Page 22 of Anders
Gunshots.The taste of blood and cordite in the air.Her mother’s voice, sharp with fear:Run, baby!Hide!
More shots.Her father’s massive form leaping forward, trying to protect them.Red blooming across his chest.Her mother’s scream of rage and grief.
No,Etta sobbed.Please, no.
Men in dark tactical gear swarming their home.Her mother’s body falling, human now, white-blonde hair—just like Etta’s own—stained red.
Target acquired,a cold voice said.Secondary objectives eliminated.
Rough hands grabbing her.The prick of a needle.Darkness.
The scene changed again, and Etta’s body convulsed as new memories crashed through her mind.
White walls.The sharp smell of antiseptic burning her sensitive nose.Men in lab coats looming over her, their faces hidden behind surgical masks.
Remarkable adaptive capabilities,one said, making notes.
Pain as they took samples, ran tests, pushed her small body to its limits.
Mama,she cried.Daddy!Help me!
Your parents are dead,a cold voice informed her.But don’t worry.We’ve found you a new family.Nice, normal people who will help you forget all about…this unfortunate business.
More needles.More tests.
The memory suppression is holding,someone said.Vital signs stable.Recommend proceeding with placement.
A new woman’s face swimming into view.Not her mother.All wrong.Wrong scent, wrong voice, wrong everything.
This is your mommy,the cold voice said.You’ve been very sick, but she’s here to take you home now.
No,she tried to say, but her tongue felt thick, her thoughts cloudy.Not my mama.Want my real mama.
Another needle.More darkness.
Etta’s entire body convulsed with the force of remembered trauma.
Anders!she heard someone scream—it was her own voice, she recognized dimly.
Another wave of memories drowned out the rest.
The labs.The tests.The endless needles.
Remarkable,they kept saying.The subject’s regenerative capabilities are unprecedented.And look how the chemical suppressants have evolved—the next generation of subjects should be even more responsive.
Next generation.More children like her.More families destroyed.
She wasn’t the first.Wasn’t the last.
Just one of many.
Etta.Anders’s voice cut through the chaos, anchoring her.Listen to my voice.Focus on me.
She tried, but the memories kept coming—fractured, broken.
Destructive.
Painful.
