CandiCame
Rocket Grunt
- Joined
- Apr 12, 2011
- Posts
- 26,765
Hey! I'm thinking of writing a romance (haven't got to the sex yet, just a lot of tension building) based on my favorite video game. I was wondering if anyone could guess the game based on the first little bit of the story, because I'm trying not to make it to obvious- but I don't think that it's a commonly used fantasy world, so I thought it would be fun.
I'm a big fan of younger/older guys- mentors, idols and the like, so if you aren't, then this might not be for you, but if you are, then you might like it- and I'd love to know if this is a good idea/if the tension's working!
Thanks!
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There is a god.
That is important to note. There is a god, an original being, from which all others are derived.
And she is power incarnate.
I know this, because as a child, I looked into the eye of god-
And he blinked.
And when he did, the world opened up, and time itself shattered around me.
The mother of creation, Gaia. The father of time, Chronos.
I will learn your secrets- I will chase your mysteries through the depths of creation if I have to; and I will catch them all.
--From the sketchbook of Artist and Scientist, Professor Samuel Oak
The professor sat, his back arched over a microscope- looking at a slide containing a single hair. The specimen was projected on a screen in front of him, but he ignored it for now. Cages and aquariums lined the room- animals inside scurrying as he smiled. He replaced the slide with another labeled, “subject 001”. The effect was amazing; the RNA had already attached to the amphibian- the cells were mutating at an alarming rate. They seemed to be adapting to the other life in the terrarium. Already, the cells had developed chloroplast- despite the test subject being a frog, rather then a plant.
Amazing.
“Professor Oak?”
“In the lab. Be careful if you come in here. Don't upset the animals.” The scientist didn't look up.
“Professor, I've returned from Viridian with the supplies that you asked for. What should I do now?” A boy who could not have been out of his late teens/early 20s had entered.
“Back already? Tell me you didn't let your fucking cat in here!” The professor turned to see a Siamese cat jump at the cage containing the frog.
“Oh shit- I'm sorry!” the boy moved for the cat, grabbing gracefully, barely avoiding knocking over the terrarium, “Wow- Professor- look at this.”
“I know. It's absorbing sunlight, converting it to glucose, and feeding off of it.” The professor was still staring at the cells under his microscope, “I just solved world hunger. Get rid of the fucking cat.”
“I'm so sorry, sir!” The youth bowed before his mentor, puzzled by his apathy, “The UN loved the progress on our-” finally, the professor looked up, and the youth corrected, “your work! They just wanted to meet with you- wanted to know what you were talking about with bioweapons? I didn't know what to tell them, sir, I didn't know anything about bioweapons. The war is tearing through Kanto- the,”
“The war is as manufactured as anything else to come out of that continent,” Oak shrugged him off, “When I was young, we still called it 'America'- and a lot of us old goats still do. They'll never stay united, they don't have the soul for it. The only thing that brings those people together is a common enemy.”
“Meanwhile,” he continued, switching samples again, “These animals are progressing rapidly- they seem to evolve within a single generation, adapting quickly to their environment.” he looked up to see the youth staring at him with wonder, “Record this, Ashton!” he barked, “Write this down!”
“Oh, yes sir!” the boy nodded, and reached for a tablet.
“Subject 001-003; green environment; are exhibiting signs of merging with plant life. Subject has developed the ability to store solar energy and convert it to glucose or fructose, and then feed off that energy. Subject is still eating, so this is apparently, a back-up ATP supply.”
Ashton smiled, watching his hero on the recording.
“Subject 004-006; red environment; are displaying adaptive tendencies to withstand the heat. We have been steadily increasing the heat in the environment for the past few months, and the salamanders have withstood them all. They have began to glow red as their bodies adjust to the change, but have shown no signs of damage. They are eating normally.”
“Holy shit!” Ashton gasped as he followed his professor, “Are you seeing this?”
“mm?” the professor asked, arching an eyebrow but seeming uninterested.
Two of the salamanders were positioning for dominance atop a branch within the terrarium. One had reared back and was preparing to attack the other.
“Yes, they do that, Ash.” The professor rolled his eyes and continued, “Subjects 007-”
“No, look! They're doing it again!” The assistant was ecstatic. Inside the tank, the creature had reared back, but instead of attacking with it's claws, something extraordinary had happened. It had opened it's mouth, and spit a stream of fire, almost like magma, at the other lizard! Afterward, the flame shot through it's body, erupting through the tip of it's tail.
“Tell me you got that on film,” the professor smiled and pressed his hand to the glass.
“Yes, sir!” the assistant beamed, then added, “The tail is on fire! Should we put it out?”
“No. It may be an adaptation, like the plant life that seems to be growing on the back of the frogs.” He paused, “It doesn't seem to harm the animal. 12:03 pm- subject,” he squinted, trying to make out the tag, “004, burst into fucking flames,” he smiled at himself, “We'll edit that out later- burst into flames in what could only be called evidence of adaptation. The generic traits obtained can only be traced to our variable, the distilled RNA.”
The professor looked up, and made the signal to cut, so the youth turned off the camera on the tablet.
“Ashton, is it really 12:03 pm?”
“Yes, Sammy, it is.” Ash laughed.
“Heh- it's Sammy now?” The professor laughed.
“Could be fast-fingers,” the youth took his mentor's hand and playfully ran his fingers across, tapping on each one.
“Where did you hear that?” Oak laughed and took the tablet.
“From Professor Ivy- she was on the council today, serving for Kanto.” Ashton teased, “She said to say hi to 'Flying-Fingers Sammy'.”
“Did she?” the professor laughed and stopped before a mirror to run a hand through his hair. The brown was beginning to show streaks of gray- and had an annoying lean that no amount of combing would fix. It looked like he had slept on it horribly. He needed to shave. He sighed.
