Activate

C
opyright
© 2016 by Crystal Perkins

C
heerleader
. Jock. Good Girl. Class Clown. Charmer.

F
ive teenagers are
oblivious to their true origins, until the day they are "activated" by the government, and learn they were part of a secret experiment. They're not like anyone else, and now they're being sent into a war even the most seasoned soldier couldn't survive. 

F
ighter
. Telepath. Super-soldier. Leader. Empath.

T
hey know
they've been given the skills of the great detectives and spies from literature, movies, and TV, but there's more. Is their government "Creator" really trying to get them to fulfill their destiny, or is their mission more personal?

H
ate
. Loyalty. Anger. Compassion. Love.

W
hen the truth is revealed
, they'll discover their heritage, and the real reason they were born. Will they continue on the path that's been set for them, or will their emotions cause them to fight for a new future?

S
aving
the world is their destiny. Saving themselves is their choice.

W
e have watched
them for sixteen years. Watched and waited, hoping we wouldn’t have to flip their switches, but also hoping that we would. With the world in turmoil, the time has come.

“Are we sure? There’s no other option?” the President of the United States asks me.

“I’m sure. The attacks are too wide spread, and encompass too many areas of expertise. Why comb through the resources of law enforcement when we have the perfect experts who can help us immediately?”

“You know why. My predecessors and I had all hoped it would be at least a few more years before this had to happen.”

“There were never any guarantees of a time frame. This could’ve happened years ago. At least now, it won’t look so suspicious.”

“How will it not look suspicious?”

“They look like adults.”

“They may look like them, but they’re not. These five are still children. We should be protecting them. Instead we are getting ready to send them into battle.”

“We both know they are more ready than any elite soldier, or top analyst. They were made for this, and the time has come to let them be who we created them to be. Sign the orders, Mr. President. It’s the only way.”

“God help us all if this fails.”

“If
they
fail, there will be nothing left of us, or anyone else, to help.”

“Then make sure they don’t. Seventeen years ago, you were entrusted with the creation of these five. Now, I’m entrusting you with keeping them safe.”

“You have my word. I’ll be watching over them. Always.”

He looks conflicted for a moment more, but then he signs the papers. I whisk them off his desk before he can change his mind, and walk briskly out the door. It’s done. There’s no going back now.

“Wait,” he says, running out of the room after me. “One more day. Give them one more day of normal. It’s the least we can do for them.”

I don’t like it, and because I’ve got the signed orders in my hand, I don’t technically have to abide by his request, even if he is President. However, I need his approval for much more than this one directive, and angering him now won’t help me later. That doesn’t mean I won’t try to change his mind.

“We both know that seconds can change the course of history. A full day could allow our enemies—whoever they are—to cause more harm than the five can undo.”

“That’s a chance we’ll have to take.”

“Sir, I urge you to reconsider.”

“I’m going to have a hard enough time living with myself after they’re put into service. Giving them one day seems minor. It’s in my power to give it, and so I am. Have the security agencies be extra vigilant during the next 24 hours. I don’t want more attacks on our computer systems, or national monuments, but I won’t back down about this. Give the children one more day to be normal teenagers.”

“You’re the boss.”

“Yes I am. I think you forget that sometimes, ,” he says, walking away and effectively dismissing me.

He’s wrong. I don’t forget that he’s in charge. How could I possibly forget that? I know he’s the wrong person to be leading our country, but he was elected by the people, so what choice do I have but to obey his every order and wish? For now, I have none. Those kids will get their 24 hours, but after that, they will once again belong to the United States of America—and me.

A
bigail

S
he’s the cheerleader
. The peppy one, who has a smile for everyone she meets. It’s not a question of nature versus nurture. Abigail’s personality is a product of genetics. Could she have grown into someone different than we intended? It’s possible, I guess, but highly unlikely.

The men in charge of the eggs that were harvested knew what they were doing. They’d been working on genetic manipulation for decades. Nothing like what we’d proposed, of course, but playing with DNA was second nature to all of them by the time we got our hands on them. I have no doubt that we’ll get the desired results from this girl tomorrow.

Today, she is still just a teenager, worrying about clothes, boys, and maybe her classes. In that order.

“Mom, have you seen my flowered dress?”

“Which one?”

