Superhuman

In a dystopian America, Trinity Shire, and three other teenagers are taken captive by the government to be used as scientific experiments. The scientist plan on making the "perfect human". They strive to create someone that is able to conquer anything. They spent years perfecting a chemical that could wash out the mind of a human so they can't think for themselves. They plan to build an army of mindless power machines, but will they succeed? Copyright © 2013 by Cassidy McClurkan,
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8. Chapter Seven

           “This is the beginning of a new world. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, the perfect human being!” at the cue, two people, a man and a woman, approach the stage. Their eyes are set forward, and their bodies are stiff. They wear full body suits, made to morph into the form of their figures. The woman wears a white suit; the man wears a black one. “I have taken a man and a woman, and I have enhanced their abilities. Thanks to the government, this world will never fall short! Together, with this new chemical,” he previews a sample, “We will never have to worry about imperfection again!”

            The crowd goes wild and it is then when we make eye contact, the scientist and I. His face morphs into a subtle horrified expression. My eyes flicker back to the individuals. Their eyes fixate on me, and then trace with a layer of red. “How?” the words struggle out of my tight throat,

            Griffin jerks my stiff body forward, and begins to drag me out of the building, but halts as a cluster of men block the exit. His eyes trace with blue, and so do mine. The crowd falls silent when the two “improved” humans draw out their guns. They kick over the tables, ignoring everyone but us. They’re hands grip the weapons tightly. Their strides are long and smooth. There is no hesitation in their step.

            I pull my gun out of my purse, then I slide a bullet into place and aim. Griffin draws his gun as well. My brows draw together, forming creases in-between my eyes. I press my teeth into my lower lip, hoping it will stop its trembling.

            I look over my shoulder. Clumps of black suits rest everywhere. At each corner of the room, men cradle large guns in their hands. Sunglasses mask their eyes. Could it be more of them? The question presses its way into my head. I realize Griffin standing over me when his breath tickles my neck, “They are going to shoot. We gotta do something.” This is the first time there is fear in his voice, I can barely feel his hand shake on my shoulder.

            “Well,” I choke, “What are we going to do?” I ask while eyeing the man and woman now circling us like predators. Their bullets slide into place, and I hear the distinct click of the barrel. I whrill around wildly, aiming at the sound. Without thinking, I shoot. My hand jerks back only slightly, and my ear rings. Gasps and cries emerge from horrified citizens. The white suited woman is lying catlike on the floor, her weapon pointing into the air. I missed.

            I watch as the circle of men enclose us. They too ready their weapons. Feeling the presence of death, I inhale and close my eyes. Griffin’s hand finds mine, and he clings to it. My pulse beats faster, and my heart hammers against my ribs. Pure power surges though my veins. I feel the same power transfer to Griffin.

            We lurch forward, dogging the bullets that fly around us. Our sudden movement had caused havoc. I roll across the floor, and rise to my feet. I’m nose to nose with a black suited man. A cocky smile lifts my cheeks as my head collides into his, and my fist sinks into his stomach. I slip under his legs and break for the door. I hear a spray of bullets echo though the room, but I feel nothing. Not even the glass vase next to me shatters. My heart suddenly drops as I realize they weren’t aiming at me.

            “Griffin.”

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