“You haven't been to bed from yesterday, have you?” Ashton asked him, suddenly concerned.
“Does Daisy remember I exist?” He wondered aloud, if quietly.
“What?” Ashton asked, putting a hand on his superior's shoulder.
“Was Aggie there?” Sam asked as he turned.
“No, none of the other SIPH members were there,” Ashton assured him, “I was the only one representing your company.”
“So you didn't see Daisy?” he asked.
“Why would I see her?” Ashton's concern was seeping into his voice.
“I just thought she might have a little interest in the company that she's going to inherit- even if her mother doesn't give a shit.” Sammy sighed, “I need to eat something. Preferably something that isn't laced with yellowjackets- it probably wouldn't hurt me to get some sleep. Can I trust you to go over the results for subjects 007-009?” The scientist put a hand against his forehead.
“Of course, Professor- after I get some food in you.”
“Right- college kid- your idea of food is?”
“I ordered Pizza.”
“Pizza,” Sammy sighed, “let me guess- and beer?”
“Brunch of champions,” Ashton replied, putting an arm around his superior's shoulders and leading him from the lab.
“At least tell me it's domestic and not that war-torn shit,” Sammy sighed, “Oh, wait! I almost forgot something!”
The youth watched as he ran back to the microscope, and pocketed the slide with the hair.
* * *
“Ring ring ring, ring ring ring, phone call, phone call,”
Ashton had been focusing on the screen before him, speaking into the recorder- watching a turtle that was swimming through a deep pool, slowly turning blue. It could breath above and below water; and seafoam was building up within it's shell, from the waves it generated, small though they were, as it swam.
“Ring ring ring, ring ring ring,” the phone repeated, the most annoying ring tone possible, “phone call, pho-”
“Hello?” he asked, seeing the blocked number on the ID.
“Ash?” The voice on the other end was familiar, “How is your mission going?”
“My schooling?” he asked, annoyed.
“Your mission,” she repeated.
“My schooling is going great. How's your arms dealing, ma?” he spat into the phone.
“Paying for your bullshit science. Have you found anything out yet?” she seemed just as annoyed with him as he was with her.
“About the bio-weapons?”
“About the bio-weapons.”
“No. I've read all his journals- looked through his sketchbooks- honestly, ma, I think the man is fucked-up. I think he's a mad scientist. Those sketches aren't the work of science, it all looks like a fairy-tale forest. And all these mumblings about time travelers... He keeps everything locked up in his house, like he doesn't want anyone to know. But he's been drawing them for years- some of the books I've found; the pages are yellowed and stuck together-”
“I read your reports,” she cut him off.
“My letters?” he sighed.
“Yes. You said that he's mutating animals- reptiles and amphibians, giving them strange powers. What's happening with that?”
“I saw a salamander burst into flames today.” he turned his attention to the tank with the little lizards, “And it didn't die. It isn't dead. It's tail's still on fire.”
“How strange. What is he doing? Why do my men in the government say that everyone is talking about SIPH-CO? They have some major arms deals in the works- there are governments- plural- lined up to hand their cash over to this failed art student. What is getting the mutagen from?”
“I don't know. He won't let me see it. He keeps it on him- all the time.” Ash rubbed his eyes, “Look, ma, I don't know what you want from me- this whole 'arms dealing' bullshit is your thing- why did you send me for this? Why couldn't you send one of your fucking grunts or some shit?”
“Listen you little brat;” her voice was hot with anger, her rage flowing through the phone, “Do you think I need you- do you want to disappear with that entire fucking lab? Do you know what I've done- what I've sacrificed to put up with your ass? Do you think it's easy running this entire fucking business with a goddamn rugrat under my feet? Now you are going to get that mutagen, or find out where I can get it- or you'll breath your last fucking breath. And so will the science papa you've gotten so attached to!”
click
“I love you to, mom,” Ashton sighed into the empty phone.
He looked around for a few minutes, picked up the recorder, and continued, “Subjects 007-009; Blue Enviroment; subject is changing color, as noted in the other groups. Seems to be a camouflage reflex” he cursed himself- the professor warned him to never use the word, 'seem' or put his personal spin on anything- to rely only on facts, “Subjects all seem to be holding water between the shell and skin- as a result, buoyancy has increased, and land speed has faltered somewhat. Not that they seem interested in spending much time on land-” there was that fucking word again!
He sighed, put down the recorder, and rubbed his temples. The old man was obviously crazy- he had convinced himself that he had seen... something certainly. But the notes he had been pouring over, through the man's sketchbooks, diaries, anything he could pull off the shelves while he slept- seemed to suggest more insanity then logic. He seemed to think that he had been visited by time travelers when he was a child- when he still lived in New Bark- and he seemed to think that he had seen things there, things that, if they had been real, would certainly have been Earth-shattering.
His sketchbooks contained detailed anatomical drawings of creatures that could only be described as monsters. Fantasy and sci-fi serial book covers; giant robots that walked like spiders, ripping out entire sections of the forest. He sighed, got up, pressed the code to lock the lab, and wandered into the living space. A large television lined one wall- ridiculously huge for someone like the professor, who never used it- his mother had been right; he had to be getting grants from somewhere. His house was located on a hillside, but the land surrounding it all belonged to Sam- how did he come into that money? Was it funds from SIPH? They did seem to have a hand in everything. It seemed odd that he and his mother hadn't crossed paths before.
He took the coffee from the burner and made himself a cup- glanced at the bookshelves, and sank to his haunches to skim along the bottom. He pulled out a particularly old and yellowed pad, and sat down at the bar between the kitchen and living-room. He flipped through it, looking in the corners, the margins, the drawings themselves, for any clue- anything to hold together the man's lunacy.
