❛ ♕ the experiments ── posting is open ⊱

[peachy keen-]

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It’s been two weeks since The Infection spread throughout the world. It came upon
us so quickly. No one knew what was happening. In merely a week, two thirds of th
e world was infected. The next week, billions died. In an attempt to stop the infect
ion, scientists gathered twenty- five ( 25 ) children, aged 14 to eighteen, who wer
e immune to The Infection, bringing them to a secluded place called “The Dome.” A
bout half of the teenagers volunteered, & the other half went completely against th
eir will. The kids were reassured that their parents would be allowed to visit often
and that they would be able to send them letters, but when they arrived at The Do
me, it was made painfully clear that there would be no access to the outside world.
Testing began immediately, and each child was assigned a number, which was tattoo
ed to their left forearm. [“Test Subject (number).”] Though, soon after testing beg
an, it was clear that these kids were being tested for something more than just a cu
re for The Infection.


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[peachy keen-]

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The Dome has two large bedrooms – one for the girls, and one for the boys. They h
ave an artificial outdoors area, where you can have bonfires, swim, or just get som
e fresh air, a dining hall, a gym with a running track, a recreational hall, a library, a
nd of course, the dreaded lab, which takes up about a sixth of The Dome. No one is
allowed to go into the lab, and if you do, you'll be severely punished, or killed. Wh
en someone is being tested on in the lab, you can hear the occasional scream / scre
ech.


1.) lights out at ten o'clock. anyone found outside their rooms or in the opposite g
ender's room after 10 will be given twenty lashes.
2.) eat what you have been given. there will be no wasted food, and no seconds.
3.) do not fight with your peers. anyone caught in a physical fight will be given f
ifteen lashes.
4.) do not leave the dome. anyone found trying to leave will be shot on sight or i
ncinerated.
5.) do not discuss what happens in the lab with your fellow peers.
6.) do not enter the lab unless specifically instructed to. anyone caught in the lab
without specific instructions will be incinerated.

rules are subject to change at any time.
◣ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ◢
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[peachy keen-]

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character's image editing credit to me, type., indefinite, wallflower., and pele c:
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ｘｍａｌｅｓｘ
code ;
name // age // test subject #

reese // 17 // 0091
graham // 18 // 2683
riley // 14 // 5810
kai // 16 // 6937
breslin // 16 // 7500
crae // 18 // 2539
hayes // 15 // 8942
oakley // 16 // 0202
nolan // 17 // 2211
miles // 18 // 1583
ryder // 15 // 4191
avery // 16 // 6888
x

ｘｆｅｍａｌｅｓｘ
code ;
name // age // test subject #

lilou // 16 // 2461
rita // 16 // 9191
petra // 15 // 1204
mallori // 14 // 2035
creek // 18 // 4592
waverly // 17 // 3084
shiloh // 15 // 3192
hollis // 17 // 4132
esperanza // 16 // 1535
celeste // 14 // 7052
tinsel // 18 // 2570
elowyn // 15 // 6124
lacey // 18 // 5356

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[peachy keen-]

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prologue
chapter one













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[peachy keen-]

reserved 'cause i tend to forget to add stuff eue

[peachy keen-]

I never know how to start journal entries, so I’m just going to …

Ahem.

I found this journal in my father’s dresser drawer. I guess it’s no use to him anymore, since he’s dead. Gone. Vamoose. Bit the dust. I don’t care. I honestly could care less. My father was always drunk, always abusive. I have some nasty scars from one time that he got a hold of a glass beer bottle and – well, that’s a whole different story. If you haven’t noticed, I tend to ramble. Bad habits break hard.

Anyways, I am not even sure what my dad was doing with a journal. I flipped through it and it’s all blank. It’s a pretty journal, though, with a leather cover and yellowing pages. Makes it look vintage. I like old stuff, too.

Did I ever explain how my father died? It was from The Infection. Pretty much half the world has been killed off already. Some of the symptoms are blotchy skin, bruising, throwing up, high fevers, and of course, wanting to eat your own fingers. Chicken nuggets. Yum, yum. The Infection turns you into a cannibal, of sorts. That’s when they have to shoot you. I’m not going to lie, I enjoyed seeing the life drain out of my dad when he was shot. It gave him a little taste of his own medicine. Not that he ever shot me or anything. That would be … illegal. Well, child abuse is also illegal, so …

Oh yeah! I forgot to say that I’m immune to The Infection, so I’m told. I can’t tell if that’s an improvement, though, because it’s not fun seeing your loved ones’ lives slowly ticking away. I guess we’re all dying, anyways. It’s just … different. Don’t ask why. It just is. Oh, and plus, there’d be about 400,000 people left on the Earth. Compared to over 6 billion, that’s a miniscule amount.

My mom has been showing signs of The Infection. That’s why I’m glad that I volunteered to go to this … Dome place. They’re gonna run some tests and then send me back home with a cure for my mom. I just hope I can save her in time. I need my mother to live. I just don’t want her to live; I need her to live. I wouldn’t be able cope without her. I love her a lot.

