Having had pulled up the sleeves of his black shirt, Damien took a quick look at the tattoo on his right bicep. A black ink painting of a mysterious figure. Only the head of the figure was painted onto his skin. The head was covered by a mask in the shape of an oval with two open round holes located in the eyes. The lower part of the face was covered by a strong, hooked nose that resembled a long beak. The classic symbol of death and disease was etched onto his skin. It was symbolic really. He was one of the top doctors assigned to work at WCKD. He had been a prolific doctor before joining the army when his wife and son contracted and died to the virus. A virus that turned the once loving human beings into beasts – ‘cranks.’

He thought he could join the army to learn to fight the dastardly creatures, and he did. But somewhere along the way, he felt his own sanity and humanity slip away. He would capture the creatures and subject them to inhuman tests and experiments. The only saving grace was how he consoled himself that the creatures were dead and incapable of feeling, like his wife and son once were. He wanted to find a cure – No, he was hellbent on finding a cure. He wanted to find something that would make all this worth it. Months seemed to pass by until he finally got the call from WCKD. He worked there for a while, having had successfully found the gene that set some people apart from the doomed masses. The infamous X gene. He was the first doctor to make leaps in this field.

Yes, he had subjected the first subject, Ena, through a handful of rough experiments, and yes the girl was scarred beyond belief. But so were the other test subjects. He had finally found the mutation in their gene that made them immune to the virus and gave them abilities beyond their understanding. But was it all worth it?

Damien dropped his sleeve and looked out the window, peering over the dystopian setting he found himself in. The tall buildings, the lights, the monorails. The people on the streets looked like mere ants against the structures. Looking a little further, he could see the walls that protected the city from the outside world. The world that killed the only people he ever cared for. He thought back to why he named the so called gene, the ‘X’ gene – and then it hit him. It was the date and month that both his wife and son turned into creatures beyond saving. He had the Roman numerals 10.10 – ‘X.X’ tattooed right where his heart laid, as a reminder of the atrocities they had gone through. They were innocent.

He had now found the cure, but he felt bitter. He thought he would have felt a sense of accomplishment – something. But he only felt more angrier than before. The only thought in circulation was “If I had found this gene before, they would still be alive.” And this self hatred – this anger and frustration translated to the way he treated the children at WCKD. They all had something his loved ones didn’t. And they didn’t even deserve it.