File #2 Page 2: Uphill Climb

Day 15: Fighting For My Children

Quasimodo is an unholy demon. I must send it back to where it belongs. When I found it, it was towering over Modo, looking almost enraged at the mere presence of such a reminder of what it once was. It stepped toward the infant norn with fairly evident malice, intending to cleave the poor, defenceless thing in two. Probably would have, had I not intervened.

“Get AWAY from my SON, you mutant freak!” I screamed, rushing toward it at a speed that rivalled the powerful Mach 5 (sidenote; Go, Speed Racer. Go, Speed Racer, Go, Speed Racer, Go), and leapt at the failed experiment! I cannot say for certain how long we fought, only that he outweighed and outclassed me due to his higher ATP intake, and that I still have scars from his powerful claws. Finally, our battle led us onto the raft, and I saw my chance. I had little room to move, as Quasimodo had me pinned (using his knuckles to hold me down so as not to damage the raft), so I improvised. I gripped him by the neck and toppled back into the water.

Beneath the waves, the fight raged on, and it was a fight Quasimodo was winning. I felt every hit land like a bullet, and was close to blacking out. Bruised, beaten and broken, all I could do at that point was drift away to avoid further pummelling. That, of course, was when I found The Hatch. The Hatch seemed to be some form of airlock, and I quickly realized that my only chance was inside it. Weakly, I grabbed the hatch’s valve and began to open it slowly.

Quasimodo saw what I was doing. He shot toward me with his enhanced legs, closing in very quickly. I had managed to fumble open the airlock and flood it with water, and was opening the other one as my strength returned. I had a plan, a plan that would require only five seconds.


Quasimodo was beginning to pick up the pace.


I had the other airlock door open and was inside.


Quasimodo seemed to recognize me as the destroyer of its life.


It powered into the airlock. My cue.


I slammed the door in its face. Through the glass pane on the airlock, I watched with a mixture of sorrow and relief as the beast I had created slowly surrendered to the lack of oxygen that surrounded it. Quasimodo fell limp against the inner airlock, and I knew it was safe now. Hence, I shut the outer airlock, stepping over the body, and watched as the water drained away. I carried the oxygen-starved, bloated, twisted body to the surface. The least I could do was give my failed son a burial. I mournfully rowed back, reflecting on the past few days here.

It wasn’t Quasimodo’s fault that he turned out the way he did. I simply bred him and remorselessly tore his life apart before he could have one. All he really wanted was his father’s love, and I had attempted to replace him with a “normal” offspring. And now he was dead, by my hand. The ATP Replenishment Experiment is now expressly forbidden for me.


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