Monsters- all monsters drawn strait from a child's imagination with a fierce attention to technical detail that foretold of the skill of a biologist. Birds that were, surely exotic, but by no means impossible. Mice that had turned yellow with impossible tails; ducks that had turned blue, with claws the size of their hands; deer with odd branches where their horns should be; bears that shone like metal. None of it more then ideas; none of it meshing with reality. The sketchbook of an artist.
Then he turned a page; and had to choke back his coffee.
Sammy as a child- what had she called him- Flying Fingers Sammy; a self portrait- nothing special about that. He was cute, his hair a musky brown that fell to the sides of his face; an outfit fit for hiking through the rough woods; a backpack full of art supplies... with his arm around another kid. The other boy was roughly the same age- 10 or 11; he had black hair that stuck up in unusual angles- like it hadn't been brushed, and was shoved roughly under a hat that didn't quite hide it. His clothes were less suited for the hike then his friend- a shirt, a vest, a pair of jeans and sneakers- fingerless gloves for climbing- but...
It was his face. It was Ashton's face. He knew when he was looking at his own reflection, and he was looking into a mirror. When Sam had been 10- that had to be... 30? 40 years ago? There was no way- he would have been alive. But there he was- was it possible- did Sammy somehow know his father? Was the resemblance that striking? Ashton had never known his father- his mother was not the type of person to press, and she never wanted to speak on the subject. Down the side of the panel, in a perfect calligraphy were the words, “Me & Ash- Friends from the Future”.
That motherfucker was crazy- crazy or psychic... but obviously crazy. For that to make any kind of sense, he would have had to already travel through time- would've had to have done it when he was a child. He flipped the pad over, looking at the graphite impression on the previous page. This drawing was old. He had thought that, since the professor knew he liked going through his old drawings, he might've drawn that recently to fuck with him- but it was there, aged, impressed into the paper- he had drawn it as a child.
What the fuck?
“Ashton,” he jumped, the goosebumps on his skin sending his unkempt hair into directions he didn't know it could float- and turned to see the professor.
“I really wish you wouldn't go through these.” The professor leaned over his shoulder, “They're like diaries, from my youth. Look at the more recent ones- the nature studies, the textbook illustrations that I did. These are horrible. Child's play.”
“Who is this?” The youth asked, picking up the sketchbook and showing the page he was on.
“Friend of mine when I was younger,” Sammy chuckled as he poured himself a cup of coffee, “We grew apart, lost touch. Did you know that when I was little, I wanted to write and illustrate sci-fi comics? That was before I got into real science, mind you, but I think that every man, every human for that matter- is a little bit scientist, and a little bit of an artist.”
“Yeah,” Ash flipped the book closed, “The good ones anyway.” He paused, in thought, “You could have done it, to. Your monsters are imaginative, brilliant- they look like real animals with... an exotic element. These are beautiful.”
“Oh,” Sammy laughed, “I gave up on that long ago.” He took a long sip.
“You should draw the specimens from the lab!” Ash spoke as if he had had an epiphany.
“Those creatures,” Sammy stared hard at a photograph on the bar, of himself, when he was younger, Agatha, and his daughter Daisy, no more then 10 years old, “Are my life's work. They are very special to me... When do I have time to draw?”
Ashton kept his eyes down, staring at the worn cover of the sketchpad.
“Sir,” he finally asked, and the professor arched his eyebrow, “Why won't you tell me the source of your RNA code?”
“Because if I did,” Sammy smiled, leaned across the bar, and took another long sip, “You still wouldn't know, because you wouldn't believe me.”
“You would be shocked, sir,” Ashton stared into those deep, chestnut eyes that seemed to hide so many secrets, “What I would believe- what I would love to hear, coming from you.”
“Would you, now?” The professor asked, his expression unchanged- cocky, charismatic, and confident. “Maybe, Ash,” he paused, in thought, “Maybe you would.”
He moved to slide on the couch facing the giant TV. “Did you finish up the reports on the specimens?”
“I got up to number 9, then my mom called, and you know how I hate talking to her, so I came to take a break- get some coffee.” he stared down into his mug, “You didn't sleep very long.”
“I can't sleep,” the professor rubbed his temples, “I haven't slept well in weeks. The salamander today- it showed a physical adaptation that a single individual should not be able to show. Is it still burning?”
“Yes,” Ash swerved the bar stool to look at his mentor, “Professor...” he trailed off, and picked back up, “Professor, thank you for letting me stay with you. After I... left my mom. I don't think that she's forgiven me.”
“What did she say?” He asked.
“Same shit she always says,” he looked down at the floor, “About how I should be training in business, about how I've got to go into 'the family business' because I'm her only kid. About how she's tired of paying for my bio degree- and about how you don't come cheap.”
“Fuck her, tell her to keep her money.” Sammy waved his hand dismissively.
“Wha- what?” Ash nearly fell out of his chair- was he being serious?
“You're a scientist. You might not be a biologist, but you're a born researcher- I can sense it in you. She doesn't want to pay for your schooling, fuck it; you just won the first annual Samuel Oak National Scholarship for Excellence in... um, I don't know, science or some-shit. Charisma. Fill in the blank. We'll do some paper-work on it here in a little bit.” He took another long drink, “I wish I could fucking sleep. I feel like something is keeping me awake; giving me nightmares.”
“Professor- I,” he paused, “I don't know how to thank you! You're the top man in your field! The UN is fighting over who's going to be allowed to fund your research! You're brilliant! And you want me to stay with you? You're so generous!”
“What do you want?” Sammy turned his attention toward the youth.
“Excuse me?” Ash met his gaze with a look of stupidity.
“You're obviously buttering me up for something. What do you want?”
“No-nothing sir! I just... I didn't want to have to go back to my mother- saying that you would pay for me to stay here- it...”
“Cuts off my supply of free labor,” Sammy sighed, “Give me another one of those beers. I don't have anything strong enough to Irish up this coffee, and it's not gonna be enough to buzz me beyond the ability to finish my research.”
