'I just can't get you out of my head...
I just can't get you out of my head...'  (Head, Dana Dentana)

The Naturalist fields shimmer various shades of green, brown and gold. I wish the cabins weren't hidden behind the trees. The boring mundane daily activities of my previous home now seem so appealing.

I want to watch everything. 

I want to see the bell ring. I want to watch the residents walk to the dining hall, observe them avoiding getting to close to their neighbours.

I haven't seen anyone walking to school. Is it the weekend or just too early?

My head is sore, and my eyes are red and puffy from all the crying I did last night. I woke early this morning, and I've been randomly selecting songs, listening only to ones which make my insides ache and match the misery I feel.

Turning the volume up, I continue to walk on the treadmill, wishing the exertion and loud music will drown out my thinking and stop me from sinking into a state of hopelessness. I want to still believe I can escape this place.

The door behind me opens, and Ben walks in pushing a rattling trolley which I don't bother looking at. Instead, I turn my head to inspect the hallway past him. A long grey hallway with multiple outlines of doors is swiftly blocked out by the opaque sliding door.

Are there more like me? Is this whole hallway full of test subjects forced into participating?

Ben picks up the screen perched on the edge of the treadmill and lowers the volume. 'I see you've worked out how to use the treadmill.'

I'm not a complete idiot. I can press buttons and figure out what they do just like a Techie can.

'I've got more food for you.' Ben retrieves several containers from the trolley and places them in the fridge.

'Your microwave doesn't work. It made my food explode yesterday.' My breathing is heavy and ragged.

I'm really unfit.

'Did you loosen the lid?' He opens the door of the microwave and inspects the inside, which I tried to clean but is still covered in flecks of thick porridge.

'You didn't tell me to loosen it.' I frown.

Ben laughs, and I huff loudly. Pressing a button with a plus symbol, I start to walk faster. Ignoring Ben, who is staring at me, I focus out the window. I imagine I'm outside walking through my settlement, in the woods with Zach, beyond the wall. 

It's not the same. Not at all.

'This music is a bit depressing,' Ben says.

I didn't ask for your opinion. 'I like it.'

'You should choose more upbeat music to exercise too.' Ben picks up the screen and taps it as I continue walking to nowhere. 'You could make a playlist. I know it's a big thing with the younger ones. They like to share them and rate them. The more popular the playlist the more popular it makes them among their peers.'

Ben shakes his head as though he doesn't quite understand. Like he's forgotten what being a teenager is like, or maybe he wasn't allowed to be one due to the mass death from Virulence taking place around him at the time.

Then again, I can't identify with Techie teenagers, ratings and popularity. I had a total of seven friends, one I hated, the other was my brother, and another turned out to be a touching abuser. Also, in my social group, popularity was never much of an issue. What would we rate each other for? How good we are at maintaining maximal distance from each other? Or how many weeds we picked in an hour? I'm not sure being the best at either of those is something to be proud of.

How popular was Zach's playlist? Did he show his friends the one he made me? Will I ever listen to it again?

'Do you want me to show you how to make a playlist?' Ben asks

'Ok,' I mumble, trying to hide the suffocating sadness clogging my throat.

Ben smiles widely, pleased I'm no longer being difficult and showing enthusiasm for one of his suggestions.

He clearly doesn't know what real enthusiasm looks like.

'What do you want to call the playlist?' He asks.

'Journey to nowhere,' I respond sarcastically. 'Or how about trapped in a box? Or I need fresh air, not a walking machine?'

Ben shakes his head and tilts the screen towards me, so I can see how to make a playlist while his fingers expertly tap a series of icons. He names the playlist 'Workout Motivation'. 

Original. Not!

Pointing to a small symbol, Ben says, 'when you want to add a song, press this, then click the playlist title and it will be added.'

'Thank you,' I pant.

Why am I thanking him? He's not helping me, not in the way I need.

Continuing to walk on the treadmill, my heart thuds loudly in my ears. My legs are still moving but my lungs are struggling to inhale enough oxygen. Sweat trickles down my back, my chest is wheezing, my vision blurs around the edges. I should stop. I don't. I'm determined to get fitter. I need to be able to run when the time comes.

'Did you know, research shows music can enhance workouts significantly? Music works as a distraction, taking the focus away from the pain.  It is also linked to the release of mood-enhancing hormones, and the right tempo can help the body move in time with the beat,' Ben says.

'How many people did you have to force to walk on treadmills to different songs to reach that conclusion?' I retort.

'The findings were actually obtained by research teams before the Virulence pandemic. We have more important matters to deal with than the effects of music on recreational exercise.'

Like torturing young teenage girls.

'You need to stop and eat. We don't want you to overexert yourself.' Ben presses the stop button on the treadmill, and I come to a halt.

Glaring at him, I almost press GO again but my legs are aching and slightly wobbly.

