Any attempt to escape the Injustice Island had ended with dismembered bodies, not at the hands of inmates (although sometimes inevitable), but by the force of nature; the force of devastating tall waves beating the rocky shoreless boundaries. A place where only a helicopter piloted by an expert could land against constant gusts of wind.
The open prison was self-sufficient, energized by the power of wind, waves, and sun. Thanks to desalinization, mist traps, and rain collectors, the water was always available. The prisoners took care of crops and harvesting, and any task to ensure their survival. In theory, a paradise of sustainability. However, this was just the book’s cover.
Only the most wicked criminals with a death sentence were taken to the Island after their faked execution was registered. There were hidden cameras everywhere, in every room, every building, every tree, even in the latrines.
“Why am I here? What is this place?” asked a new inmate once the black bag was removed from his head, in a bright room, with a chlorine smell. He blinked, trying to adapt his eyes to the light.
“You’re here to be useful, number Fifty-two,” said the doctor.
“My name is Roger White, The Cook for you. I’m not a number.”
“I couldn’t care less, Fifty-two.”
“If I weren’t strapped to this table, I would kill you and have you for lunch, or maybe just kill you. I prefer younger meat, way younger.” He smirked.
“You are disgusting, but you’ll get what you deserve. Death was too kind for someone like you. If your victims’ families knew your whereabouts, they’d be delighted.”
The doctor anesthetized the prisoner and gave him the welcome package: surgical castration, an implant to measure his vitals, and a collar for electric controlling shocks, impossible to remove without a special key held in The Tower. This structure was only accessible by air or through an armored elevator used to transport the subjects to the ground or bring them to the labs. The tools and medicine were dropped by drones, and when needed, the smart shooter drones were available. This implied an extra task for the survivors, the disposal of bodies, either in the ocean or in a crematory chamber.
After their arrival, the prisoners were monitored from The Tower on the Island, where the heliport was, and also remotely from abroad. They had to ensure their survival while they were used as lab rats, and even though they were lab rats, some of them aligned with the vision and mission and helped with the discipline among their fellow inmates. Big pharma companies and some governments co-funded the project, backed by international organizations.
“Happy awakening, Lord The Cook,” said the doctor, mocking him.
“What the fuck did you do to me?”
“I don’t like people cursing.” The doctor touched a panel, then The Cook tensed all his muscles, clenched his teeth, and grunted.
“Son of the—”
“Eh! Eh! No cursing.”
The Cook bit his lower lip and frowned while trying to free himself.
“Don’t bother. Not even the strongest man has succeeded. Save your energies for your recovery. You will start feeling some pain once the pain killers wear off, but you will get another dose if needed.”
“Wait, what? Why?”
“Let’s say your twins are no longer hanging there. Only a few chosen keep their jewels, you’re not one of them.”
The man erupted in a fit of rage, so the doctor gave him a sedative through the IV. Once recovered, Fifty-Two would start working together with the other inmates. He was selected to try new drugs for HIV on him, as he was already a carrier, but it wouldn’t be limited to that, the key was to accelerate the investigations, skipping tests in animals and going straight to humans. His body was not his anymore. Also, no one was supposed to last for long. The tests could kill them or give them nasty secondary effects from which they could die. The plan was to terminate the individual in ten years unless the scientists found further utility for the subject. Hundreds would come and “go” after Fifty-Two.
Years of deliberation about human rights led to this pilot program. Many international organizations agreed on the secret project, The rightful human rights. Where humans could lose their rights when they violated the rights of others, but to cover some interpretations of the law, they ensured the offenders were legally dead before incorporating them into the experiment.
The rightful human rights would eventually become public knowledge once the legal platform was in place to support it. Meanwhile, a communicational campaign was making people favor the aims of the project, accepting a different approach to justice, and reshaping the concept of human rights. After all, injustice or justice was a matter of conventions.
The Injustice Island would remain in the dark, if anything, a mere rumor of conspiracies.
Lunyzbreid López, April 2022.
If you enjoyed the story please leave a comment below. Thank you for reading it.
Let me know if you’d like to read another story about the Injustice Island (some other ideas came while writing this one).
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