Krystal. I am Krystal.

She was naked, and the chill of the white flake-filled air had numbed the surface of her skin. Warm air blew white from her nose and mouth as she pushed through the drifts of snow. Her heart beat strong and hard, pushing her warm, red blood to her muscles, fueling them with life-sustaining energy and carrying away the by-products of her exertions; removing the acidic build-up that comes from a body being pushed to its limits.

Krystal. I am Krystal.

She had clung to that mantra throughout her ordeal. No matter how many psychotropic cocktails they had injected into her, trying to erase her individuality – to subdue her and make her easier to manage as they used her body for experiment after experiment – she had retained her identity. She was a person. She was a human being.

They had called her a volunteer but she knew the truth. She remembered the bright sunny morning when she had been approached in the store parking lot by two bubbly girls about her own age. Her peers, she had thought, and she had trusted them. “Sign a petition to prevent the use of animals for lab experiments?” one had asked. It was a good cause and Krystal had readily reached for the tablet. But, she had been smart enough not to use her real address and telephone number. She didn’t want solicitors calling her. If a government agent really wanted to find her to validate her signature, he could just look her up by her name in the voter registration roll. So she had signed and handed the tablet back to the eager pair of girls.

So focused on the petition had she been that she hadn’t noticed the man coming up behind her with the chemical-saturated cloth.

It seemed a lifetime ago.

She remembered how she had looked then. Young. Fresh. She had taken pride in her appearance and how carefully she managed her cosmetics and her grooming. She had wanted the boys to notice her, and they had. She may have been short on money, but she was never short on friends. How did she look now? How would the boys react when they saw her? What had the ravages of the experiments done to her face? To her body? Was she still beautiful?

Her left leg began to throb with the memories of what they had done to her.

That was where they had removed a postage-sized square of bone from her tibia and replaced it with the same-sized piece from a pig, to see if ungulate bone could function as a substitute for human bone.

They had come for her in the morning, their preferred time for testing, injecting her with a tranquilizer before unshackling her from the bed in which she had slept. She would be more compliant that way; easier to manage as they chained her to a gurney, then pushed her down the hallway and into the room she had dubbed the Chamber of Horrors. That was where they had lifted her onto the operating table, metal bands quickly surrounding her wrists and ankles, then the clicking of the ratchet as the bands stretched her body until it was tight against the unforgiving stainless steel tabletop. A box on the black security collar locked around her neck would constrict her breathing, keeping her from speaking and crying out. As long as she didn’t move, she was fine, but any attempt to lift her head or fight her bonds would choke her. The first time they had bound her and brought her into the operating room, she had resisted until she had, finally, blacked out from asphyxiation. But it was only a momentary reprieve. They had paused in their machinations, revived her, and then continued. They had wanted her to be awake and alert and aware of what was being done to her in the name of science.

They had thanked her for her sacrifice; for being so brave and so strong during the procedure. She had cried, the tears running from the corners of her eyes. She had wanted to shout out, to tell them it was all a mistake, that she hadn’t volunteered for any of this, but the collar around her neck had stolen her voice.

First had come the chill of the sanitizing swab as it brushed against her leg, cleansing the area of bacterial and viral complexes. Then she had heard the sound of the tiny saw as it spun on its axis, the L-shaped instrument poised in the gloved-hand of the surgeon. He had looked at her through the clear lens of his mask, as if asking for permission to hurt her, or perhaps to apologize for what he was about to do to her. Then he had lowered the saw against her skin, and with it had come the cutting and the spray of flesh and she had lost her bowels.

She had woken up in time to see pink spongy material being inserted into the hole in her leg, where healthy human bone had once happily resided.

She had felt no pain at the time and her mind had remained clear. With a child-like curiosity she had watched as the surgeon had carefully positioned the ungulate bone, then had applied some sort of stabilizing glue followed by a layer of clear material, then a bandage. A hard plastic cast was then placed over the wound and locked around her leg to prevent her from scratching at it.

