Post by Folly on Sept 20, 2009 19:00:14 GMT -5
Running record of the Walden Research Facility Funds Disbursement Meeting, Walden CO.
Attending: Board of Directors staff, Profs. Twain, Hatcher, Milln, Carrington, and Welsh, secretary
Time beginning: 9:00am, Friday Sept. 18th, 2009
I, secretary Alice Lane will be recording the Fund’s Disbursement meeting as events take place.
9:00am, the meeting begins. Board of Directors President, Robert Elger introduces himself and everyone else present before calling the meeting to order. Professor Twain is the first to address the board. He speaks of his subjects, T15a and T/H15b. They have shown much improvement since the last meeting, though T15a is still labeled as ‘unfit for reintroduction’. He notes T/H15b’s astounding resilience and resistance to the virus, stating that he barely shows signs of infection. Hints this may be due to the cross-breeding program. Twain promises results if more time is given and funding is not cut. The Board members consult one another before Twain is dismissed. The floor is opened. No one else rises. Twain tries to get Hatcher to speak, but the man refuses. The other professors fail to make eye contact, let alone rise. Twain returns to his seat. A recess is taken.
45 minutes later:
The Directors inform that, after consulting records, they have come to a decision. They call for the scientists to rise, then proceed to run down the list of programs.
Carington, gene splicing/modification – DENIED
Miln and Welsh, cure research/testing – DENIED
Hatcher, virus research/testing - DENIED
Twain, species cross-breeding/reintroduction – DENIED
There is an immediate uproar from Twain, though the other scientists remain silent. They appear defeated. Twain yells that they are ‘making a mistake’, that the facility is ‘close to a cure’. His words are disregarded and he storms out.
“You’ll regret this.” he states.
Time ending: 12:30pm, Friday Sept. 18th, 2009
They were his. His project. His creation. The Directors had no right to take them away from him. Not after everything. Not after how far they’d come.
With a sigh, Professor Twain lay his head back against the slightly tinted, window of what appeared to be some sort of enclosure. Deep within the artificial darkness, something stirred, amber eyes glowing momentarily before blinking out.
“What am I to do Sawyer?” the man whispered, running shaky hands through graying hair. “Whatever am I to do?”
DENIED, the directors had stated. DENIED. There was no longer any funding for his program. Or any of the other programs, for that matter. The entire facility would be forced to shut down. And the test subjects? Terminated. He slammed his fist against the glass, instantly regretting his action as his aging joints screamed in agony.
“Professor?”
A woman’s voice sounded in the hallway, followed by light, tentative footsteps. Professor Twain glanced up, pushing his glasses further up his nose as eyes squinted in an attempt to identify the speaker. Ah, Beth. His lab assistant. The poor girl, what would he tell her? She was a junior in college, recently enrolled in the Biology program. The internship had been offered at the beginning of the semester and eager as ever for extra experience, Beth had enrolled. She was a good kid; studious, polite, and she cared about the programs, especially those regarding T15a. How would she react to this news.
“Beth…” he began.
“I know.” was the whispered response. “I’m sorry.”
The professor stared off into space, hands clenching and unclenching as thoughts clouded his weary mind.
“What will we do?”
Suddenly, her hand was in his. He started, surprised by this act, but quieted as the familiar shape of a syringe was pressed into his hand. So. This was it then. Even she had given in to the inevitable. He felt the tears well as he glanced down at his subject’s fate.
“…Beth? This is a sedative.”
“I know.” the girl replied in a hushed voice. “Give it to Sawyer. We can switch him out with one of the others, T13 or T14. They look similar enough, due to the crossbreeding.”
This was true. T13, T14, T15a and T/H15b were all the results of a similar breed dog/wolf coupling. Though only the latter two were true blood siblings. The professor paused. Here it was, the answer to his problem, right in his hand. But for some reason, he hesitated.'This is unethical!' screamed the scientist in his head.
“Beth. He isn’t ready. Not yet.” he retorted, ever logical. “He needs more time.”
“…it’s now or never, Professor Twain.”
They had come for him; the strange-smelling ones that walked on two legs. Never before had they come so close. It frightened him. He knew they existed, he had seen them. /Through/ the glass. But now they approached, arms outstretched and hands grasping. He snarled, jaws snapping closed on the thick material that cloaked skin, bitter taste filling his mouth. Something slipped around his neck, tightening more and more with each desperate thrash of his form. He couldn’t breath. Eyes bulged as tongue lolled, sides heaving with exhaustion. Yet still he fought. Suddenly, something grasped his scruff, pinning him firmly to the ground. Paws scrabbled, seeking a source of purchase with which to brace again. A pinch between his shoulder blades caused him to cry out as numbness began to slowly spread. What was this? The two-legged ones let him go and he lunged at them, only to fall to the ground as his legs refused to respond. What was happening? Again, he attempted to rise, body unresponsive to his mind’s cries of desperation. Whimpering, he began to drag himself away with what little strength he could manage, back legs completely useless.
