this batch that he'd developed more traditionally. The surrogates became unsuitable and tried to keep the specimens. Once he managed to pry the clones away and hush the women up, he found the infants and toddlers unbearable to control. Children were irrational and chaotic, two things that were terribly for experiments. On top of that, the previous attempts suddenly died just as they reached teachability. Using his big, overly educated scientific mind, he set to designing a way to maximize results while also saving himself the time and effort of corralling small sociopathic monsters. Instead, he'd keep them safely and conveniently out cold until he had them to an age he could deal with.
Beep.
To a developed adult mind kept perfectly blank and unexposed to any sort of sense early on, the beeping of laboratory machines would hardly be cause for alarm. Imagine how horrifying it would be, experiencing thought for the first time only for it to be a chaotic mess of abject terror of everything. Simply becoming aware of their lives was too much at once. A chemical entered their veins simultaneously on Christmas day. It was like a present to Dr. Raelin. He'd managed to grow seven clones to adulthood! It was a celebration, yet every single thing was a new horror to the beings he'd created. Brand new consciousnesses were stirred just in time for blurry eyes to open to monotone blue, the solution burning their eyes and the beeping warbling through the draining liquid. Dripping, draining, beeping. Breathing, wet skin sliding down wet glass, blinding light. The nutrients pumped into them were enough to keep them healthy, but being in stasis was no way to build enough muscle to sustain their healthy weights. Crumpled messes of invalid limbs writhed in the bottom of each tube, one by one discovering their voices enough to begin a horrible chorus of wails. It might as well be a twisted Christmas Carol to Dr. Raelin.
The next few weeks were blurs to number 7. The beeping never really stopped. At some point, she came to know it was called beeping, and which machine it was coming from. Her body was constantly messed with, being forcibly moved limb by limb until she could do it on her own. Food easily swallowed became more solid and needed chewing. Pencils and notebooks were constants in her hands as an overlord with a book barked orders and imparted knowledge. Former impulses and feelings in her head were now linked to words, so thoughts and noises alike took shape in the default language she was being taught. Communication skills developed. She learned to walk, then to run. In just months all seven clones were developed enough to gather together for communal physical and mental training classes, which would continue for the next five years of their lives. They'd know nothing and no one outside the laboratory, Dr. Raelin, and his few assistants. It might as well be its own dimension just the the chosen few.
It was during math class one day that the last clone realized her designation was actually a number. In fact, all of them were called by numbers. That seemed odd since Raelin, Chaevyra, and Gustav weren't numbers. When she asked about it, she was extensively lectured about why she would never have a name like the white coats did. It conveyed a sense of identity as well as implied she was a normal human with parents to name her. Neither was true in her case. 7 was never to bring it up again, so she didn't. And as much as she tried to kill her longing for a name, she could never quite shake it.
More problems for the last clone of the batch arose over time. She had little issue keeping up with her sisters, but there were troubling extra developments to note. The six others were utterly void of emotion and wills of their own. They were efficient and utterly serene. 7, on the other hand, was more chaotic. She showed signs of stress if she perceived her inferiority to her peers in any way, especially during physical training spars. She was more likely to ask questions to make sure she understood instead of wordlessly obeying. Performing her best became an anxious obsession. Even more troubling was her sleeping habits. More than once had her shrieks of terror and thrashing about in her sleep chamber woke the entire laboratory. The fear of sleep and the dreams gripped her so entirely, no amount of medication or special procedures could rid her of it. Soon she resisted sleep in general. Most of the time it wasn't an issue, but it did introduce inconsistencies to her performance when her body and mind eventually shut down from exhaustion.
Something with less of a biological impact but possibly even more troubling was 7's tendency to talk to herself. It was an anomaly in the group, as most of the clone's other idiosyncrasies were. She was a bit too old for it to be an imaginary friend, and while the pink-haired girl insisted the person she spoke to wasn’t imaginary, no one could see this ‘person’ but her. It wasn’t mentioned much, allowing her to continue on as if it was completely normal. 7 never questioned the white-haired girl that spoke to her sometimes. She was referred to as “The Sage”, a thing only discussed away from her. A thing the other clones were ordered not to consider or comment on.
In light of all these things, more than once Dr. Raelin considered terminating her as a failed experiment. Ever the scientist, though, his natural curiosity was better served to find out exactly how it would end. Even as a failure, things could be learned from her, things that would better his research and possibly provide him enough insight to avoid whatever resulted in her skewed existence.
The end of the five years of training came, yielding very capable soldiers. All the traits the Magic Council wanted to be weeded out of their clones seemed to be eradicated. They were fluent in all common languages and even some dead ones. Their knowledge in history and science were top notch. Their social and communication skills were a bit stiff but polite and sufficient. They weren't commissioned to work with the general public regularly anyway. Their prowess in hand-to-hand combat and use of weaponry was on the level of experts. Six of the seven were perfect and exactly what they wanted. 7 was on the level with them until it got to magic use. Her sisters had excelled in that path as well, developing simple but potent elemental magic. 7, sadly, was at a loss. No matter how much she tried, her magic wouldn't come. It didn't make sense to her. It defied the very logic she'd been indoctrinated with, and thus her education served as her roadblock.
Lack of magic wasn't her only downfall during the exam that dictated whether she'd be purchased along with her sisters or not. Having spells to cast wasn't a must, but her fears, anxieties, and budding identity were deal breakers. The person she was cloned from had been a stubborn thorn in their sides, wild and emotional and thus uncontrollable. No matter how capable and absolutely obedient the rose-haired girl was, they didn't want to take that chance. Why take the defective one with six perfect ones were ready to go?
Her sisters left with the Magic Council, and she was left behind.
The first time she ate while out on a 'mission' was an eye-opening experience. Adequate meals void of enjoyment were the usual fare in the laboratory, but out in the world, there were so many flavors! Despite herself, 7 reveled in the tangy tartness of fresh fruits and the mouth-numbing sweetness of cakes and confections. Salty peppered meats and creamy sauces, buttery rice that comforted the soul and spicy fish dishes. It was colorful and was presented in a myriad of ways. No one out here ate from sterile gray tubes of straight required nutrients. Anything from plates heaped with vegetables and steaks with tiny bowls of frozen cream to small bags of thin fried potatoes from the market were available at a moment's notice. In fact, every single place her feet fell had some sort of snack vendor. She was particularly fond of the small squishy balls of sweetness on a stick, though she'd eat absolutely anything and loved it even though she knew she shouldn't.
That same first mission had its struggles, though. While she was sufficiently communicative, the man was put off by her 'robotic' nature. He kept refusing to call her 7, though that was the only designation she had to give. The man was also rather dim and very unskilled, though he insisted he must make it to the end of a cave deep in the Phoenix Mountains to retrieve some sort of secret item. It wasn't her place to question it, so she never did. However, he expected her to make all the decisions from start to finish, which didn't mesh with her protocol. 7 was the type to be ordered around with explicit instructions, not act on her own. She needed to know what he wanted and how he wanted it done. In the end the job was a disastrous failure and nearly cost her life. The longer 7 was out of commission recovering, the more resentful Dr. Raelin became.
[2119/2000 || B->A Exam WC COMPLETE]
