The Bunny's page

As he notices you staring, he grins, yet this does little to ease your mind.

The Kellids are forged from stardust, or so the people of the Starspeaker tribe believe. Before time began, “dust,” the remnants of a now-forgotten supernova, permeated this plane of existence. From it emerged First Son and First Daughter, the first beings, the first Kellids. They carried with them memories of their home, and it was in this image that they sought to create the material plane, including all of Golarion. They planted a tree at the bottom of the sea, and that tree grew up from the ocean, its fruit bearing seeds made of tears formed from the sea foam. To sustain her, First Daughter ate of the tree’s fruit, and they were transformed within her. She grew heavy with child and gave birth to the mountains. But in the throes of labor she perished. Being of the sea, First Son returned her to the ocean, and her remains formed the ocean life. First Son, in anguish, threw himself upon the highest peak, as a sword. His blood filled all the world’s rivers, and from his remains rose all the life of land, including the Kellids. To this day, the Starspeaker tribe maintains that the stars watch over their people as family.

A falling star is thus held sacred as a gift from its brethren, and remnants of meteorites are greatly prized by the tribe. So, when Kavog spotted such a star that hot summer night less than twenty years ago, it was natural that he should desire it. It fell across the plains, and for a full day and night he treked after it, as a hunter seeking prey.

He found the meteorite easily, for the ragged pit its impact created glowed eerily with an indescribable color. At the center of this pit lay the stone. It was small, about the size of his head. Its surface was glossy and smooth, and very cold. It glowed that strange hue, pulsing and audibly throbbing like an alien heartbeat. He climbed down the pit and reached for the stone. As he did so it seized him, engulfing his hand as though made of water, and sucking his entire body inside.

He awoke seven and one half hours later, at day's break, lying not far from his village. He had no memory of the night.

Although life continued normally for a time, strange occurrences plagued the tribe. Their livestock began turning up dead, slaughtered in the night. While many suspected a wild animal, no tracks were left behind. Indeed, the only fresh prints looked to be human hands, and surely that could not explain the killing. Further, every woman with child soon miscarried, leading the tribe's elders to conclude that the sky gods were displeased. Thankfully, Kavog’s wife was soon herself pregnant. This news was bittersweet, for it was not long after that Kazog was found dead by a nearby river, dark green fluid oozing from his orifices.

Upon the his son’s birth, things seemed relatively normal. He grew as other children, although he began to walk at a mere seven months of age. He was taller and ran faster than the other small ones, yes, but his father had also been robust. It wasn’t until his third year that truly odd things began to occur. His eye color changed from a dark brown to mahogany, then a deep crimson. His left eye expanded larger than the other, its pupil taking on an amorphous and unnatural shape, a pale light emanating from its center. His ears began to change as well, and for a short time there were whispers he might be part elf. But then his skin changed, also. The left side of his face turned a sickly green, the flesh becoming taut and slick. The contracting skin distorted his features further, giving him an altogether bizarre countenance.

Some men of the tribe declared him an abomination and were prepared to stone him to death. But one of the elders stood between the boy and the mob. He proclaimed that the sky gods, previously dissatisfied with the tribe, had sent him a vision of the boy, for he was not of the earth, but of the stars. He was a gift to the Starspeaker tribe and would lead them to great victories and beyond. As proof, the elder noted that the livestock slaughters and miscarriages had ceased after the boy’s birth. None could argue.

While some remained skeptical, the words of the elder were very persuasive to the superstitious people. Most of them rejoiced, and the boy was elevated to the status of an aove’da, an incarnation of the divine. He and his mother were granted special status. Gifts of animal skins, polished stones, and metal jewelry were made unto them. All seemed well.

Yet in the darkness there lurked a watcher, skirting the periphery of the tribe. This was the “specimen requisition” department of the Technic League, whose assignment was to locate abnormal phenomena, natural or unnatural, for purposes of the League’s ethically-questionable research. They came in the night, their weapons blazing, and quickly overpowered the more primitive defenses of the tribe. They killed the mother and stole the boy, fleeing back into the darkness. He was four years old.

The journey home proved difficult, for the child screamed and raged, exhibiting unnatural strength. The drug dosage necessary to sedate him would have toppled a bear. Eventually the team made it to Silver Mount, where a hidden research laboratory lay buried among the hills. They went deep into the earth, down into the dark, until the sun was forgotten, and the stars were mere memory.

|-----The Grand Experiment-----|

The boy awoke to blinding bright light. He lay on a cot, facing a ceiling inlaid with the strangest torches he had ever seen. The light was intense, yet there was no fire. He tried to raise his hand to feel for warmth, but discovered that his limbs were tightly bound to the bed. He panicked, screaming and thrashing, and his bonds broke free with ease. The narrow chamber was made of metal. An unusual chair sat near his crumpled bed, and on the far side was a closed door. Discovering it locked, he pounded against it. Although he managed to make some dents in the metal, he accomplished little more than bloodying his knuckles. Suddenly, vents along the ceiling opened, releasing a gas. He quickly succumbed to its fumes.

