--From the Journal of Mona Lisa--
     Nine years.  So Much time has passed since that nightmarish experience that it almost seems unreal.  Yet, another has been going on for so long that it nearly overcomes the horror of that night so long ago.  It’s been about three years I think,  Three years this month Calla was sent to the “Tubes”.  It still fills me with sadness to think of her.  Over the years she had begun to “Tolerate” me; never becoming as close as Wendy and I, but I would like to think she thought of me as a friend.  When it happened, I had demanded to know the reason for her death.  Dr. Zachary--now head honcho here since Dan Anderson retired--Knew me well enough to treat me like an adult--I was 16, after all-- with the intelligence that I possess.  He said that after reviewing all of her notes a miscalculation was discovered in her formula causing it to be unstable.  “Destabilization was inevitable,” were his words.  I, however, do not completely believe him.  I DO miss Calla, though, and will always remember her fondly. . .
     Nine long years ago, Wendy and I experienced a nightmare, and have successfully kept our adventure a secret.  I had bad dreams for weeks, but our “field trip” was never suspected.  However, not long after that, a new nightmare began for Wendy, Calla and I, but this one occurred when we were awake.  Curtis Jackson, to give a name to our pain.  About 2 years after Wendy and I explored the facility, the same year Anderson retired, the three of us had some “Midnight Callers”.  We were all taken to a large lab, one none of us had ever been in before, and strapped down to tables.  I looked around and saw that Wendy’s large, frightened eyes were on me.  ‘What’s going on?’ they seemed to say.  I shrugged, or at least tried to, but the belts were tight.  I remember that first night so clearly, seven years ago . . .

     “I’m sure you all are wondering why you are here,” Dr. Jackson grins.  Beside me, Wendy shutters.
 Before I can stop, I say “I bet this is some new thing right?  Chiropractic services, I bet.”  I snicker but am cut off when the back of Jackson’s hand connects with my face; dull fire spreads in my cheek and my right eye fills with water.  I hear Calla gasp.
     “There will be no joking HERE, Freak!”  A finger wags in front of my beak.  “Zachary has been too easy on you.  He’s SOFT!!”  Jackson’s face is inches from mine, his hot, stinking breath caresses my cheeks, “I’M not.  From now on, after hours is mine.”
     “What are you going to do?” Calla tries to keep her voice from shaking.
     Jackson stares at me a moment longer, then steps back to address us all.  “I’m glad you asked!  You see, I’ve always been fascinated by the systems of the body, especially the immune system.  Working here, I’ve often wondered how mutation affects these systems.  So, I’m going to find out how your freakish bodies respond to different viruses. . . by injecting them into you.  Kyle!”  A gangly intern strode over, caring a tray of syringes, and wearing a wicked grin.
     “You’ll never get away with this,”  Wendy’s voice cracked a bit.
     Jackson smiled, “Who’s going to stop me?  Oh, and by the way, if you ever tell anyone about our little ‘experiments’, not only will they not believe you, but I will kill you.  It’s not a difficult task, I assure you.”
     “You’re crazy,” I whisper.
     Jackson chooses a syringe--they all have hair-like needles to insure very little evidence of receiving an injection--and walks slowly toward me.  I flinch away, feeling panic begin to set in, and my ever present fear of shots begin to overcome me.  I nearly shriek when the point of the needle touches the soft flesh on the inside of my elbow.  Jackson’s face is again inches from mine as his hisses: “My dear, you have no idea. . .”
 
