December 7, 1954:

[This log is to track the growth and study of the experiment known as “018.” As written by Dr. Reyna Katri]

When I was first given this assignment, I was over the moon! Working with the Genetic Study and Mutation Program was a dream come true to my younger self, to know what glorious feats we could accomplish by simple changing or adding onto a humans DNA. While it started off with small things; eye shape, sharper teeth, we have quickly moved on to even greater tasks. Which leads me to write this log of our first human test subject.

I was very excited when first introduced to the experiments main subject. While it is of questionable sort (I must explain that to avoid attachment to the experiment, gender has been removed) what can be expected of a person taken from the streets? My boss, Prof. Garrison, has assured me that the subject would not be hostile and our crew must make the best of this oppurtunity. In his words, he says “this pact on society will be worth it. To raise humanity high above the beasts and create a more prosperous man for society.” I don’t truly grasp his words, but I can feel the impact they have on the others, and it only excites me further!

I suppose I should describe the subject, but briefly in case it might change through the genetic changes in the future. It has very messy and long black hair. Its skin is pale, almost sickly. And its eyes…I shudder just writing about it. Such a horrid glare from such a person! Although the color of stormy seas is beautiful, the harsh gaze they hold ruins the whole appearance. 018 is a fascinating figure, and—although their looks are off-setting— I am very honored to be working with such an incredible team to change its appearance to something above what a human being could imagine!

I’ll end this entry here. But updates will come!

December 9, 1954:

This ends day two of working with 018. While we are working to change the genetics of it, my work is limited to observing it and marking off any changes I can see. Which works perfectly fine for me, I don’t think I could handle the surgical procedure of the genetic alterations. I was never good with any blood.

Anyways, the subject has been adapting slowly to its new anatomical shape. Based on the surgeons words, they placed the DNA of cat and deer to strengthen agility and endurance. 018 has been wandering around its small room, testing out its longer legs and struggling through the feeling of the change. I entered the room earlier today, to introduce new activities. I walked it through small puzzle games to improve its mind, and making sure it keeps its humanity. 018 is mute, it seems, so I must bring it up with my co-worker Julia to see if she could outline a solution to fix that. But so far, the second day has beginned and ended smoothly.

Now, I want to write down my personal thoughts on the experiment. Although I love my work and this program, I can’t help but feel frustrated on being so limited in my knowledge. I don’t know a thing about the procedures that are made, or the origins of 018. Hell, it is almost hilarious to speak like this. I should be grateful I’m getting the chance not many women scientists can.

I’ll update soon!

December 15, 1954:

I haven’t updated awhile on the fact that nothing much had changed. We added a few more genetic changes to 018. And some of them effected it physically. It’s pale skin has darkened quite a bit, to a very healthy level. Those grey eyes have also become darker, to a near pitch black, but the glare does not lessen at all.

Today, I ran over some tests of memorization with 018. Starting small with different colors or shapes. It’s a clever thing, getting everything right quickly and efficiently. Though, when we went over some sentences, it refused to continue. I felt very upset with this. If I couldn’t get it to work, then Prof. Garrison will be upset. I did all I could to coax it to read the words and point to the picture it matches to, but nothing worked! After racking my brain and almost ready to tear my hair out (which I didn’t, it would be very improper) I had a sudden realization.

“…you can not read. Can you?” I asked it.

It looked at me silently for a long time, before making an awkward nod. I felt silly, of course a subject pulled from the streets would not be able to read properly. But of course, its nothing I could not fix.

After a long moment of explaining the alphabet and English grammar. I managed to get it to understand simple words. Like “cat” or “dog.” It never spoke,(we are still working on its muteness,) but when it read the words, it pointed correctly at the picture that matched. I praised it like I would a little child, as its progress had shown great results.

I think it smiled at me. But I don’t know if it can smile.

If any changes happen, I will write it down.

December 17, 1954:

It spoke to me! It spoke to me today!

