How do you tell a child they are unwanted? That her mother left her even knowing the dirty truth of her eventual fate? That his family wouldn't return for him once they had more money? That even now, the people who were tasked as their caretakers did not truly care as much as provide basic necessities, and lead them to slaughter? Brigid Tenenbaum pondered these questions, cheeks hollowing as she puffed on her Nico Time cigarette. Previously, she had compared the painful euthanization of the gatherers as removing a terminal patient from life support. Now, after sitting through the death of yet another young boy corrupted by the ADAM slug in his belly, Tenenbaum found herself slowly believing she was wrong. It wasn't just killing; it was murder. All these children were so young and vibrant, so full of love and life, even after the surgery that made them monsters. It made her sick, and she knew it wasn't just the tobacco behind the bad taste in her mouth.
"Little Brothers project is failure, Tenenbaum," Suchong ranted at her in hushed tones, sharp enough to bring her out of her contemplative daze. "How many turn feral when recovered? All of them! You must face facts, young boys cannot be Gatherers."
"And what will we do with rest of ze boys?" Tenenbaum replied coolly, putting her cigarette out in her ashtray. She looked out the sea-spray textured windows to the common room outside. The unaltered children of the Little Wonder's Orphanage played together, all ignorant to the cruel destiny in store for them, to be applied one by one according to their randomized list.
"Throw them in Pauper's Drop," came the man's cold suggestion. Tenenbaum made a 'tch' of disgust, lighting another cigarette and leaning back in her chair, looking at him.
"I think problem is age, not gender," she implored. Though she kept her cool exterior, her statement was that of a desperate woman, born in some despicable place of maternal instinct, perhaps. She hated the feeling. She was unworthy of it.
"Age?" Suchong gave her a skeptical look, seeing straight through her but remaining professional.
"All ze boys we use so far have been older, more mature, more testosterone. This causes ze aggression, I believe, the violent outbursts. I propose we use youngest boy, see if the slug takes to him as it does ze girls." There was a pregnant pause between the two colleagues as Suchong weighed his options. Worst case scenario, Tenenbaum would - as the Americans say - eat crow, and they would lose a few hours of work time. Best case scenario, they had another avenue for creating the gatherers, and ADAM production would boom. The boys were able to produce almost three times as much ADAM as the girls, after all. Suchong lowered his aggressive stance, folding his arms behind his back.
"And if it fails?"
"It will not fail, I-"
"But if it does?" Suchong's dark eyes bore into her calculatingly. "I remind you we have lost three of my nurses to the feral boys."
Tenenbaum sighed and took a drag from her cigarette.
"If it fails we kill the program and the remaining boys will go to Persephone." While the conditions of Persephone were only marginally better than the streets, at least she could be sure they would always have food and beds.
"Very well," he conceded. "Give me the file on the boy then." Tenenbaum scooted back and went through the desk drawers for a moment, pulling out a forest green file.
"His name is-"
"Tony!"
The small boy looked over when he heard his name. He had been staring listlessly at the posters on the walls. Some reminded them of rules, some reminded them of who was safe and who wasn't, some were just pretty. They were good to stare at when you had nothing else to do. That, however, was likely to change, as he saw the source of the voice that had said his name was his only friend; Cleo. Her red hair stuck out against her pastel pink and white dress, bare feet slapping against the smooth concrete ground as she ran towards him, skidding to a halt and breathing heavily. He giggled slightly and stood up.
"Wanna play?" she asked as she caught her breath. Tony nodded slightly, and the girl grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the girl's hallway and her room, and he followed eagerly. Ever since he had arrived here, teary-eyed and wishing his parents didn't have to leave him here until they had more money, Cleo had been his constant companion. She had always been here, since her mother didn't want her. Tony was glad that his parents had at least promised to come and get him soon. Cleo always got quiet when people talked about parents; it had to be awful, knowing that you just plain weren't wanted.
They didn't get far down the hallway; two large goons, musclebound with no light in their eyes, stood on either side of the stern faced Papa Suchong, the doctor that took care of all the kids at the orphanage, in his own detached and unloving manner. The children came to a stop, still holding hands, looking up at the Korean man with mixed emotions.
"Hello Papa Suchong," they murmured in an offbeat unison. The doctor's facial expression seemed to pull even tighter as he looked at the two children. He briefly thought about surface society, and how this brown-skinned Egyptian boy holding hands with this porcelain-skinned white girl would lead to his whipping and their permanent separation from one another. In Rapture - or perhaps more specifically, in the Gatherer's Program - no one cared, at least not enough to stop them. In the end, they all turned the color of corpses, after all.
"Hello children," Suchong leaned down ever so slightly. "Antony, we need to take you to the clinic today."
"But Papa Suchong, we were playing!" the boy whined. Suchong hated it when they whined.
"You can play after," the doctor lied, snapping his fingers. At once the two thugs grabbed a child each, one pulling Cleo away from the boy, and the other picking Tony up, ignoring his useless flailing.
