Classified Records
Patient ID: 021
“Blackjack”
March 5th, 2086 – 2107Laflamme, Abigail
Born on March 5th, 2086 to a middle-class couple on the eastern outskirts of San Diego, California. Prelimnary report as follows: “Abigail was always the rough little kitten of the litter, that being the kids in the area. She is a single child, and more than a little rough around the edges, Rambunctious even. She was always the first to lead the younger children into games, and mischievous activites. The impromptu tiny leader of the gang of kids. Never relocating, Abigail Laflamme grew up with this children, a circumstance that would eventually lead her here, to us. Despite her parent's efforts in loving and raising her, they always seemed a little lax on the discipline. Never truly respecting anybody, Abigail often times found herself ditching school, where she only earned moderate to low grades, and took up smoking with her friends behind shops and in parks. Reports indicate her favorite brand of cigarettes were “Racers”.
It wasn't long until this kind of ruffian behaviour led her towards the use of drugs, all teenagers were doing it, there was nothing holding her back from trying the euphoria everybody was raving about. Her first taste of marijuana had her hooked, exerpts from her diary indicate she'd never felt as happy, or alive, as she did when under the influence. Now she had a whole new reason to skip class, to smoke cannabis with her social group, or often times finding herself at a house on sixth street. A shabby little house with peeling paint and windows covered in foil. The yard was overgrown and full of the typical kinds of poject that tweakers task themselves with inbetween drug deals, this particular one seems to refurbish furniture and sell it dirt cheap.
Perhaps it was the loss of love, or the difficult of their child, but eventually a rift formed between Abigail's parents, as it seems to happen all to often these days. The father, Roman Laflamme, forty-six, took to drinking. Let the records show that observations of his behaviour also includes harder drugs that his daughter was using, for now, and the involvedment of street whores. Julienne Laflamme, forty-five, found her consolement in mind numbing prescriptions fed to her through her physciatrist and doctor, who seemed to be in tandem when it came to ensuring her insurance paid the most, for the best precription pills it could afford. Let the records show that observations show that she was constantly under the influence of these pills, and filled her time with television, baking, and sewing.
This rift only drove Abigail deeper into the world of drugs. She was seventeen when she dropped her first hit of acid, which left her unaware of the reality she was stuck in. Between the drugs, and her inability to function as normal teengers do left her barely scraping her way through high school, leaving her nearly at the bottom of her class. She chose not to walk on stage, instead she had her diploma mailed to her so she could return to the house on sixth street, where it is assumed she became so high the effects lasted for days. Days which she spent wandering the streets in a haze, leaving her family to worry.
The rift deepened with this, each of the parents blaming eachother, and themselves, and just about everything else. It's reported that Roman Laflamme was arrested on March 5th, 2104; Abigail's birthday. She was missing, leaving her parents fighting, and a cake who's candles melted completely. The charges were for domestic violence, a call originating from the neighbors. Julienne Laflamme has medical records dating for that night: A bruised eye, a dislocated shoulder, and shallow cuts on her face implying something fragile had broken upon it.
Abigail didn't find out about this until days later. With a rubber tube tied around her arm, and a needle pressed to her vein, the news report finally aired of the incident. But this only drove her further from home. Her mother left to weep and worry, Abigail moved into her drug dealer's home and started selling with him. Her days were filled with heroin, acid, and marujuana, and it is plausible that she had run ins with powerful prescription pills and ectasy. A police report surfaced two months later, May 11th, 2104, where officers found Abigail naked and stoned on the lawn a few houses down from where she had been staying.
Apparently her “Land lord” (Drug dealer) had found her whoring herself out to maintain her lifestyle, and threw her out. The exact details of this event are unknown, yet Abigail's fate followed similarily to her father's. She was only booked for a few nights, and forced into rehab.
