Subject 0025

Chapter 4: Example

((Playlist: Psycho by Muse))

Two voices. One voice was deep. Another was slightly high-pitched, like younger. At first, those were muffled indistinguishable noises with silent intervals. Maybe it was hours later or another day when twenty-five could make out the words. They were talking about someone. Something phenomenon, they said. 

“This must be a breakthrough. This must be. Without the cells rege…,” the voice faded. 

Though twenty-five was still lying, his body felt heavy, and a weight set on his eyelids. He had no wish to move.

“With all due respect, I don’t think so, doctor. All the scans…”

Despite his efforts to catch their conversations, it was impossible to stay focused. Everything was blurry. Shadows were above him, beside him, all around him. Something soft was underneath his bare skin. He was on a bed.

“We have found nothing, even at the molecular level,” another argued. Their voices sounded distant.

“Then why?”

Their exchanges were repeating all about the same things. In his semi-conscious state, he realized they were talking about him. As far as he understood, they were arguing if there was something special or not. He did not think he had ever heard so many conversations before. 

***

Something slumped on a hard surface; the bang pierced the noises of a heated discussion that had filled the grim meeting room. Several heads turned towards the sound.

“What is it, Dr. Lance?” one of them asked the one who just slammed his fist on the table.

“Sorry. I just wanted some holograms closed. Can you close some tabs? It’s kind of confusing for me,” answered Dr. Lance. Quietly, he added, “It’s that I haven’t slept.” The table where they sat around was packed with dozens of holographs and screens. Several were overlapping.

A red hair woman towards the far end of the table moved in her seat and closed some holograms

A few people away, at the head of the table, someone cleared his throat. “Look, Dr. Lance. We all have worked overtime. Who hasn’t? But nobody complained during a meeting. So far, our trials have been proving nothing and we are all having a headache for that. If you don’t realize how serious this situation is, we can’t help you.”

The speaker put his hands on the table, fingers interlacing. It was Dr. Raciti. He continued, “Anyway, the most responsible person for this failure is you, since you have been a major part of the operation and were also responsible for the later processes.”

Some nodded at that, and a few voiced their agreements.

“So I think it would be fair if Dr. Lance would report to the director at Thursday’s session.”

The room filled with murmurs.

“Yes.”

“True.”

“That makes sense.”

After they reached the decision, the red-haired scientist continued.

“Subject 0025 is a failure. It was 0.000001 chance that he survived. The cause of the change of gamma wave had not been confir—”

“Why are you bringing up this gamma wave again? It has nothing to do with the project,” interrupted Dr. Raciti. “If the subject survived this punishment, we will continue. In the meantime, let’s focus on molecular experiments.”

“He will die for sure, this time,” one remarked, though it was not sure who.

“It’s none of our business,” responded Dr. Raciti before standing up.

***

His head slammed the floor by impact as they pulled him down from the bed. Grabbing him by his elbows, the two robots in human skin dragged his naked body through the corridors on different floors. Sill drug-induced, his body had no resistance. This was setting an example of how they would suffer if the other kids disobeyed like twenty-five.

Boys occupied some floors and girls did some; they were all staring at twenty-five. Tess, the voice of the system, was explaining his actions and the penalty that awaited him. The voice followed him to every floor, and it took such a long time.

On the outside, the building was tall for only a few dozen stories, with chucks of materials absent at the top. Yet, the inside contained many more stories with underground floors.

In the end, they stopped in front of the stacks of metal boxes. This room was nothing like the other parts of the building they had dragged him through; brownish spots stained the rough floor and the walls. And the smell was exceedingly foul. It was so stark against everything else that it almost looked intentional.

The drug had worn off. Disbelieved, he looked at the metallic boxes. Despite his struggles and muffled yells, they forced him into one in the middle. They were trying to fold him like some cloth and then pushed him inside. Before his eyes, the door slammed shut with the finality, narrowly avoiding cutting his fingers off.

Two thousand miles away, fighter hoverjets flew in a formation well above the hover vehicles and the urban area, parading for the new continental president’s inauguration. As they glided, the armored bodies changed color, from white to red to blue to black — the colors in the flag of North America. Massive crowds of people gathered on different levels of platforms in front of a slender black building.

