Krakoa: The Breeding House
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xp_logs21 April, 1941. 10:32 AM, JST
Zu Zhou looked up at the wooden slats that formed the base of the bunk above his. Tien had not returned since the guards had taken him earlier that morning. Zhou did not think he would see Tien again. First it had been Gao, the simple farmer from the eastern provinces. Gao had kept his good humor even in the midst of this horror. Tien said that they had locked him in a small room and released fleas into there, to see which of the fleas would make Gao sick. Tien had been a scholar, an educated professor from the north.
After Gao, they had taken Wu, the young soldier. Wu had fought the Japanese in the early days of the invasion, and for the first month, had shown such spirit. He stood proudly when the guards came, despite the beatings and the humiliation. Zhou had seen what they did to Wu, strapping him to the wooden plank and sliding the needles into his veins, removing his blood and replacing it with... something else, just to see how long he would live.
Tien was gone now, and Zhou was the only one left in their tiny prison hut, barely larger than the enclosures his father kept chickens in. He could not stand up, nor stretch out entirely, his lanky body became cramped in the tight enclosure, and the sores on his back itched terribly.
When they brought the day's rations by, there was only one crust of bread and one small tin cup of water. There would be no more rations for Tien, Zhou realized.
The next morning they came for him. The Japanese soldiers were not cruel, they were simply brutally efficient, grabbing him by the armpits and hoisting him out of his cramped hut. He had learned enough of their language to understand the basic commands they gave him. Stand, walk, stop. Tien had taught him more, especially about the words they used to talk about the prisoners.
Maruta, they called them. "Logs".
Zhou did not understand until he saw the bodies being carried out of the sterile white building across the courtyard, stacked for incineration. Just like so many logs. That was all they were to the invaders, he realized. Disposable people, without names or families or history. They would be used, tortured and experimented upon, and then they would be burned like logs.
The Japanese doctors were different than the soldiers. They were efficient in their way, and took no obvious joy in their cruelty. But Zhou could tell that for some reason he had been kept separate. Something about his blood, something different that excited the doctors.
Ten long weeks, he waited while they took blood from him until he felt his body grow weak and his vision blurred to a pinpoint. He would awake in a cold bath of ice water, only to find himself unable to move as he felt the burning sensation in his chest as they pumped the small chamber full of strange gases. Ten long weeks, until the day the doctor came to his cell and spoke to him in halting Chinese.
Zhou was going to the island.
~*~
15 August, 1945. 4:58 AM, JST
They had all left in a hurry. No warning, no announcement, no final touches on their experiments. Overnight, they had grabbed everything they could and disappeared. But that left the island still teeming with corpses, either dumped like refuse into shallow mass graves or just left out to rot in the hot Pacific sun.
Zu Zhou stood up, limbs protesting at even the simplest of movements, and dragged himself to the steel bars of his cell. He coughed, expelling what little air his meager body could keep in in the first place, and grimaced at the now familiar near-black liquid that splashed onto his fist. Blood. That he had any left often surprised him. Months upon months of poking and prodding, of cutting and slicing, of being strapped to a table with leather restraints and exposed to dark vapors that made his eyes bleed and his skin slough. That he was alive - that he was mobile under his own power, even if barely - was nothing short of a miracle.
His cellmate was a white man who did not speak any language that he knew. The only word he could pick up was his name, Sam. Sam was apparently a soldier from a foreign military who had been captured and herded into this dungeon. It had taken very little time for their captors to break him. Sam was lying on the threadbare blanket he used as a bed, barely moving. At first glance, he appeared dead, save for the irregular rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to breathe.
Zhou sighed. They were surely all going to die now. He half-wished that the Japanese would have just shot the lot of them instead of waiting for them to die from starvation, dehydration, disease, or a myriad of other "natural" causes. Unless this was just another test, to see how long they could survive neglect. Zhou had long since lost the ability to become angry or frustrated, and instead was only resigned to his fate. So he ambled away from the bars and sat down to meditate.
At least he could find some inner peace as the bombs fell and infection spread, killing his fellows almost immediately and leaving him the only living organism on the entire island.
~*~
16 June, 2007. 1:41 PM, JST
The six-man team sped towards the small island in their speedboat, silently. They had been sent to investigate the island and see what, if anything, had survived on it. The group contained mostly biologists and ecologists, and of course, they were all in the military.
~"There can't be anyone still alive~," the young second lieutenant remarked as the island came into view. He was a fresh faced young officer and this was his first time out on assignment.
"~There isn't~," the sergeant reassured him, despite the lieutenant being an officer, the sergeant had nearly fifteen years more experience, "~Just some plants and insects. We'll go and collect a few samples, look around a little. Nothing to worry about, sir~."
"~Of course~," the lieutenant murmured, jumping out with everyone else to pull the boat up on the beach.
He had only gotten about half way up the beach when he realized that he couldn't breathe. "~What?~" he managed turning towards the sergeant who was already clutching at his throat, boils appearing and then popping on his skin.
As one, the group collapsed onto each other, dead.
