Brian Grant looked at his instruments in satisfaction. It was all proceeding according to his calculations. The most extreme sort of genetic therapy (could it be called therapy?) was the guiding force behind his experiments. If these series of experiments worked, his research would rock the foundations of both the scientific community and the general public. He could see it already, splashed across the newspapers; “Scientist determines how to manipulate Human Genes” or “Science Improving the Human Genome”, or his favorite, “Genius makes next Evolutionary step for Humans”.

            He chuckled to himself. It was time to stop daydreaming. Soon enough the glory would come. Soon enough his genius would be realized. But he must first finish the task in front of him.

            As the leading scientist behind the CyberBionics, Grant was the one of main reasons for the success of the company. His genius in the field of genetics was unparalleled in the scientific community. CyberBionics also owed its success to two other men; Harold Meltzner, the leading researcher in the field of Articicial Intelligence, and Michael Savinsky, the up and coming scientist in the newly named field of science that combined machine and man, cyber bionics. The combination of these three intellects, and a host of lab technicians at their beck and call, produced revolution after revolution, forcing scientists to rethink the way they viewed biology. It also provided many millions of dollars for CyberBionics. The founder of the company, Morrison Davies had a very large vision; he wanted to be in the Microsoft to the biological community. When they wanted the newest therapy equipment and techniques, they would come to him. When they wanted the best researchers in any given biological field, they would come to him. When they wanted cutting edge technology, they came to him. When they wanted experiments done that pushed the edge of science and morals…they would come to him.

            Obviously Morrison was not content with his enormous success. He still wanted more. And he pushed his company to produce more. No matter what it took.

            It was this newest research that Grant was working on now. He and his colleagues had possibly stumbled upon the greatest discovery of all time. Using supercomputers and the latest genetic algorithms, they fed the human genome sequence through their programs, hoping for some sort of useful thing to emerge. To their amazement, making a few assumptions at certain key points produced a solid mathematical pattern that seemed to be wrapped up in the complex helix structure of human DNA. They had begun to decode it, to try to understand what it meant. They were beginning to have some success. With this pattern, this DNA Rosetta stone, who knows what they could accomplish? Grant relished that idea. This could be the next step in evolution, he had thought. Imagine, genetically enhanced super people – people who wouldn’t bleed when cut because their skin had was as tough as steel. Imagine people who could lift trucks because their muscles strength had been tweaked by geneticists or soldiers who could see at night because their range of vision was increased to detect infrared light as well as normal light. The possibilities were endless!

            And their first human trial was sitting directly in front of him. It floated in a large translucent tube filled with all the nutrients the human body needs. Plus a couple of stimulants and steroids, of course. Innumerable wires and instruments fed into the tube, monitoring all his life signs and biological responses. If the subject needed to go to the bathroom, Grant would know. If it was a little hot, grant would know. If it had an itch on the back of its leg, Grant would know.

            This experiment was top secret of course. No one was to know about it, and no one would ever know about it. Involuntary human experimentation has always been illegal. Except during the Nazi regime. But Grant and Davies alike were willing to step over and on any sort of moral or ethical line in the name of science (or money). You do what needs to be done.

            The experiment was coming along nicely so far. It had started roughly 2 years ago. How they had acquired their current subject Grant did not know, and did not want to know. It was less to feel guilty about. Grant and his team had decided to try a number of controlled genetic changes. First off, their subject would have increased strength (roughly a 300% increase), skin that was elastic yet near impenetrable (a combination of human skin and a new material that was out on the market), and some significant changes in his brain. The brain has never been much understood – it did not cease to be that way in Grant’s experiment. Yet he wanted to try a couple of things – things such as an increased number of synapses – and see what effect they produced. If the subject were retarded it would be no matter; it was never allowed to be conscious anyway. The only thing Grant cared about was that its brain continued operating its normal bodily functions, which it seemed to be doing, and anything else was merely something to be explored and researched.

            As far as they could tell the subject did in fact show increased strength. It also showed a high degree of impenetrability – a normal sharp butcher knife did not pierce its skin. As far as intelligence or any other sort of related thing goes, that remained to be seen. Grant was still debating if he should let it ever be conscious. Currently it was under 24 hour sedation. It remained in a kind of coma state - there was no brain activity whatsoever. If for some conceivable reason it did have brain activity about 67 different alarms would sound.  

            Grant looked around his lab and smiled to himself for the umpteenth time. Floodlights illuminated the subject and all the computer monitors focused on either the subject or its readings. Any instrument he wanted he could find in that room. It was all under his control. There was no feeling quite like that. And oh, did he love it.

            He went back to doing his calculations.

 

                                                            *          *          *

 

            Grant hung his head in desperation. He saw no one cause for it all. He never quite understood it either. Somehow, somehow there must have been an error in their theory. Maybe it was in one of the others’ calculations. Hmm, certainly not his, but maybe theirs. It was inconsequential now. He knew what he would probably have to do, but it made him sick to merely think about.

            Somehow during the last year the experiment had gone horribly wrong. Out of the blue, on a perfectly normal day the subject’s readings had started to go haywire. Before they figured out how to stabilize him they came upon a horrific realization – the subject’s genome was no longer stable either; it had begun to mutate in random, unpredictable ways. Some of the things that had happened had been horrible – he didn’t want to think about the inhuman shape the subject had started to take, but he and the others managed to fix most of it. But soon enough all the mutations got out of hand and they couldn’t keep up. It still looked human, but the researchers knew that the second you sliced it open nothing would look familiar. It was amazing that it was still alive. They had given up trying to figure out how it was still living and functioning. No one even dared to start hypothesizing which of its new organs were doing what. It was a horrible failure. Grant thought that he should have taken the advice given to him from comics and science fiction stories; when you try to play God, things always go wrong.