A childhood friend of her's, Andie McKosh, Nineteen, had a job offer from his father, Andrew McKosh, forty-nine, to work in an automechanics shop. One she quickly took. From there she slowly built a life back up for herself. Though she continued to smoke pot, she completed her rehabilitation curriculum. Once again free to be her own person, she bid goodbye to her life as an automechanic and sought more rewarding work; This time as a heavy vehicle repairman. Landing a job at a construction company, “J&J Construction”, she found herself successfully living deep in the city of San Diego, able to afford her own apartment with such a high income.
The skills she learned here were invaluable, and she was looking forward to a promotion when a rusted bolt on a shovel's scoop broke. The scoop nearly crushed her, but she was able to dive out of the way and wound up only moderately bruised and battered, with a mild sprain. The drug test results show a high amount of THC in her system, along with a variety of chemicals used in the street production of Acid. She was immediately fired.
From here she lived on the streets. She quickly became part of the homeless community and they showed her how to survive, and still beable to afoord some drugs, or a pack of cigarettes here and there. Fortunely for her, she was never much of a drinker, but partook when offered. They tought her where the best places to sleep were, which shelters were always full and those that were not, and how to raid dumpsters for edible food. Still, her eyes reflected the sleepless nights and the hunger pangers she felt. She often found local musicians playing for money, and used her talents in singing to scrape by.
One fateful night, she had just scored a couple tabs of Acid and was feeling particularily down about her life; perhaps suicidal. She took more than she usually did, and fell into a non-lethal state of overdose. A panic attack ensued, and her emotions flared widly out of control. The police were on scene within the hour.
She was admitted to New Heights Memorial Hospital.
Document End
November 11th, 2107 – 2109Journal Entry #001: I don't know where I am. My head hurts, my body aches, and I can't stop shaking. I'm so cold... I'm so alone. What am I doing here? A woman came in earlier, she had a small cup of water and some pills, she said I needed to take them. I refused, and they tazed me, they fucking tazed me. I'm not aloud to go without my medication, I could become violent they said. But I'm aloud to have this journal, and this pen. Haven't they ever seen a prison movie? I could gouge that bitches eyes out with this. I could. I will. I swear to god if I don't get some answers somebody is going to get hurt. Where is my stuff? Where am I? What am I doing here?
Journal Entry #002:She came back this evening, with food, the water, and the pills. I took them this time. I remembered what being tased felt like, my entire body on fire from the inside with the most painful tingles. Sometimes I still twitch thinking about it, did it have to be that strong? What do they want from me? What am I doing here?
The food wasn't bad, in fact, it was pretty good. Like some four star resort shit, who the fuck are these people? I saw somebody walk by when the nurse came in, he was dressed in a lab coat. He was wheeling one of those hospital beds with somebody strapped down to it. I think I'm in a mental facility, but aren't they supposed to let me have recreation or something? To mingle? Can they keep me locked up alone like this? Does anybody even know I'm here?
I miss my mother...
Journal Entry #003:(There's nothing but some scribble lyrics here)Head under water
And he they tell me to breathe easy for a while
My breath The breathing gets harder, even I know that
Made room for me but it's too late soon to see..
Blank looks stares at blank pages.
Journal Entry #004:I can hear them. Screaming, crying, yelling, panicking. They're everywhere, the people. Are they people? They sound broken, like they've become the animals like they treat us. Did I mention I don't even have a window? Just this musty little cell, with one overly bright light way up above out of my reach. If I could I'd shatter that glass and cut my own throat. It would be hours before they found me.
An oderly just checked on me, I was laughing to hard. Maybe they would find me. Maybe they'd feel so bad about what they did they'd all hang themselves. That would be.. delightful. Today they took me out, I saw the place. All white walls and white halls... those would be good lyrics. Anyways, they hooked me up to a bunch of electrodes and ran a bunch of tests. My body has been getting these weird tingles. I can hear them coming, coming to feed me more pills.