"No, no, no! I don't wanna go to the clinic!" Tony cried as Fontaine's goon carried him down to the surgery room. Suchong had told him to just leave him on the table, while he made some preparations. The criminal felt bad for the child, setting him down on the table gently and leaning down to be eye-to-eye with him; the boy sniffled, wiping his face and looking up at him.
"Hey kiddo, you just gonna get some flu shots or something, yeah?" the man gave a wide, toothy, earnest grin. "C'mon, dry up. Be a tough guy, yeah?" Tony nodded slightly, still looking sad, until the man produced a candy from his shirt pocket and offered it to him with a shushing motion. The child gave wide smile and pocketed the candy immediately.
"Wh-what's your name, mister?"
"Alphonse. You be a tough guy, alright?"
"Okay mister Alphonse!" The thug smiled gently and ruffled Tony's hair before leaving him in the surgery room. He was sure the kid had no reason to worry.
Tony sat alone on the cold metal table for about ten minutes before a nurse walked in, tall and pretty and blonde and nothing but smiles and she took his vitals, being gentle and kind and helping him calm considerably more. He was just starting to feel like this really was going to be okay, until finally the doctor arrived, throwing the surgery room doors open like it was heavier than it really was.
"Nurse Windsor, how is the patient?" Suchong asked in a detached, cold manner.
"Vital signs are all normal, blood pressure was a little high but lowered to a regular rate after a while." the nurse answered, attaching the child to machines that would keep a constant check on his state as they worked on him.
"Good, good. Give the anesthetic."
"What's an ana-thek-tic?" Tony asked, looking up at the nurse as she had him lay down and put a mask onto his face.
"Anesthetic," she corrected gently, turning on the gas. "It's gonna make you sleepy. Will you do me a favor and count to the highest number you can?"
"Okay! One, two, three, four...fiiiiive…." And then he was unconscious, the strong opiate doing it's job. He would be out for only about thirty minutes after the slug was implanted into his body, so they had to work quickly.
The nurse unbuttoned the boy's shirt and pulled it aside, revealing his stomach, rising and falling as he breathed. She gently wiped his skin with a wet cloth, removing the dirt and grime that all children built up. Suchong took his scalpel and created a long, vertical incision down the child's belly, gently pulling skin aside until he could see the stomach.
"Nurse, slug."
The woman briskly walked to the tank in which they kept ready-to-implant slugs, pulling one out with a net and setting it in a shallow bowl. She kept a gloved hand over it to keep it from slipping out of the metal platter, bringing it to Suchong. The doctor set down his scalpel and took the sea slug in his own gloved hand, carefully placing it against the boy's stomach and pulling back. From there, the slug did all the work, embedding itself into the boy's stomach lining and healing all the incisions left in it's wake.
They checked to make sure there had been no complications with the healing process, then the nurse cleaned the incision area and buttoned the child's shirt back up.
"Take him to the isolation chamber," Suchong ordered as he pulled his bloody gloves off and tossed them into the waste bin.
"Yes doctor," the nurse complied, picking the sleeping boy up into her arms, carrying him out of the surgery room. His skin was already desaturating, turning some strange, muddy gray tone, veins showing almost black under it.
Suchong sighed with something akin to boredom, cleaning up the surgery area. He was sick of doing these simple procedures, but few others privy to the truth of the Gatherer's Program new enough of basic biology to be any help, and like hell would Steinman lower himself to such things, obsessed with the 'art' of cosmetic surgery as he was. He kneeled down to check the level on the anesthetic, then paused. It read as empty. He pulled the canister up and examined it, discovering a faulty seal on the opening. For as long as this canister had been in place it had been slowly leaking, not enough to harm anyone in the surgery room, but enough to significantly deplete the contents in an unprecedented amount of time. There was no telling how small of a dose the boy had truly received, but he knew it had to be a fraction of the necessary amount to keep them sedated for a safe amount of time.
Leaving the canister, Suchong picked up the emergency Placation Plasmid, quickly walking to the door. Only moments later, he heard a scream, and emergency sirens began to wail. The doctor ran to the door, pulling on it uselessly; the emergency system had locked it tight, sealing him in, though when he looked outside the room, his blood went cold and he decided perhaps it was for the better.
"NURSE!"
Laying on the ground was Nurse Windsor, a pool of blood growing around her as the poor woman clutched at her neck and gasped in pain, the monstrous boy standing over her and snarling like a feral dog. Some of Fontaine's thugs came rushing in, shooting blindly, but the child was too fast for them to catch. What bullets did make contact did little to stop him from running to the ornate Gatherer's vents and jump inside, disappearing into the darkness. Suchong banged on the door to get their attention, startling the men, one of whom reached down and grabbed the nurse's keycard and went over to unlock the door for him.
Suchong stormed out, looking furiously after the child.
"Get Tenenbaum," he ordered the men. "Tell her to see me. Now!" The men scrambled away, shooting glances to the sobbing, wounded woman on the floor.
"Su-chong…" Nurse Windsor whispered, voice cracking in pain. "Help...please…"
He pulled out his pistol and aimed it at her head. The nurse closed her eyes, and the doctor pulled the trigger.
He should have never listened to that foolish Kraut.