“I’m sorry Sawyer.” a man spoke, stooping near him.
This man was familiar. He had seen him outside the enclosure many times. Frightened eyes pleaded for mercy, vision slowly fading. He felt hands about his neck before hearing a ‘snap’. There was something there, around his neck. His triangular ear was bitten by something cold and metallic, causing him to yelp in pain. There was something there too now, on his ear. But what? He didn’t understand.
“I’m so very sorry.”
And then, everything went black.
That sound. What was that sound? It was familiar, yet at the same time new. And that smell. What was that smell? Ah, his head hurt. Why wouldn’t his eyes open? Wake up, wake up, wake up…
Slowly lids opened to reveal the amber eyes of a wolf. They darted left to right, up then down, registering. He was in some sort of crate. Thick steel walls rose from every side, enclosing him in a windowless prison. There was straw at his feet; warm, yet reeking of filth and urine. Leathery nostrils wrinkled in disgust as the creature sat up, head promptly coming in contact with the roof of the crate. His surprised whimper echoed, causing head to duck and ears to pin back. Where was he?
As eyes become more and more accustomed to the darkness, he realized that he was not trapped here at all. An opening up ahead beckoned, light and scents filtering in. He attempted to rise, fell, then tried again, gritting his teeth. His body ached from exhaustion. Finally on all fours, he inched closer and closer toward the blinding aura, pausing often to draw scents. He knew many of them; trees, dirt, water…but something was missing. The scents, they were so…clean. Fresh. Untouched.
Closer and closer he crept until he was near enough to stick a cautionary paw out. Withdrawing quickly, he waited. But there was nothing. No one. Where were the two-leggeds? The last thing he remembered was their hands on him, the taste of rubber in his mouth. After a moment or two, he dragged the front half of his form from the crate, only to immediately hit the earth as eyes conquered the brightness. Everything, everything was so…large.
With a whimper, he attempted to pull himself back into the safety of the crate, neck catching on a metal latch. He thrashed, trying to loose himself. But that thing, whatever it was around his neck, was caught fast. Backing out of the crate, he placed two paws against the sides, bracing as he fought with the contraption. A swift jerk brought success as an attachment on the collar snapped off and he was sent tumbling. Tail tucked as he rose, body sinking low as he cast a furtive glance at the trap. What was it? His body trembled as the wolf scented the air, searching for something familiar. Home? No, the area was oddly lacking of his personal mark. Water then.
He headed off in the general direction of this, rising only slightly off the earth. His frame was lanky, especially so as he slinked, yet small in stature. Bone structure seemed oddly delicate for one of his species, ears and paws too large to fit properly. It was apparent to anyone who looked twice that the creature was not of full blood. His features may have been wolf-like enough to fool a simpleton, but the build boasted of smaller canine lineage, dog possibly. As he moved, his head swung from side to side, eyes roving hungrily over his surroundings. He recognized, but at the same time something was missing. Something…artificial? The light was too bright, sky too vast, water too clear and free flowing. Everything was too real. Never before had he experienced such things so vividly.
The reality of everything was such a sensory overload, it sent him reeling, stomach emptying of its contents. Thin frame racked until his heaving brought up nothing but dry, bitter pain. Crawling to the water’s edge, he dipped his parched tongue in an attempt to rid his taste buds of the bile. He relished the crisp, utter clarity of the water, savoring it as it cooled his burning throat. Something was wrong. They had made some mistake, the two-leggeds. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Struggling to his haunches, he glanced about, seeking. He had to be here, the man. Somewhere. Would he be angry with him? Would he hurt him again?
Again, the wolf began to whimper, rising to a shaky stance. Perhaps, perhaps he should go back. It was safe there, in the box. He knew the box. Without a second thought, he lurched back toward the earlier deserted crate, worry rising until his eyes set upon it’s familiar shape. The scent of it accosted sensitive nostrils. His scent. Fear scent. But at least it was something he was completely familiar with, something he knew.
Creeping closer, his gaze fell upon an object on the ground. It was small and black, a little piece of plastic that emitted a high pitched whine. He pawed at it, momentarily curious before remembering himself. Casting a glance about the terra, he slunk into the darkness and safety of his ‘home’. There he lowered himself, disregarding the stench of the straw as he placed he head against his forelegs, eyes staring off into the darkness.
He was completely alone. The man had not come as he had expected. There was no one here but himself. A soft, whisper of a howl escaped as he sighed deep.
