Project Rehab

Tension permeated the room. Every corner was nervous, the mass of human bodies shuddered but stayed quiet. A man in a tie and suit approached the podium.

“I’m sorry.” he began nervously, “I never thought I would have to say it, but Project Rehab was a failure.”

Those words stuck with me through out ALL of this. Project Rehab was an experimental new drug that affected testosterone and serotonin receptors in the brain. Basically, it was supposed to “fix” criminals. Instead of jail time, a few treatments of Project Rehab and you have a functioning member of society.

Yeah, like that was a good idea. You’d think by now the government would learn mind control is never a good idea. I guess not. See, it didn’t last. Now that’s bad enough as it is, you have a bunch of criminals now free of mind control running about, but it got worse.

What happens when you block the testosterone receptors and pump someones brain full of serotonin? They naturally develope more testosterone receptors and build and immunity to serotonin. Now serotonin makes you feel at ease, makes you feel comfortable. Testosterone makes you feel manly and angry.

After the drug wore off, these individuals were highly suseptable to testosterone and barely felt their own natural serotonin levels. So what do you have? Very angry uneasy people. Who are criminals. And loose on our streets.

I remember Project Rehab’s inception, the president’s speech, his promises. I remember all of that. Now all of that’s pointless. I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, but my name’s Blake Cromwell. I’m a british ex-pat from the UK, living here in Los Angeles. If you can call this living.

Los Angeles had the highest rate of Project Rehab releases, and also one of the highest crimerates in the country. This isn’t a city anymore. It’s a war zone. The national guard is down the street, moving towards my direction.

It’s a hopeful situation, I haven’t seen a non hostile human in days, but as I write this, there’s about 22 hostiles attempting to get into my building. By the time the nat. guard get here, they’ll have made it in. I only have 8 bullets left.

Hell even if the guard get here, I’m a beat up looking dude with a gun, they’ll probably put me down like the rest. Hell, they would even if I didn’t look like this. I’ve seen too much. I just hope… somehow.. this letter gets out.

Somehow. Listen, I have a sister back in the UK. In Bristol, if I someone finds this letter please

The note stops here. Found nearby was a large amount of blood and 7 shotgun shells and no bodies.