The throbbing pain had lasted for weeks before they had put her back on the operating table, cut into her leg, removed the pig bone, and reinstalled her own tissue, now purpled with hibernation. She had cried and lost her bowels then, too.

I am Krystal.

That wasn’t the only time they had experimented on her, of course. Sometimes, when they had pushed her down the hall to the operating room, she had seen other girls mounted on silver gurneys, cuffs around their wrists and ankles, the polished metal tabletops bare except for their bodies. She hadn’t been certain if the girls were alive or dead until one had looked right at her and had tried to silently mouth “Help me”.

I am Krystal. How can I help you, when I can’t help myself?

Soon after the pig bone had been replaced, she had been wheeled back into the Chamber of Horrors, but this time there were different people, different surgeons. Again her wrists and ankles were locked into the curved metal cuffs. Again she was stretched across the gleaming silver surface as the lights were swung over her body. A feminine face, the eyebrows sculpted the way Krystal had once shaped her own, peered from behind a mask, her brow furrowed with concern. “Should we use anesthesia?” the woman had asked, staring right at Krystal.

“Yes!” she had wanted to reply, but a choking gurgle was all she could muster.

“No,” a deeper voice had said from somewhere nearby. Strong, masculine. “It would just complicate things. She signed the paperwork, right?”

“Yes, doctor,” the feminine face had replied.

“Ok, then we should be fine.” A pause. “She may not like it though.” Then, a chuckle. “Better her than me.”

“Yes, doctor,” the feminine face uncaringly said as it turned away from the table and towards a tray of instruments.

A robotic arm now swung over the table, a complex of picks, spoons, probes, and scalpels mounted in the end. With an electric hum, the arm drifted down between Krystal’s legs, and she could feel the metal instruments brush against her labia. She shuddered with fear at the realization of what they were going to do to her and she instinctively tried to bring her legs together.

“She’s resisting,” the feminine voice noted.

“Probably just a reflex,” the deeper voice replied.

The feminine face reappeared. “I think she’s crying.”

“Are the tubes ready for reception?” the masculine voice asked, ignoring the comment.

“Yes, doctor.”

“Good. I’m going in.”

Fear welled up in the helpless young woman stretched across the stainless steel table and she tried to squeeze her pelvic muscles, trying to protect her most sensitive region from the mechanical intruder, but strong metal spoons parted the fleshy guardians of her tunnel, exposing her pussy to the waiting probe.

She flinched as the narrow tube passed through her opening.

“Ok, I’m in her vaginal canal. Going deeper…”

She felt the inhuman robot slide along the pink tissue hidden within her pelvis. She tensed and pulled at her bonds as the machine pushed its way into her body. Then, she felt it pause.

“I have the cervical opening in sight. How are we doing?”

Not very well!

“Her heart rate is increasing slightly,” the feminine voice replied.

“Ok. That’s to be expeted. Testing her cervix now.”

A tickling. Then she shivered all over from the intense sensation of the probe against her nerve-rich ring.

The feminine face had reappeared, looking directly at her. “Now be a good girl and hold very still. We’ll be going into some delicate areas and we don’t want to damage you.”

There was a soft whirring noise as the machine powered up. She froze, afraid to move.

“Helioscopic test complete. Everything’s green. She’s certainly healthy and fertile,” the masculine voice had noted. “Extending the nozzle now.”

Again Krystal shivered as the unseen mechanical creature slipped past her puckered ring to penetrate deeper into her body.

“Her uterus walls are prime. Her tubes are in excellent condition. Definitely a good candidate for the breeding program.”

Breeding program?

I am Krystal! I am Krystal!

“Beginning extraction now.”

Krystal suddenly felt a fullness beneath the rim of her tummy, then cramping and nausea. She pulled at her bonds. The collar tightened and she started to choke.

The feminine face appeared. “Just relax. It will be over soon. Then we’ll return you to your room.”

Tears welled in her eyes. She tried to speak, but heard only a gagging sound.

“Be a good girl. It won’t be much longer,” the feminine face said dispassionately as it looked at the surgeon for confirmation.