Entries 005 and 006 are missingJournal Entry #007:That's it! I can't take it anymore. I hate this places. These pills.. they're doing something to me. I keep seeing faces in the shadows, I can hear them whispering. Murmuring my name, laughing at me. The nurses laugh too, the orderlies. They're all laughing at me.
Today they took me into a room, they took my clothes and chained me to a wall and pointed this huge cannon looking scope at me. They said they were studying my cells. What kind of mental ward is this!? They stuck these long metal needles in me, in my stomach, in my legs, they were connected to something. The electrocuted me, again, and again, and again. (Tears dot the page) Why? Why? What do they want? They kept saying how the cells weren't dividing? Dividing what? How I was a failed experiment. Who the fuck said you could experiment on me anyways!?! My entire body hurts, everytime I close my eyes I just see them laughing, and I can feel it. The white hot fire coursing through my body, cramping my muscles. I think I'm going to puke.
Journal Entry #008:(Tears dot the page) What do they want? Why me? Please make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make them stop. (This continues for several pages)
Journal Entry #009:They say there's an underground river,
That none of us can see,
And it flows through winding tunnels,
On its way to a tide-less sea.
And across that sea is an island,
A paradise we are told,
Where the toils of life are forgotten,
And they call it the Island of Souls.
For only a soul can go there,
A soul that's been set free,
From the confines of a working life,
To find eternity.
I'm sorry mom... dad.. I miss you
I'm going to kill her. I'm going to kill her. She who makes me run, attatching those electrodes to me. She who tazes me when I “get out of hand”. She who prods me and pokes me and cuts me and shocks me and laughs. God how she laughs. The snide little bitch. I'll show her. I'll fucking show her. Next time she takes me blood and looks at me, with that stupid look on her face. Like I'm not good enough, talking about how she wants me purgued, saying I'm nothing but violent filth. I'll fucking show her violent filfth. I'll fucking kill her. I'll take that nasty black syringe full of that black shit and I'll shove it into HER FUCKING EYE.
Incident Report: December 1st, 2107
Subject ID: 021
“Blackjack”
Patient has assualted a female staff member. Staff member has been rushed to quarentee, patient had a violent outburst and inflicted the nurse with Blackwater, the syinge lodged deep into the nurse's left eye socket. The nurse is also being treated for multiple stab wounds, inflicted with a ball point pen. Patient's journal and writing utensils have been removed, she is to be be kept under guard and have a detail escort her to the testing facilities.Incident Report Follow-up: January 22nd, 2108
Subject ID: 021
“Blackjack”
A change in the subject's medication seems to have worked in supressing her violent outbursts, but has also dulled all her emotions leaving her in a functioning, catatonic state. She can respond to commands, and give simple responses. We see no need to change her medication, subject is as desired. Due note to keep tabs on her mental state, she spends hours humming and singing quietly to herself, the only emotion she seems able to exhibit is sadness, and she if often heard crying, but never while under surveilance. I suggest installing cameras in her room.Termination Report: January 1st, 2109
Subject ID: 021
“Blackjack”
Subject, Abigail Laflamme is reported to be terminated from Project Blackwater, will follow-up observations in case her results improve. The genome set seems to be unresponsive, despite any manipulations why try to get it to bond with her, it seems it is not following it's original design, and remains either dormant or unresponsive. Subject is not violent, and shows no risk of mutation, therefore a purgue is not necessary.
She is scheduled to have her memories carefully cleaned over the next week, and inhibitors are prescribed to help with this process. All Millennium involvement, and Blackwater, will be removed from her memory. She will medically induced into a temporary coma and left in a back alley, surrounded by paraphenelia. Her mind will create figmented memories to fill in the blanks, or fill in the blanks. It is likely that she will just think it's memory loss from an over abudance of drug use. It's not uncommon for a heavy drug user to experience gaps in the memory of their life.
Phoenix Tracker 006 has been detailed to keep close tabs on her. I hear he is excellent at his job. We look forward to his reports.
