Seven, at the moment, was rather miffed. He pouted the whole way back to his room while slung over Manti Johnson’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He was too mature to throw a tantrum, though. He would consider it an insult to his pride if he were compared to the bratty children he saw recently on reality TV shows. Rather, he pictured himself closer to children in fantasy novels he also recently discovered, the ones who, when confronted with a problem, especially one possibly affecting the fate of the world, would brilliantly solve it in a way that no adult could.
Yeah, he was much more like those kids. He tried to suppress a grin that crept up as he thought of his recent escapade. It was a major success! And it was all because of his power. It was like he was a spy or a secret agent the way he had pulled everything off. From escaping his room to finding the morgue, everything went without a hitch. Even when an unexpected element waltzed right in when he least expected it, his superior acting skills worked like a charm. He had received some very delicious information, and to top it off his brilliant show of tears topped it all off. He was sure that Jo was completely thrown off the scent, and in turn everyone else as well. They might have figured out he had a power due to him escaping and turning up in the morgue. They might even have an idea of what power he had, but of course, it would be completely wrong. A protagonist should always have a few cards up his sleeve, after all.
Only, he was reminded that his faux tantrum landed him once more locked in his room. And without dinner.
Seven’s mood once again soured. He stared angrily at the floor, his arms crossed and his bottom lip quivering. These were definitely not tears. Some dust got in his eye, that’s all. Manti must have kicked it up. Stupid Manti.
And he definitely wasn’t moving, he decided. It was just that the floor was running away from his scorching glare in deathly fear. Only, the floor stopped running, and a quiet beeping came from behind him. The mechanical whoosh of a door opening signaled the end of his brief taste of freedom. Seven felt like he couldn’t breath anymore. That small experience of the freedom to decide what he wanted to do made him realize something.
He would never be able to go back to being told constantly what to do and how to live. It was a rather terrifying life. He never knew how compliant he was before; how complacent he had been with his situation.
In the midst of his self discovery, Manti deposited him on his thin mattress once again like a sack of potatoes. A second later the door whooshed behind him, and a loud clunk indicated the heavy lock falling into place. That sound made it feel like heavy chains were wrapping around him.
Freedom would now be a thing that he craved. He made a resolve that he would get it back by any means necessary. He would learn how to escape his room once more, a way that would work more than once.
Honestly, it was just pure luck that Seven had managed to get out. He simply followed the ditsy and constantly distracted Marcy Simmons, his personal psychiatrist, out the door. Except, it hadn’t occurred to before he discovered his power two weeks ago. It wasn’t being able to talk to ghosts like he made Jo think. It was being able to see in any wavelength and to be able to manipulate those waves to a certain extent. Only, Seven didn’t know that was what his power was.
One night, he was woken up by a light. He found himself looking at a blue screen floating in the air. Curious, he touched it. A slight ripple like a rock thrown in the pond spread out from his finger. The screen changed and the light turned white. A long, skinny, rectangular box popped up. It had a circle with a line connecting to it at an angle inside it. He pressed the box and buttons arranged in rows appeared below the glowing screen . He discovered that each button had a letter inside.
He had seen letters before. In the hall ways he’d pass huge ones painted on the walls whenever he went to the testing center. Thinking about those letters, he pressed the buttons for A and 24. What popped up astounded him. So many letters!
It was a gateway to a wonderful world. Seven had discovered the interweb!
If anyone were to ask, and if he was willing to describe it, to him at that moment, his power was a floating blue screen. With it he taught himself many things. First was how to read. It was a difficult process, but this was where his intellect shined. Seven figured out he was a genius. While it might take most kids at least three years to read, it took him three days. His memorization skills could only be described as scary. He was very good at it.
His power taught him about TV shows and wonderful fantasy novels. It taught him about how kids were supposed to be, and how abnormal he was compared to them. He learned about what a family was, and it made his heart ache. And most important, he learned about Alicia.
First it was small mentions of her name in news casts several years back. Her picture caught his interest. She looked a lot like him. He began to look further into her and found that she had been kidnapped. Her last name bothered her. Whitehill. Project Whitehill. He had heard it several times.
Searching for several days, he stumbled upon a a tightly tucked away report. It included a brief overview of the Project Whitehill. He learned about what he was. He learned about Alicia and the other clones. He learned about the morgue.
The interweb had absolutely no restrictions for him. There was no such thing as a fire wall that could block him. He could get to anything he wanted, and it led to a thirst for answers, and in turn, to his first taste of freedom.