“Yes sir!” the kid actually saluted, then brought him his bottle.
Sammy stared after him- kid had to be trying to pull something; it wasn't that easy to have someone eating out of the palm of your hand. He wasn't blind. He saw the insignia on the kid's ring- knew that his mom was in “waste management” or whatever the hell she decided to call it- knew that the kid was probably used to an open floor-plan with a marble staircase. But, he had also heard him on the phone- arguing with his mother, had watched his enthusiasm in the laboratory. He was clumsy, spastic- but skilled, and that energy could be turned into work ethic- if he worked with him. He needed an assistant he could trust... Could he trust a mobster?
The kid handed him the bottle with eyes of adoration- then again, Ashton had an expert knowledge of every article Sammy had ever published; a genuine interest, and an encyclopedic knowledge of anything public the man had ever done. His obsession bordered on the creepy, the scientist reflected as the youth stood there, watching him drink his beer. What the fuck was up with that kid?
“Professor,” Ashton began again, without averting his gaze, “Thank you so much! I want to learn everything I can from you- you know that I've always looked up to you, and your research designs- the creatures that you've created are amazing. You're right! If we can isolate the mutation from the frogs, we can solve world hunger.”
“I was joking,” Sammy rolled his eyes, “We're obviously not going to start shooting humans up with my mutagen- that's insane. The animal testing has reveled that there is so much to learn- it's not exactly predictive yet; we're talking years and years of trials before we can even start thinking about that. Would you sit down? Or blink? Blinking shows that you're human.”
“I'm really sorry, Professor- I'm just still reeling-”
“Why does it surprise you that I want to keep the assistant that I've already trained? The one who knows my lab and my work?” Sammy asked as the youth sat down next to him, a beer in his hand as well.
“Don't you remember how many applications you went through from the university?” the youth asked.
“Your gratitude is bordering on creepy. Why are you going through my old sketches anyway?” Oak asked.
“I love your work!” The youth was enthusiastic, “You would have made a brilliant writer; an amazing artist!”
“God,” Sammy sighed, “I remember when I had your youthful energy, your passion, your hopes and dreams...”
“What are your dreams now professor?” The youth asked, changing his stance to get a better view of his mentor, sliding to the side and putting his hands in front of him. One landed dangerously near the thigh of his idol; he thought for a second, and decided not to move it.
“To get my research underway- to see how far I can push this mutagen- to re-create... well, to re-create the dreams of my youth,” he did have a far-away, dreamy look in his eyes.
Ashton had no desire to turn this man, the first person who had expressed any real interest in him, over to his overbearing mother. He knew that she would take his noble research- his desire to progress evolution, to spur humanity forward, and turn it into a weapon. But he had also grown up with a healthy dose of fear- he knew what happened if one opposed her- known to her underlings as “Madam” or the “Boss” many were to afraid to even enter her office. He had seen her kill the folks that were in her way- blood on her hands and a smile on her face. He shuddered.
“Something wrong?” Sammy asked.
“Thinking about my mom,” Ashton saw no reason to lie.
Sammy didn't like getting in other people's business... But if someone so deeply seeded in organized crime wanted her child back- maybe it would be better to let him go. But to waste such a brilliant scientific mind- not to mention such a submissive and devoted student- would be a crime, whether organized or not.
Ashton's cat lept into his lap, purring and kneading. Sammy reached down to pet in, and felt the youth tense up. Fucking jumpy kids. There was silence for a few minutes, during which time Sam was able to finally hear himself think, to enjoy the purring of the cat and the slight buzz that hadn't quite faded the edge of his nerves- then the kid broke the silence.
“Is that... the assistant thing...” Ash trailed off.
“hm?” the professor asked.
“Professor- if... if I wasn't your lab assistant... would we, um... still be friends?” the youth held his head down and wouldn't meet Sammy's eye.
“What are you talking about?” Sam stared intently at him, barely more then a teenager, and moved his hand from the cat to the back of the couch, reclining.
“Um...” Ashton felt a flush as he blushed, “Nothing... it's just that- my mother has always been... well I don't think she actually wanted kids, and... you offering to let me stay here- for nothing... are we friends?”
“Well,” Oak considered for a few minutes, “Yes. I suppose we are. You'll be safe here- I'm not going to throw you out; certainly not to some place you don't want to go.”
“Thank you, professor! Thank you!” Ashton finally looked up- his eyes were misty as if he was holding back tears. Sam stared at him- beginning to get annoyed- it wasn't that big of a deal. Kid barely ate, and SIPH-CO could easily cover his tuition. He was staying there at the house already anyway. Why was he so enthusiastic?
“Sammy,” the professor drained the last of his drink, “My friends call me 'Sammy' or 'Sam'. Call me professor at school, or on the tape in the lab, but- you can call me Sammy.”
“You just don't look like a Sammy,” his student teased, “You look like a Samuel.”
“Are you trying to call me old?” Sammy laughed, “Get me another bear- maybe they'll cancel out the coffee and put me back to sleep.”
“Yes sir!” the kid stood and walked to the fridge- they were almost out; he would have to go get some more.
“But no,” he continued, “I meant that you look... well, you're more dignified then a Sammy.”
“Ha,” Sammy laughed, “Now you're backpedaling. It's fine for a 20-something to think I'm old. I am old enough to be your father.”
“No, that isn't it,” there was a genuine apologetic tone in the kids voice that was bordering on annoying as he sat back down and handed over the bottle.
“So.” Ashton continued, “Why does Ivy- why does everyone at SIPH-CO- call you Fast Fingers Sammy?”
The professor arched an eyebrow, “When I was younger, I could draw like no one's business. I could fill a page like that,” he snapped his fingers, “Though, between you and I,” he smiled a devious smile, “Ivy might have her own reasons.”