Anyways, My best friends, Rita and Reese (who are brother and sister), who both *conveniently* are immune, also volunteered to go. Despite the sarcastic, boring way I’m making myself seem, I’m really excited. I can’t wait to get away from this run-down town, away from my mother, who, though I love dearly, is getting closer to death every minute, and I can’t bear to see her like that. Away from the stench of death. Away from the gloominess.

I’m not sure who else volunteered. I am not even sure who else is immune here, if anyone else in the town is immune. I’m guessing that kids from all over the world will be volunteering, or forced to go. I don’t know who would want to stay here, though. I hear that the Dome place is pretty cool. If it has a library, I’m sold.

When we leave tomorrow, I am allowed to bring three things. I will bring this journal, a book that I’ve been working on reading, and a picture of my family, back when we were all happy.

Well, I guess I should go and get a good night’s rest. I suppose that this will be goodbye for now. Until next time, journal.

-Lou

[safe at shore.]

marking
saw the link on inklings and since your ten days is pretty fabulous checked this one out c:
glad i did because let's be honest, this is pretty amazing xd
can't wait for more <3

[peachy keen-]

marking
saw the link on inklings and since your ten days is pretty fabulous checked this one out c:
glad i did because let's be honest, this is pretty amazing xd
can't wait for more <3

thank you so, so much !! ♥
i really appreciate it! c:

[peachy keen-]

“LILOU BREE HENRICK, YOU GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!”

My mother has been screeching at me for the last twenty minutes. I decided to ignore her calls about five minutes ago. I run my shaky fingers through my tangled, dirty blonde hair, pulling it into a quick, messy bun, letting several wisps fall around my face. Then, I grab my fraying book, my journal, and an old, framed picture of my family, back when we were complete, and head downstairs, descending the flight of stairs two at a time. My mother looks up from chopping onions as I slide into a bar stool. She used to be the most beautiful creature that has ever graced this planet – I know, because I’ve seen old pictures of her, but now an ugly, jagged scar runs from the left side of her forehead to right under her eye, causing her to be blind in her left eye, leaving it cloudy. Her skin hangs too loosely on her body; she’s all skin and bones and her whole body is infected with splotches (curtesy of The Infection, which is slowly killing her). Today she has her dark brown hair hurriedly pulled into a ponytail so that more hair is out of the ponytail than in it.

“What took you so long?” She snaps, returning to her onions. I know the sharpness in her voice is misdirected – she’s just worried for me.

“I had to get ready.” I hurriedly add an “I’m sorry” as I study the cracks in the counter top.

She doesn’t respond, but a minute later, there’s a honk, and she says, “The van is here.”

“Okay. Love you.” I hop off the bar stool, wrapping her in a hug. “Remember to take care of yourself.”

She gives a weak chuckle. “I’ll try.”

Just as I’m heading out the door, I hear her start talking. “Lilou.”

I turn. “Yes, Mom?”

“I love you.” I can see tears pooling in her eyes, and I know why. There’s a good chance I’ll never see her again.

“Love you, too.” I say in a near-whisper, closing the door behind me. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. You’re Lilou Hendrick, and Lilou Hendrick doesn’t cry. Before I even have a chance to break down, my best friends, Rita and Reese, who are brother and sister, bound up to me.

“Hey, Lilou.” They greet me in unison. It’s sometimes creepy how they do things with perfect unison. It’s like they practiced, even though I know that they didn’t.

I plant a smile on my face. “Hey, guys!” I chirp as I climb into the van. All the other twenty-two kids are already there. I search for two seats next to each other so Rita and I can sit together. But as my gaze skips over the van, I can’t find any two seats next to each other. I give an inward groan, pushing past kids, muttering the occasional “excuse me” as I take a seat next to a two girls. The first girl has what seems like a pound of makeup on, and dyed bleach-blonde hair that smells burned. Her name tag reads ‘Waverly’. The second girl has a little less makeup on, but her clothes are so provocative that I feel uncomfortable even looking at her. Her name was ‘Hollis’. I was the first to speak up … twenty minutes later.

“Uh, h-hey.” I stammer. Both girls turn their heads toward me, glaring at me like I had just murdered a puppy. I pretend not to notice. “I’m Lilou.”

Waverly looks like she’s about to burst into hysterical laughter. “So your name is ‘Lill-OO?’” She questions, over-emphasizing the “ou”.

“Yes,” I say confidently. “Is there something wrong with my name?”

She doesn’t answer.

“And next time, don’t speak unless we speak to you. Got it, Sweets?” Hollis adds in a syrupy-sweet tone – the kind of way that makes me want to rip her head off.

This time, it’s my turn to not answer. I turn away from Hollis and Waverly, sighing. Twenty minutes in, and I’ve already made enemies. I’m not good with people.

Nearly nine hours pass, and just as I feel like I can’t take being in this cramped space with two snobs who feel that they have the right to gossip about me (while I’m sitting right there), we stop. I nearly explode from happiness.

