Subject 0025

Chapter 2: No Longer Human

((Playlist: My Songs Know What You Did In the Dark by Fall Out Boy))

They were at the end of the endlessly long corridor before the row of elevators. The man and the boy: the former in flawless skin, perfectly proportionate body, and gray scrubs and pants, and in sneakers, while the latter was sickly, lanky, and in white pajamas and barefoot.

The younger one was hesitating to take one more step. Something flashed past in the man’s eyes: visible alertness. He went unnaturally stiff before uttering, “Get in, son. We don’t have all day.” His chilling tone filled the silence, but the boy did not seem to have heard.

Always this one in the middle, twenty-five thought. There were other six elevators but always this one. Like other things that had always been the same. Like his behavior. Once or twice a year, he would hear that creepy gentle voice since he had arrived on this floor. Every time, he would be frightened. Nonetheless, he would follow the man or the woman. Despite the difference in their faces and physiques, those things were all the same as well. Finally, he would step into this specific elevator, the last stop, before he entered the treatment room.

There was something wrong with the entire process, and he was not sure what. 

“I said get in,” the man menaced. When twenty-five took a step back, he realized what had been wrong the entire time. He had never refused. He had never backed away like this. Invariably, he had listened to the instructions and commands. 

He turned around and ran, picking up pace with each step. His bare feet tried to grip the smooth floor. He passed several rooms where the kids were staring at him with widening eyes. They were not familiar with this type of scene.

The man did not chase. He was not in a hurry. At an inhumanly steady pace, he followed the one who was trying to escape his fate. His arms rose forward and stretched out; they extended before the skin split apart as multiple strips. From the gaps between the fleshes glinted metal wheels and bars wheezed out. In the place of human arms, metal arms with gigantic metal hands. 

Swift and precise, they grasped the scrawny arms below the white sleeves and raised the runner to the air like a ragdoll. The thin body spasmed violently, as though he was electrocuted.  

With horrible numbness, a memory flashed in twenty-five’s eyes. The last time was nine years ago when he was shot with a bolt of something similar to this for his disobedience. The kids had not always been in these tiny rooms. He remembered he was together with other kids in a giant hall—for them, it was. And someone went missing. 

In the giant hall, a few dozens of boys and girls were playing together, all in mini white pajamas. They were all of the similar ages, four or five. Kittens and puppies were jumping around; but when you touched them, they were like air. Despite the pretty decorations and variety of toys, the kids did not look happy except for a few. Some were crying. As far as he could see, there was no adult around, but he knew they were watching. They were always watching.

 Twenty-five was looking at one particular boy with short curly brown hair across the hall, or rather the lollipop in his hand. He had already had his and wanted another one. 

While he was wondering if he was going to eat the candy, the kid scrambled to the side of the hall with his fingers loose, almost dropping the lollipop. Twenty-five got up and followed the lollipop. The other kid was crying and crying. “. I hate. I hate. I hate it here,” he cried out, hiccuping and swallowing, his face streaked with tears and snots. 

There was no visible door around. He could not get out. Sudden light caused twenty-five to cover his eyes. When he removed his fingers before his eyes, a bright light formed in the shape of a door near the other boy who had stopped crying and was staring at the light.

Along with other kids, he was drawn to the light, but he had been closest to the kid with brown curls when the latter stepped forward. Everyone had stopped playing; the entire hall was silent. Under their eyes, the kid dropped the lollipop and stepped into the light before there was nothing in that spot. Both the kid and the light were gone.

That was the end of that memory, as was his consciousness. Twenty-five’s brain blacked out along with his body that had been doing nothing but spasming for a while. 

Still in his human skin in most parts, it scanned the human in its grasp before dropping him to the floor. Its arms changed back to human ones. It picked the boy from the floor again and carried him back to where they were before.

Twenty-five woke up to the dark. Cold, silent, and unknown darkness. He tried to speak but could not; his mouth was stretched wide and gagged with something. Before he remembered it would be in vain, he attempted to sit up and found he could not move. He was restraint immobile from head to foot. He was in here. Again. 

If his room was a coffin room, this was a coffin. Every time before, he had walked into this place called “The treatment room”. Where he had to strip his clothes and get into the machine in the center of the room. Compared to the narrow and confining interior, the exterior was nearly twice the size of his small room. Metallic and massive, containing numerous small and precise metal hands, sharp blades, scissors, wires, and tubes along with other stuff.

Before he had enough time to get used to this half-dying state, sharp things pierced his temples. He cried out silently. Though painful, this was nothing. A tingling sensation spread through his nerves, veins, and muscles. 