Krystal exhaled deeply, as close to a sob as the collar would permit. She took a long, slow inhalation of air. It smelled of medicine and disinfectant.

I am Krystal!

“Ok, that should do it,” the masculine voice said. “Can you finish up?”

“Certainly, doctor,” the feminine face replied, moving out of Krystal’s visual range.

There was a rushing sound, followed by footsteps and a dull thump, then the sound of tiny electric motors whirring as the mechanical probe exited her body.

“You’re such a brave young lady to do this,” the feminine voice said from somewhere in the room. “You really are making a contribution to science.”

Krystal shivered as the probing tube slid back through her cervix, then down her pussy and, finally, out of her body.

“They really should treat you better,” the feminine voice said. “But I suppose certain precautions have to be taken. We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself in a sudden moment of hysteria.”

The mechanical arm now slid up and away from the outstretched body of the girl, rising up into the air and coiling back on itself like a snake threatening to strike. Then the motors stopped and the feminine face reappeared. Krystal heard the sound of something being sprayed, then the chill of moisture on her tummy and hips. The feminine face turned towards her and the eyes smiled from behind the clear plastic shield. “We’re told not to get too personal with the volunteers. Professionalism at all times, you know. But you’re special. I can tell you that much. You were our number one candidate. You should be proud. A lot of people are going to benefit from the harvesting of your eggs.”

Krystal’s eyes shot open.

I am Krystal!

“Oh, don’t worry, you poor thing,” cooed the feminine face. “We only took the ones you won’t be needing for the next twelve months.” The face laughed. “You should be thankful. You can have all the sex you want now.” The eyes smiled and Krystal felt delicate fingers stroking her forehead tenderly, like a mother comforting a child. “If this works, you’ll be a pioneer. The first girl to test the effectiveness of birth control through the medical removal of her eggs! You’ll be in all of the science journals, at least by codename. Don’t worry - we won’t tell anyone your real identity, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth?

I am Krystal!

“And, your eggs will be going to good families; couples who have been carefully screened, so you’ll be helping to repopulate our great nation with good babies. You get to have sex without repercussion and they get to have healthy children. Everybody wins.” The feminine face smiled and moved away. “Ok, just let me clean the instruments and we’ll get you tranq’ed and ready to be moved.”

Krystal closed her eyes, trying to blink the tears away. What she had denied a boy for modesty had been taken from her by a doctor by force. She had been medically raped, not by a madman, but by an entire society gone mad. Through the blur, she saw the feminine face again, a gloved hand holding a syringe.

“Let me just inject you with some Relaxal to calm you down, and we’ll be all ready. Just relax your arm for me. We wouldn’t want you to bruise. You have such lovely skin.”

Krystal looked at the feminine face, begging.

The feminine face paused, and for the first time Krystal felt like the woman behind the mask was actually seeing the human on the table. This “volunteer” wasn’t a specimen; she was a person.

I am Krystal.

The woman looked at her, studying her. The needle wavered in the air.

I am Krystal.

The woman sighed, then lowered the needle. “Ok. I tell you what. You promise to be a good girl and I won’t use the tranquilizers, ok?”

Krystal blinked and smiled.

The needle moved away.

There was a clicking noise and Krystal felt the tension release from her body. She lifted her head slightly. There was no resistance around her neck. She tugged slightly at the cuffs around her wrists and ankles.

“Just a moment.” A click. Then another. Then two more in synchronization and her limbs were free. “Ok. That should do it. Now be a good girl like you promised and hop up onto the gurney so I can strap you back down. We wouldn’t want either of us to get in trouble for not following protocols.”

Krystal half-rolled onto her side, rubbing the circulation back into her wrists with her fingers as her feet swung down over the side of the platform. She could see the woman better now, the feminine body about the same height as her, but heavier with age. Krystal slid off the table and put one hand on the gurney, preparing to push herself up onto it.

I am Krystal.

I am Krystal!

I am KRYSTAL!

