Project Encryptid - Chapter One

Chapter 1

Even though I’m blindfolded, I could feel people staring at me. It’s been nine years, and I still feel uneasy every time I was brought into this glass room to be observed.

“Ms. Lemarra,” a clear voice says through a speaker, “In your shirt pocket is a USB drive. Please find the file named ‘Holderlin la Tour.doc’ and recite the five lines.”

I hear a man mutter. “Impossible! This is impossible! How would the girl even—“

“Please, sir, wait a moment and see.”

I’m used to skepticism. A few years ago, I would’ve made a snarky comment, but I learned that the best way to shut skeptics up is to show them what you can do. I stick my hand in my pocket, like I was told, and immediately feel a tingle in my fingertips as I take the drive out. I flip quickly through the files until I find one called Holderlin a la Tour.

It’s a French poem. I clear my throat and recite, “Les oiseaux intermittents. Les champs toujours la en face. Les mots voltigent, reviennent. Le touchent, il tend la main.”

There is silence. Then, the voice speaks again, “Now in English, Ms. Lemarra.”

I run the text into my translation software. “Birds sometimes…the fields still over there. Words go away, come back. Touch, he holds out his hand. And puts them down softly.”

More silence. This time it’s longer, and I can’t help awkwardly tapping my foot as I wait for them to discuss the experiment results.

Then I’m told to remove my blindfold.

I’m in Experiment Field C, a large room painted bright white that is empty save for the large speaker in the corner. In front of me is a glass wall, and behind it are two men: a tall, expressionless young man in the familiar white uniform researchers wear, and a shorter, older dude wearing a tailored suit. The latter looks suspicious. I sort of recognize him as one of the newly elected city councilors.

He speaks into the tiny transparent microphone attached to the glass. “What is your name, young lady?”

“Andrea Lemarra,” I say.

“How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

“Good, good,” the man says, although from the tone of his voice I could tell he didn’t think this was good at all, “And how long have you been a part of this project?”

“A while. Well, I mean…nine years.”

“Mmm. Well, now, I’ve been told that you’ve been, uh—modified for certain purposes. Is this true?”

Modified. It’s like he’s talking about me like I’m a new piece of technology, or a surgery patient. Even though I’m technically both. “To some extent,” I reply simply.

The man seems puzzled by my answer, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead he says, “You seem to know quite a bit of French.”

“I don’t.”

“Then, tell me: how did you do what you just did? I’m sure they either instructed you to memorize the poem beforehand, or there must be some text—Braille, perhaps—on that drive of yours.”

I sigh. “No, sir, I did neither of those things. I read the file and I ran it through my translation software.”

“I don’t tolerate lies, young lady. Tell me the truth.”

“I am telling the truth.”

He sniffed. “Then I suppose I have to decline offers to fund this project. Anyone with a mind could see this is a scam disguised as science.” He turns to the man beside him. “Now if you would please excuse me, I have another appointment to attend to.”

Nobody says a word as he strides out of the building, muttering about scams and wasted time.

The young man presses a button on a remote control and the glass wall slides away. I walk out of the room.

“So did I succeed or not?” I ask.

“You did. The experiment went flawlessly. Unfortunately, some people can be harder to convince than others.” He looks me in the eye. “But he’ll be back.”

I shrug and walk down the hall and out of the building.

In the parking lot, my mom and twin brother are waiting for me. They’re sitting in our red Prius, listening to Wrecking Ball on maximum volume with the windows rolled down. They’re weird like that, but I’m pretty weird myself.

“Andy!” Ralph calls out from the shotgun seat. He switches off the radio. “Mom says we get takeout for dinner. Jollibee or Chowking?”

“Krispy Kreme,” I say.

“Dude, didn’t you hear what I just—“

“KRISPY KREME,” I repeat.

Mom rolls her eyes. “Donuts for dinner again? Andy, you know donuts aren’t suitable dinner food.”

“Of course they are,” I say, sliding into the backseat, “Anything could be dinner food if you believe in magic.”

Mom chuckles and drives the car into the road, on our way to the Krispy Kreme, naturally. Ralph shakes his head and continues to fiddle with the bunny ears on his phone.

“So, how’d the experiment go?” Ralph asks me.

“Terribly,” I reply.

“What was it this time, a malfunction?”

“Nope. Just stubborn, pigheaded skepticism.”

“Of course it was,” he sighs, shaking his head.

“Come on, guys, cut the man some slack,” Mom says, “Would you believe in Encryptids?”

“Yeah, I would,” I reply.

She shoots me a look. “Really? If you and Ralph weren’t Encryptids yourselves, would you still believe?”

Ralph snorts. “I wouldn’t, honestly. Hey, eyes on the road, Mom.”

“I probably will. Maybe,” I mutter. “Anything can happen, right?”

That was actually a lie. I wouldn’t believe. In fact, nine years after I officially became an Encryptid, I still have a hard time believing.

***

Encryptids, a portmanteau of the two words “encrypt” (converting data into a cipher code) and cryptid (a creature whose existence has been suggested but not confirmed), are the unofficial name for the test subjects of Project Encryptid. They are modified to be able to receive information from electronic devices through physical contact. They have microscopic devices called Cryptid chips embedded in their skin, which act as receptors for electronic information to travel to the brain through the nerves.

That was what my textbook said I was. An Encryptid—a person who can access information from electronics through a single touch.

The Project began in the United States of America, gathered three hundred volunteers of all ages and ethnicities as test subjects, and moved them all to the Philippines. They thought it was perfect to move them there: it was a country that was chummy with the States, but it was a third-world country. Nobody would think to look for the Project there.