            They had tried a couple last ditch efforts during the last months. A couple of organs and limbs had started to fail. After determining they could do no more with its biology, they had gotten the latest biomechanical organs and limbs that were in the testing stage in other parts of the company. At first it had seemed to work – the flesh had molded to the mechanical. It even had begun to grow over and around it, with skin covering his new metallic limbs. But it had stopped there – it seemed that the subject could no longer use its limbs and that the organs were barely working in conjunction with its biology. Its lifesigns plummeted, then stabilized at a level that was barely above the line that marked the difference between life and death.

            ‘How dare you fail!’ Grant screamed in his mind at the translucent tube. 5 years of his life, thrown away! His changes to the brain wouldn’t even be able to be researched. It was going to happen. He was going to have to terminate the experiment. Perhaps he would start anew. Maybe he would scrap it all together. Grant sat seething at his computer terminal in his darkened laboratory. Anger began boiling into rage, and rage transformed into fury. He took his computer mouse and hurled it at the tube. It clinked off the 5 inch thick material.

            He stalked up to the tube and screamed.

 “Why!?” was all he could get out as he sputtered. Surely it was laughing at him. If it could laugh. Surely it was mocking his failure. He’d always felt that the subject knew what was happening to it somehow and it was secretly mad at him. It was a silly idea, and he knew it, but he couldn’t shake it. But now it seemed as if it was revolting against him, taking revenge on him for what Grant had done to it. “You think it’s funny don’t you!” Grant yelled at it, his focus placed squarely on the tube. “Stop laughing at me. Stop laughing at me!” He picked up a small table next to him. “Stop laughing at me!!” He hurled the table at the tube.

            The table splintered into a million pieces onto the concrete floor. Oxygen bubbles rose lazily through the nutrient rich liquid inside the tube.

            “S-stop...I t-told you to sto-o-op- it…” Grant was shaking and began to yell out gibberish now. He grabbed the leg of the broken table. “You’ll pay for this! Stop!” Grant screamed, “Laughing! At! Me!” He slammed the leg into the tube each time he said it. Look at it! He screamed in his mind. It’s smiling at me! It’s laughing!

            The subject remained as it always was. It floated nonchalantly in its ooze.

            This infuriated Grant. He jumped onto the large tube, beating it with his hands. “We’ll see who has the last laugh!” He yelled incoherently. He could see its face now; it seemed to be leering at him, its eyes mocking his every failure. Its eyes…those horrible eyes! Looking at him, mocking him. How dare it look at him that way! Those eyes! Its eyes were open.

            Grant jumped off the tube, shock rippling through his body. Was he imagining things? Were its eyes really open? It couldn’t be. For that to happen it would have had to be conscious. If it was conscious a billion alarms would go off immediately. He started to come back to reality and his common sense began to return. Perhaps he’d only imagined it in his enraged stupor. He took a step toward the tube.

            At the same time the tube exploded in a devastating blast of plastic and liquid. Grant was picked up off his feet and slammed into the concrete wall. Sparks flew in all directions and fires caught immediately. Smoke began to pour out from the broken conduits while a couple more explosions rocked the laboratory.

            Grant, lightly bruised but otherwise unhurt, pushed a pile of debris off himself. He was visibly shaken, and leaned into the smoke to try to see what had happened. To his horror, he saw the figure of a large man step out of the smoke and out of the debris of what had previously been the holding tube. His eyes appeared to glow in the darkness as they turned slowly, locking onto his.

            “No…no…impossible, impossible.” Grant said as he lay there, half standing, staring frozen into the eyes of the monster he had created.

            It did not take its eyes off of him. Alarms were beginning to sound and the labs built in defenses were kicking in. Yet it did not break its gaze into Grant’s eyes.

            Two defense lasers dropped down from there perches and targeted it immediately. They both fired round after round of fiery pulses at the subject’s position. Grant’s head whipped back towards the subject - but it was no longer there. Grant did not understand what was happening; he saw a couple of bursts from the smoke, a couple of explosions and then silence. He hoped to whatever God was up there that the lasers had done their job. Wait…he could make out something in the smoke. It was the subject…walking towards him, eyes glowing.

            Finally life sprang into Grant’s being. He stumbled over himself and dashed towards his half-destroyed desk. The thing merely continued to draw closer to him. He reached into his drawer and pulled out his personal Beretta handgun. He swung it around and aimed the gun at it…only to find it was now less than 6 feet away from him.

            It stopped and continued to stare at him. It was huge – 6 feet and 5 inches, yet 300 pounds of genetically enhanced muscle were packed onto its frame. Grant ran behind the desk. It took a couple steps forward as Grant fumbled with his gun. It picked up his desk with one arm, held it for a moment, then with a flick of his wrist, the desk flew across the room, splintering into millions of pieces on the opposite wall.

            Grant brought down his ready pistol and this time did not hesitate as he blew 6 straight rounds into the subject. It stood there apparently unfazed. Grant, horrified, could see the ooze that was pouring from its wounds. He also saw the wounds close up and heal before his eyes. He could not kill this, this…thing. There was only one thing he could do.

            Grant ran as fast as his stubby legs could possibly carry him. The subject watched him a moment or two, then it reached its arm into the air, as if summoning some sort of magic. The hair started to stand up on his head as Grant ran. He barely noticed as he was trying to keep from falling. It wouldn’t have mattered. The last thing he heard was the crackling of static electricity, and the CRACK-KOW as the bolt of lightning seared through his body, boiling his blood, and charring his flesh. His body crashed forward, lifeless, to the ground.

            The subject realized that others would come for it. It was no matter. It was now free. It could do what it wanted – and what it wanted was revenge. The thing made some sort of unearthly sound. In some odd way, it reminded one of laughter.