In a flash she had rushed passed the startled woman and through a side door. A small room was on the other side, with a large washbasin on one side. Krystal spotted a robe of some sort and grabbed it, then ran through a second door.

The hallway was a confused mix of people, gurneys, light, and noise. “Put Specimens Two, Three, and Four in…” she heard a familiar masculine voice say over the din. She looked at the man that had stolen her unborn children, taking a mental picture of her tormentor. She had imagined the face of evil to be uglier, with all sorts of disfigurements, but he had a kindness to his eyes. He could be somebody’s grandfather. Then an exclamation and she was running; running through the light and noise and towards another door, then past it and through another door, and another. She noticed the colored lines on the floor and reasoned they must have a meaning. A quick glance at a sign.

Red to exit.

Her feet pattered against the hard, cold floor, following the red line around corners as startled people shouted with alarm from behind her. Faster! Faster! The robe billowed behind her like a cape as she charged down the halls towards what she hoped was freedom. Through another set of doors and a blast of cooler air, a difference in furniture, and through another door and she was outside.

The air was cold and thick with moisture. A thick blanket of fresh snow covered the ground and her breath billowed from her mouth and nose. She looked around. The area she was in was blocked by a metal-link fence. She reasoned that if she touched it with her bare hands, it would hurt, so she tossed the robe over the top and climbed it quickly, the narrow metal grating digging between her toes. As she crested the top, her collar began to buzz a warning, then a painful shock; a reminder that she was in violation of the terms of her residency. Another painful shock, stronger than the first. Then she was over. She tugged at the robe, but it was stuck to the fencing. A third shock, now even stronger, reminded her that she needed to get away from the fence before the collar debilitated her with a final, agonizing surge of power.

“Hey!” she heard from somewhere in the white gloom.

I am Krystal!

She turned and ran blindly into the fog, unsure of where she was going, other than away from the Chamber of Horrors and the painful shocks of the collar.

She was naked.

She was cold.

But she was free.

Now she crested a hill. The terrain here was rocky and dangerous, sharp edges of granite protruding above the snow. She was thankful she had the snow to cushion her feet from the gravel beneath, but at the same time she was leaving tell-tale marks for her pursuers to follow. She charged down the hill. She would worry about hiding later. Right now she just wanted to get away.

She settled into a rhythm with her steps, her muscles remembering how she used to jog along the waterfront, watching the setting sun as it cast its long shadows across the park, the greenery littered with monuments to war and death. Her heart beat strong and sure, and for the first time in what seemed like forever she felt totally alive.

She had always enjoyed running. It was her meditation. It was her chance to clear her mind and think of the problems in her life and resolve them.

She had silently argued with herself about the surgeons ever since she had first been wheeled out of the Chamber of Horrors, when she had been strapped to the recovery table for fluids and antibiotics for long hours with nothing to do but think. She didn’t hate them necessarily. Oh, she had at first, like a child hates its parents when it gets its first spanking. But then she had realized that they had assumed she had volunteered for all of it; that she had considered it her patriotic duty to sacrifice herself for the good of the society. It wasn’t like they went out of their way to be cruel to her. Like the creators of the bombs that had wrecked entire cities and the crews that had delivered them, the surgeons and scientists had wrapped their morals in the flag of the nation, shielding them from a conscience of guilt. As long as they stuck to their job, they were blameless. They had a duty, as did she, and they owed it to her to be very thorough in their performance, as if in their application of pain they were paying her tribute. If she suffered, she had no one to blame but herself.

But there had been one who had sympathized with her.

And Krystal had betrayed her.

Now it was Krystal who felt guilt, tinged with remorse for doing something the lady hadn’t wanted her to do. The feminine face had offered her friendship and compassion and Krystal had used it as a weapon against her. What would happen to the lady now? Would she be fired? And how many people were depending on her income? Did she have a family? Did she have children of her own? And what of the other “volunteers”? What price would they pay for Krystal’s freedom?

How many lives had Krystal ruined with her impulsiveness?

The question hung in the air of Krystal’s thoughts.

