'Oh, I hope some day I'll make it out of here, Even if it takes all night or a hundred years. Need a place to hide, but I can't find one near. Wanna feel alive, outside I can fight my fear...'
(Lovely, Billie Eilish and Khalid)

I've taken two naps, eaten all my food, listened to a ridiculous amount of music and walked for too many fake kilometres.

My body aches from the exercise but the lethargy I've experienced since arriving here is fading. And for the first time, I feel clear-headed.

The door opens and I know it will be Ben. I jump up and walk towards him which he looks pleased about.

Don't get excited, I'm not getting up because I'm happy to see you. I'm looking at the hallway, to plan my escape.

Beyond the door is an endless wall of grey with no end in sight. There is a distinct smell, it's faint but the fumes fill my nose and lungs, corroding my insides as I inhale.

The door closes preventing me from seeing anything else. All I'm left with is the lingering smell, sharp and harsh. I've smelt it before but not at home, at school. It's a Techie smell, artificial cleanliness.

'I brought some extra food. I thought you might be hungry seeing as you've walked so much today.' Ben unloads food onto a counter.

How do you know how much I walked?

Ben smiles. 'There's a tracker on your treadmill. We need to monitor your energy expenditure, so we can provide the correct quantity of food and nutritional content. We wouldn't want you to get ill because we were over or underfeeding you.'

'No, we wouldn't want to do anything to jeopardize your precious research,' I mutter, walking away from the closed door.

Ben ignores my comment and places two containers in the microwave while I sit on the floor by the window. It's my favourite spot.

The sun disappears in the distance, illuminating the landscape in a beautiful red-orange glow and filling the sky with purple streaks.

The naturalist settlement looks peaceful. I miss it. I miss my family, the smell of our cabin, the rustling sound of the leaves, the space.

What are my parents and Mattan doing now? Do they miss me?

The microwave beeps and Ben retrieves two dishes. He places one of the containers, with a spoon, in front of me and positions himself on the floor opposite. He stirs his food slowly before taking a mouthful. We've never eaten together before. It feels awkward.

I've only ever eaten with my parents and Mattan. There was one time with Zach, but I felt comfortable with him.

I felt really comfortable with Zach.

Eating with Ben feels like we're heading into awkward territory, starting to blur the lines of our relationship. An unwanted relationship, I mean.

'You know there is a perfectly good table and chair to sit at, just there,' Ben says, pointing behind us.

'You're welcome to use it. I like the view from here. And the closer I am to the window, the more I feel like I'm out there.' I shrug while blowing a spoonful of steaming vegetable mush. 'I always thought Techies would have better food than us. That you would have developed something which makes the food taste better.'

'Making food taste better isn't a priority. Resources are directed into areas which are deemed crucial for our survival.' Ben says, poking his food absently.

'Do you really think you'll be successful at making people resistant to disease including Virulence?' I lean against the window. The cool glass penetrates my clothes, soothing my now tender muscles which are starting to stiffen from all the walking I've done on the treadmill.

'I'm hopeful,' Ben says carefully, 'even if we can't succeed in treating adults. With the knowledge of your DNA alterations, we could potentially alter all future embryos to ensure they are resistant to most diseases if not all.'

'And you think people will want that? Genetically altered babies?'

'Why wouldn't you want to give your future child the opportunity to live a life free of disease? It would mean we could leave the confinement of this settlement and start over again, with an incredibly high chance of survival,' Ben states.

'I can see the appeal, a life free of the risk of death from infection, a life outside the settlement, more freedom, more contact. However, it sounds like it could go very wrong, using technology to decide the DNA for a person.'   

'You would say that, you're a Naturalist,' Ben mocks.

'I'm also a person who was altered, and so far it hasn't done me any good,' I retort. 'Are there others like me?'

Ben hesitates. 'Yes and no. Many of the embryos from the first round of trials didn't work and were never born. More survived the following trials however further testing showed many of the alterations hadn't been successful.'

'Why were they not successful?'

'Various reasons.'

'Such as?'

'Kit, you don't need to know all this. It's better if you just focus on getting enough rest.'

'I want to know. The research you're part of may have been responsible for my altered DNA, but it is still mine. This is my body, my life. I have a right to know what you've been doing, and what you plan on doing.'

Ben places a spoonful of food in his mouth and chews it slowly. He's delaying the conversation. There is no need to chew this mush.

'I want to know, Ben,' I say firmly.

'The first few rounds were all about targeting DNA which was actively involved in the immune system. Multiple embryos were created and implanted. Most women ended up being implanted with three embryos. As I said, most didn't work. The ones that survived and were born were subjected to tests, to see if the alterations had been successful.' Ben puts his container on the floor and stares at the floor.

'How did they test for successfulness?' I ask.