________________________________________________________

Pain. There was not much else to think on those first few years. Pain surrounded him, clouded his mind, suffused his being. There were surgeries, of course. He knew that word, now. But he was usually in the deep sleep for those, and he healed quickly, with little to remind him of what had occurred.

But the testing, that was the bad thing. They learned quickly to send him to sleep before it began. The first time they tried to take him, someone attempted to speak to him. He took that one’s eyes, squeezing the man’s skull so tight it practically exploded. They learned to release the gas first. Then he would wake. Sometimes he would be tied down to a table or a chair and they would surround him with their machines and sharp knives and poke and prod and twist and tear until he thought he could take no more. And then they would continue. Those were the worst days. Other times, he would be in a large room. Sometimes there would be a kind of maze to work through or some puzzle to solve. He liked the puzzles.

They were hiding behind the wall, he knew. The Doctors, as they instructed him to call them. He could hear them whispering. Words like aberration, abnormality, and alien became part of his vocabulary. Eventually other words came. Bio-weapon, soldier, collateral. They called him “Number 7.”

He never saw the sky. He had forgotten it existed. Such was his life, and it was all he knew. But then, Malka came into his world.

|-----The Chance Savior-----|

After a particularly nasty incident involving a sedative miscalculation, his premature waking, and another death, he had been confined to a cage with the other Subjects. These were animals, mostly. There were certainly no more like him. As he lay at the bottom of his cage, dreaming of sharp instruments and acrid chemicals, a door opened. He hissed in fear and aggression, but the figure that emerged into his chamber was not a Doctor--at least, not like one he had ever seen. Still, highly suspicious, he backed into the corner of his tiny prison, ready to pounce.

Malka slowly approached. He remained as still as death. ”Are you…” she had barely opened her mouth to speak when he launched himself at the wall of the cage. The impact startled her greatly and she hopped back but, defying his expectations, remained in the room. This puzzled him. She wasn’t dressed as the Doctors and she actually spoke to him. This perplexed him further. It made him nervous, too, and he shied back into his cage, refusing to speak despite her efforts to communicate with him. As she left the room he almost called out to her, but instead held his tongue.

She returned the next night, this time with food. Although water was provided for him, his captors had neglected to feed him--a punishment for maiming one of their number. He was ravenous. He remained at the far side of the cage, still apprehensive of her. She placed the thing on the floor and pushed it close to his cage with a her toe. Slowly, slowly, he crept toward her, vigilant for any sign of movement from her, and snatched it from the ground. He crawled back to his refuge, greedily tearing into the thing with his teeth. It tasted like nothing he had ever had before. It was the best sensation that he could remember. Later, he would learn that this was a pastry.

She came again the following night with more of the good food. This time, she asked him his name. He stared at her in the darkness, his weird eye scanning her up and down. ”Subject Number Seven. They call me that. Subject Number Seven.” It was the first time he could remember speaking to another person.

She continued to come, night after night, into his chamber, always bringing good things to eat, and more. She brought him a blanket, and a salve for his recent hurts, and a strange soft thing that she called a bear. He accidentally handled it too roughly and tore it in two, but she only laughed, promising to fix it. They both knew if the Doctors discovered these treasures their visits would end, and so they took great pains to keep them hidden, Malka taking them with her as she left each night. He began to talk to her, too. He didn’t know too many words, and he wasn’t sure what to say, but she seemed happy enough to speak for them both, telling him of big plans she had to “escape.” She explained this meant they could leave this place, together. He didn’t know where they would leave to. She tried to explain to him that a whole world existed outside the lab, and promised him that soon he would see it. He looked forward to this, as any life away from the Doctors seemed a good life, indeed.

|-----THE ESCAPE-----|

The next night, she was ready. She had him remain on the other side of the cage as she talked it into opening! Suddenly, he was free. He burst through the opening, almost knocking her prone. He stood, stretching his limbs, practically touching the ceiling. The feeling of being able to stand had begun to feel like a distant memory.

”Come, we must hurry! And be quiet!” she whispered urgently, leading him out into the hall. He saw that she had two backpacks, stuffed to the brim. She handed him one, fastening it to his back. He didn’t like the feeling of anything binding him, but he allowed it. It suddenly struck him as very odd that she wasn’t afraid to touch him.