Ah, forgive me. I am just all over the place right now. I must explain in more detail. Julia had tried to structure a solution for its speaking problem, but told me nothing could be done. The mute subject was not because of a disfunctioning voice box or tongue. But it simply did not want to. I find that to make more sense then I thought it would. I never though that 018 was any less clever than it seemed, but keeping silent is the appropriate response when met with strangers. Especially a subject with a sharp and hard gaze like it had, I had recently realized that its glare was more of a suspicion than of hate.

But I’m getting off topic! When we were working on the flexibility test with Prof. Garrison, something happened that made it yell out in pain. The professor told me it was all part of the process, but how can you call it ‘process’ when your subject is clearly uncomfortable?! If anything, the very fact it was in pain would be a direct proof of limitations that must be respected! And if you’re asking me, having your arms and legs stretched and bent all different ways would most likely get painful. Once the experiment was over, I had rushed over and started checking on 018.

I don’t know why i was so worried, just that I was. I asked it where it hurt, and assured it that I would talk to the professor about adding some limitations to avoid harming the experiment with trying to stretch the progress. In my hurried flurry of words, my ears had heard a little whisper of a voice.

“Thank you..”

…I cannot hide how it made me feel. All warm and soft, yet terrifying to realize. It is dangerous to even allow such familiarity to be shown to a subject of experimentation. But that was only one of the things I figured out..

The other was that its voice was small. Young even. Granted inches were added when the deer DNA was put in, but I was under the impression that the subject was a grown adult. That it had a mature and healthy mind. But 018 speaking only proved me wrong. The voice sounded like one of a teen, maybe 16 if im estimating?..And now I worry for both me and it. I worry for it because the implications its voice expresses is that 018 is much too young to be caught up in this program.

And I worry for me, because I now realized I’m starting to get attached..

December 21, 1954:

I cannot, with a truthful heart, say I enjoy this work anymore. Yes, being a scientist to change the world is amazing, but at the expense of children? What is the point of it? The young ones are the future, the thing we strive to make great! They have the opportunity to raise society past the age of their parents and elders

So I suppose, for the first time, I understand the Professors words. And I hate them.

But I keep working with 018, I keep trying to play along. But I think of it as often as my own child. I’m sure my co-workers have noticed my affections for it. My tests have been with positive approaches and less discipline, and I am usually absent during any physical training. How can they stand it? Watching it be pushed far beyond what it is capable of? And to dismiss it as a flaw, before adding more and more mutations to it?

It only brings pain. And hate. So much hate.

018 has grown more hostile to our scientists. It snarls almost beast-like whenever they try to touch it, and makes a show of scratching and biting at an unfortunate handler. Prof. Garrison is very agitated, I had to avert my gaze today when he ordered that it be restrained and drugged for everyone’s safety. Only I can approach it with little trouble. I must seem crazy, to be attached to an experiment. But I’ve been slowly working my way into caring for it. Asking where it hurts, taking breaks in between tests, and lightly conversating with it. It talks more often now, in small words and phrases. But I can see it..I can see the way its eyes harden when the others are in the room…almost murderous. It scares me.

It scares me to admit it, but I fear we have created a hate filled monster.

And it’s scary to admit I don’t see any problem with it.

December 26,1954:

[This entry has been removed]

January 2, 1955:

I am surrounded in red.

The containment room broke when I was going over my notes. And the rest were scattered. I can still hear screams of unknowing victims. Picked off one by one in a way to satisfy a understandable blood lust.

Garrison was the first to go.

We have locked ourselves in the lab. The rest finding ways to destroy the out-of-control creation, and I am sitting here…writing..reading my own words..hell, I can feel tears coming.

I blame myself. For joining this program, for not freeing it—_Him _when I found out. He never deserved this, and I know that. The others scurry like fools, to get rid of their own mistakes. But sooner or later, 018 will kick open the doors, his body deformed and bloody, and he will tear them apart. Nothing will be saved accept for rooms of red. __ __ This guilt is overwhelming.. __ __ But this pride is stronger. __ __ After all, I was the one who whispered in his ear three days ago. Telling him to run and that taking revenge would not be his fault. I wanted this to happen, and as terrified as I am, I could never be happier. __ __ I am a very proud mother. __ __ __ 01–03–55 __ Katri. Dead. White coats. Kill. Her __ Kill them too. __ Her words? I find. I write too. She teach. __ Sad. Like Katri. She Mom. __ I kill more. For her. __ I her son. __ Bye book. :) __ __ [Log Completed]

He looks surprised, and maybe exasperated. I couldn’t blame him though, how else are you supposed to react when, while stuck in a giant arena with bloodthirsty teens, your ally sits down and pulls out a Language book?

