Test Subject #10202456 - Prologue

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Easter Egg #1 - You need to be quite the neuromancer to recognize these patterns!

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Test Subject #10202456
by William Fowlkes

Prologue

"Wake up!" a familiar, feminine voice yelled.

         I almost jumped out of bed from the shock. After getting my bearings, I let out a heavy sigh of relief, as it was only my twin sister, Terry, trying to wake me and Mitch, the older, ganglier version of me, up from our slumber. Mitch always slept like the dead, so Terry had to scream a few more times to finally make him stir. He rose from bed groggily, the complete antithesis of my startled leap, and glanced about with his clouded eyes. While I waited for Mitch to come out of the miniature coma he considers "a nap," I leaned forward, trying to get a better look at my sister. Her face gleamed in the bright light that filtered through the room's window, and she looked rather pained. Her hair, which should have been a matted and frazzled disaster at the hour, was instead her usual hairdo, spiky with two long, thin tendrils of hair emerging from her temples, which was odd. Normally she did her hair later in the day...?

"Uh," Mitch moaned loudly, which startled the both of us, before he finally found his voice. "Gah... whozzit? Oh. Terry, w-what's the matter?"

Terry murmured something, her voice barely louder than a whisper, and it seemed distorted. "Mitch. Vince. I have s-some really, really horrible things to t-tell you-" Her voice abruptly cut off as she scurried out of the bedroom we all shared, then out of sight. Mitch exchanged looks with me, trying to wonder how the very same girl who tended to us when we were down turned into this shambled mess of a person.

"I'm pretty freakin' scared... Terry's in pretty bad condition," Mitch said, shivering slightly. "What event was horrible enough to cause her to break down?"

"No clue," I mumbled, feeling my heartbeat speed up. "Terry has one of the most resilient minds in the family; something insane must have happened for her to act that way."

Mitch gave a nervous nod, and then we heard the sound of a person huffing towards us. We watched Terry bolt in through the open door, carrying a flat, white thing called a VMD (Video Mail Device), a tablet that sends and receives video mail, often truncated to vidmail. She tapped a specific message in the cluttered inbox screen with a quivering finger, and Will, one of our dearest friends, quickly winked into view. Will was dressed in an olive-colored overcoat, and had a fresh haircut, which was weird considering the casual wear he often sported. Even stranger was how he persistently cringed, as if he didn't want to say anything. Terry held the screen closer to us so we can get a better view, and tried not to look at the screen, as if she was afraid of what Will was going to say.

"Daria, Garry, Wilma, Vince... whoever got this vidmail," he began, his voice shaky. The both of us shuddered, in anticipation of what horrible news he may bring. Normally he would call us by ridiculous nicknames, such as "Day" or "Vee," but the fact that he didn't use those nicknames made this message a lot scarier. "I don't want to tell you this. I just need to get this off my chest, to vent this out. I just want to inform you all, and I am dearly, dearly sorry for having to tell you. But I must."

I held my breath, and Mitch stared at the screen with a face that seemed to scream, 'Don't say what I think you're going to say.'

Will then looked about for a while, and finally said, "Our greatest friend, and brother to me, Gibson, passed away yesterday."

I collapsed into bed.

"...nce!"

"...cent!"

"Vincent!"

I felt a large hand pushing me. I opened my eyes slowly, and examined my surroundings. I was inside a car, and in some rather formal clothing - A pale blue blazer, with a necktie similar in color, and black trousers with matching shoes. We have a pretty cool machine in our house that dresses us quickly upon entrance, so someone could have tossed my unconscious, tear-stricken body in there and dressed me. I also learned that the hands pushing at me belonged to an even larger Mitch, my dad, Joseph Darren.

"Vincent," Dad began in a solemn voice, "we're at the Ell Bridige Funeral Home... We had to literally drag you out of bed, you were sobbing heavily, really couldn't blame you. This stuff is serious, Gibson dying. Now come out, everyone else is waiting on you." I groaned, and shuffled out of the car, reaching for the door and opening it. As I walked the few blocks to the funeral, I couldn't help but notice how beautiful a day it was then. The sky was a cool shade of blue, the people looked glad and worry-free (well, except for the folks over at the funeral home) and everything was bathed in calm. No person in town would look up at the sky on that day and say, "Well, golly. It must be the perfect day for someone's longtime friend, and someone else's brother, to kick the bucket! What do you think, John?"

I stood in front of the viridian, imposing doors of the Ell Bridige Funeral Home, small nondescript etchings on it's grainy surface. I gave the door a push, and it opened, letting me see into the rows and rows of pews inside, filled with people here to mourn. I headed in after Dad entered, a lump forming in my throat. The interior smelled of mildew, memories, and destroyed opportunities, which wasn't a very good smell. I trailed behind Dad through the pews, passing by people crouching low to pray. We eventually made it to one rather crowded one, where I sat in between Mitch and one of my other friends, Wilma Wadla. Neither of them bothered to give me much more socialization than a mere "Hi," probably because there wasn't really time to chit-chat when someone passes away. Especially if that someone was your greatest friend.

Leaving the funeral home, I felt two emotions- one, immense anguish from the death of a fellow überdork, and two, a desire to get a form of revenge on whatever had taken Gibson, no matter what. The news article stated that Gibson's death was by unknown causes, most of them pointing to a coma or a stroke, but I still like to think about tying up the Grim Reaper and slashing him rather harshly with his own scythe so he can get a feel for what it's like to have everything taken away from you. The day was still vibrant as ever, the sky now tinted orange during the evening hours. It was like the world was mocking us in a way. Will tagged along with us, as his parent's car isn't far from ours. He wore a dark expression, and didn't stay too close to me and the gang. He muttered something indiscernible, though we can make out a few worsts and good Gods here and there.

We were a block away from our car when we stopped dead in our tracks. Our minds kept telling our legs to move, but they just wouldn't budge. "Hey, is anyone else here unable to move?" I asked, looking around. Everyone else said "Yes," which had me a bit worried. What in the world could have caused us to suddenly become immobile?

"No, seriously, there has to be a reason for us to freeze like thi-"

We all collapsed to the ground, completely blacking out. There was a low whistle, a slight ringing in my ear, and then complete nothingness.