All Will Be Real

Tennis shoes struck the ground as papers fluttered away from Avalon’s hands, the corridor racing by as he rushed to meet fate. Another page was lost, but it was inconsequential. It served no purpose if he was late anyway. A mere record of his genius made manifest. The real data was in his mind, as it always would be to keep it from those who would steal his dreams.

West 24C, where was it?

Avalon skidded around a corner, hopping on one foot as he nearly overbalanced. A few more pages escaped his custody, but he snatched one back and let the others fall. Once his balance was restored, he was off again.

Right. Left. Straight. Stairs. Right again. There!

Avalon burst into the room, his long hair a tangled mess as he’d chosen not to tie it back to look more presentable. What a mistake that was.

Smoothing his straight, dark locks into something more passable, Avalon stepped over to the podium and faced the room. It was not a large space, with tiered rows of desks that usually held students seeking knowledge. Today, they were filled with men sporting salt and pepper hair and a few women that were either a bit wrinkled or bore faces filled with medical intervention. He always despised that practice, trying to fix what genetics already deemed should grow old and die. To improve something, one must address the source, not the symptom.

“Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen,” Avalon said, tapping the sides of his papers on the podium to line them back up into a neat stack.

“Late again, I see.” One of the women stood, her hands resting on the desk in front of her, the tips of her fingers shining with polished nails. Her hair was golden and shone in the fluorescent light of the room.

“Only by a few minutes,” Avalon said. “All the more reason to begin at once, yes?”

The woman sat and waved her hand, gesturing for him to proceed.

Avalon cleared his throat and braced himself for the coming battle. Everything he’d ever dreamed of was within reach. All he needed to do was convince this lot to fund it.

“What if we could make myths real?”

The door rattled in its frame for a moment after Avalon slammed it behind him. His fist was clenched as he shoved his messenger bag onto his kitchen table, wrestling with the shoulder strap with muttered curses.

“Just let go already-! There we go.”

The bag was thrown down and Avalon turned to the fridge, muttering some dark words.

Half a glass of lemonade later, Avalon’s temper mellowed but remained sour.

How dare they. How dare they!

The front of his coat where his faculty badge used to hang on its little metal clip felt void of a part of him. He had earned that. He deserved to wear it. It was his.

“A pity the board was so blind to your talent.”

Avalon whirled around and flicked on the sitting room lights.

A man filled his armchair by the electric fireplace, their digital flames shut off. The man had been quite silent until now, despite his bulk, and his face was still cast in shadow. Avalon could feel his dark eyes watching him.

“A mistake on their part,” Avalon replied. “Who are you and why are you in my apartment?”

“Do not concern yourself with my name,” the man said, leaning back and steepling his fingers, pressing the tips against each other. “I know that you prefer ‘Avalon’ to yours, after all. All you need to know is that I am a friend. As for why I am here, I am rather intrigued by the pitch you made to the research board earlier today.”

“You mean the pitch that got me fired and called a loon? The pitch that they struck from the record when I refused to give them my research?”

“The very same.”

Avalon grumbled and leaned on the kitchen counter as he crossed his arms. “They are all high-minded cretins. Mocking me. Ridiculing my work and dreams. They don’t have the gall to do what is needed for us to reach past our limits, and instead strike down those with vision and ambition.”

“You had been offered an alternative that the board desired for your work. May I ask why?”

“I despise it and them.” Avalon scowled. “All they care about is marketing and how well it will sell. The board lacks the spark of creation and ignores the light it could become. They will rue this day.”

“Perhaps,” the man said, flicking on the flames of Avalon’s electric fireplace, “but how exactly do you intend to accomplish such a thing? I’ve seen your finances; one more month of missed rent and you lose this apartment. Is that not why you stand in the dark, without enjoying the comforts of your home?”

Avalon’s eye twitched, watching the devouring flames as though they consumed his meager savings as he stood by, helpless.

Running a hand through his hair, Avalon scoffed. “Electricity isn’t cheap.” Such mediocre concerns: bills, electricity, rent. Such things should be beneath him. Yet here he was, longing to shut off those decorative flames.

“No, it is not,” the stranger agreed. “I have means at my disposal, but I do not invest without assurance that it will amount to something beyond hopeful desires. How do you intend to realize your dreams?”

“How will I do it?” Avalon laughed, letting the tension bleed out with the harsh sound. “I don’t know, yet. But I will. Whatever it takes. Even if I have to steal every component, starve for every penny, walk to the ends of this continent; my vision will be real. And they will pay for doubting it. For doubting me.”

The stranger smiled.

“No, no! This one goes there, that one goes there.”

Avalon pointed out the mistake the construction bot was making as it assembled his private research facility piece by piece. Despite his irritation at the machines’ incompetence, quoting one of his favorite films was satisfying. That trilogy had been his introduction to the world of science blended with fantasy. Magic and mundane. A fusion of two things that belonged together, regardless of what his former colleagues had said.