     . . .And so, that’s how it was.  He started simple, injecting a mild flu virus into each of us that night.  Calla, having started out as a human, showed a few symptoms, coughing and sniffing a bit, but Wendy and I were not affected.  He continued with common human illnesses for about a year:  Colds, flus, “bugs”, and again Calla was affected by most, usually mildly.  Wendy seems susceptible to the common cold, but nothing else, and I was never ill.
     Once Jackson learned everything he wanted to know about the “little” things, he moved on to bigger diseases, like pneumonia, bronchitis, sexually transmitted diseases, like HIV, and even cancers.  Wendy was quite ill for a while with a bronchial infection; Calla seemed to never get over a bad cough, and had mono for a while.  It hurt me to watch my friends suffer while I remained perfectly healthy. My reactions, or lack there of, seemed to fascinate Jackson, and frustrate him at the same time. He took many blood samples, cell cultures and even did a few spinal taps (Youch!) to find out why my body resisted illness so completely.  And so the testing continued.
     Master Tachi was the only one who seemed to notice the deterioration of two of his student’s health, and the exhaustion we all shared.  He often questioned us, but fear, I’m sorry to say, kept us quiet.
 Two things happened the year I turned sixteen:  Master Tachi presented me with a wonderful gift, and Calla passed away.  One morning in the latter part of that summer, She didn’t show up for morning workout.  Wendy and I developed a terrible feeling of dread, and, even though Tachi tried very hard, we spared so half-heartedly that Master dismissed us early.  Later that day, Zachary came to each of our rooms and told us the news.  Then on the 9th of December, the morning of my birthday--or rather, the day I was created here--Master Tachi asked me to stay after workout. . .

     “You have grown so much, Mona Lisa.  Physically, mentally, and Spiritually.  I wish to give you something.”  He pulls an elegantly wrapped gift from behind his back.  It is a long and narrow package.  “Happy Birthday, my beloved student.”
     “Oh Master!  Thank you so much!” I cry and hug him.  I kneel on the floor before him and carefully unwrap the paper, then open the box. . . The sight takes my breath away.
     “I had it crafted especially for you, not long after our first lesson.  I knew then, as I know now, that it will someday be a part of you.”
     I gently wrap my fingers around the hilt of the amazing weapon; a long, shimmering silver sword.  There’s a frosted pattern that delicately curls up from the hilt, dwindling to nothing about halfway up the sword’s four feet total length.  The handle is a deep black pearl and seemed to be specially crafted for my left-handed grip.  “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I whisper.
     Master Tachi smiles, “I will teach you to handle it, and make it as deadly as it is beautiful.”

     And he did.  I became quite good with my weapon.  I followed Tachi’s teachings and made the sword a part of me.  He taught me to make it Dance, make it Sing, make it Fly.  A year later, Wendy became too ill to spar, so we did katas and stretches together.  Not long after, she was unable to do even that.  Dr. Zachary tried to keep me from seeing her, but he discovered quickly that would not continue.  I was with Wendy every day for hours.  She told me the reason for her illness was because her wand was missing,  The large book with the hollow for the object was now empty.  Without her “magic” she could not withstand the diseases being injected into her body.  Oh yes, we still had our random visits from Jackson, and he seemed somehow pleased at Wendy’s slow deterioration.  I was still unaffected.  I made a vow to my friend that I would somehow find her wand, and heal her.  And although a whole year has passed, I still stand by my sick friend--even as I write this--and pray she doesn’t leave me before I can fulfill my vow.
 