For once in his life, Sawyer actually missed the one called Twain.
Attending: Board of Directors staff, Profs. Twain, Hatcher, Milln, Carrington, and Welsh, secretary
Time beginning: 9:00am, Friday Sept. 18th, 2009
I, secretary Alice Lane will be recording the Fund’s Disbursement meeting as events take place.
9:00am, the meeting begins. Board of Directors President, Robert Elger introduces himself and everyone else present before calling the meeting to order. Professor Twain is the first to address the board. He speaks of his subjects, T15a and T/H15b. They have shown much improvement since the last meeting, though T15a is still labeled as ‘unfit for reintroduction’. He notes T/H15b’s astounding resilience and resistance to the virus, stating that he barely shows signs of infection. Hints this may be due to the cross-breeding program. Twain promises results if more time is given and funding is not cut. The Board members consult one another before Twain is dismissed. The floor is opened. No one else rises. Twain tries to get Hatcher to speak, but the man refuses. The other professors fail to make eye contact, let alone rise. Twain returns to his seat. A recess is taken.
45 minutes later:
The Directors inform that, after consulting records, they have come to a decision. They call for the scientists to rise, then proceed to run down the list of programs.
Carington, gene splicing/modification – DENIED
Miln and Welsh, cure research/testing – DENIED
Hatcher, virus research/testing - DENIED
Twain, species cross-breeding/reintroduction – DENIED
There is an immediate uproar from Twain, though the other scientists remain silent. They appear defeated. Twain yells that they are ‘making a mistake’, that the facility is ‘close to a cure’. His words are disregarded and he storms out.
“You’ll regret this.” he states.
Time ending: 12:30pm, Friday Sept. 18th, 2009
- - -
They were his. His project. His creation. The Directors had no right to take them away from him. Not after everything. Not after how far they’d come.
With a sigh, Professor Twain lay his head back against the slightly tinted, window of what appeared to be some sort of enclosure. Deep within the artificial darkness, something stirred, amber eyes glowing momentarily before blinking out.
“What am I to do Sawyer?” the man whispered, running shaky hands through graying hair. “Whatever am I to do?”
DENIED, the directors had stated. DENIED. There was no longer any funding for his program. Or any of the other programs, for that matter. The entire facility would be forced to shut down. And the test subjects? Terminated. He slammed his fist against the glass, instantly regretting his action as his aging joints screamed in agony.
“Professor?”
A woman’s voice sounded in the hallway, followed by light, tentative footsteps. Professor Twain glanced up, pushing his glasses further up his nose as eyes squinted in an attempt to identify the speaker. Ah, Beth. His lab assistant. The poor girl, what would he tell her? She was a junior in college, recently enrolled in the Biology program. The internship had been offered at the beginning of the semester and eager as ever for extra experience, Beth had enrolled. She was a good kid; studious, polite, and she cared about the programs, especially those regarding T15a. How would she react to this news.
“Beth…” he began.
“I know.” was the whispered response. “I’m sorry.”
The professor stared off into space, hands clenching and unclenching as thoughts clouded his weary mind.
“What will we do?”
Suddenly, her hand was in his. He started, surprised by this act, but quieted as the familiar shape of a syringe was pressed into his hand. So. This was it then. Even she had given in to the inevitable. He felt the tears well as he glanced down at his subject’s fate.
“…Beth? This is a sedative.”
“I know.” the girl replied in a hushed voice. “Give it to Sawyer. We can switch him out with one of the others, T13 or T14. They look similar enough, due to the crossbreeding.”
This was true. T13, T14, T15a and T/H15b were all the results of a similar breed dog/wolf coupling. Though only the latter two were true blood siblings. The professor paused. Here it was, the answer to his problem, right in his hand. But for some reason, he hesitated.'This is unethical!' screamed the scientist in his head.
“Beth. He isn’t ready. Not yet.” he retorted, ever logical. “He needs more time.”
“…it’s now or never, Professor Twain.”
- - -
They had come for him; the strange-smelling ones that walked on two legs. Never before had they come so close. It frightened him. He knew they existed, he had seen them. /Through/ the glass. But now they approached, arms outstretched and hands grasping. He snarled, jaws snapping closed on the thick material that cloaked skin, bitter taste filling his mouth. Something slipped around his neck, tightening more and more with each desperate thrash of his form. He couldn’t breath. Eyes bulged as tongue lolled, sides heaving with exhaustion. Yet still he fought. Suddenly, something grasped his scruff, pinning him firmly to the ground. Paws scrabbled, seeking a source of purchase with which to brace again. A pinch between his shoulder blades caused him to cry out as numbness began to slowly spread. What was this? The two-legged ones let him go and he lunged at them, only to fall to the ground as his legs refused to respond. What was happening? Again, he attempted to rise, body unresponsive to his mind’s cries of desperation. Whimpering, he began to drag himself away with what little strength he could manage, back legs completely useless.