As I climb out of the van, I get my first look at The Dome. It’s HUGE, and it’s an actual glass Dome, with a tinted, cloudy exterior so that no one can peek in, and no one can look out. A little odd, but I guess they just have to have extra security.

Meanwhile, Rita is squealing with excitement beside me. She’s literally flipping out. “Chillax.” I tell her, chuckling at her childish behavior.

“This looks so awesome!” she squeaks.

“This way, ladies and gentlemen.” A tall, muscular guard herds us into the Dome. The room that we enter has tile flooring, a desk at the far end, and a row of chairs at the back of the room. It’s pretty plain. The woman behind the desk looks up, pushes her chair back, and makes her way toward us, her three-inch heels clicking on the tile as she walks. As she reaches our little ground, she peers over her square glasses, inspecting us. Judging us.

“Not much to work with, but I suppose they’ll do. Thank you, Cliff. You may go.” Her voice remains steady and monotone. She sounds extremely bored. The guard nods curtly, then ascends a flight of stairs. All I can do is stare at this lady’s nails, which have to be at least two inches long. Manicured perfectly. I wonder if they’re fake. I almost ask about her odd nails when she clears her throat and continues.

“Welcome to The Dome, children. We are all delighted to see that you have arrived safely.” She says, but I’m sure she doesn’t mean it. “My name Is Callahan Key, but you will be calling me Ms. Key.” Then, she lists off some rules, but I don’t hear anything because I am positively mesmerized with her nails. The next thing I know, Rita is jabbing my rib cage with her elbow.

“Are you even listening to me?” She demands, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Huh?” I ask stupidly.

“Well, that seems to have answered my question.”

“Sorry; I was looking at … I was distracted.” I don’t want to tell her that I was staring at Key’s nails for twenty minutes straight.

Rita raises her eyebrows, then giggles. “You mean, distracted by those cute guys over there?” She asks, pointing to a small group of eleven or twelve boys. I honestly didn’t even take the slightest notice to them, but I say yes just to satisfy Rita, who is completely boy crazy. She and I are almost complete opposites. She’s bubbly and outgoing. She wears her heart on her sleeve, not holding anything back. Her honesty can also be mistaken for rudeness, but she’s just speaking her mind, and it’s almost never to hurt you. On the other hand, I’m pretty antisocial, quiet, and I bury my feelings deep down inside.

“If you’ll follow me, children.” Key instructs, and we all trail after her in a single-file line up two flights of stairs, down a long hallway, and file into one room. “This will be the girl’s room. Boys, Cliff will instruct you to your room. Girls, you stay here with me.” The muscular guy who led us into The Dome leads the boys to their rooms.

“Now, ladies, you all will share this room. Each bed has one of your names carved on it. Your clothes will be found on your bed. If –” She’s interrupted by Waverly, who has picked up her clothes off of her bed.

“I think some of my clothes are missing, Ms. Key; I only have three outfits here!” She whines.

“No, you are not missing anything,” Key answers calmly. “The white jumper is for working and testing, the grey shirt and black sweatpants are for recreation or relaxing, and the pajamas are for sleeping.”

Waverly doesn’t say anything, but she wrinkles her nose, tossing the clothes back onto her bed.

“Anyways,” Key continues, her voice tinged with annoyance. “Everything else you could possibly need is here.”

A girl that I don’t recognize raises her hand.

“Yes?”

“I heard that we will be assigned … numbers?”

“Ah yes,” Key answers, as if she had forgotten to add that. “Every one of you here will be assigned to a Test Subject number. It will be tattooed to your left forearm. You’re new name will be that number.”

“I’ll have a number instead of a name?” A smaller, shorter girl asks worriedly. I’m guessing she’s one of the youngest ones here.

“Yes.”

“But I like the name Celeste!”

“Silly child. You may call your peers by your names, but everyone else will call you by your number. It’s standard procedure.” She pulls up her grey shirt sleeve, peering at a shiny, silver watch clasped to her wrist. “We should have enough time to get everyone’s numbers tattooed before dinner. Come along, children.” She instructs. We follow her out the door, meet up with the boys, and then head toward a room with the words “LAB ROOM #8” painted neatly in white on the door. Key swings the door open. A petite woman with blonde hair with a pixie cut looks up at us, taking off a white, papery mask that covers her mouth. A man with shaggy brown hair stands next to her. Their name tags read ‘Genevieve’ and ‘Parker’.

Without uttering a single word, they both pick up a few small tools and bring the first boy and girl (I recognize the girl as Celeste) into a separate room, and five minutes later they come out with a four-digit number on their arm. They repeat this until all of us have been tattooed. My numbers are 2-4-6-1. Rita’s really excited about all of this, but all I’m thinking about is how much my arm throbs.

After everyone's done, Key announces it's time for dinner, so we all file down the two flights of stairs, into the Dining Halls.

[starsailor]

I better mark this.