     *Swish-click*
     My eyes fly open.  Oh no, Jackson!  I sit up in bed as light floods the room.  I notice right away that he is wearing plain clothes and a trench coat.  The interns are dressed the way I always picture them outside of the facility: black leather, T-shirts, ripped jeans.  They look like common street punks.  “Ok Let’s go,” and I am jerked rudely out of bed and to my feet.
    Sensing something was definitely going on, I manage to snag my belt and sword before they rush me out.  With an intern on either side of me, we all walk through the halls, but instead of going to the lab, we turn left, and go down a corridor I’ve never been in.  There are large glass door at the end of this hall.  My confusion continues to grow as we approach the doors, then actually go through them!  Cool night air washes over me.  I’m outside!  After nine years I’m actually OUTside!  Where’s Wendy?  She should be here. . . Oof!
     A shove from my right made me realize I had stopped walking.  “Come on!”  We move toward a large, unmarked white van.  One of the thugs opens the back doors while the two flanking me push me in.  The fourth intern gets behind the wheel, and Jackson slides into the passenger seat.  I look out the rear window and see the outside of the facility for the first time in nine years.  Of course, I can READ now, and can make out the letters “T.G.R.I.” on the side of the building.  From this perspective the facility has the appearance of an abandoned building.  My thoughts are interrupted by the engine of the van roaring to life.  One of Jackson’s flunkies shoves me down to a sitting position on the bench-like seat that ran along the side of the van on the driver’s side.  One of them sat on a crate behind Jackson’s seat, while the other two made themselves comfortable on either side of me.  Jackson swivels in his seat to look at me.  I stare back, keeping my chin defiantly high.  He reaches down in front of his seat and comes up with a black cloth, then tosses it to me.  I snatch it from the air and inspect it more closely, only to discover it’s a hooded cloak.
     I eye him wearily and finally ask, “What’s going on here, Jackson?”
     He looks me up and down several times, then says, “Put it on.”  After a moments hesitation, I do.  “We’re going on a little trip.  Exciting, huh?”  His grin makes me shiver.
     There is a long silence, and I gaze out the window, watching trees turn to huge buildings.  Wow!  I must be in the city!  I’m jerked from my amazed staring by a hand slowly running up my leg.  I gasp and pull away from the unwelcome touch.  One of the interns sneers wickedly, “Don’t worry, we’ll all have lots of fun once we get to Doc Jackson’s lab.”
     “What!?”
     Jackson is turned in his seat again and smiles at me.  “That’s right.  I hope you got a good last look at your old home, ‘cuz you’re going to have a new one real soon!”  They all cackle as I feel the strength leave me.  But . . .I can’t leave!  What about Wendy!?  She’ll die!  And what are these jerk-offs going to do that they can’t do in the facility?  Jackson answers my unasked question, “There are some experiment I wanted to perform on you that I couldn’t do back at the old lab without others finding out.  Like, how your body reacts to extreme heat, freezing temperatures, dry and humid climates, total underwater submersion, electric shock, stuff like that.”
     “You mean stuff that could kill me,” my voice is rather weak.
     “Basically, yes.  But don’t worry, I won’t do that right away; that would disappoint the boys here,” the wicked smirk makes me shutter again.  I decide then and there that I have to get out of here!  But how?  Hmm. . .
     While I’m thinking, the van starts to slow.  I can see a red light from a pole as I peer through the windshield.  Aha!  As soon as the van rolls to a stop, I reach on either side of me and get two handfuls of hair, then bring the interns heads together in front of me.  At the same time, I swiftly lift my foot into the other punk’s chin.  An instant later, I’m on my feet, struggling with the rear door handles.  “What the hell. . . ?”  I hear from Jackson just as I get the door open.  As I prepare to jump there is a small *poot*.  . .
     “Yow!”  I leap from the van and roll easily to my feet.  Reaching down as I run, I pluck a dart from the left side of my tail.  What is this?  I can still hear Jackson as I turn a corner:
     “GO!  GO GET HER!!”
     Uh oh.  Dead end!  Where to go?  I look frantically around, not knowing a lick about the city.  Plus, I’m starting to feel funny.  I glance up and see a ladder above me.  Ah! Jumping up, I barely grab the lowest rung and pull myself up.  The running footsteps of the interns are getting closer, and I climb faster.  The ladder ends with a metal stair case that runs up the side of the building. I continue climbing, the voices of the punks drifting up to me.  Ooh, my head feels funny.  Not passing out funny, but floaty.  I look at the dart still in my hand, and make out : MEM.-SER.  I know what this is!  They were going to shoot me with this anyway!  It’s a memory serum; a powerful drug that causes complete memory loss.  That’s why I feel so strange!  Damn him!  I reach the top and stumble onto the roof, my head beginning to spin.  Panting, I try to keep my mind clear by shaking my head, but it seems as though reality is fading, fading. . .fading. . .fading. . .