Recycle
To others, this word may mean the simple process of initiating a reuse of waste products to manufacture other products that may be used again. It is fascinating how such a common ruse can cause uprises of environmental awareness among any community. Alas, whenever I see others recycling their old papers or metal cans, I can't help but feel a sense of dread and despair over little memories that I have of my kind.
Each time I step out of my small apartment, I do not head to work nor do I head to a mall where I could spend some leisure time. Instead, I head towards a facility located 50 miles away. The exact means of me getting there would be incomprehensible for a normal human being. It is the same with any journey that I take, I do not use any form of automated transportation or teleportation facilities that can be precured easily by just heading a few blocks away towards the teleport bay. No, I choose to walk. It only takes me a little over an hour to get there or if I chose to, I could get there in an blink of an eye.
By now, you should have guessed that I am no average human being. I am a genetically-recycled human. Yes, indeed your eyes are not malfunctioning. You read exactly the word "genetically-recycled". My fellow brothers and I are of a breed of humans that the world considers dirty, because we are recycled. However, our existence is still known to very little of the world because we are often discreet and the governments try to cover up the mistakes that they have done in the past. Those mistakes are none other than us. They branded us as genetic-b. We are hunted for research on our genome that is extremely unique because it has the ability to change according to circumstances. But the most valuable part of research is done on our brain functions. Unlike most humans, our brain functions at 100% capacity.Unlike the average human being who only uses 8% of his brain, we fully use our brain matter.
As I complete my journey to the research facility, I stare in sadness as I feel my brothers and sisters are being subject to experiments. I wish to free them but sadly, even I can't enter the facility without being caught. It's such an irony because they can't catch me either. I, the first of my kind and sadly also the last in the freeworld.
What am I? Remember all those graves that they made? Remember all those bodies? They're all gone. I am what they made. I am what they created! From the dead tissues of our ancestors, they recycled them and made them into me...
How long shall I suffer, knowing I am proof of walking death. The proof of a perfect assasin. I am a lonely soul, and there is no one...but me.
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