Whether he had lost consciousness or had lost track of time in this darkness after that, this time when he woke up again, he was screaming into the gag. Getting burned alive. This must be that. The pain was so great. He kept screaming and screaming, though no one else could hear it but himself. Something wet poured out of his eyes. Tears or blood?

He had been sure he did not want to die. Now he wanted to die. “Let me die. Let this stop,” those were all he could think of amidst the screams inside his head.

Outside the machine were nearly a dozen men and women in long white coats. Most of them were carefully monitoring ever-changing graphs and the data on the screens hanging in the air. A few of them were giving intrusions occasionally while two men were removing, increasing, changing the numbers and letters on the metallic surface of the machine.

All of them could not have passed their forties given their skin. They all looked tense before disappointments showed on each of their faces. Finally, the instructions stopped, as did the movements of the two men. Simultaneous sighs almost echoed to the walls that were covered with storage shelves.

Some of them left. Several screens disintegrated into black particles. 

“As I warned all of you in our previous discussions, combining cadroxybyl and hydramoxeia doesn’t work, apparently so. This hasn’t been the wisest decision. I am pretty surprised the subject has not simply exploded,” reprimanded someone, to the rest of the group. He was tall and plump, with a round face. “Anyway, who is going to be on watch? Are you, Dr. Lance?” 

The one he addressed was almost at the exit. He was tall and had tired eyes. “Yes, Dr. Raciti,” he mumbled.

From across the room, a red-haired, long-faced woman retorted, “That’s not what you said at all, Dr. Raciti. If you don’t want to take responsibility for this, it’s fine, if you know what I mean.” She said the last line, tilting her head to the rest of the group. Some grunted in agreement.

“What did you just say?” the round-faced man asked sharply. “Are you calling me a liar?”

The woman chuckled sarcastically.

Another man cut, “Please don’t get into a fight again. Don’t behave like kids. You all are in your 80s. In ancient times, you would already be in graves. ”

When all of them left the room, Dr. Lance, who agreed to be on watch, remained in the room. He touched the black band on his left wrist and a screen appeared before him. He dragged it with his fingertips to a corner of the room occupied by a desk and a chair. 

He settled himself there and created another screen by the first one. The second screen showed a scene where a couple was kissing. With a grunt, he shut the screen. He exited the room for a while to come back with a cup of coffee and played some music by tapping a few buttons on the screen. Despite the caffeine, he was dozing off when the digital clocks on the screen before him showed 18:29:00. A couple of minutes later, a beeping from the machine alerted him. 

The screen before him was showing a straight line among several other graphs. “Another one dead,” he remarked. A holographic bust of the boy in the machine materialized above the texts:

Subject: 0025

Type: LC

Grade: A

Born: 9/29/3012, 00:00:00 AM

Died: 11/10/3026, 18:32:05 PM

“I am screwed,” Dr. Lance muttered, rubbing his face. 

At that precise moment, the usual voice informed him, “You are invited to the Director’s office, Dr. Lance.”  

He cussed.

“Please watch your language,” warned the voice.

Minutes later, surrounded by cozy furniture such as velvety curtains and physical bookshelves, something sent Dr. Lance nearly to the flowery patterned carpet with a thud by someone who was shorter and smaller than him. He rubbed his cheek while balancing himself. The smaller man punched Dr. Lance again, this time in the stomach, this time definitely sending the latter to the floor. 

The nameplate on the desk behind the other man read Dr. Hadarit Aber (MD). 

“Do you think money drops from the sky?” When the other man didn’t answer, he repeated. “Do you?”

“No, sir.” Dr. Lance took a sharp intake of breath, pressing on his stomach. He was back on his feet again.

“Tess, clear the theme of the room,” said the other man to the air.

“Yes, Director,” obeyed the voice. Drapes, wallpapers, curtains, and bookshelves transformed into black particles before leaving the room with bare white walls except for the one.

“Take a look outside, doctor. What do you see?” The Director indicated at the one glassy wall that was covered with dirt, sludges, and grimes. Beyond it was the wreckage of a city. Ruins of buildings, broken vehicles, and shadows of devastation in the twilight. Destruction everywhere.

Dr. Lance glanced at the outside as the command and continued to look hard, as though he was very interested in those ruins.

“Do you know the cost to have this building constructed in this godforsaken place?! Thirteen figures! And I am talking about the shell of this project alone. The entire project? Your little brain can’t handle it. Now, you people are fucking around and wasting resources.” The Director breathed hard. “Get out of my office and send the rest when they get back.”

“Yes, Director,” Dr. Lance turned around so fast and disappeared from the Director’s sight.