Two years ago, Avalon had thought his ambitions sat on the brink of annihilation. Fired, dejected, rejected- but it opened the door to a realm of dreams fulfilled.

That night had been the beginning of all he desired to accomplish. Private funding. A facility built to his specifications. Freedom to experiment without the limits of law or ethics.

An opportunity for revenge.

Avalon placed his hands on his hips, his hair tied back in a ponytail with the front ends delicately braided and pulled away from his face. It was annoying to keep it away from his eyes, and yet he would not consider cutting it. He savored the feel of its weight as he walked around the atrium, inspecting the work of the bots, feeling like a legendary hero of old in a grand saga.

A saga named for Avalon.

Most of the facility had been completed by now. The lab had finished construction a week ago, and all that was left to do was assemble equipment, hardware, and personal touches. Most of the offices were done too, as well as the mess hall, staff room, armory, and other necessary tidbits. Meanwhile, the atrium needed work. It had to feel like a paradise for the creations he sought to bring to life. A collection needed a proper display, after all, and everything had to be perfect to run research, containment, and operations.

Stomping on the artificial turf, Avalon made sure it was up to his standards. His benefactor had provided the means, and so he would have to maximize the returns for them both. Avalon got the prototypes, his benefactor would get the additionals, if the prototype met his standards or the standards of his clients. A very fair trade, in Avalon’s mind. He could create to his heart’s content, and his benefactors get what they desire. Everyone wins.

Avalon smiled. His dream was at his fingertips, waiting for him. He could almost feel them brushing against his outstretched hands, close enough to take for his own. That board of buffoons should have joined him. They could be beside him, basking in what was soon to begin. They would regret their mistake.

All his benefactor wanted were results, and Avalon would deliver.

All the board deserved, he would deliver as well.

Avalon ground the turf into the floor beneath his heel, and laughed.

The smile on Avalon’s face stretched wide as he watched from behind the one-way glass. It looked like a painful rictus if not for the glee in his eyes. Subject H-1A’s contorted writhing as the mutagenic serum did its work had him entranced. It thrashed, then trembled, gasping and agonized.

Avalon felt no concern for it. There were others. As many as he could want.

With a gasp, H-1A stopped moving, their eyes blank and fixed on nothing in particular. A final breath escaped them, and their chest rose not again. Avalon paged his cleanup crew on the intercom, chipper and smiling still.

“Reset the chamber and bring in Subject H-1B.”

The dead one was dropped from the table he’d been strapped to and dragged away as H-1B was fetched. Some gray was in her golden hair that had not been there the last time Avalon had seen her. Her face paled when she saw her distorted coworker being zipped into a body bag. Or, rather, his hooves and partial tail.

“Monster…” H-1B said.

“Not really,” Avalon said to H-1B over the intercom. “He didn’t live long enough to become a proper specimen. Still, he endured it better than the animal subjects. Those lacked the ability to mentally adapt. Humans though, humans can reason and adjust.”

“I wasn’t talking about Danil!” H-1B said, glaring up at the one-way mirror. “You. Who are you?”

“A monster, apparently,” Avalon said with a laugh. How nice it was to have power over these betrayers. The irony of it. “You don’t recognize my voice? You’ve heard it before, years ago.”

“That’s what you care about? Dr. Yankovich is dead. You are a murderer.”

“I prefer the term ‘rejuvenator’ in cases like his and yours. Maybe he could’ve been on my side of the glass if he’d been a bit more open-minded.”

H-1B’s eyes widened.

“[Redacted]-?! You’re behind this?”

“That’s no longer my name,” Avalon said, flicking a speck of dirt away from his white coat. Not that she could see him behind the mirror. “It never really was, but I’m surprised you remember me, after firing me for my ideas. Kicking me. Shaming me. Erasing me.”

“So now you’re experimenting on us for petty revenge?”

“It’s not like I have any other uses for you traitors.”

“Traitors? You’re the one who stole us from our lives and mean to end them here!”

Avalon shrugged. “You fired and mocked me. It was only fair.”

“You sick son of a—"

H-1B struggled as she was cuffed to the table where H-1A had been, swearing and cursing Avalon’s former name. As the needle approached H-1B, Avalon smiled.

“The man you curse died the day you denied him. I was reborn from his despair. And, if you survive, you shall be reborn as well.”

“You’re insane!”

“Sometimes you need to demolish something crude to rebuild it better. If that is insanity, then I embrace it.”

“Who do you think you are? Some kind of god?”

“Not yet,” Avalon said as the needle lined up for the plunge.

“Then who are you!?”

“I am Dr. Avalon.”

His smile grew as her first screams of pain reached his ears.

Dark circles sagged under Avalon’s tired eyes as H-23F was brought in and strapped to the table.

Twenty-two months.