They raced down the darkened halls, Malka leading the way. The girl seemed to know exactly which route to take, and never faltered. Several times she would halt, silently pushing him back into a darkened closet or study, as a guard would pass. Then they were running again, round and round the seemingly endless maze of chambers.

Suddenly, as they rounded a corner, Malka froze and gasped. Seven practically stumbled over her. Before them stood two guards who had just entered the hallway through large double doors. When they saw the two runaways their eyes grew wide. They pulled some sort of weaponry from their bodies ordered the pair to stand still. Seven would realize later that the only reason they gave a warning was Malka’s presence. Surely they would not have hesitated to end his life.

Seven stared at the guards and their, their weapons. He had seen them before, knew the hurt they could cause, knew the Doctors had used these things on him, when they thought the others weren’t looking, just to hear him scream in pain.

The pain, oh gods the pain.

His anger flared. Something deep and primal and dark within the recesses of his mind whispered to him, told him what to do. In a flash he charged the men. Their feeble weapons fired. He ignored the pain--it was nothing to him now. Tooth and nail he fought them, grabbing their hands and the weapons they held and twisting and pulling in fury, ignoring the screams, ignoring the blood and the sound of soft tissue ripping and the crack of bone and Malka screaming for him to stop and the pain running up and down his body, giving him vitality, giving him breath, giving him life. He could not stop. Could not could not could not.

He stood amidst the ruin of his rage, bathed in blood. He panted wildly as his senses returned to him. Remembering Malka, he looked up. Would she be afraid? Had she fled from him?

She was gone.

”Ma...Malka?” he called out, his voice suddenly small. He had no idea where he was or where to go. What would he do without her? Suddenly she appeared from behind a doorway, her face ashen. He smiled then, as happy as he would ever be in his life. She said nothing, merely diverted her eyes from the carnage as best she could and retrieved a small item from one of the torsos. After a deep breath, she stared at the floor and spoke: ”Quickly now. We don’t have far to go and someone may have heard that. Follow me.”

They traveled through the heavy double doors from which the guards had come and made their way up, up, up countless stairs until at last they reached a doorway. Malka waved the small item she had taken from the guard’s body before it. A hiss and a whir sounded in the dark, and suddenly they were outside.

Seven was seized with fear. He was not accustomed to so much space above him. The full moon hung in her raiment of stars as the entire universe seemed to open up above them, welcoming them home. He was terrified. He mouth agape, he stared in horrified wonder until Malka seized his arm and tugged him gently toward the hills. They traveled all night, fearful of pursuit, but luck was on their side, and they made good progress without interference.

Once they were clear of Silver Mount, Malka turned to him and asked, ”Are going to go home now?”

”You mean, back to the Doctors?? No!” he hissed, fearful she meant to turn back. ”They are bad, Malka. Full of hate and they want to hurt us and put us in iron beds. They’ll turn off the lights and whisper bad things to us and won’t feed us for a long time!” It didn’t occur to him that “home” might mean anything else.

Malka placed a comforting hand on Seven’s arm. ”No, not back to the doctors,” she said. ”We are never going back there because you are right. They are bad.” Seeing him relax she continued. ”Do you have someplace different to go? Maybe a family, a mom or dad?” He stared at her blankly, “a family, a mom or dad” meaning nothing to him. ”I have Malka. I will go with you.”

After traveling a little longer, they stopped to rest. Malka hesitated, then spoke up. ”What happened to you back there with the guards? Did the Technic league do that to you? Can you control it?” Again, Seven only stared. This happened frequently between them. Malka had learned by now that she often had to rephrase her questions in the simplest of terms. She did so now. ”They were bad. They tried to hurt us. I didn’t want them to.” He left it at that.

|-----In Torch-----|

Eventually the pair found the blazing violet fire of Torch, but they did not approach immediately. Instead, they camped along its outskirts for several days, during which time Malka tried to coach Seven on appropriate behavior in a human settlement. Although it was an uphill battle, a few memories from his early years lingered with him, and this inch of humanity enabled him to progress. When she felt she could trust him not to tear anyone’s arms off, the odd pair nervously entered the town.

While at first they tried to maintain anonymity within the city, Malka realized that her stolen wealth and supplies would soon run out. As it happened, her special talents in metallurgy provided her with a valuable skillset among the town’s skymetal smiths. With her persuasion, or upon her demand (depending on whom one asks), Seven was also hired by a local smith to aid him in assembling, disassembling, and moving his portable workshop up and down Black Hill. It was hard labor, for long hours with little pay, and under grueling conditions. And Seven loved it. He had never felt so alive or so free. And best of all, he got to see the stars.

He can be vicious, dangerous even. But Malka believes there is hope for his salvation, for his rebirth in humanity. And perhaps she is right, for if there is a lesson in his story it is this: that there is more to humanity than DNA.