Stepping down, I grab the edge of the treadmill as my legs buckle underneath me. Ben grabs my arms to steady me and guides me towards the bed. I clench my teeth as my skin tingles from his touch. My response is purely due to repulsion, not pleasure.

Once I reach the bed, I quickly pull myself free from his grasp, rubbing my arms to eliminate the crawling sensation rippling along my skin.

Ben frowns and steps back. 'Before you eat, I need to take a few samples.'

He collects various items from the trolley and returns to sit next to me on the edge of the bed. I hold out my arm and turn away. Staring out the window, I ignore his fingers pressing into my skin, the prick of the needle. Once he lets go, I withdraw my arm and shuffle further away from him.

'Kit, you need to slowly build up the amount of time you spend exercising on the treadmill. Your body has been through a lot recently, and even though you're immune system can recover quickly, you're muscles will need time to adjust from the lack of activity,' Ben says.

'How long have I been in here?' I ask.

'Forty-seven days.'

I take a sharp inhale. That explains my lack of endurance, my inability to go beyond a walking pace without nearly passing out.

Ben watches me carefully. He's lingering which means he wants to talk. I hate that I can read him.

'Did my mum actually want me or did she allow you to impregnate her to access the settlement?' I ask.

'Your mother already worked here, she was a lab technician. She volunteered to be implanted with one of the genetically altered embryos.'

'I thought it was offered to women who wanted to gain access to the Techie settlement?' I ask confused.

'It was, but some women, who were already living here, volunteered to take part. I expect the idea of having a child-resistant to disease was appealing to many.'

'What about my biological dad?'

'Donor sperm was used.'

'A donor?'

'Any woman was allowed to volunteer for the trials, and not all of them had male partners for various reasons. A lot of men already living within the settlement donated a sample but were not involved in the upbringing. My grandfather also donated. We needed variety, we couldn't have teenagers in different families with the same biological father it would have caused problems. Only key parts of your DNA were modified so you would have inherited the usual characteristics from your biological parents.'

'Do you have a photo of my parents? Or any other information about them?'

'No, vast amounts of the research conducted at the time were lost.' Ben stands and takes a container out of the fridge. After placing it in the microwave, he stands with his back to me. This posture signifies the end of the conversation.

I hate how much power he has. He holds all the answers I want, all the control over my future.

A ding sounds. Ben takes the container of food out of the microwave, brings it over and places it in my hands.

The scalding food barely registers on my tongue because my head is a mess. I can't be distracted with thoughts of my mum. I need to focus on escaping this place.

I shake my head and put the food container down. 'How long have I got before you start the tests again?'

'We'll resume once various factors in your body return to their normal levels, which for you should be in approximately two to four days,' he says it almost apologetically.

No, don't fall for the fake apology. He doesn't care.

'I want to have a shower,' I stand to signify I want him to leave.

'Ok.' Ben stands. 'I'll be back this evening, to check on you.'

I don't respond and walk into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. Turning the shower on, I dart in and out of the scalding water. I still haven't got used to the boiling water. In my settlement all showers were cold.

Do Techies enjoy cooking themselves alive in a shower?

Once I've suffered enough, I turn off the shower and wrap a towel around me. Wiping the steam away from the mirror, I inspect my reflection carefully. What characteristics did I inherit from my parents?

Exiting the bathroom, I ignore the new clothes Ben laid out on the bed before leaving. Our relationship is odd. He wants to talk but only on his terms. He's trying to make me more comfortable whilst simultaneously carrying out research which hurts me. He's caring whilst holding me captive. His behaviour unsettles me. I'm half torn between hating him and needing him. He's the only person I speak to, who brings me food and clean clothes which means I have to rely on him yet I don't trust him.

Ben says he wants me to be safe, but if my death meant the survival of the remaining population he would believe the outcome justifies the means. Part of me hoped he'd have a change of heart yet his conviction about this experiment has remained. I can't rely on Ben to help me escape.

I pick up the screen and sit on the edge of the bed. Staring at the heading of the playlist Ben created: 'Workout Motivation'.

I'm never adding songs to that playlist.

I retrace the steps Ben showed me and create a new playlist. I almost name it 'Untouched' but I don't want to have to explain my title to Ben. I refuse to share private memories with him.

I finally settle on 'My Escape' because that is now my only aim. Find a way out of here before they start the testing again. I add several songs I listened to this morning, then press play.

Sad music fills the room as I step back onto the treadmill. My body is shattered from my earlier walk and within seconds of starting, my muscles scream in protest. I start to think of how I can escape. Nothing seems possible. The more I think, the more the fear of being trapped here grows. I force myself to walk faster on the treadmill, hoping the physical pain will block out my negative thoughts.

It works.

I'm absorbed by the pain of trying to keep up with the moving platform below me until I can't continue anymore. I slam my palm against the STOP button.

Gripping the side of the treadmill, I heave loudly and all my thoughts come crashing down.

I'm never going to get out of here.