Shelley-inspired horror ficlet
I wrote this little horror story some years back. A somewhat modern swing to the classic Mary Shelley tale.
"The Post-Modern Prometheus"
Mary-Jane Walton walked down the cold corridor. She had just vomited in the women´s bathroom. The sterile white and chrome colours of the hospital-like corridor only added to the nausiating sensation in her stomach. Even though her miscarriage had happened a while ago, her body was still dazed and confused. She felt that it was ironic that a scientist who was trying to recreate life could not even give birth to a child.
Mary-Jane herself was the daughter of two working class parents. She had grown up in Liverpool and her parents had enough money to send her to University. Mary-Jane followed her dream and studied physics and chemistry. Headhunters for the American government had spotted her and asked her to join the ´Sixth Day Project´ in Washington, D.C. Ambtious as she was, she gladly accepted.
It was that very ambition that silenty coerced her to set her moral objections aside. The same ambition that had her working on the controversial project for hours on end, until the light of the inevitable dawn peered through the small office windows once more. That is, if she were in her office. In the final stages of the project´s completion, she hardly ever was.
Now, the result of ´Project Sixth Day´ was waiting for the governement officials in the containment chamber. Yes, the project had been a succes. Mary-Jane suspected to feel joy, pride perhaps, that the project had been in fact more succesful than anyone could have ever hoped. Her name was to be on the lips of everyone in the science business. Her name would be on the cover of every prestigious science magazine. But Mary-Jane felt nothing. Nothing but nausea.
Mary-Jane ignored her turning stomach and proceeded down the cold metal stairway to once again confront herself with the horror she had ´created´. For Project Sixth Day´s goal was not a project that eventually would make the world a better place - far from it, in fact. The defence budget over the last few decades had been cut dramatically and the Military was undermanned. New recruits were scarcer than ever. The U.S government was slowly losing its status as military superpower and her enemies knew this. A drastic and controversial suggestion was made, approved under heavy protest by some, but nevertheless realised. Under the direction of her husband David, Mary-Jane had begun her work and it was because of her innovating line of thinking that the project had any chance of succeeding.
Because of her, that thing was waiting in the containment chamber.
David had been so proud of her. That was typical of him, she thought. Always trying to look out for her, trying to protect her. He loved her, yes, as she did him, but he never could see her as an adult. He always had to have the final say. Just like with this project, she thought. Perhaps, if HE had not been director of the project she would have...
Would have, could have, should have. Those things were in the past now.
She neared the containment chamber, with that...thing...inside it. The military had come up with a way overcome the shortage of defence budget and manpower by turning science ficton into science fact: To create an army of Supersoldiers. Electronically enhanced cyborgs. Human bodies with cybernetic inplants to increase efficiency, stamina, and sheer power in battle. The source of these Supersoldiers would be abundant, and perpetual. For as David had put it so eloquently: Tanks and jets cost money. The Dead cost nothing.
She had revitalised a dead human body with the use of modern electronics. The result should have been a fully programmable human body that would take orders and execute them without questioning or complaning. Without care for his personal life, for he had none. There was to be no personality present within the creature´s mind, just as there is no sentient being present in a personal computer.
It was that notion that prooved faulty.
For the creation in the contaiment chamber was truly alive. It spoke. It howled. It screamed. It moved without ever receiving orders. In fact, most of the software it was to receive wasn´t even written yet. And yet somehow, the creature had a concienceness. The only wise thing to do, she had thought, was to terminate it.
She had told David so before she had to leave for the bathroom to vomit. The thought alone made her sick.
Suddenly - there was gunfire. Screaming. More gunfire. Mary-Jane hesitated, frozen by sudden fear. Then, she started running.
She headed around the corner to find the door to the containment chamber hanging loosely on it hinges. The two guardsmen slain - their broken bodies lay in a bloody pile in the containment chamber. Other than that, the chamber was empty. The modern day Monster of Frankenstein had escaped.
Thoughts shot through her mind. She had to get to David. Where did she leave her gun? This entire facility had to be quarantained! If this thing ever got out..the public would -
More screams. From upstairs now.
Mary-Jane ran upstairs, past David´s empty office. Down the hall to her own office. She would get her gun out of her drawer, then she would use her phone to call David´s mobile and tell him to get the hell out of here.
She approached the door to her office and threw it open, her heart racing in her heaving chest. When she saw the inside of her office, her heart stopped.