Back in the ruined New York City, the tiny replicas of those armored jets soared above the meal trays where a group of people in grey uniforms were having their lunch. Other replicas of massive crowds and the building were in the vacant spot in the middle.

“I don’t like Jaxon Wafford. He is obviously one of those pretentious people. A hypocrite,” blurted a young woman with curly dark hair, stabbing her fork into a piece of broccoli. Their plates contained similar meals with vegetables, meat, and bread.

“What did he say in his election campaigns? That he would eradicate all the criminal gangs in North America in his term,” remarked a man who sat in front of her. “That was pretty ambitious.”

“What about this?” another one whispered, nodding inconspicuously her head towards a symbol beyond them — a metallic infinity sign was twisting around on the white wall. It was a canteen and filled with people in grey uniforms, like the ones on this table.

The rest laughed at the whisper.

“He’ll never even find out about Infinity. Of course, you don’t know. You are new,” the man next to her answered. “There have been three presidential terms; our organization is invisible. And invincible.”

***

In the box, he was forced to sit in a fetal position, and even then the space barely fit him. The inside was well lit, so he could see his pathetic form on the metallic surfaces, albeit being vague. A ghost-like figure stared back at him, his black hair and black eyes being the most prominent with his unhealthy pale skin and skeletal body. There was no food, no water, no letting out. The walls pressed him from every direction.

As time passed, tiredness became the ache, then it turned into agony. He felt it in all the bones and cells. And he could not even move around. It must have been days or even months; time seemed to loop again. Starvation clutched his stomach while his throat and lips cracked for thirst. 

A droplet of water dripped from the corner. And another, and another. Despite his eagerness, he could only raise his palm up slowly to collect the water. With his hand horribly trembling, some drops seeped through between fingers, and some splashed to the sides. He licked his palm to quench his thirst. When it was not nearly enough, he tried to drink it by sticking his tongue out, but the walls restricted him even to do so. He could not move.

Despite having nothing in his stomach, his bladder reached a breaking point. After a long time, he could not control himself anymore. 

It was at the basement level. Several levels above the ground, the atmosphere was tense. Under the dim lighting, a man was pacing. Another one, tall with dark hair, stood before a group of people. All faces were the same from the previous meeting except the one pacing who was Dr.

Aber Hadarit, the managing director of Infinity. Above the coat pocket of the one standing, black scripts read Dr. Nathan Lance, Clinical Research Scientist.

Dr. Lance fidgeted around. Between his fingers was a thin white stick. He touched a blue graph before him with it, before writing something on it and then deleting it back.

After several seconds of pacing, the director halted to turn around. “So that’s a system error? 

Was that what you were saying?” His vein was almost popping on his forehead.

Dr. Lance glanced around the room, especially toward Dr. Raciti, who was sitting in the far corner, who nodded.

“Um… yes, sir.”

“You found that out four days ago but you told me now.”

“Sir, the system should have transferred all the data to your—”

“Are you suggesting that I should have looked through all your trials to save your precious time?!” Dr. Aber raised his voice, cutting the other off.

“No, sir.”

“You promised me that I would see a result in this trial,” the director glared around and the scientists shrank in their seats.

“It was the deadline!” the director gritted out more to himself than the others. He paced again, losing in thoughts. “You are fired,” he blurted.

When no one responded, he roared, “I SAID YOU ARE FIRED! DIDN’T YOU HEAR ME?!”

Dr. Lance’s mouth hung open. “You are firing me? You can’t do that.”

The director looked furious. “GET OUT!”

The scientist still stood there.

“Please leave, doctor. Please,” interrupted Dr. Raciti consolingly. “I’m sorry, sir. He is leaving now.”

“Am I?” uttered Dr. Lance. His face was red, just like the director's.

“Let’s not cause inconvenience to everyone. Please do me a favor and leave, will you?”

The man opened his mouth as if to say something and then shut it. With forceful strikes, he went out of the room. Other scientists looked immersed in various things, such as wall panels or the surface of the table. Silence filled the room.