“You and Ivy?” Ash asked.
“Heh- I didn't say that. A gentlemen never... kisses and tells.” The professor kept his cocky smile and took another drink.
I'm a big fan of younger/older guys- mentors, idols and the like, so if you aren't, then this might not be for you, but if you are, then you might like it- and I'd love to know if this is a good idea/if the tension's working!
Thanks!
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There is a god.
That is important to note. There is a god, an original being, from which all others are derived.
And she is power incarnate.
I know this, because as a child, I looked into the eye of god-
And he blinked.
And when he did, the world opened up, and time itself shattered around me.
The mother of creation, Gaia. The father of time, Chronos.
I will learn your secrets- I will chase your mysteries through the depths of creation if I have to; and I will catch them all.
--From the sketchbook of Artist and Scientist, Professor Samuel Oak
The professor sat, his back arched over a microscope- looking at a slide containing a single hair. The specimen was projected on a screen in front of him, but he ignored it for now. Cages and aquariums lined the room- animals inside scurrying as he smiled. He replaced the slide with another labeled, “subject 001”. The effect was amazing; the RNA had already attached to the amphibian- the cells were mutating at an alarming rate. They seemed to be adapting to the other life in the terrarium. Already, the cells had developed chloroplast- despite the test subject being a frog, rather then a plant.
Amazing.
“Professor Oak?”
“In the lab. Be careful if you come in here. Don't upset the animals.” The scientist didn't look up.
“Professor, I've returned from Viridian with the supplies that you asked for. What should I do now?” A boy who could not have been out of his late teens/early 20s had entered.
“Back already? Tell me you didn't let your fucking cat in here!” The professor turned to see a Siamese cat jump at the cage containing the frog.
“Oh shit- I'm sorry!” the boy moved for the cat, grabbing gracefully, barely avoiding knocking over the terrarium, “Wow- Professor- look at this.”
“I know. It's absorbing sunlight, converting it to glucose, and feeding off of it.” The professor was still staring at the cells under his microscope, “I just solved world hunger. Get rid of the fucking cat.”
“I'm so sorry, sir!” The youth bowed before his mentor, puzzled by his apathy, “The UN loved the progress on our-” finally, the professor looked up, and the youth corrected, “your work! They just wanted to meet with you- wanted to know what you were talking about with bioweapons? I didn't know what to tell them, sir, I didn't know anything about bioweapons. The war is tearing through Kanto- the,”
“The war is as manufactured as anything else to come out of that continent,” Oak shrugged him off, “When I was young, we still called it 'America'- and a lot of us old goats still do. They'll never stay united, they don't have the soul for it. The only thing that brings those people together is a common enemy.”
“Meanwhile,” he continued, switching samples again, “These animals are progressing rapidly- they seem to evolve within a single generation, adapting quickly to their environment.” he looked up to see the youth staring at him with wonder, “Record this, Ashton!” he barked, “Write this down!”
“Oh, yes sir!” the boy nodded, and reached for a tablet.
“Subject 001-003; green environment; are exhibiting signs of merging with plant life. Subject has developed the ability to store solar energy and convert it to glucose or fructose, and then feed off that energy. Subject is still eating, so this is apparently, a back-up ATP supply.”
Ashton smiled, watching his hero on the recording.
“Subject 004-006; red environment; are displaying adaptive tendencies to withstand the heat. We have been steadily increasing the heat in the environment for the past few months, and the salamanders have withstood them all. They have began to glow red as their bodies adjust to the change, but have shown no signs of damage. They are eating normally.”
“Holy shit!” Ashton gasped as he followed his professor, “Are you seeing this?”
“mm?” the professor asked, arching an eyebrow but seeming uninterested.
Two of the salamanders were positioning for dominance atop a branch within the terrarium. One had reared back and was preparing to attack the other.
“Yes, they do that, Ash.” The professor rolled his eyes and continued, “Subjects 007-”
“No, look! They're doing it again!” The assistant was ecstatic. Inside the tank, the creature had reared back, but instead of attacking with it's claws, something extraordinary had happened. It had opened it's mouth, and spit a stream of fire, almost like magma, at the other lizard! Afterward, the flame shot through it's body, erupting through the tip of it's tail.
“Tell me you got that on film,” the professor smiled and pressed his hand to the glass.
“Yes, sir!” the assistant beamed, then added, “The tail is on fire! Should we put it out?”
“No. It may be an adaptation, like the plant life that seems to be growing on the back of the frogs.” He paused, “It doesn't seem to harm the animal. 12:03 pm- subject,” he squinted, trying to make out the tag, “004, burst into fucking flames,” he smiled at himself, “We'll edit that out later- burst into flames in what could only be called evidence of adaptation. The generic traits obtained can only be traced to our variable, the distilled RNA.”
The professor looked up, and made the signal to cut, so the youth turned off the camera on the tablet.
“Ashton, is it really 12:03 pm?”
“Yes, Sammy, it is.” Ash laughed.
“Heh- it's Sammy now?” The professor laughed.
“Could be fast-fingers,” the youth took his mentor's hand and playfully ran his fingers across, tapping on each one.
“Where did you hear that?” Oak laughed and took the tablet.
“From Professor Ivy- she was on the council today, serving for Kanto.” Ashton teased, “She said to say hi to 'Flying-Fingers Sammy'.”
“Did she?” the professor laughed and stopped before a mirror to run a hand through his hair. The brown was beginning to show streaks of gray- and had an annoying lean that no amount of combing would fix. It looked like he had slept on it horribly. He needed to shave. He sighed.
“You haven't been to bed from yesterday, have you?” Ashton asked him, suddenly concerned.
“Does Daisy remember I exist?” He wondered aloud, if quietly.
“What?” Ashton asked, putting a hand on his superior's shoulder.