She sighs dramatically. “My new one. The one with the red flowers.”

“Oh. No. I haven’t seen it since we bought it. Did you check your trunk?”

“Duh? I never brought it in,” she says with a laugh, before kissing her mother on the cheek. “You’re the best, Mom.”

She runs outside, and my cameras see her open the trunk and pull out a bag from a popular teen shop. She practically dances back inside, and up to her room. I turn off the monitor before she lifts her sleepshirt over her head, because I’m not a pervert. The cameras will still keep rolling in case something happens that we need to see, but none of us will look.

I pick her up again twenty minutes later as she bounds down the stairs in a white dress with red flowers, her hair in a complicated braid, and red ballet flats on her feet. She kisses her mother again, grabs an apple from the bowl on the counter, and practically runs to her car.

Exactly eleven minutes later, she pulls into the school parking lot, parks in the spot that the entire school knows is “hers” even though that’s not really allowed, and flips her hair once more before greeting her adoring public. She’s popular and flighty, but not mean, which goes a long way with her classmates. She scores just high enough on her tests, quizzes, and essays to retain a respectable grade point average, but not so high that she’s intimidating to anyone else. That’s not a coincidence either. She
has
to be liked by everyone, because in essence, Abigail is the key to everything.

C
oalton

T
he jock
. Pick a sport, and he will not only play it, but excel at it. I don’t need to tell you how or why, because you’re smart enough to figure that out. Where Abigail is the golden girl of the school, Coalton is the golden boy. If you think they’re a couple, think again.

The five have absolutely no romantic interest in each other, and never will. In fact, while they aren’t openly hostile to each other, they aren’t friendly either. At least not yet.

Like Abigail, he has fans who flock to him as he exits his car, but unlike her, he’s not nice. Far from it, in fact. We made him cocky and some might even say, mean. Not quite a bully, but he’s blunt and honest to a fault. If a teammate doesn’t play well, he’ll tell him. If something his father cooks for him tastes bad, he’ll say so. He has no choice, and there’s really no point in dwelling on it, or in me trying to explain why we did what we did. It will be revealed soon enough to those who need to know.

I watch him through the various cameras as he leads his pack through the halls, with a stop at his locker, and then a mock salute as he enters his first class—late, of course.

“So nice of you to join us, Coalton,” his U.S. Government teacher tells him, looking anything but nice at the moment.

“I’m sure I didn’t miss anything,” he says without hesitation. There’s that brutal honesty. His teacher is retiring after this year, and checked out long ago. No one else would say it, but Coalton is compelled to.

“To the dean’s office. Now!” the teacher yells. He hasn’t checked out enough to let the insult slide.

Coalton salutes him as he struts out the door. I watch him tilt his head from side to side, and roll his shoulders as he walks. He’s thinking about how to get out of this. Because if he doesn’t, he might not be able to play in the football game this week. His team needs him. He knows it, and with a smile I see him realize that the dean will know it, too. I’m not sure he’ll be able to hold back from blurting out that he knows, but that’s not my problem. Yet.

S
abrina

S
abrina is
the girl who can’t be beat. She has won every election since elementary school. By a landslide. She’s a natural-born politician. Well, if she was conceived and born naturally, she would be. Regardless, she always knows what to do and say to sway a crowd her way.

It’s not even just school elections. If there’s a side to take, or a debate to win, she can read a crowd and know which one they’d rather go with. Then she picks that side. Simple, right?

Sometimes it is, but sometimes she has to choose something she would never believe in, or want, and fight for it. She has no choice. She has to win. It has gained her some enemies, but most people are simply in awe of her.

Right now she is in science class. Her teacher has just posed the question about whether people behave the way they do because they are born that way, or because they are conditioned by society to act a certain way. This should be good.

Sabrina glances around the room, and narrows her eyes. Once she has looked at everyone there, she speaks up.

“Society. It’s society who makes us who we are.”

She is so wrong, but as usual, she has read her classmates right. Most of them jump in to agree, while those who don’t are quickly silenced by everyone else. The teacher looks resigned to what has happened, and barely tries to explain both sides. After seeing Sabrina in action over the past few years, he knows there’s no point in trying to argue. She’s won over the class, just like the rest of the school. And soon, she’ll win over the world.