A trip to the store

I should be prioritizing this drive, I think, as I follow Kelly back downstairs. A family cookout is nice, and I want to be with them, but there is information in my pocket that I need to know. And I need to be secret about it.

Mom, Ashley, and Kelly are moving around the kitchen when I walk in, each preparing what seems to be an increasingly larger meal. A stress response, undoubtedly, but the food does smell good. "How long til lunch?"

Mom looks over her shoulder from the sink, where she is peeling and washing some corn. "Probably an hour or so. I am letting the steaks acclimate right now." The attention-grabbing purple of her leggings stretches as she works the phallic vegetable, and I realize she's wearing the kind of leggings that hug into and between her butt cheeks and scrunch together at their meeting point in her lower back. I'm tempted to walk over and touch it, but I fight away that desire.

I look across the counter at all of the groceries, then check the fridge. Ashley gives me a confused look as she stands over the stove, stirring something in a pot. "Looking for something?"

"Just some Pumpkin Spice IPA. Do we have any?"

"Uhh..." She doesn't answer me. "Is that a thing?"

"I saw it on TikTok!" Kelly mutters, from behind me.

"I had one a few weeks ago... I'd like some for the cookout. I think I'll run to the store real quick."

"Oh, honey. I should have gotten you some," Mom says, shaking her head.

"You couldn't have known I wanted any. Surprise, remember?"

"Want me to come with?" Kelly asks, sauntering across the floor and poking me in the spine with her finger. "I don't have much to do here. These two are doing all the work." Unfortunately, I don't have a valid reason to say no to her. Anyone watching would find it suspicious. And my ordeal with the glove was already suspicious enough.

"Sure, let's go!"

I give Mom and Ashley a short kiss in the cheek, careful to gently squeeze each of their asses while I do, and grab the keys. Minutes later, Kelly and I are headed down the road towards the grocery store. We talk about the upcoming game while I drive, and Kelly tells me about the other team and their score across the state. Mary has been a super-hoe lately, and Kelly is getting annoyed by it. She warns me to stay away from her over an icy glare, and I promise I have no interest in her friend. A strange thing, honestly, as Mary is darn attractive. But, as Felicity said, the nootropic is having effects on me.

We pull into the grocery store parking lot. Thankfully, the library is directly next to it. I park between them and look over at Kelly, who is playing on her phone. "Let's go." I leave mine in the site-pouch of the door.

She follows me out of the car and looks around. "Why'd you park over here? There's so many spots next to the door." I motion for her to follow me towards the grocery store, away from the car.

"Listen. I need to go to the library. You go into the grocery store. Don't ask why, and don't talk about it again. I'll find you, and we'll act like nothing happened. Okay?"

Kelly perches her lips, looks around with suspicion, and nods. "Okay. How long will you be?"

"No longer than ten minutes, hopefully."

"Okay."

She gives me a quick kiss and walks towards the grocery store, my attention dragging behind her as she walks away. Sighing at the sight of her, I turn to the library and head across the asphalt lot to it. The library is cool and open inside, and I don't see a librarian at the desk when I enter. Thankfully. I skip the library card scanner and go to an empty computer in the back corner of the open room. I pull the drive from my phone and plug it in. A file browser opens on the computer as it connects, and I see one file listed. With some hesitancy, I double-click on the file named 'research.pdf'.

A file viewer opens, and I realize it is a collection of documents in a single file. My nootropic mind scans it, already piecing together and processing the information within at lightning speed. The first thing I see is an explanation of the extinct wolf's DNA and how they found it. It was excavated from a cave in Austria by archaeologists in the 1990s, and some scientists did a genome sequencing of it a few years later. That information went into a database which the Company gained access to, and their researchers realized they could leverage it to create powerful ****, if only they had the right conditions for it to work within.

I lean in closer, my eyes darting across the screen as I read about the wolf—Canis lupus primordius. The notes describe it as a prehistoric subspecies, larger and more aggressive than modern wolves, a true apex predator. The skeletal remains show bite marks on nearby animals, suggesting it ruled its environment, unchallenged. But the real key, the one piece that made the Company salivate, is buried deep in its DNA. A genetic marker unlike any other—something scientists claim holds the key to untapped physical and cognitive potential.

I scroll down.

“The genetic sequence,” the document explains, “contains markers for enhanced aggression, dominance behaviors, and a higher capacity for endurance under **** stress. These characteristics were theorized to be dormant in human beings, left over from a distant common ancestor with wolves, but never before seen in such a pure, potent form.”

