Subhuman, by V0ID

~2397 a.t.b~

Chapter One

Brittainia enjoyed it's successful age, arts and science flourishing under the longest era of peace the empire had ever witnessed. Racism was near abolished, reduced to the ramblings of ignorant elders and historical documents that became moth-eaten and forgotten. Japanese, Brittainian, name it, all flocked to the exorbitant cities and lush countryside to enjoy a wonderful land known as the United States of Japan. Once steeped in corruption and bloodshed it had risen from ashes, all thanks to a single man.

A single man who was now slumped wearily against a battered wall. His hands were tied and his mouth gagged by the rough collar of his outfit, the scratchy fabric turning his porcelain skin pink. The gouges he had carved in the wall marked each time he had failed to, and wished he had died. It was a bit out of date, for the exact total had slipped away with his sanity. Being burned, drowned, starved, and shot proved his theory that the researchers, or executioners, had some sick fascination with the way he always healed. Floating in and out of conciousness after a particularly gruesome death the day before, he barely heard his tormentors approaching. His eyelids fluttered, straining futilely against the crusty stitches that held them shut.

"I think that poison we gave him combined with electricity may have finally worked." said unfamiliar voice, one of the newcomers to this department. She untied his gag to photograph how bruises from a previous beating he had received were healing. "The properties found in this subject are... miraculous! I'd given him a lethal dose and everything..."

All five of the more experienced researchers took a step back."Don't get too close, newbie. He's only faking. Anyway, can we think of a new way too kill it before it fully recovers? Remember last time how when he regained his full strength..."

The younger scientist scoffed at how they had all retreated over the red line of tape that marked the safety zone. "No! I really think he is. Look." She prodded the man's lolling head with a finger, and pulling out a pair of sewing scissors snipped the thread and peeled back one of his eyelids. The eye rolled back in its socket, awing the scientist with its striking red colour.

Not even a trace of their former purple remained.

"You're right, it looks dead. Let's take it to the lab and test the vital signs." After untying him from the wall one of them grabbed a cart, and slinging him onto the metal surface made a fatal mistake.

Taking off their mirrored goggles to examine his eyes, the owner of them snapped to alert, vaulting off the cart and ordering in a voice husky with disuse. "I order you to do everything in your power to let me escape!" That made for a strange picture, the researchers leading their captive to the front door and even holding the door open for him. A security guard returning from his lunch break witnessed them waving out the window as Brittainia's scientific wonder began sprinting away, his legs stiff but quickly adapting to the speed that was imperative. Alerting the soldeirs that guarded the compound he pulled out his gun and was only following protocol when he began shooting at the escaping man. The Geassed scientists happily jumped in the way of the bullets intended for him, spraying the floor with blood.

Running eratically like a frightened animal he was reaching the outer wall of the research compound when more bullets buried themselves into the back of his legs, crumpling from the force and throwing him onto his face.

"He won't get up from that. He's still weak from the last experiment." Assured the guard captain, taking his time to walk down from the tower where he and the other gunman had been shooting from. He took his time, actually a bit glad that his men had had an opportunity to sharpen their skills. As his boots crunched on the asphalt, he strode over to the fallen form of the man, who was now dragging himself forward with his hands and spitting out gravel. Actual tears were trailing down his cheek.

Taking the cold shape of a gun from his pocket the captain shot him in the back of each hand, immune to each muffled cry. From the stitch wounds it looked like he was crying blood, scarlet drops rolling down to gently stain his sweat-dampened collar. Preparing to end the experimental subject's life at least temporarily, he jabbed the gun to it's head, but thats when it opened his eyes, revealing two eerie crimson orbs etched with a strange signal.

"D-don't shoot me." The order was half audible and choked with desperation. Dropping his gun the soldier appeared confused as to why the subject wasn't dead, and to why the gun was now pointed at him.

Seven people died in that escape attempt, and he would have succeeded had it been for the straightjacket hampering his efforts to run. Such an act of independence was impossible now, spiderwebs of plastic tubes making him half-dead with sedatives. The surgeons did their job quickly, scalpels flashing as they separated each limb. They had figured he was no longer any use to them, as the cost of the facility was astounding and he definitely was dangerous. Mao would be jealous of the big white laboratory that would be his new home.

A/N: This was (roughly) the end for In the End, but then a few things changed...