I did what I had to do to survive, she resolved. That’s why predators kill. That’s why they tortured me. And that’s why I’m still alive. Survival absolves all guilt.

Fog began to grow thicker and she wondered if she was near water. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she spotted a jagged scar of blackish-blue water breaking through the white blanket of snow. She immediately jumped into the fast-running creek and began to follow the path downstream, the sharp edges of the rocks cutting her feet. She would follow the water as long as she could, hoping to hide her tracks from her pursuers.

Then she saw it. A snow-free embankment of stone. She quickly clambered out of the water and up the rocky bank, climbing as fast as she could. Once at the top she paused and looked back, looking to see if there was anyone pursuing her.

All she saw was white air and snow. There was no horizon.

Now fatigue began to set in.

She couldn’t run forever. She knew that. With no clothes and no shelter, it was just a matter of time before hypothermia killed her. Already her skin and her feet were numb. She wouldn’t survive the day, much less a night.

I am Krystal.

Gingerly, she made her way through the outcropping, hoping for something, anything, that would let her live. Her entire body was shivering, trying to generate warmth.

Then she heard the howl of wolves.

I am Krystal.

She looked around and found a decent-sized rock. It wasn’t much, but maybe if she could hit the leader in the right spot, it might discourage the others enough. Her fist clenched the rock as her eyes peered into the white gloom. Then she felt something slick beneath her numbed feet.

Blood.

The wolves had taken prey.

Death. And life. Something had died so that something else could live. If the animal were large enough, she could harvest its hide and eat its meat. She followed the trail down the side of the rocky outcropping, the stone clenched in her frozen hand.

I am Krystal.

Suddenly she felt something burning in her arm. She looked over. A syringe protruded from the ball of muscle in her shoulder.

The woman in the operating room must have stuck her with a needle after all, but she hadn’t fully injected her with the tranquilizer. Krystal smiled. If this was enough to slow a human, it would certainly slow a wolf. Now she had two weapons.

Then, noises. Human voices. Men talking.

They had found her!

Krystal took off running, then fell. Her legs no longer worked. She was crawling, her breasts pressed against the snow, the flakes licking at her exposed vagina. A silver tranquilizer syringe stuck from the curve of her bottom.

She couldn’t move. Her body had given her all it had to give. She lay paralyzed in the snow, waiting for death.

“Shit!” she heard a masculine voice say. “It’s a woman!”

A silhouette appeared out of the gloom. Then a pair of boots crunched up to where she lay. “Shit. I thought I got me a wolf.”

Now another voice. “Well, we can always try again ta-morrow night. The deer meat should still be good.”

“Ha-ha. Funny.” A pause. “Put yer coat on her.”

“In this weather? You put your coat on her.”

Another pause. Then, “What’s she doin’ way out here?”

“Dunno. Maybe hiking; got lost. I heard of folks taking their clothes off when they get good and cold. Don’t matter. She may’a been living, but with two darts in’er, she’ll be dead soon enough.”

“Well, watta we do with her body? Cain’t just leave her here. Ain’t right.”

The second voice grunted in contemplation. “She ain’t bad lookin’. Pull yer darts outta her and maybe we can have some fun with her tonight, then string her up tomorrow night as bait and eat the deer meat ourselves. Woman or deer, wolves won’t care, but I’d prefer deer.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

Krystal listened to the men’s plans for her with a distanced humor. She was already dead, they reasoned. No good letting her go to waste. Not with so little around to eat. And at least one of them found her attractive, even in death. She was still beautiful.

Krystal felt hands around her arms, lifting her up as darkness crept in from the edges of her vision. Her body was limp, her mind sluggish. She could feel herself floating. This wasn’t like the usual tranqs the surgeons had used. This was intended for hunting. It was intended to kill. But her body was resilient. It was processing the chemicals like it had so many times before. She wasn’t dying. She was floating. And eventually she would come back down from the clouds, armed with a rock still clutched in her hand. She could use it against a different type of wolf.

As the hunters dragged her back to their camp, she had one fleeting thought.

I can have all the sex I want.

I am Krystal.