“Was Aggie there?” Sam asked as he turned.
“No, none of the other SIPH members were there,” Ashton assured him, “I was the only one representing your company.”
“So you didn't see Daisy?” he asked.
“Why would I see her?” Ashton's concern was seeping into his voice.
“I just thought she might have a little interest in the company that she's going to inherit- even if her mother doesn't give a shit.” Sammy sighed, “I need to eat something. Preferably something that isn't laced with yellowjackets- it probably wouldn't hurt me to get some sleep. Can I trust you to go over the results for subjects 007-009?” The scientist put a hand against his forehead.
“Of course, Professor- after I get some food in you.”
“Right- college kid- your idea of food is?”
“I ordered Pizza.”
“Pizza,” Sammy sighed, “let me guess- and beer?”
“Brunch of champions,” Ashton replied, putting an arm around his superior's shoulders and leading him from the lab.
“At least tell me it's domestic and not that war-torn shit,” Sammy sighed, “Oh, wait! I almost forgot something!”
The youth watched as he ran back to the microscope, and pocketed the slide with the hair.
* * *
“Ring ring ring, ring ring ring, phone call, phone call,”
Ashton had been focusing on the screen before him, speaking into the recorder- watching a turtle that was swimming through a deep pool, slowly turning blue. It could breath above and below water; and seafoam was building up within it's shell, from the waves it generated, small though they were, as it swam.
“Ring ring ring, ring ring ring,” the phone repeated, the most annoying ring tone possible, “phone call, pho-”
“Hello?” he asked, seeing the blocked number on the ID.
“Ash?” The voice on the other end was familiar, “How is your mission going?”
“My schooling?” he asked, annoyed.
“Your mission,” she repeated.
“My schooling is going great. How's your arms dealing, ma?” he spat into the phone.
“Paying for your bullshit science. Have you found anything out yet?” she seemed just as annoyed with him as he was with her.
“About the bio-weapons?”
“About the bio-weapons.”
“No. I've read all his journals- looked through his sketchbooks- honestly, ma, I think the man is fucked-up. I think he's a mad scientist. Those sketches aren't the work of science, it all looks like a fairy-tale forest. And all these mumblings about time travelers... He keeps everything locked up in his house, like he doesn't want anyone to know. But he's been drawing them for years- some of the books I've found; the pages are yellowed and stuck together-”
“I read your reports,” she cut him off.
“My letters?” he sighed.
“Yes. You said that he's mutating animals- reptiles and amphibians, giving them strange powers. What's happening with that?”
“I saw a salamander burst into flames today.” he turned his attention to the tank with the little lizards, “And it didn't die. It isn't dead. It's tail's still on fire.”
“How strange. What is he doing? Why do my men in the government say that everyone is talking about SIPH-CO? They have some major arms deals in the works- there are governments- plural- lined up to hand their cash over to this failed art student. What is getting the mutagen from?”
“I don't know. He won't let me see it. He keeps it on him- all the time.” Ash rubbed his eyes, “Look, ma, I don't know what you want from me- this whole 'arms dealing' bullshit is your thing- why did you send me for this? Why couldn't you send one of your fucking grunts or some shit?”
“Listen you little brat;” her voice was hot with anger, her rage flowing through the phone, “Do you think I need you- do you want to disappear with that entire fucking lab? Do you know what I've done- what I've sacrificed to put up with your ass? Do you think it's easy running this entire fucking business with a goddamn rugrat under my feet? Now you are going to get that mutagen, or find out where I can get it- or you'll breath your last fucking breath. And so will the science papa you've gotten so attached to!”
click
“I love you to, mom,” Ashton sighed into the empty phone.
He looked around for a few minutes, picked up the recorder, and continued, “Subjects 007-009; Blue Enviroment; subject is changing color, as noted in the other groups. Seems to be a camouflage reflex” he cursed himself- the professor warned him to never use the word, 'seem' or put his personal spin on anything- to rely only on facts, “Subjects all seem to be holding water between the shell and skin- as a result, buoyancy has increased, and land speed has faltered somewhat. Not that they seem interested in spending much time on land-” there was that fucking word again!
He sighed, put down the recorder, and rubbed his temples. The old man was obviously crazy- he had convinced himself that he had seen... something certainly. But the notes he had been pouring over, through the man's sketchbooks, diaries, anything he could pull off the shelves while he slept- seemed to suggest more insanity then logic. He seemed to think that he had been visited by time travelers when he was a child- when he still lived in New Bark- and he seemed to think that he had seen things there, things that, if they had been real, would certainly have been Earth-shattering.
His sketchbooks contained detailed anatomical drawings of creatures that could only be described as monsters. Fantasy and sci-fi serial book covers; giant robots that walked like spiders, ripping out entire sections of the forest. He sighed, got up, pressed the code to lock the lab, and wandered into the living space. A large television lined one wall- ridiculously huge for someone like the professor, who never used it- his mother had been right; he had to be getting grants from somewhere. His house was located on a hillside, but the land surrounding it all belonged to Sam- how did he come into that money? Was it funds from SIPH? They did seem to have a hand in everything. It seemed odd that he and his mother hadn't crossed paths before.
He took the coffee from the burner and made himself a cup- glanced at the bookshelves, and sank to his haunches to skim along the bottom. He pulled out a particularly old and yellowed pad, and sat down at the bar between the kitchen and living-room. He flipped through it, looking in the corners, the margins, the drawings themselves, for any clue- anything to hold together the man's lunacy.
Monsters- all monsters drawn strait from a child's imagination with a fierce attention to technical detail that foretold of the skill of a biologist. Birds that were, surely exotic, but by no means impossible. Mice that had turned yellow with impossible tails; ducks that had turned blue, with claws the size of their hands; deer with odd branches where their horns should be; bears that shone like metal. None of it more then ideas; none of it meshing with reality. The sketchbook of an artist.