My parents were both Filipino immigrants, and when Ralph and I were five they volunteered us for Project Encryptid. We moved back to the Philippines, had microchips and wires attached to my brother’s and my bodies, and became subject to countless experiments since. A lot of the time, we were told to demonstrate our abilities for politicians and other rich people, such as the lovely gentleman from ten minutes ago, in order to get funding for research.

Thanks to our participation in the Project, we were protected by the government. We lived in a village named Old Hampshire, which was actually where most government test subjects lived. Not all of them, of course, and not all of the people living there were experimented on.

We were also homeschooled and took additional classes for things like hacking, basic electric engineering, and the history of Project Encryptid.

The final touch was being given different legal identities. Although my real name is Andrea Lemarra and my birthday is on April 1, I was registered in the Philippines as Gemma Aeradithe Soriano and I was supposed to celebrate my birthdays on May 28. Being twins, Ralph obviously shared my birthday—both my real and fake one—and he was named Gerald Ainsley Soriano.

While I admit it's pretty neat that we could hack heavily-encrypted websites and receive information without having to look at it, life wasn't exactly a bed of roses for me. For one, I never really got to go to school and make a lot of friends. There were plenty of kid test subjects, but they don’t talk to me, so I don’t talk to them. I know I'd never be able to attend college, technically being a kindergartener since I was pulled out when I was five, so I'd probably never get a real job.

And then there was the whole "my body is filled with metal that can absorb electronic data" thing...

I'm already on my third jelly-filled donut as Mom parks in our driveway.

“If we keep this up, we’ll all get diabetes in a month,” Mom sighs, carelessly tossing the car keys on the coffee table. “Excuse me while I go make some real dinner. Cream of corn soup, anyone?”

“Andy approves,” I say, heading up the stairs. “You can take the soup upstairs, to my room, where I’ll be watching a movie.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Mom laughs.

I fling my jacket onto my bed and go into Ralph’s room. He’s the one who buys us DVDs of movies, so I can trespass into his property whenever I like on the excuse that I want to watch a movie (this excuse is a lie, most of the time).

“What are you doing here?” Ralph groans, appearing in the doorway.

“Oh, I was just coming in to check if my dwarf army is done germinating so we can head into battle, what does it look like?” I say sarcastically. “I’m looking for a movie, genius.”

“Sarcasm hurts, Andy,” he says dully, flopping face-first onto his bed. He immediately grabs his favorite bunny plushie and hugs it.

“What are you, five years old? Get rid of that thing.”

One thing about Ralph: he is crazy about cute fuzzy animals. Seriously. It’s almost unsettling. His room is covered top to bottom with posters, plushies, stickers, and bedding featuring kittens, puppies, ducklings, and bunnies. Especially bunnies. There’s a special place in Ralph’s heart reserved for bunnies.

I don’t understand how nobody has picked on him when he’s so open about his bunny love. He has a lot more friends than I do—which, honestly, isn’t that impressive, considering I only have one friend.

Anyway, instead of making a smart-aleck comment like he usually does, instead Ralph snaps, “Could you cut that out? I have a massive headache right now. It’s almost a migraine. Men get migraines, right? No, don’t answer that. Ugh…it hurts a lot, so if you’re gonna make a mess, I suggest you make it quick.”

“Ha, that’s what she said,” I say.

“You are a sick, sick mother—“

“Did someone call for Mother?” Mom declares. I look up and see that she’s peeking into the room, balancing three bowls of soup on a tray. “If I was a mother, I would ground you for your attempt at foul language.” She shrugged. “But I’m no mother; I’m a mom! Now, who wants to watch National Treasure with me?”

“I do,” Ralph mumbled, rolling out of bed with a groan.

“Ditto,” I say.

***

After the movie, I stand up.

“My stomach needs soup and my bowl needs refilling,” I announce, “BRB.”

“Take Ralph with you,” Mom reminds me.

“Gluh,” Ralph says, rubbing his temples.

Whenever there’s news of abductions or murders around our area, Mom insists we stick together and not leave the house. Recently, there had been reports of Encryptids disappearing—details were confidential, but it was generally known among the test subject community that there had been ten to twenty victims. Of course Mom was alarmed by that.

I try not to think much of it as I refill my bowl, Ralph trailing behind me like a moaning slug, but of course I do because I was born a worrywart with an overly active imagination.

Even when I’ve eaten the last of the soup, finished the movie, said goodbye to Mom and Ralph, and slipped into bed in my pajamas, my mind is actively reminding me about the Encryptid disappearances.

I stare at my bedroom ceiling, trying to quiet my thoughts. I know this sounds weird, but…I don’t like thinking too much. For some reason I think about so many things at the same time, and honestly, most of my thoughts depress me.

I turn to my side and stare at the digital alarm clock, which glowed so brightly I've made it my nightlight. It's half past midnight.

I take my hand out and stare at it. In the greenish light of the clock, you could barely see the white scars where they sewed Cryptid chips beneath my fingers when I was five. My hands had the most chips in them, as they had the most sensitive nerves.

Sighing, I lie on my back again and let the mishmash of thoughts take over my head once more. If I actually try, I could single out what I'm thinking of.

How much I miss my Dad. Ralph's insane obsession with bunnies. The faint white scars all over my hands, face, and legs. Mom's thick, reddish hair always pulled into a braid over her right shoulder. A cool mood ring with binary code printed all over it that I always admired in the department store.

Slowly, I drift into unconsciousness, ignoring the muffled scream from Ralph's room...