She saw her creation - a bulging, sewn-together monstrocity seated in her chair. Blackened blood pouring out of several bullet wounds and around the edges of newly-implanted cybernetics. An unnatural look of intelligence in its watery eyes. In its trembling right hand, it held the severed head of David, red blood gushing everywhere. Slowly, the miscreant's crumpled lips opened and heaved the word that would echo in her ears for the rest of her life:
`Why...?´
Frank Aiden Ryan
"The Post-Modern Prometheus"
Mary-Jane Walton walked down the cold corridor. She had just vomited in the women´s bathroom. The sterile white and chrome colours of the hospital-like corridor only added to the nausiating sensation in her stomach. Even though her miscarriage had happened a while ago, her body was still dazed and confused. She felt that it was ironic that a scientist who was trying to recreate life could not even give birth to a child.
Mary-Jane herself was the daughter of two working class parents. She had grown up in Liverpool and her parents had enough money to send her to University. Mary-Jane followed her dream and studied physics and chemistry. Headhunters for the American government had spotted her and asked her to join the ´Sixth Day Project´ in Washington, D.C. Ambtious as she was, she gladly accepted.
It was that very ambition that silenty coerced her to set her moral objections aside. The same ambition that had her working on the controversial project for hours on end, until the light of the inevitable dawn peered through the small office windows once more. That is, if she were in her office. In the final stages of the project´s completion, she hardly ever was.
Now, the result of ´Project Sixth Day´ was waiting for the governement officials in the containment chamber. Yes, the project had been a succes. Mary-Jane suspected to feel joy, pride perhaps, that the project had been in fact more succesful than anyone could have ever hoped. Her name was to be on the lips of everyone in the science business. Her name would be on the cover of every prestigious science magazine. But Mary-Jane felt nothing. Nothing but nausea.
Mary-Jane ignored her turning stomach and proceeded down the cold metal stairway to once again confront herself with the horror she had ´created´. For Project Sixth Day´s goal was not a project that eventually would make the world a better place - far from it, in fact. The defence budget over the last few decades had been cut dramatically and the Military was undermanned. New recruits were scarcer than ever. The U.S government was slowly losing its status as military superpower and her enemies knew this. A drastic and controversial suggestion was made, approved under heavy protest by some, but nevertheless realised. Under the direction of her husband David, Mary-Jane had begun her work and it was because of her innovating line of thinking that the project had any chance of succeeding.
Because of her, that thing was waiting in the containment chamber.
David had been so proud of her. That was typical of him, she thought. Always trying to look out for her, trying to protect her. He loved her, yes, as she did him, but he never could see her as an adult. He always had to have the final say. Just like with this project, she thought. Perhaps, if HE had not been director of the project she would have...
Would have, could have, should have. Those things were in the past now.
She neared the containment chamber, with that...thing...inside it. The military had come up with a way overcome the shortage of defence budget and manpower by turning science ficton into science fact: To create an army of Supersoldiers. Electronically enhanced cyborgs. Human bodies with cybernetic inplants to increase efficiency, stamina, and sheer power in battle. The source of these Supersoldiers would be abundant, and perpetual. For as David had put it so eloquently: Tanks and jets cost money. The Dead cost nothing.
She had revitalised a dead human body with the use of modern electronics. The result should have been a fully programmable human body that would take orders and execute them without questioning or complaning. Without care for his personal life, for he had none. There was to be no personality present within the creature´s mind, just as there is no sentient being present in a personal computer.
It was that notion that prooved faulty.
For the creation in the contaiment chamber was truly alive. It spoke. It howled. It screamed. It moved without ever receiving orders. In fact, most of the software it was to receive wasn´t even written yet. And yet somehow, the creature had a concienceness. The only wise thing to do, she had thought, was to terminate it.
She had told David so before she had to leave for the bathroom to vomit. The thought alone made her sick.
Suddenly - there was gunfire. Screaming. More gunfire. Mary-Jane hesitated, frozen by sudden fear. Then, she started running.
She headed around the corner to find the door to the containment chamber hanging loosely on it hinges. The two guardsmen slain - their broken bodies lay in a bloody pile in the containment chamber. Other than that, the chamber was empty. The modern day Monster of Frankenstein had escaped.
Thoughts shot through her mind. She had to get to David. Where did she leave her gun? This entire facility had to be quarantained! If this thing ever got out..the public would -
More screams. From upstairs now.
Mary-Jane ran upstairs, past David´s empty office. Down the hall to her own office. She would get her gun out of her drawer, then she would use her phone to call David´s mobile and tell him to get the hell out of here.
She approached the door to her office and threw it open, her heart racing in her heaving chest. When she saw the inside of her office, her heart stopped.
She saw her creation - a bulging, sewn-together monstrocity seated in her chair. Blackened blood pouring out of several bullet wounds and around the edges of newly-implanted cybernetics. An unnatural look of intelligence in its watery eyes. In its trembling right hand, it held the severed head of David, red blood gushing everywhere. Slowly, the miscreant's crumpled lips opened and heaved the word that would echo in her ears for the rest of her life:
`Why...?´
Frank Aiden Ryan