"SAMMY" THE RAT

"SAMMY'

THE RAT

CREATED

J. BECK

2025

"SAMMY"

THE

WHITE ALBINO LAB RAT

The largest of his litter, Sammy quickly became the focus of one such giant – a female laboratory technician with short black hair, her features mostly obscured by a face mask, blue hairnet, and vinyl gloves.

She wore white paper coveralls, a long medical coat, and carried a clipboard, her gaze analytical and precise.

Sammy watched as her gloved hand reached into the tank, singling him out.
He was lifted, a strange, exhilarating ascent into the unknown.

On a cold, stainless table, he was measured and weighed, the cool metal of the digital scales a stark contrast to the familiar warmth of his nest. In the background, his siblings scurried, unaware of the journey Sammy was on.

A needleless syringe, filled with a viscous green liquid, approached his tiny mouth. He recoiled instinctively, but the hand was firm, gentle. The liquid was surprisingly sweet, a momentary distraction from the strange new sensations.

Next came the bath. A blue liquid, fragrant and bubbly, enveloped him. He wriggled, unused to the wetness, but the technician's hands were soothing, expertly washing away the lab dust.

Afterwards, a soft white towel swaddled him, drying his fur until he was fluffy and warm again.

One day, the familiar routine shifted. The technician, whom Sammy had come to recognize as Cassie, held him close, her touch different.

There was a sense of secrecy, of hurried excitement. He felt himself being wrapped in a towel, then carefully placed into a dark, cavernous space – her bookbag. The hum of the lab faded, replaced by the rhythmic thud of her footsteps.

Cassie, now in her street clothes, her black hair falling freely, moved with a newfound lightness. Her black backpack, with Sammy hidden inside, was slung casually over her shoulder as she left the sterile confines of the laboratory.

The outside world was a kaleidoscope of smells and sounds he'd never encountered. He felt the motion of a car, the rumble of an engine, and then, finally, stillness.

The bookbag opened, and he was released into an apartment, a place filled with soft fabrics and the warm scent of human comfort.

Cassie, now settled onto a plush city couch & appeared strangely familiar to Sammy wearing a denim jean jacket, a short leather dress clinging to her curvy form compared to her faceless lab technician outfit.

She lit a cigarette, the smoke a thin spiral in the air, and took a long swig from a green beer bottle. Sammy, feeling brave, ventured out, his whiskers twitching with curiosity.

Cassie smiled, a genuine, relaxed smile he'd never seen in the lab. She offered him the bottle, and to his surprise, the bitter liquid was intriguing. He took a tiny sip. Then, she pulled him closer, kissing his soft head.

The night wore on, the air thick with the scent of beer and cigarettes. Sammy, nestled against Cassie's warm body, felt a contentment he'd never known.

The world outside the lab was a dizzying, wonderful place. Eventually, the green bottle empty, the cigarette long extinguished, they both drifted off to sleep, two unlikely companions, side-by-side on the city couch.

The world I was cast into was the White World. It was a universe of hard, polished surfaces, the scent of antiseptic, and the endless, low hum of machinery. I did not choose to be here; I simply was.

This existence, this "Being," began in a large glass tank, nestled amongst my littermates. We were a sea of white fur and pink flesh, but even then, I was different. I grew faster, larger, a burgeoning bulk of muscle and bone.

The humans were faceless giants, their expressions hidden behind masks and their bodies encased in sterile white layers.

Yet, they were not uniform. I learned to distinguish them by their smells, the unique chemical signature of their hands, and the handling—some rough, some gentle.

My early days were defined by the soft, familiar contours of my mother's body and the shared warmth of the nest. But my size was my undoing.

One day, a hand, not my mother's, lifted me out. I was measured, weighed, and then placed in a spacious tank, separated from my birth family.

I was designated a "brood rat," an "alpha male," a label I could not read but understood through the new respect my size commanded.

My purpose, I soon realized, was to perpetuate the line, to maintain the inventory of the White World.

My favorite human had a particular, clean scent, a soft voice that offered hushed assurances, and hands that were always the most gentle.

Her handling was precise, but never harsh. She was the one who oversaw my cleanings, my feedings, and the endless documentation of my growth.

I would wait by the glass, identifying her by the distinctive, comforting click of her soft vinyl gloves against the glass.

But then came the day of the unfamiliar hand. It was a rough, calloused grasp, belonging to a human whose scent was acrid and strange. He did not possess the careful, respectful touch I had come to expect.

He squeezed too hard, and a hot, primal fear flooded my small brain. I responded with the only defense I had: my teeth. A quick, sharp lunge, and I felt the satisfying, wet resistance of flesh.

The aftermath was swift and brutal. The pain of the clean, quick notch taken from my ear was nothing compared to the shock of my new reality.

I was thrown into a steel bar cage, a cold, empty prison with no bedding and no companions. I was a "man biter," the label ringing in my prison walls, a condemnation to solitude and, worse, a new destiny.

Now, I was to be a subject for the truly dangerous experiments—the kind that led to only one end. My existence in the White World had shifted from valuable asset to disposable liability.

I languished in my steel cage. The days blurred, marked only by the grim regularity of my new, rough handlers. My beloved human was gone—a whispered rumor of "vacation" had reached my cage.

Then, one evening, I heard the familiar soft click of her gloves approaching. Her smell, a mix of laboratory antiseptic and something sweetly human, was a burst of sunlight in my gloom.

She saw the notch in my ear, the isolation, and the despair in my red eyes. Her whisper was urgent, laced with fear.

"Sammy," she murmured, "They're going to use you for Compound 47. You won't make it."

In that moment, she was no longer just a technician; she was my chance. I felt her gentle hands lift me, wrapping me in a soft, white towel.

She hid me in the cool, dark space of a bookbag. The silence was broken by the frantic, muffled beating of her own heart.

The White World was receding, and the movement, the strange, new smells, told me I was heading for the Gray World—the unknown outside.

I had been cast into this life in the laboratory, but now, a human had cast me a lifeline.

My time, my very Being, was no longer a lab-controlled variable. It was an escape, a gamble for existence in the sprawling, mysterious Gray World.

(TO BE CONTINUED)

PRIOR

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