2045: The Book of the Allfather

“And I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them...”

— Isaiah 42:16

The painful high pitched whine is all you can hear.

You heave, desperately trying pull air into your lungs but you get nothing. It feels like you're under six feet of water, time slows to a crawl as you struggle to breathe air that isn't there.

A small hand is gripping yours, pulling insistently. You can feel it trembling and you try to squeeze it reassuringly, but end up gripping it so hard your knuckles hurt.

You don't have time to be doing this. You need to get up, right now.

Through the brain fog, everything smells of smoke and antiseptic. You can smell something burning nearby. You really hope it's not you.

Your eyes eventually do focus, and the world rushes back in all at once.

The once familiar lab is all red lights and twisted metal. The glass walls are cracked. You realize just how close you came to dying when you see the newly formed crater on the floor less than an arm's length from where you were standing before you were thrown clear by the blast.

You let out an involuntary groan as you gather your wobbly legs under you and stumble to your feet. The hand gripping yours is still pulling insistently. Too small to offer support, but enough to offer guidance. You follow her, stumbling blindly through the smoky corridors of the facility that you were **** to call home for the past three years.

The hallway changes. It gets darker. Wider. Then... it's gone. You made it outside.

You are outside for the first time in years.

The air feels different. Green and alive, and it doesn’t smell of recycled oxygen or bleach. It smells like dirt and wet leaves and cold night air. And a whiff of... freedom? Does freedom have a smell? Your feet sting. You're bleeding. Should probably take care of that before you get much further. The dogs will find you otherwise. You push your little benefactor ahead of you. She doesn't want to let go, but you push her again, a little more firmly this time.

She's helped you enough. If they catch up to you, the least you can do is buy her time.

You stare up at the sky and breathe deeply.

There are so many stars.

You wake in a cold sweat, and curse under your breath as you flop back down on the bed.

Always the same goddamn nightmare every time.

You'd think by now you'd have figured out how to turn that one into a lucid dream, where Yvette makes an impromptu guest appearance to give you a mouth hug, but you always end up the same way. Wide awake in the middle of the night with too much adrenaline surging in your system for you to have a chance at getting any more sleep for the rest of the night.

You groan in exasperation as you roll over, drawing an annoyed meow from your overfed cat Fatty(Fatima), who had been enjoying the warmth provided by your sleeping form. Your other cat, Emmy (Emergency Rations: also overfed, but slightly little less so) had already strategically placed herself at the foot of the bed, and was less affected by your nighttime antics.

It's 4 AM. You're now officially 21 years old. Or at least, Ryan Gallagher is now 21 years old. You remind yourself to call mom and dad as soon as they wake up. You never did tell your parents what your real birthday was, being happy to accept the new one as your own when it was offered to you.

A fresh start, one you desperately needed.

To be fair, you're not really sure yourself. Most of your childhood memories are blurry at best. The few memories you have are patchy, enough for you to have an idea of the big picture, but with enough pieces missing for you to know you don't remember enough. Whether that's due to a trauma response or just a side effect that comes with being a human guinea pig for a few years is something you've never really been sure of. It's not like you can go to a doctor or a psychiatrist to make sure one way or another.

That would be an interesting conversation.

"Yeah doc. I was a rata kid that was kidnapped by the US government and they experimented on me for a few years in a secret lab in Texas. I'm having some trouble recalling exactly what they did to me. Help me, please."

You'd be lucky if you made it out of the building before you got snatched, black-bagged and dragged right back to the facility where you were ten years ago.

You remember your name. Carlos Ramirez. You remember you were born in Mexico. You had parents, once. Not 'mom' and 'dad', but real parents. People that gave birth to you and raised you. But your Swiss cheese brain can't remember what they looked like, or even what their names were. As it stands, you're not sure you'd recognize them even if they were standing right in front of you.

You stumble out of bed, letting your eyes adjust to the dim light and plod your way into the kitchen for a glass of water. The house is way too big for you to live in by yourself, but it's a quiet house in a residential neighborhood close to downtown Austin. And it was practically free. You weren't in any position to look a gift horse in the mouth when it was offered to you, (a show of gratitude from an absentee landlord with more money than good sense) and with the renovations you've made to the house since, you wouldn't dream of trying to live anywhere else anytime soon.

And worst case scenario, if something happens to you and you were no longer able to work, the extra rooms might provide a lifeline in the way of tenants to help you pay the bills until you could get back on your feet. In your line of work it didn't hurt to have a backup plan or two in case things went sideways.

You grab some ice cubes from the freezer and chew them thoughtfully. The cold liquid seeping down your throat helps calm your nerves.

You hear a meow and look down. Fatty followed you to the kitchen, hopeful for an early breakfast. He weaves between your legs, purring insistently. You find yourself chuckling and grab a box of cat treats and put a few on the ground, which Fatty consumes gratefully, making happy noises as he does so.

You take the box into the bedroom to give a few to Emmy as well. If she saw Fatty eating without her she'd get upset and take it out on him later. Once you're done placating your two cats, you flop back on the bed. Sleep doesn't come, but you decide to try anyway. You doubt Jeremy will let you off the hook until the bars close tonight, and if you're going to be staying up until 3 AM, you're going to need to find a way to get at least some rest before you go to work in the morning.

Maybe a shower would help? A quick wank might help relax you enough to get you back to sleep.
That idea does seem more appealing than just lying in a dark room staring at the ceiling, so you head to the bathroom. Deciding to brush your teeth while you're at it before getting in the shower. The reflection that looks back at you could easily pass for being a white person. Your dark brown eyes and hair contrasting sharply with your pale skin tone. Whatever mix you are, your European ancestry expresses itself more heavily than any others. Something that has worked out in your favor, given your assumed identity.

The water heats up in seconds, you exhale and relax your muscles as you try to form a mental image of your favorite masturbatory aid.