evanna

Surprisingly enough, Julian's plan works, and instead of scar tissue, what is left is a tattoo that is healing at a remarkably slow pace. I don't know how it's happening, but at least it should enable me to get out of any major trouble that could expose the Red Hand.

Julian, self-proclaimed expert on the city, has, upon Bernard's request, taken Francis and I to the library to do a bit of research, mainly in the hope of loading me with important information that could potentially become useful in devising strategies. Julian spends most of the walk to the library discussing the education system of Tetrahmon. All Professors do not have numbers, but rather proper names, and Julian tells me that their law Professor (who taught Tetrahmon law, of course), had been a machine that appeared human on the outside, programmed to teach law; law without glitches, opinions, or unpredictability.

I try not to look bored.

However, getting into the library doesn't come without its great risks. Julian says that it isn't permitted to loan out books for the sake of reading them; not even for education, since there are so few of them. Also, they'll be registering my number on a blue slip of paper, a ticket, it's called. Naturally, that's the biggest problem, but we need all the information we can get.

"You know, I did get in the first time by taking out a guard," I say, referring to the time when I met Julian, who rolls their eyes in response.

"That's not going to help us," Francis says, quietly. I don't respond.

I can get myself out of most difficult situations, but I don't know the same about Julian or Francis, and as much as I haven't grown fond of them, it's worrying that my number will be associated with either of theirs'- if they locate the Red Hand through us, there won't even be bodies left to bury.

If Julian feels unnerved, they're not showing it. I can't even detect an elevated pulse from them, I can't pick up the subtle, nervous twitch of fingers against the thigh as we walk into the library. Francis, however, is struggling to keep up a facade of stoic bravery. I can't blame him.

The lady at the reception looks about as bored as I feel. "Numbers," she simply states, and passes us each a blue slip of paper with a pen. I copy Julian, and write down my number- only as I hand it back does it occur to me that I could have written down Julian's number, too. If the woman is as stupid as she looks, I doubt she would have noticed. She doesn't ask us for our names. All she does is run the papers through a machine, lets us through, and then goes back to her computer.

"You know," Julian says, as we climb the stairs to the history section, "I really hope that there is someone out there with your number."

"Scared?" I answer. Francis snorts.

"I just don't want to die today."

"You'll die someday." We turn left, and we're amidst shelves of books. I'm delighted- until I see the titles. One entire row is decked out it about fifty or so copies of Tetrahmon: a History, Vol. II. Another: The Barbaric Lives of the Ancients. Lovely. I was expecting something a little bit more interesting.

"That's not exactly helpful." Julian rolls their eyes and turns to me. "We'll be looking for something at the beginning of the history of the city," they say. "If we want you to achieve your full potential and if you want to help as much as you can, we need to get as much information as we can."

On me? I like the idea of that- and yet it sounds like it belongs on a scale depicting the hierarchy of worthlessness. "What're you expecting to find, that I have magical flying powers?" I scoff, and take out Volume I of Tetrahmon: a History.

"Maybe." I respond to that with a raised eyebrow. Julian shrugs back at me and then picks up a book.

After more than a while of leafing through the pages of the thick book, I shut it and give a heavy sigh. "What are we even supposed to be looking for if neither of us know what I actually am? I haven't learned anything new, except for how to say 'this glorious city, Tetrahmon,' in every variant available to the english language."

"Oh, yeah," Francis chuckles. "They lay it out to us on silver platters, and everyone laps that up like dogs."

"Will the both of you please lower the volume?" Julian hisses.

"We will if you tell us you've found something."

"It's not like you've been doing much, Francis."

Francis scowls at Julian. "I'm supposed to stand guard here. I'm not the intellectual. Bernard's orders." At least he's lowered his voice to a whisper for that.

Julian closes the book after flicking through the index to find something- anything remotely scientific or pertaining to enhanced abilities in citizens but, as predicted, there was nothing. "Shall we try the science section, then?" They ask.

I'm a lot more pleased with the books pertaining to the science section of the library- but what I've learned is not to be surprised or disappointed by the constant mentioning of how glorious the President and Tetrahmon are. The propaganda is like the plague- it's everywhere, infects people, brings them closer and closer to death, brings them closer and closer to lose what it means to be human, a creature of independent thought and will.

But who am I to care, when Julian is smart enough to not fall for propaganda, and when I, as an enhanced, am already better than all of them?

"Alright, alright, let's start looking," Julian mutters, and picks up what looks like a promising volume.

I seriously hope that we're not wasting our time.

Julian is the only one who finds something- and although it tells us some form of valuable information, it tells us nothing on what we wanted to find. "Here," they suddenly say, and I'm becoming conscious of the amount of time we've already spent here- too long, and it'll look suspicious.

I walk over, my expression indifferent, but I sit down next to them anyways. "What?"

"I've found some stuff on genetic modification," they mutter.

"Ah, finally."

"Read it out?" I prompt.

"Genetic modification is the artificial alteration of an organism's genes in order to achieve certain elements, inclusive of an enhancement of cognitive and biological processes, that would be otherwise impossible to attain (through purely biological means). It involves the implantation and change in gene expression within an organism- and entails artificial cellular mutation. However, it is, in essence, an abomination of methods employed in the Ancient world in their desperate and futile search for unrealistic power within the achievement of the material human.

"This chapter includes the barbaric methods employed by the lower human race of the old world, as well as what should be known regarding genetic mutation and the sciences behind it."

"How is this useful?" Francis butts in. "All you're telling me is that Tetrahmon is run by hypocrites. As if we didn't already know that," he adds on in an impatient mutter. Although I hate to admit it, I agree with him.

"Please shut up. I'm not done yet." Julian flipped the page, and from where I'm sitting, I can tell the page after the next is labeled with Ch. 11.

I'm not surprised. "That's a remarkably short chapter," I remark bluntly.

"Obviously." For the first time in quite a while, I feel the strong urge to do something to Julian that'll give them something more painful than a bruise. "It states here that the ban of genetic modification was set in stone by a pact between the leaders of the state. Which clearly is absolute rubbish, since this pact was set up directly after the creation of Tetrahmon."

"No, it does make sense," I answer.

"What?" That's Francis.

"I don't remember anything about my late childhood and early teens, but I do remember bits and pieces about the actual storm. I wan't actually outside when it happened, but I remember it. What I don't remember is anything they actually did to me. I know that I willingly gave myself up for trials, but nothing after that. It's like I've got retrograde amnesia.

"I'm pretty sure that means that I was created before the storm and before the creation of Tetrahmon. It would make sense. If they needed to create a superhuman that could withstand the storm so they'd have the materials for aiding them to create their Utopia, they would have needed to genetically modify humans."

"Yeah? And your apparent need to kill?" Julian asks. "I don't think murder is called for in a perfect world." Francis still appears unsettled as Julian mentions it, despite the fact that Bernard has given him a thorough debriefing on what I supposedly am, as well as what I've done.

"In the ten years that this has been set up, have you ever seen anyone- or anything like me? I don't think the drive to kill was intentional. They must have just shut the programme down."

Julian closes the book with a heavy thud. Francis appears lost.

I grin at them as I stand up, taking the book from Julian and shelving it. Although we're nowhere near to figuring out what I can do at my maximum capacity, we're a step closer.

"So..." Julian's looking perplexed as they run over what they've just read and what I've told them. "That means that you're not... supposed to exist."

"Precisely," I smile back at them. "And that gives us a significant advantage."