A diagram of the wolf’s DNA appears, but my mind barely pauses to absorb it. It’s like watching the pieces of a puzzle snap into place as I skim through the research, already grasping the implications. The wolf's DNA was spliced with human genomes in the Company’s lab. But there was a catch—only certain individuals could survive the process. The notes go on to describe early tests—volunteers, some ****, others bought off, all of them subjected to trial versions of the ****. Almost none survived.

I think back to my ****. I knew they were watching me. I knew my house and phone was bugged, my every move monitored. But why the theatrics? They could’ve just asked. They didn’t need to drag me into that sterile room, run their tests, and make a show of it. I wasn’t planning on running. If they’d just explained what they wanted from me, I would’ve listened. So why **** my hand? What were they trying to prove?

My stomach twists as I see the seemingly endless list of casualties: normal people, just like me, who had no idea what they were getting into.

“Only a small percentage of the population contains the necessary genetic compatibility,” the document reads. “Those who possess the genetic markers in their DNA, akin to the ancient wolf’s predatory instincts, will see enhancements both physical and mental. Increased intelligence, superior physical strength, heightened awareness, natural pheromone release to attract those of the opposite sex, and increased libido.”

I’m one of them. The thought slides into my mind as effortlessly as breathing, but with it comes a surge of something cold and primal. All those enhancements I’ve felt—my mind moving faster, my strength increasing—this is all part of it. The **** didn’t just make me better by unlocking some unused part of my brain. It made me more than human.

My heart pounds, though I keep my exterior calm as I scroll to the next page again, thinking through the text in more detail.

The **** had been administered to over two hundred test subjects in various countries. Of those, only four survived, each showing different levels of success. Most of the survivors exhibited **** physical aggression, dominance, and predatory behaviors—side effects the Company marked as desirable for future development.

I pause at that, feeling the weight of it sink in.

The more I read, the clearer the Company's agenda becomes. Their goal isn’t simply the creation of a super ****—it’s the engineering of a new type of human being, capable of ruling through power and fear. And they’re using me—using people like me—as pawns to get there.

My mind drifts back to the ****. The nurse—the one who claimed to be my aunt—whispering to me during the staged power outage. Was any of that real? Or was it just another test? They didn’t need to go that far just to hand me a flash drive. It’s as if they wanted me to question everything, to see how I’d react under pressure. But why? I was already doing what they wanted. The confusion gnaws at me. It doesn’t add up.

I scroll down to the next page titled, "Project Timeline."

The timeline stretches back decades, long before I was even born. Early notes mention Dom—my father—as one of the earliest subjects. There’s a brief mention of "successful integration" with the ****, and then his name disappears from the files.

My father didn’t die because of some accident. He wasn’t just a test subject. He was part of this. Somehow, he was involved in the creation of this nightmare, either willingly or under ****. But why is his name scrubbed from the later documents? Did Mom know of his involvement? How could she not?

But it hits me: Mom would have been subject to his pheromone, just as she is subject to mine. He could have easily hid it from her if his side effects were like mine.

I stare at the screen, piecing it together. The Company wouldn’t just erase someone unless they had a reason. And if they erased him, it means they didn’t want anyone connecting him to what’s happening now.

I rub my face, feeling a deep, simmering anger bubble beneath the surface.

So many lies. So many threads, all leading back to one truth: the Company isn’t done with me. This whole time, they’ve been watching, waiting for me to take the bait, to become what they needed. And now that I’ve taken the ****, now that I’ve changed, they’re going to come for me again.

I can’t stay in the dark anymore. I need answers—real answers.

I glance around the library, the silence pressing in on me. The air feels thick, like I’m trapped in some kind of slow-motion descent. I close the file and pull the thumb drive out, sliding it into my pocket. A few stray thoughts pulse through my mind. I could disappear. Take what I’ve learned and run.

But I know deep down that running isn’t an option. Not with the Company. They’d find me. They’d find my family. And besides, running doesn’t suit me anymore, not with what this **** has done to me. I’m not scared. I’m something else now—stronger, sharper. And more dangerous.

I push the chair back slowly, letting the legs scrape softly against the carpet. I head into the bathroom and flush the drive down the toilet, every detail already memorized. I don't know if my "Aunt" is real or not, but I should assume so for now. Play along.

As I walk out, the weight of what I’ve uncovered presses down like a lead blanket. I won’t be their puppet. If they think they can control me, they’re wrong.

I step out into the warm afternoon air, breathing deep. The flatland wind cuts through the heaviness in my chest, and I let it calm my thoughts.