Consider this a filler.

No, don’t get your hopes up, this isn’t part of the “Twins” story. Reminds me, I haven’t thought of a more suitable name for it.

Some of you might guess where this came from, and why I wrote it. Please refrain from stating it, though.

-

In a fluid motion, the boy flung himself out to the clearing beyond the trees in front of him, poised for an attack. Then he blinked. There was nothing there but a set of tracks that led further into the desolate scrubland.

Static sounded in his earpiece.

“You lost the lynx again. You’re shameless, Conejo!” The harsh voice spoke in Spanish.

Conejo shuddered. The voice reminded him of cold steel; it sounded strangely metallic over the earpiece.

“Rechace el volumen. ¡Ahora!”

Conejo sighed, turning down the volume of his iPod. He really wanted to make a face, but the boys who had come back unscathed from training exercises like the one he was in had told him that they would punish him for any disobedience. The rest of the boys he had befriended had not come back at all.

He shivered, but it was not from the chill in the Mediterranean air. Then he hurried after the paw prints imprinted on the soft soil in silence.

*

Two kilometres away, in a high-security building tucked into the scrubland, a professor frowned at the monitor.

“He’s feisty, this one, but a bit too insolent,” commented the man seated beside him.

The professor swivelled around to face him. “I agree. His upbringing may have been riddled with flaws.”

The first speaker blanched visibly.

“Or maybe his spirit is just too wild,” the professor offered.

“Yes,” the other man was quick to agree. “But I have hopes for him. He has more compassion than most others.”

The professor looked at the darkening sky, raising an eyebrow. It would soon be too dark for normal cameras to see the boy.

“Perhaps. Activate the infra-red illuminators, please.”

*

Conejo stared at the tracks in dismay. They ended as the Iberian lynx left the soft scrubland soil and traversed into rockier ground. Squatting down, he examined the last impression he could find. Squinting in the soft light of the moon, he sighed. It was useless; the lynx had been here two hours ago. It would be purely down to luck if he could ever find it again.

He sat down on a flat piece of rock, savouring the warmth that hadn’t yet seeped out of the stone. Soon it would be freezing. He tried not to think about that as he cupped his chin with his pudgy hands.

Secretly, he felt good about losing the lynx. Elamo had given him the task of hunting it down. He had wanted him to kill the lynx with his bare hands. How barbaric was that? How heartless was that? The very thought of killing something made him sick in the stomach. But on the other hand, if he came back without the lynx, there would be severe consequences. He would be flogged a hundred times. Or he might even never return.

That jolted him to his feet. He forced himself to continue. They had treated him badly enough back in the Academia. Who was to say that they wouldn’t send him off to hell?

He began trudging off in the direction that the lynx had been headed. Acid churned in his empty stomach.

*

Luck was with him.

At sunrise, just hours before the exercise was scheduled to end, Conejo came across the animal’s tracks. It was fresh. With renewed energy, he went after the lynx. He selected a track from his iPod that kept his pace constant. The strong beat and rhythm drove all thoughts out of his mind. He was focused solely on putting each foot in front of the other, a movement that grew mechanical as he became a slave to the music in his ears.

The tracks led to a clearing.

Conejo slowly crept towards the opening in the trees before him. A sound now, no matter how soft, would surely send the lynx scampering away.

His earpiece spluttered to life.

“Do not fail me again.”

The lynx raised its head sharply. Conejo stifled his moan. Defeat stabbed him in the stomach. He hung his head. All was lost. He had failed. He felt strangely happy for the lynx, though. It would live to see another day.

But he wouldn’t live to survive Elamo’s wrath.

A growl sounded behind him. Conejo looked up. He tensed as a shadow shot past him. He squinted at the trees around him. He gulped.

Then claws sought to tear him apart as some beast threw itself at him. Vaguely, he heard the lynx scamper away. Good, he thought. At least one of us will live. In any case, even if he lived, he would have Elamo to contend with. This was certainly preferable to a death at his hands. It might even be quicker.

The last sound he heard was a strange hiss several inches in front of his face.

*

The professor turned from the video feed and smiled. “His performance is remarkable.”

“I told you I had high hopes for him. He’s vegetarian, he doesn’t even want to hurt animals in any way,” the other man provided.

The professor nodded, pleased. “Bring him in.”

*

Conejo was brought to a room that was plain and white, with a huge window dominating one side of the room. Bright sunlight streamed in. He frowned. Wasn’t this too bright to be hell? Or was this heaven?

There was an old man in the room. In front of him were flickering squares that displayed moving pictures of boys. With a start, Conejo realised that they were from the Academia.

The man turned to regard Conejo. His grey hair was flecked with white, and his face looked kind, almost like a god. Perhaps he was a god. That would explain all the flickering squares in the room. He was watching over all of the boys at the Academia, protecting them from harm.

“Greetings, Conejo.” His voice was kind too. “You may address me as Dr Hunter, or Tracker.”

“Greetings, Dr Hunter,” he whispered.

“Conejo, am I correct in saying that you didn’t kill the lynx?”

“Yes, Dr Hunter.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I’m happy. At least one of us is alive. I prefer being dead, anyway.”

“Dead?”

Conejo frowned. “I’m dead. But don’t you know that? Sir?”

“If you were dead, then that would imply that I am too. But I’m alive, and so are you. Yes?”

Conejo shook his head, bewildered. “But the cat killed me.”

“Ah, but we shot it first.”

Conejo recoiled in horror, and would have run straight to the door had Elamo not restrained him. “You shot her? But how could you? How…”

“We shot it with a tranquiliser dart, Conejo. She’s safe and well. Look.” He gestured at a nearby monitor. The lynx was in a clearing, being stalked by another boy.

“You see, I keep track of each and every boy in the Academia, and step in when the need arises.”

Conejo frowned. So he was a god. But why was he telling him that he wasn’t dead? He rubbed his eyes, feeling lethargic all of a sudden.

“You are tired, Conejo. Rest.”

Conejo was brought to another white-walled room. He saw Elamo press a button on a wall.

A cold voice blared out of the speaker. “Take the chip.”

Conejo recognised Dr Hunter’s voice. But that couldn’t be. His voice was kind.

“And the boy?” Elamo asked in a bored tone.

“Kill him.” There was a distinctive machine-like drone to Dr Hunter’s voice Conejo had never heard before. But was that really Dr Hunter speaking?

“Is that necessary? We can use him…”

“No. He is expendable. Take the chip, and salvage the tracking device and any parts that may be useful.”

“Understood.”

Elamo strapped him to the operating table in the middle of the room securely. He did not resist. After five years at the Academia, he knew that resistance was futile. Bored silver eyes stared at him, cold and calculating.

Conejo felt an excruciating pain in his shoulder. Then the chip dampened his nerves, numbing his senses. The lens in his eyes focused and he saw Elamo holding a bloody scalpel and a small device that could easily fit in a matchbox.

Humming, Elamo wiped the diamond-edged scalpel and proceeded with the operation.

This time, the pain hit Conejo like a sledgehammer. The chip tried to shut his nerve endings off, but Elamo severed the wires attaching it to the nerves that had once been connected to his brain.

He screamed.

The glass in the room shattered. Elamo’s face remained devoid of emotion. His hands were steady as he slashed the boy’s neck. Then he proceeded to extract the million-dollar lens in his eyes. He removed the metal supports that had replaced Conejo’s bones, and finally, the artificial pump that served as his heart.

Satisfied with his handiwork, he smiled. The experiment had finally succeeded. They had managed to create machines with compassion, with morals and values unique to Homo sapiens.

They were definitely on the right track to the salvation of humankind.

-

I am posting more, boonny.