Quinn Morgan's Questionnaire

I-I live in Gen Wyld. In a cell. It’s… it’s not much, really. Just a room with a door that never opens unless they want me out. The bed’s like… like a punishment, thin and stiff, and the walls are so close it feels like they’re breathing down on me sometimes. I don’t live here because I want to, it’s just… it’s the only place they’ve ever let me be. I-I don’t think I’d know how to live anywhere else.

*in demonic voice

He’s sugarcoating it. It’s a cage. They keep us here cause we’re nothing but lab rats to them, and this place ain’t a home, it’s a prison. Concrete, steel, buzzing lights that never shut off. They don’t let us out, they don’t let us choose. Why here? Cause we were born into chains, that’s why. No freedom. Just experiments.

In demonic voice *
Yeah, they keep us broke on purpose. No cash, no choices. Can’t buy food, can’t buy clothes, can’t even bribe a guard if we wanted to. Everything’s rationed, handed down from above. Money’s freedom, and freedom’s exactly what they don’t want us touching.

In a smart ass type voice *

So I guess the answer’s simple! Zero income, zero spending. Funny how that balances out perfectly, right? Heh. If life were an equation, I’d be the part with all the zeroes. And maybe that makes it easy… no stress about bills, no worrying what to buy. Just… nothing. Always nothing.

I want out. I want to breathe air that isn’t filtered through vents, I want to see the sky. But… but more than that, I… I can’t stop thinking about them. The scientists. The ones who poke and cut and watch and smile like it’s normal. I… I don’t want to, but sometimes I see myself… tearing into them. Eating them, like an animal. Like… like revenge that never ends. It scares me how much I want it.

In demonic voice *

No. Don’t dress it up. Don’t stutter. We will kill them. Every single one. For every needle, every scar, every sleepless night staring at concrete. They deserve to taste what they made us into. Flesh for flesh. Blood for blood. If they fed on our pain, then let them choke on our teeth. I wouldn’t just kill for it, I’d crawl through fire, broken bones and all, just to sink my hands into their throats. Death doesn’t scare me anymore. Only wasting away in this cell does.

Th-the most defining moment? I think… it was when I realized I wasn’t… I wasn’t human. They didn’t even bother to hide it, not really. No mom, no dad, no warm house or birthday candles. Just… a tank. Fluids. Hands in gloves tapping on glass. I-I thought maybe someday someone would come for me, a family, but then I caught my reflection under the moonlight, and it hit me. I’m not like them. I’m something twisted. A… a monster drunk on the moon. That’s when hope… slipped away.

Demonic voice *

That moment broke us. Not being humannever were. Just property. A project. Their monster. Parents? Lies. Family? Lies. Childhood? Stolen before it began. We weren’t raised, we were engineered. That knowledge stripped away any illusion of innocence. You can’t go back once you know your blood isn’t even yours. That’s the night rage was born. Rage, and the promise that someday they’d regret creating us.

O-okay, um… the first is Christopher. He’s… kind. Kinder than anyone here’s been to me. He once gave me a rabbit to eat like… not in a cruel way, but like he thought about what I’d need. And it felt like maybe he didn’t see me as some freak. He talks to me like I’m just… me. Not a subject, not a monster. I… I think I’m closest to him.

demonic voice *

Then there’s Lynn. He’s sharp, too sharp sometimes. But he’s the kind that makes you laugh when you forget how. He gave us a shirt once that said “I EAT DRY WALL.” Mocking, sure, but… it wasn’t mean. It was a joke. Like he was saying, we can laugh too. Even us. That shirt’s worth more than anything they’ve ever given in Gen Wyld.

Smarty pants voice *

And then… well, it’s both of them, really. Christopher and Lynn. They’re not test subjects, not cages like me. They’re human. Normal. But they treat me like I am too. Like maybe I’m part of something outside this cell. That’s strange and warm. It’s almost like… family. Family made of jokes and rabbits instead of blood. Heh. I think I’d follow them into fire.

M-my childhood? I… I didn’t have one. Not like other people. No toys, no bedtime stories. Just… cold floors, white walls, and the sound of doors locking. My parents… Well… I didn’t have those either. They tell me I was grown, not born. Raised in glass, not arms. A test tube doesn’t hug you goodnight. A lab coat doesn’t tuck you in. School? N-no, I never went. They kept me locked away. Even if I did, I don’t think I would’ve fit in. Not with these eyes, not with this blood. Kids would’ve smelled the difference.

Demonic voice *

Childhood’s a word for people who got to live free. I had a cage, experiments, charts. My “parents” were scientists, cold, detached, staring through glass like I was a bug they were pinning down. If they gave me anything, it wasn’t love. It was injections. Surgeries. Data. School? Don’t make me laugh. I was the lesson. I was the subject. If I’d gone to a classroom, the other kids would’ve run screaming the moment I opened my mouth. Or worse, they’d stare the way the scientists did. Like I’m not real. Like I’m not human.

L-love? I… I don’t think I’ve ever… felt that. I’ve heard the word, yeah, but it’s slippery. People talk about it like it’s this… this warm thing, like being wanted, being chosen. But I… I never had parents, never had friends, not really, so how would I know? Maybe it means holding someone close. Maybe it means not being alone. I can only… guess.

Smart voice *

Heh… love. Sounds like a story, doesn’t it? A fable. A thing you tell kids so they dream sweeter. I don’t know it. Never touched it. But sometimes, when Lynn laughs or Christopher looks at me without flinching, I think… maybe that’s a piece of it? Or maybe it’s just kindness, and I’m mixing things up. Either way, I wouldn’t know the difference. To me, “love” is just a word I’m still trying to solve, like a riddle missing half the clues.