Twenty-two months of experiments, all of which failed.

After the board was brought in to contribute to Avalon’s research, and subsequently gave their lives for it, it had been hurdle after roadblock to make any sort of progress. His shadowy friends were patient, but not for much longer.

“I don’t understand it,” Avalon said as he watched the latest failure’s brainwaves stop. It had been so close too, the mutation nearly complete.

“Don’t understand what, sir?”

Avalon glanced at his assistant. He’d petitioned his investor for one a few months earlier, believing another set of living hands would help resolve the issues he faced. It had not amounted to anything as of yet, and this was the third assistant to take up the position at his side. The others joined the board when they failed him.

Secrets must be kept until his work was without flaw.

“I don’t understand what’s going wrong with the serum,” Avalon said. “It has worked perfectly for the last twelve applications, and yet the subject fails to survive. Every mutation is occurring in the correct order, but mentally they won’t recover even if their body functions. This is the third brain death in a row we’ve had to call. What are we missing?”

His assistant tapped a few keys on the keyboard of her workstation, her platinum-blonde locks tied back into a neat braid. “Perhaps it’s not the serum, but the subject.”

“How do you mean?”

His assistant pulled up a spreadsheet, and Avalon leaned forward to see it.

“I’ve compiled the data for the experiments you have run since I arrived and analyzed which showed the most success. Your younger subjects often lasted longer than the older ones and showed more mutations before death or cessation of neural activity. Among those, some have more success than their peers.”

She tapped a key, highlighting some genetic markers recorded in the data.

“I’ve isolated genetic factors that could be contributing to that partial success. It is my belief that some have a natural propensity for genetic mutations, and that those most susceptible to change are those that are younger and still growing. Still changing at a slower pace.”

Avalon patted the back of her chair, indicating he wanted to take over at the console, and she moved without argument or breaking the fluency with which she spoke. Sitting at the computer, Avalon reviewed what she had put together.

“They also are more likely to have an open mind,” continued the assistant, “actively seeking out changes in their personal life, before routine and habit are fully settled. Perhaps it makes it easier for them to accept the mutations and rebuild neural pathways to accommodate the new biology the mutations give them. Based on these calculations, we should look for older teenagers and young adults, as they are still going through biological changes and will be more flexible, as well as a higher likelihood of possessing open minds. We could also screen for a genetic predisposition to mutations.”

Avalon didn’t speak as he went over the spreadsheet.

“Why not children?” Avalon suggested, still reviewing the data.

His assistant paled with a grimace. “It would likely be too much for them to endure, not to mention the ethical issues we face are severe enough with adults. I’d recommend subjects between sixteen and twenty years old for best results.”

“Mhm, I see.”

His assistant hugged one arm to her side, watching him study her work. “Did I do well?”

Hearing her voice, Avalon’s gaze drifted to the assistant. She was young, just graduated high school with honors. Studying at Harvard in her first semester, paid for by a full ride scholarship, when not at the facility. Handpicked by his benefactor for being the most promising biology major in a decade with a specialty in genetics.

He couldn’t let her steal what was rightfully his.

“You did beyond well,” Avalon said, a subtle, unpleasant warmth to his voice. “Does anyone else know of this theory?”

“No sir. Just you.”

Avalon smiled.

“Are you ready to contribute more?”

“I’ve done it…” Avalon said, breathing out the words in a quiet whisper.

Laying on the floor of the testing chamber was what he’d sought since he learned the genetic code could be rewritten.

Avalon gripped the back of his chair, standing behind it, as he watched the creature come to. The table had worked exactly how he designed it; hold the subject in place so the mutagenic serum could enter the spinal column without paralyzing the subject, then release and slide it onto the floor once their anatomy shifted beyond its ability to restrain them.

It was an inspired first success. All of the creature’s physical traits were easy enough to compile using existing genes; drawing upon deer and horses for the primary anatomy then adding a horn from a narwhal, hooves of a goat, and the tail of a lion.

And platinum-blonde made for a lovely color.

The only thing missing was the horn’s supposed ‘magic’, but this was only the prototype of prototypes. Avalon had time to figure out how to replicate proper abilities later.

“Good afternoon,” Avalon said to her as she opened her eyes. “It seems you were right. The young will make an ample testing ground.”

The creature stood with a shaky stumble, her ears pinned and eyes wide with fear and horror. But Avalon could only laugh as she whinnied at the one-way mirror he stood behind.

And the board wanted to use his serums for terminal diseases. Avalon scoffed. What a boring waste that would have been. By saying ‘no’ that day, his dreams had come true.

As the unicorn was led away, Avalon sat down and edited the research so it bore his name, not his assistant’s. He sent its data along with reports of the experiment’s success, and a request for a genome test to be distributed among the local youth. Avalon’s knee bounced, a grin on his face.

His hopes, his ambitions, his dreams.

All will be real.