“I’m sorry Sawyer.” a man spoke, stooping near him.
This man was familiar. He had seen him outside the enclosure many times. Frightened eyes pleaded for mercy, vision slowly fading. He felt hands about his neck before hearing a ‘snap’. There was something there, around his neck. His triangular ear was bitten by something cold and metallic, causing him to yelp in pain. There was something there too now, on his ear. But what? He didn’t understand.
“I’m so very sorry.”
And then, everything went black.
- - -
That sound. What was that sound? It was familiar, yet at the same time new. And that smell. What was that smell? Ah, his head hurt. Why wouldn’t his eyes open? Wake up, wake up, wake up…
Slowly lids opened to reveal the amber eyes of a wolf. They darted left to right, up then down, registering. He was in some sort of crate. Thick steel walls rose from every side, enclosing him in a windowless prison. There was straw at his feet; warm, yet reeking of filth and urine. Leathery nostrils wrinkled in disgust as the creature sat up, head promptly coming in contact with the roof of the crate. His surprised whimper echoed, causing head to duck and ears to pin back. Where was he?
As eyes become more and more accustomed to the darkness, he realized that he was not trapped here at all. An opening up ahead beckoned, light and scents filtering in. He attempted to rise, fell, then tried again, gritting his teeth. His body ached from exhaustion. Finally on all fours, he inched closer and closer toward the blinding aura, pausing often to draw scents. He knew many of them; trees, dirt, water…but something was missing. The scents, they were so…clean. Fresh. Untouched.
Closer and closer he crept until he was near enough to stick a cautionary paw out. Withdrawing quickly, he waited. But there was nothing. No one. Where were the two-leggeds? The last thing he remembered was their hands on him, the taste of rubber in his mouth. After a moment or two, he dragged the front half of his form from the crate, only to immediately hit the earth as eyes conquered the brightness. Everything, everything was so…large.
With a whimper, he attempted to pull himself back into the safety of the crate, neck catching on a metal latch. He thrashed, trying to loose himself. But that thing, whatever it was around his neck, was caught fast. Backing out of the crate, he placed two paws against the sides, bracing as he fought with the contraption. A swift jerk brought success as an attachment on the collar snapped off and he was sent tumbling. Tail tucked as he rose, body sinking low as he cast a furtive glance at the trap. What was it? His body trembled as the wolf scented the air, searching for something familiar. Home? No, the area was oddly lacking of his personal mark. Water then.
He headed off in the general direction of this, rising only slightly off the earth. His frame was lanky, especially so as he slinked, yet small in stature. Bone structure seemed oddly delicate for one of his species, ears and paws too large to fit properly. It was apparent to anyone who looked twice that the creature was not of full blood. His features may have been wolf-like enough to fool a simpleton, but the build boasted of smaller canine lineage, dog possibly. As he moved, his head swung from side to side, eyes roving hungrily over his surroundings. He recognized, but at the same time something was missing. Something…artificial? The light was too bright, sky too vast, water too clear and free flowing. Everything was too real. Never before had he experienced such things so vividly.
The reality of everything was such a sensory overload, it sent him reeling, stomach emptying of its contents. Thin frame racked until his heaving brought up nothing but dry, bitter pain. Crawling to the water’s edge, he dipped his parched tongue in an attempt to rid his taste buds of the bile. He relished the crisp, utter clarity of the water, savoring it as it cooled his burning throat. Something was wrong. They had made some mistake, the two-leggeds. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Struggling to his haunches, he glanced about, seeking. He had to be here, the man. Somewhere. Would he be angry with him? Would he hurt him again?
Again, the wolf began to whimper, rising to a shaky stance. Perhaps, perhaps he should go back. It was safe there, in the box. He knew the box. Without a second thought, he lurched back toward the earlier deserted crate, worry rising until his eyes set upon it’s familiar shape. The scent of it accosted sensitive nostrils. His scent. Fear scent. But at least it was something he was completely familiar with, something he knew.
Creeping closer, his gaze fell upon an object on the ground. It was small and black, a little piece of plastic that emitted a high pitched whine. He pawed at it, momentarily curious before remembering himself. Casting a glance about the terra, he slunk into the darkness and safety of his ‘home’. There he lowered himself, disregarding the stench of the straw as he placed he head against his forelegs, eyes staring off into the darkness.
He was completely alone. The man had not come as he had expected. There was no one here but himself. A soft, whisper of a howl escaped as he sighed deep.
For once in his life, Sawyer actually missed the one called Twain.