From the paved pathway farther down, Zu Zhou watched impassively before turning away. Everyone always died.
Zu Zhou looked up at the wooden slats that formed the base of the bunk above his. Tien had not returned since the guards had taken him earlier that morning. Zhou did not think he would see Tien again. First it had been Gao, the simple farmer from the eastern provinces. Gao had kept his good humor even in the midst of this horror. Tien said that they had locked him in a small room and released fleas into there, to see which of the fleas would make Gao sick. Tien had been a scholar, an educated professor from the north.
After Gao, they had taken Wu, the young soldier. Wu had fought the Japanese in the early days of the invasion, and for the first month, had shown such spirit. He stood proudly when the guards came, despite the beatings and the humiliation. Zhou had seen what they did to Wu, strapping him to the wooden plank and sliding the needles into his veins, removing his blood and replacing it with... something else, just to see how long he would live.
Tien was gone now, and Zhou was the only one left in their tiny prison hut, barely larger than the enclosures his father kept chickens in. He could not stand up, nor stretch out entirely, his lanky body became cramped in the tight enclosure, and the sores on his back itched terribly.
When they brought the day's rations by, there was only one crust of bread and one small tin cup of water. There would be no more rations for Tien, Zhou realized.
The next morning they came for him. The Japanese soldiers were not cruel, they were simply brutally efficient, grabbing him by the armpits and hoisting him out of his cramped hut. He had learned enough of their language to understand the basic commands they gave him. Stand, walk, stop. Tien had taught him more, especially about the words they used to talk about the prisoners.
Maruta, they called them. "Logs".
Zhou did not understand until he saw the bodies being carried out of the sterile white building across the courtyard, stacked for incineration. Just like so many logs. That was all they were to the invaders, he realized. Disposable people, without names or families or history. They would be used, tortured and experimented upon, and then they would be burned like logs.
The Japanese doctors were different than the soldiers. They were efficient in their way, and took no obvious joy in their cruelty. But Zhou could tell that for some reason he had been kept separate. Something about his blood, something different that excited the doctors.
Ten long weeks, he waited while they took blood from him until he felt his body grow weak and his vision blurred to a pinpoint. He would awake in a cold bath of ice water, only to find himself unable to move as he felt the burning sensation in his chest as they pumped the small chamber full of strange gases. Ten long weeks, until the day the doctor came to his cell and spoke to him in halting Chinese.
Zhou was going to the island.
~*~
15 August, 1945. 4:58 AM, JST
They had all left in a hurry. No warning, no announcement, no final touches on their experiments. Overnight, they had grabbed everything they could and disappeared. But that left the island still teeming with corpses, either dumped like refuse into shallow mass graves or just left out to rot in the hot Pacific sun.
Zu Zhou stood up, limbs protesting at even the simplest of movements, and dragged himself to the steel bars of his cell. He coughed, expelling what little air his meager body could keep in in the first place, and grimaced at the now familiar near-black liquid that splashed onto his fist. Blood. That he had any left often surprised him. Months upon months of poking and prodding, of cutting and slicing, of being strapped to a table with leather restraints and exposed to dark vapors that made his eyes bleed and his skin slough. That he was alive - that he was mobile under his own power, even if barely - was nothing short of a miracle.
His cellmate was a white man who did not speak any language that he knew. The only word he could pick up was his name, Sam. Sam was apparently a soldier from a foreign military who had been captured and herded into this dungeon. It had taken very little time for their captors to break him. Sam was lying on the threadbare blanket he used as a bed, barely moving. At first glance, he appeared dead, save for the irregular rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to breathe.
Zhou sighed. They were surely all going to die now. He half-wished that the Japanese would have just shot the lot of them instead of waiting for them to die from starvation, dehydration, disease, or a myriad of other "natural" causes. Unless this was just another test, to see how long they could survive neglect. Zhou had long since lost the ability to become angry or frustrated, and instead was only resigned to his fate. So he ambled away from the bars and sat down to meditate.
At least he could find some inner peace as the bombs fell and infection spread, killing his fellows almost immediately and leaving him the only living organism on the entire island.
~*~
16 June, 2007. 1:41 PM, JST
The six-man team sped towards the small island in their speedboat, silently. They had been sent to investigate the island and see what, if anything, had survived on it. The group contained mostly biologists and ecologists, and of course, they were all in the military.
~"There can't be anyone still alive~," the young second lieutenant remarked as the island came into view. He was a fresh faced young officer and this was his first time out on assignment.
"~There isn't~," the sergeant reassured him, despite the lieutenant being an officer, the sergeant had nearly fifteen years more experience, "~Just some plants and insects. We'll go and collect a few samples, look around a little. Nothing to worry about, sir~."
"~Of course~," the lieutenant murmured, jumping out with everyone else to pull the boat up on the beach.
He had only gotten about half way up the beach when he realized that he couldn't breathe. "~What?~" he managed turning towards the sergeant who was already clutching at his throat, boils appearing and then popping on his skin.
As one, the group collapsed onto each other, dead.
From the paved pathway farther down, Zu Zhou watched impassively before turning away. Everyone always died.
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