A Dangerous Thought

by RedH2O

Years have passed since the peaceful years where imaginary friends were nothing more than that: companions. This is a time of war, and the newest military weapons are the creatures that spring from the minds of the creative. Frances Foster has long since sold her happiness for her own survival, yet she still struggles to cope with the guilt of what she has done to her loved ones.

"Subject M-Alpha-03 performing at or above expected creation schedule. Will put forward suggestions for increased stimulant injections in order to…"

The pen in the woman's hand paused, its blood red calligraphy trail halting for a moment. She lifted her eyes from her clipboard to examine the subject. Roughly 20 feet below her, separated by thick layers of bullet-proof glass and cold steel, was what remained of a human. He was completely naked, his body frail and bent. She knew from the records that he was no older than 23, yet his pallid complexion and wiry frame made him seem like a long-dead spectre. The subject's hands and legs were each bound individually, spread apart to form a vertical 'X' of flesh. His brown hair was mousy, and tattered, and from the vacant expression on his face it was clear that the subject's mental state was no better off. Warshed and terror reflected in his eyes, and the overseer could tell, even from so far away.

She bit her lip and tucked her pen into her lab coat before stepping forward to press her hand on the frigid glass. She pondered if she should cry. Would that be the right thing to do? Could she even cry anymore?

As she breathed the glass misted, and she wiped it away only to be met with her own reflection. Her burgundy hair was tied tightly back in a jagged ponytail, so tight that it almost hid the increasingly persistent wrinkles that crept around her eyes. She grimaced. Time was not being kind. The stress surely didn't help. Once more she glanced down at the subject and her expression softened to an aching sadness. Her fingertips ran down the glass gently, so close yet so far.

"I'm so sorry, Mac…" The scientist said. The figure down below stirred, his bones stretching against thin skin as he responded to her thought. The woman's eyes widened and she backed away, instinctively reaching for her pen to note the lapse in neural control in the subject's captivity. Yet as she attempted to scribble down notes, her mind kept drifting to a past long gone. She gripped the pen tighter, trying to push out her emotions. Yet they persisted.

"Noted leak in neural lock on subject. M-Alpha-03 was able to-"

Your grandmother wouldn't forgive you if she could see you like this. She clenched her teeth.

"-read the thoughts of the overseer. Immediate priority should be the stabilization-"

You're a coward. A life of servitude over the lives of those you love. Her hand shook.

"-of the environment to prevent a possible escape..."

You're a monster. You're a monster. You're a monster. You're a-

A loud snap brought the woman to her senses, as the pen in her hand broke in two, covering her hand in thick red ink. Still stunned at the end of her wits, she was unable to fully process the mess before the PA above screeched to life.

"Frances Foster, please report to Lead Overseer's office immediately"

That was enough instilled fear to jolt her to action. Wiping her soiled hand on the inside of her coat, she averted her eyes from the subject and quickly walked out of the observation chamber.

Frances left the snapped pen in a puddle of ink. A broken utensil before a broken man.