Then he turned a page; and had to choke back his coffee.
Sammy as a child- what had she called him- Flying Fingers Sammy; a self portrait- nothing special about that. He was cute, his hair a musky brown that fell to the sides of his face; an outfit fit for hiking through the rough woods; a backpack full of art supplies... with his arm around another kid. The other boy was roughly the same age- 10 or 11; he had black hair that stuck up in unusual angles- like it hadn't been brushed, and was shoved roughly under a hat that didn't quite hide it. His clothes were less suited for the hike then his friend- a shirt, a vest, a pair of jeans and sneakers- fingerless gloves for climbing- but...
It was his face. It was Ashton's face. He knew when he was looking at his own reflection, and he was looking into a mirror. When Sam had been 10- that had to be... 30? 40 years ago? There was no way- he would have been alive. But there he was- was it possible- did Sammy somehow know his father? Was the resemblance that striking? Ashton had never known his father- his mother was not the type of person to press, and she never wanted to speak on the subject. Down the side of the panel, in a perfect calligraphy were the words, “Me & Ash- Friends from the Future”.
That motherfucker was crazy- crazy or psychic... but obviously crazy. For that to make any kind of sense, he would have had to already travel through time- would've had to have done it when he was a child. He flipped the pad over, looking at the graphite impression on the previous page. This drawing was old. He had thought that, since the professor knew he liked going through his old drawings, he might've drawn that recently to fuck with him- but it was there, aged, impressed into the paper- he had drawn it as a child.
What the fuck?
“Ashton,” he jumped, the goosebumps on his skin sending his unkempt hair into directions he didn't know it could float- and turned to see the professor.
“I really wish you wouldn't go through these.” The professor leaned over his shoulder, “They're like diaries, from my youth. Look at the more recent ones- the nature studies, the textbook illustrations that I did. These are horrible. Child's play.”
“Who is this?” The youth asked, picking up the sketchbook and showing the page he was on.
“Friend of mine when I was younger,” Sammy chuckled as he poured himself a cup of coffee, “We grew apart, lost touch. Did you know that when I was little, I wanted to write and illustrate sci-fi comics? That was before I got into real science, mind you, but I think that every man, every human for that matter- is a little bit scientist, and a little bit of an artist.”
“Yeah,” Ash flipped the book closed, “The good ones anyway.” He paused, in thought, “You could have done it, to. Your monsters are imaginative, brilliant- they look like real animals with... an exotic element. These are beautiful.”
“Oh,” Sammy laughed, “I gave up on that long ago.” He took a long sip.
“You should draw the specimens from the lab!” Ash spoke as if he had had an epiphany.
“Those creatures,” Sammy stared hard at a photograph on the bar, of himself, when he was younger, Agatha, and his daughter Daisy, no more then 10 years old, “Are my life's work. They are very special to me... When do I have time to draw?”
Ashton kept his eyes down, staring at the worn cover of the sketchpad.
“Sir,” he finally asked, and the professor arched his eyebrow, “Why won't you tell me the source of your RNA code?”
“Because if I did,” Sammy smiled, leaned across the bar, and took another long sip, “You still wouldn't know, because you wouldn't believe me.”
“You would be shocked, sir,” Ashton stared into those deep, chestnut eyes that seemed to hide so many secrets, “What I would believe- what I would love to hear, coming from you.”
“Would you, now?” The professor asked, his expression unchanged- cocky, charismatic, and confident. “Maybe, Ash,” he paused, in thought, “Maybe you would.”
He moved to slide on the couch facing the giant TV. “Did you finish up the reports on the specimens?”
“I got up to number 9, then my mom called, and you know how I hate talking to her, so I came to take a break- get some coffee.” he stared down into his mug, “You didn't sleep very long.”
“I can't sleep,” the professor rubbed his temples, “I haven't slept well in weeks. The salamander today- it showed a physical adaptation that a single individual should not be able to show. Is it still burning?”
“Yes,” Ash swerved the bar stool to look at his mentor, “Professor...” he trailed off, and picked back up, “Professor, thank you for letting me stay with you. After I... left my mom. I don't think that she's forgiven me.”
“What did she say?” He asked.
“Same shit she always says,” he looked down at the floor, “About how I should be training in business, about how I've got to go into 'the family business' because I'm her only kid. About how she's tired of paying for my bio degree- and about how you don't come cheap.”
“Fuck her, tell her to keep her money.” Sammy waved his hand dismissively.
“Wha- what?” Ash nearly fell out of his chair- was he being serious?
“You're a scientist. You might not be a biologist, but you're a born researcher- I can sense it in you. She doesn't want to pay for your schooling, fuck it; you just won the first annual Samuel Oak National Scholarship for Excellence in... um, I don't know, science or some-shit. Charisma. Fill in the blank. We'll do some paper-work on it here in a little bit.” He took another long drink, “I wish I could fucking sleep. I feel like something is keeping me awake; giving me nightmares.”
“Professor- I,” he paused, “I don't know how to thank you! You're the top man in your field! The UN is fighting over who's going to be allowed to fund your research! You're brilliant! And you want me to stay with you? You're so generous!”
“What do you want?” Sammy turned his attention toward the youth.
“Excuse me?” Ash met his gaze with a look of stupidity.
“You're obviously buttering me up for something. What do you want?”
“No-nothing sir! I just... I didn't want to have to go back to my mother- saying that you would pay for me to stay here- it...”
“Cuts off my supply of free labor,” Sammy sighed, “Give me another one of those beers. I don't have anything strong enough to Irish up this coffee, and it's not gonna be enough to buzz me beyond the ability to finish my research.”
“Yes sir!” the kid actually saluted, then brought him his bottle.