'The participants were exposed to a range of pathogens from mild to fatal diseases, ones the alterations should have made them resistant to.'

'And if the alterations didn't make them resistant?'

'The ones we were able to treat, survived. A lot of the survivors make up the older teenage generation living here. Eventually, a database was created of successful and unsuccessful DNA sequences which eventually led to the production of you.'

'How is that possible? I was born sixteen years ago and this facility was only set up a few years before my birth. How could you have gathered enough data? All the altered embryos would have been babies.' Puzzled, I turn towards Ben's and his face creases, he looks pained. The realisation dawns on me. 'You started to test on them when they were babies?!' 

The food in my stomach curdles. I put down the container, unable to stomach the smell. He said the ones they were able to treat survived. That means many didn't. How many babies died?

'I only found out recently,' Ben says quietly.

I hug my knees into my chest. 'So you know I'm resistant because of your database?'

Ben shakes his head. 'Most of the research conducted was lost soon after you were born. We know you're resistant to several pathogens because we tested them on you.'

'Including Virulence?' I choke out.

'Yes.'

'Did you know I'd survive?'

'The tests we conducted prior to infecting you indicated your chances of survival were high.' Ben smiles reassuringly however the meaning behind his words are clear, they weren't a hundred percent sure, death was a possibility.

They're heartless.

I gaze out the window, an expanse of deep blue so dark you would get lost in it and I wish right now I could. I wish I could get away from this conversation, from this place and run out there. I'd run as far as my weak legs would take me. 

'If you know I'm resistant why am I still here?' I ask.

'There is more investigating we need to do, in terms of the alterations made to your DNA, and we're also exploring the idea of different forms of cell therapy. Investigating whether there is a way to transplant or transfer the abilities of your cells into another, so we can treat adults to make them resistant too.' Ben's voice has taken on its soothing tone, the one he uses when he's trying to calm and reassure me.

It doesn't work. All I hear is that I will be here indefinitely.

I'm going to be turned into some sort of cell donation machine. This is never going to end. The tests are going to continue until there's nothing left of me.

Ben stares at his food as he stirs it absently. Both our meals lay by our feet uneaten.

'I saw you created a new playlist today,' Ben says, clearly trying to change the topic.

'Is there anything else you're monitoring? You know, apart from my exercise, food and music,' I say stiffly.

'For someone who was brought up a Naturalist, you seem to really enjoy your music. You've listened to more in one day than I have in a lifetime,' he says, ignoring my comment.

'I didn't choose to be a Naturalist. If I didn't have my parents and brother, I would have left the settlement at the first opportunity. They were the reason I said no to your offer.'

'Oh. We thought...' Ben tapers off.

'You thought what?' I ask. Ben doesn't respond so I repeat the question more loudly, 'you thought what?'

'We initially thought you'd turned it down so you could still see the boy. Which is why we arranged for him to start working early, in the hope that it would encourage you to join us. But you didn't approach me when I waited outside your school. We assumed the two of you had a falling out.' Ben looks embarrassed at the admission.

'The offer to join the research team wasn't genuine, was it?'

'No. When you rejected it, we had to take a different route and inform the council about you being seen crossing the wall.'

'How did you know I was one of your genetically altered embryos?'

'When you were seen climbing over the wall an investigation was done, which flagged up your background and indicated the possibility you could be the missing participant. A baby dropped off alone, a few months after you disappeared from the settlement and of approximately the same age, raised our suspicions.' Ben shrugs non-committally and looks out the window.

He's holding something back but I don't know what.

I shuffle, realising how normal this feels. I'm sitting with him as though we're friends having a normal conversation. We're not.

I fake a loud yawn and he seems to get the message. Collecting the containers, he packs them away into a bag.

'There's more food in the fridge, eat it before you go to bed. And stay off the treadmill for tonight.' He smiles gently. 'I'll see you in the morning with tomorrow's food. Get to bed early so you get a good rest.'

'Ok, Dad,' I say sarcastically.

'Stop acting like a stubborn teenager and I'll stop acting like a controlling parental figure.' Ben jests.

'You seem to forget I am a teenager so being stubborn is not only acceptable but a requirement.'

'Yes, I suppose,' Ben mumbles, and his face creases into a frown.

He nods goodbye and I turn away, not returning any gesture. We're not friends.

Looking through the glass into the darkness, it hits me how wasted my life has been. All this time I stuck to the non-contact rule when I didn't have to.

I've missed out on so much.

However, even with the knowledge of being resistant to Virulence, I know it won't change my behaviour when it comes to touch. The fear of contamination has morphed into the fear of those who want to cause me harm. Allowing physical touch would be an acceptance of a person's intentions, it would mean I trust them.

I don't trust Ben.