Project Genesis

6 MONTHS AFTER WAKING

My eye twitched as the needle sunk into the skin of my cheek again, but I avoided wincing at it. The pain I was feeling wasn’t real, and I was strong enough by now to understand that. Thanks to what Father did to my back, I was forced to endure that irritating sensation for weeks and weeks on end, until eventually I learned to ignore it, just as he wanted. I pulled the suture through and out on the other side of the mostly-stitched slash wound across my face, separating it from the needle and tying it off. There, done.

I examined my face in the mirror, taking pride in my work. It was a lot shoddier than what the medics could do, but it was my first time suturing a wound, so that was to be expected. Father had banned me from the medbay so that I could learn to treat my own injuries as the difficulty of the obstacle course ramped up. This particular one was made by a knife launched from the wall that I had been too slow to block with my shadows. It was my mistake, and as such, it only made sense that I would be the one to fix it. After all, ‘what self-respecting 26 year old woman doesn’t know how to stitch their own wounds?’ or so Father said. Apparently, I was 26. That was good to know. I had been wondering how old I was recently.

The cut stretched all the way from my cheekbone to the bridge of my nose. If it had been even an inch higher, it probably would’ve taken out my right eye. As it was, though, it was just a flesh wound, and it would heal in time. Meanwhile, the constant itch would be a good reminder of what happened when I made a mistake in the obstacle course. I was getting good at blocking and deflecting the knives with my shadows, but evidently, I needed more practice

The door to my room opened and Father stepped in, walking over to me near the desk. He leaned down, peering at my stitched-up face. For a moment I thought he might have been about to reach out and touch me, and excitement flooded my chest, but instead he just stood there, hands behind his back as he examined my work. I tried not to let the disappointment show in my expression.

“Hm, a little messy,” he said. “But I suppose that’s to be expected for your first attempt. Good work, Jordyn.” He smiled, and my whole body lit up with giddiness.

“Thank you, Father.”

He checked his watch. “It’s just about time for lunch. Would you accompany me?”

I nodded and we left my room, heading through the winding hallways of the facility towards one of my favourite places: the mess hall. Nothing was more satisfying than a warm meal after a hard training session, and ever since I regained my dinner privileges, I’d been able to visit it that much more often. Not to mention, it was the place where I was most likely to run into the other people at the facility outside of Father and the medics. We would have conversations and I’d learn about all sorts of things that Father hadn’t deemed necessary to teach me. I didn’t resent him for it; I understood that he needed to prioritise my physical training, but it was fun learning new things. Speaking of which…

“Father, permission to ask a question?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Granted.”

“If you’re my father, why don’t we look the same? And, where’s my mother?”

He stopped walking, his brows furrowing into a frown. “Where did you hear about this?”

“Mr. Sadler, from R&D. He was telling me about his family and he mentioned a few things I didn’t understand, so I asked some questions. He told me what parents were. But, if I came from you, how come we look so different?”

I thought it was a reasonable question. My skin was tan, and my hair and eyes were dark, while Father was pasty and pale from top to bottom. His nose was thin where mine was wide, he was tall where I was short, and even when I looked at his face next to mine in the mirror, I couldn’t see a single similarity. Based on what Mr. Sadler said, that didn’t make sense to me.

Father hesitated. “Well… I suppose you take after your mother. In fact, you’re the spitting image of her. Unfortunately, she… passed away a few years ago.”

“Oh… How?”

Father began walking again, sudden enough that I had to jog to catch up to him. “No more questions, Jordyn. You just need to focus on your training. Don’t worry about anything else, alright?”

Oh well, I could just ask again some other time. I sucked in a breath and puffed out my chest. “Yes, Father.”

He smiled again, and my whole body tingled. “Good girl. Keep up the good work and you’ll be able to start combat training soon. Oh, and make sure you cut your hair before you go to bed tonight.”

I frowned, running a hand through my hair and taking a black lock between my fingers. When I first woke up after my accident, I had no hair. My head was completely smooth. It always upset me for some reason when I saw myself in the mirror. Ever since then, it’d been growing at a steady rate, and the longer it got, the happier I was with it. Nowadays, my fringe was long enough to reach my eyes if I didn’t brush it away. I liked it, and I liked the way it made me look. The thought of cutting it when it had finally reached a point I liked was like a punch in the gut.

“But… But I like my hair like this.”

Father raised an eyebrow. “Cut it, Jordyn. That’s an order.”

I wilted, trying to hold back the tears burning behind my eyes. “Y-yes, Father. How short?”

He peered at me, and it felt as though his gaze pierced through my body, layer by layer, through my skin and fat into the muscle beneath, and further still until it reached my soul. No matter how hard I tried to hide it, he knew exactly where to look to find the small glimmer of hope I was burying; the hope that he would only make me cut a little bit off. His head cocked to the side like a predator eyeing its helpless prey.

“On second thought, buzz it all off. If your helmet comes off in battle, your hair will be a liability. You don’t want any criminals to be able to grab it, do you?”

I couldn’t help it. I started crying, even while trying to nod and confirm the command. “Y-yes, F-Father.”

“Really, Jordyn? Waterworks again, over a little haircut? You’re a grown woman, you need to start acting like it. No one will take you seriously if you become hysterical whenever you don’t get your way.”

“S-sorry, Father,” I said, trying to hold in my hiccups as best I could. He was right, of course. He was always right. Father knew best. I shouldn’t get so upset over such a simple ask; cutting my hair was the least I could do after everything Father had done for me. So what if looking in the mirror upset me again? I just wouldn’t look. It was fine. I could do it.

We continued on in silence to the mess hall, where we both grabbed trays and filled them up from the bain-marie before finding a table to sit at. Since it was midday, most of the tables were already taken, but when Father and I approached one, everyone sitting there immediately got up and left, taking their food with them. Apparently, Father just had that sort of influence on the people here. They’d never done that to me while I was on my own before. It disappointed me, to be honest. I’d been looking forward to talking with them.

I could still feel the tears in the back of my throat threatening to spill out as I sat down across from Father, but with the promise of a nice meal of chilli and rice in the very near future, I could ignore them a little easier. I grabbed my fork and was about to dig in when Father stopped me.

“I didn’t give you permission to eat, Jordyn.”

I froze, staring at him. He cocked his head meaningfully and I put my fork down before I could upset him any more.

“Good.”

Father started eating. He didn’t speak to me once during his meal. All I could do was sit there and watch as he polished off his tray. My face began to itch around my stitches, and when I moved to scratch them he glanced at me pointedly. I dropped my hand and remained still.

Eventually, he finished, promptly standing up and leaving his tray on the table. We made eye contact, and finally, finally, he said;

“You can eat now.”

Father left the room, and I was left alone to finish my meal in silence, wondering what I’d done so wrong.