Sammy stared after him- kid had to be trying to pull something; it wasn't that easy to have someone eating out of the palm of your hand. He wasn't blind. He saw the insignia on the kid's ring- knew that his mom was in “waste management” or whatever the hell she decided to call it- knew that the kid was probably used to an open floor-plan with a marble staircase. But, he had also heard him on the phone- arguing with his mother, had watched his enthusiasm in the laboratory. He was clumsy, spastic- but skilled, and that energy could be turned into work ethic- if he worked with him. He needed an assistant he could trust... Could he trust a mobster?
The kid handed him the bottle with eyes of adoration- then again, Ashton had an expert knowledge of every article Sammy had ever published; a genuine interest, and an encyclopedic knowledge of anything public the man had ever done. His obsession bordered on the creepy, the scientist reflected as the youth stood there, watching him drink his beer. What the fuck was up with that kid?
“Professor,” Ashton began again, without averting his gaze, “Thank you so much! I want to learn everything I can from you- you know that I've always looked up to you, and your research designs- the creatures that you've created are amazing. You're right! If we can isolate the mutation from the frogs, we can solve world hunger.”
“I was joking,” Sammy rolled his eyes, “We're obviously not going to start shooting humans up with my mutagen- that's insane. The animal testing has reveled that there is so much to learn- it's not exactly predictive yet; we're talking years and years of trials before we can even start thinking about that. Would you sit down? Or blink? Blinking shows that you're human.”
“I'm really sorry, Professor- I'm just still reeling-”
“Why does it surprise you that I want to keep the assistant that I've already trained? The one who knows my lab and my work?” Sammy asked as the youth sat down next to him, a beer in his hand as well.
“Don't you remember how many applications you went through from the university?” the youth asked.
“Your gratitude is bordering on creepy. Why are you going through my old sketches anyway?” Oak asked.
“I love your work!” The youth was enthusiastic, “You would have made a brilliant writer; an amazing artist!”
“God,” Sammy sighed, “I remember when I had your youthful energy, your passion, your hopes and dreams...”
“What are your dreams now professor?” The youth asked, changing his stance to get a better view of his mentor, sliding to the side and putting his hands in front of him. One landed dangerously near the thigh of his idol; he thought for a second, and decided not to move it.
“To get my research underway- to see how far I can push this mutagen- to re-create... well, to re-create the dreams of my youth,” he did have a far-away, dreamy look in his eyes.
Ashton had no desire to turn this man, the first person who had expressed any real interest in him, over to his overbearing mother. He knew that she would take his noble research- his desire to progress evolution, to spur humanity forward, and turn it into a weapon. But he had also grown up with a healthy dose of fear- he knew what happened if one opposed her- known to her underlings as “Madam” or the “Boss” many were to afraid to even enter her office. He had seen her kill the folks that were in her way- blood on her hands and a smile on her face. He shuddered.
“Something wrong?” Sammy asked.
“Thinking about my mom,” Ashton saw no reason to lie.
Sammy didn't like getting in other people's business... But if someone so deeply seeded in organized crime wanted her child back- maybe it would be better to let him go. But to waste such a brilliant scientific mind- not to mention such a submissive and devoted student- would be a crime, whether organized or not.
Ashton's cat lept into his lap, purring and kneading. Sammy reached down to pet in, and felt the youth tense up. Fucking jumpy kids. There was silence for a few minutes, during which time Sam was able to finally hear himself think, to enjoy the purring of the cat and the slight buzz that hadn't quite faded the edge of his nerves- then the kid broke the silence.
“Is that... the assistant thing...” Ash trailed off.
“hm?” the professor asked.
“Professor- if... if I wasn't your lab assistant... would we, um... still be friends?” the youth held his head down and wouldn't meet Sammy's eye.
“What are you talking about?” Sam stared intently at him, barely more then a teenager, and moved his hand from the cat to the back of the couch, reclining.
“Um...” Ashton felt a flush as he blushed, “Nothing... it's just that- my mother has always been... well I don't think she actually wanted kids, and... you offering to let me stay here- for nothing... are we friends?”
“Well,” Oak considered for a few minutes, “Yes. I suppose we are. You'll be safe here- I'm not going to throw you out; certainly not to some place you don't want to go.”
“Thank you, professor! Thank you!” Ashton finally looked up- his eyes were misty as if he was holding back tears. Sam stared at him- beginning to get annoyed- it wasn't that big of a deal. Kid barely ate, and SIPH-CO could easily cover his tuition. He was staying there at the house already anyway. Why was he so enthusiastic?
“Sammy,” the professor drained the last of his drink, “My friends call me 'Sammy' or 'Sam'. Call me professor at school, or on the tape in the lab, but- you can call me Sammy.”
“You just don't look like a Sammy,” his student teased, “You look like a Samuel.”
“Are you trying to call me old?” Sammy laughed, “Get me another bear- maybe they'll cancel out the coffee and put me back to sleep.”
“Yes sir!” the kid stood and walked to the fridge- they were almost out; he would have to go get some more.
“But no,” he continued, “I meant that you look... well, you're more dignified then a Sammy.”
“Ha,” Sammy laughed, “Now you're backpedaling. It's fine for a 20-something to think I'm old. I am old enough to be your father.”
“No, that isn't it,” there was a genuine apologetic tone in the kids voice that was bordering on annoying as he sat back down and handed over the bottle.
“So.” Ashton continued, “Why does Ivy- why does everyone at SIPH-CO- call you Fast Fingers Sammy?”
The professor arched an eyebrow, “When I was younger, I could draw like no one's business. I could fill a page like that,” he snapped his fingers, “Though, between you and I,” he smiled a devious smile, “Ivy might have her own reasons.”
“You and Ivy?” Ash asked.
“Heh- I didn't say that. A gentlemen never... kisses and tells.” The professor kept his cocky smile and took another drink.