“Really?” He dead-panned at me, “you brought a _Spanish school book _to the Hunger Games?”

I frowned, and argued back. “Listen, I know its weird. But I’m not gonna lose my streak just because a buncha kids my age want to kill me. Besides, we could talk more without the cameras knowing!”

He did not find this amusing. Sad.

“You are the single most indescribable person I have ever known.” He groaned, and sat down next to me. Looking over my shoulder before wrinkling his nose. The nerve of him!

“If you want to keep your streak,” He said accusingly, “why didn’t you bring a phone of all things? Duolingo exists.”

In a fluid and silent motion, I closed the book and turned to face him. With the most blank expression I could have as I calmly say.

“They said non-lethal.”

That shut him up quick.

A winters morning is the most unlikely time to be out in the afternoon. With news of a blizzard hitting, most were inside sipping coffee, sighing from the comfortable warmth, and giving hardly a thought that anyone would be crazy enough to go outdoors.

They were wrong.

For out there in the cold wind of the north, far across the frozen lake, shivering under her red winter coat and white stocking hat, was a young girl. Her name was not important, for no one knew it. Nor was her age, for no one could say. Although many tried to guess, she never denied nor confirmed these assumptions. She was a stranger, nothing more or less.

The girl steadily marched onward, tucking her hands in her pockets and looking down at the ice. It was a marvel she did not slip several times, for the ice was smooth and hard as glass. But she kept moving, sliding her feet across the ice, eyes turned to her feet as she frowned.

He should be here. He usually came about this time.

For years she had waited for a perfect storm, the time that ice would be frozen enough to cross. Every day, she longed for the blizzard, the storm that would aid her to the end

For out of summer she was taken, and out of winter she will return.

She blew on her hands to warm them. Although the cold was a welcoming feeling, pain of frostbite was not. Her hair blew into her face, sprinkled with snow. Her jacket did little against the wailing wind, and her boots were not made for the slick ice. Yet the girl pressed on. Hoping, waiting for a sign of her—

The ice cracked, she froze.

Icy veins ran through the solid waters, spreading from the area her foot had been placed. Her heart skipped, and the pleasant feeling of fear sent a rush to her head. The girl smiled, and took another step. The lake continued crack and creak under her feet, deep blue waters rushing below. Promising a watery grave. The wind and storm raged around her, trying everything in their power to make the girl in the red coat turn around

‘_Run child, leave.’ _They whispered softly in her ear.

But it was not the voice she wanted to hear. For the sound of the waters carried another one, one ringing from the cracks and shattering of the ice. A haunting voice she had missed.

“Come to me..find me below” __ __ Soon she stopped, in the middle of the lake. Surrounded by splitting ice, standing over the deep blue of a lake, the girl stopped.

And the storm gave up.

Silence was a haunting sound, one that took her breath away. But it was not the only thing..

For right in front of her, was the one she was looking for. The older man stood calmly on the ice, not bothering with warm clothing. In only a black jacket and pants, his white beard caked with frost. A smile on his face as shown by the crinkle in his eyes. Leaning on the staff in his hands, He spoke gruffly, but was soft.

“Well..lets go home, My daughter.”

The girl grinned, and the ice broke.

For the Daughter of the North Wind had returned. Her spirit above with her father, and her body below with the water..

It was theirs, not mine I did not want the fire and ash I did not want my husband’s sash Taken from a battle, bloodied from clash It was theirs not mine

It was mine not theirs They did not care for my son’s smile They did not see my pain worthwhile They did not care for our lands defiled It was mine, not theirs

For all my sorrow, they spoke of glory For all my peace, they spoke of things gory It leads all people to come to revelation That a war of hate is never good for our nation.