Experiments [Paragon]

[Visha]

[[Continued from Lyaeus]]

She’d been in her bedroom for days.

Her skin was buzzing, and it made her unsafe. Even Ephraim wouldn’t see her when she was like this. Visha lay curled up on her bed, the little owl of the bracelet Seven had given her pressed tight in the hollow of her fist. She ran that wonderful night over and over in her mind, re-lived it a thousand times. She’d promised to see him again, though she had no wallet contact to give him. But even Catch wouldn’t spring her loose when security was locked down this tight.

Her arm still throbbed from all the blood draws. They’d needed that to fix what she’d broken, she knew, but she hated it every time; fought like a desperate animal, and pleaded, and screamed, and begged. To no avail.

Time began to lose all meaning. She didn’t even watch her favourite shows, feeling it a cruel and mocking reminder of how much she wanted to return to the glamour and mystery of Kallisti.

When Ephraim was finally ready to see her, she didn’t know how long it had been. Visha sat up. She was covered from toes to throat, but she folded her limbs tighter around herself. In contrition or sulkiness, it was hard to say. Her alien eyes peeped over the top of her knees, silent. But the news wasn’t good. He explained she was going to be visiting a doctor, and her heart sank to her ankles at the prospect. She didn’t argue, though. Especially when Ephraim used the C word. 

Cure.

[Kaelan]

Kaelan curiously studied the sterile environment as he traversed its hallways. He was accustomed to laboratory spaces in general, but this was a level of Paragon’s building never before seen. Previously, he wasn’t even aware the basement levels existed.

He reflected on how he came to be given this access. Ephraim called him to his office, assigning him a new project. He assumed that it was to discuss the results gathered from one of the samples in his cue. That was indeed how the conversation began, but it seemed that it was felt additional motivation may inspire Kaelan to dig further. If he could discover the mechanism that resulted in such unusual effects, and better yet, reproduce them, his career would be escalated significantly. There was a three month deadline.

“You realize this will require redistribution of my entire workload onto this one project?”

Ephriam indicated that it was no problem. However, Kaelan did not immediately agree. His folded arms and thoughtful stance was the only thing to break the silence.

Such a deadline was nearly impossible, even for a brilliant mind as Kaelan’s. Certainly he would not be able to afford to dabble in his little side projects, and he would have to inform Victoria he could no longer assist with her data interpretation.

Ephraim picked up on the hesitation almost immediately, and in doing so, amended the offer. Should he succeed, his own laboratory he would run, with highest-clearance to any sample they contained, and so long as reports were submitted and results obtained, the freedom to pursue his own research portfolio.

“In that case, you shall have your results in three months.” He nodded curtly and immediately set to work. As he rode the elevator to the basement levels, he arranged for his personal belongings and meal services to be delivered to Paragon where he would remain 24/7. Every breath would be devoted to this work.

To this mysterious… girl.

He knocked on the door to its habitat to announce himself, but he did not wait for a response prior to swiping his credentials to unlock the system.

He glanced up from a data pad, and for all outward appearances was the pristine scientist complete with lab coat and orderly clothing and hair. There was an emptiness in his gaze when it landed upon the figure within.

He spoke the required niceties while donning safety gloves. “My name is Dr. Müller. I will be working closely with you for the foreseeable future.”

[Visha]

Visha didn’t like that the doctor was to meet her in her room, but the prospect of the magical C word made her pliable to pretty much anything that was asked of her. Ephraim seemed to think it would make the whole encounter more friendly, like Dr Müller was going to be more of a companion than the next white coat to be sticking his needles in her skin. Visha was highly sceptical, but she was also keen to be good, especially after the whole debacle that landed her in trouble in the first place.

She had cleaned the room, tidied away all the beautiful bits and pieces of her collections so that it was at least orderly, if clearly still a girl’s bedroom. Her most precious things were hidden away completely – the electric blue dress and Seven’s owl bracelet among them. She sat on the edge of the bed to wait, hands tight between her knees to show she meant no harm. Visha had chosen her own clothes, but was well covered, as she was always required to be around the staff and her minders. The incident that sparked her tingling skin had waned, and she was no longer dangerous. Or no more than normal.

Visha had expected someone old. Well, old like grey hair. He was still a little old, but much younger than she had anticipated. Her large eyes blinked a little, her body swaying minutely as she absorbed the information. Sight and scent. There was nothing welcoming in his facade, but she was used to that. Her heart swelled a little anyway, as she considered this man who Ephraim promised would be able to cure her. He said he was going to be working with her, and that sounded good.

“Doctor Müller,” she repeated, watching him pull on the gloves with only a small twinge of apprehension. “It’s nice to meet you.” She smiled a little, though that sometimes unnerved the minders, so it wasn’t too wide. For the same reason she did not move, unwilling to spook him. She wanted him to like her. This would all be much better if he liked her.

[Kaelan]

Having now laid eyes on the creature, Kaelan found himself struck, not by her strangeness, but by how disturbingly human she seemed. It was almost disappointing. She sat too still, as if waiting for an unseen cue, her head tilted at a careful angle, her hands folded in a way that seemed learned rather than natural. Those too-wide eyes gleamed under the fluorescent lighting—wet, unblinking, and utterly devoid of warmth. 

Kaelan did not see a soul behind them. No spark of sentience. No glimmer of humanity. What he saw was blood and sinew barely holding together a body that seemed always on the verge of collapse. He imagined acid seeping through her veins, the tissues breaking down, her entire form fighting a constant battle to avoid becoming nothing more than a fetid puddle on the floor. 

He responded with a murmur, barely audible, as though her greeting didn’t warrant more. 

“Come with me, please,” he said, his tone devoid of inflection. 

She followed him, her footsteps unnervingly silent, into a clinical room. The air inside was stale, heavy with the chemical tang of disinfectant. Kaelan moved ahead, his gloved fingers grazing the edges of the cold metal tray that waited for him. Instruments lay meticulously arranged: syringes glinting under the light, aspirators in neat rows, and vials of medicine waiting. There were familiar items as well: gauze, antiseptic, specimen cups.

He gestured at the procedure table with a slow, deliberate motion. “Please, lay down.” 

The table’s steel surface shone dully, reflecting fragmented slices of light from the overhead lamp.

As she complied, lowering herself onto the table, he turned to a nearby cabinet and began pulling on a surgical gown. The fabric rustled as he tied it at his back, the sound loud in the still room. He was no physician, not in the professional sense. But the training he’d received in medical procedures was sufficient. More than sufficient for this. 

“It is only humane to anesthetize you,” he said as he readied the IV line. His tone was clinical, as though reciting a fact from a textbook. “We do not know if it will work with your physiology, but it would be inhumane not to try.” 

He set about the work with precision and ease. The catheter slid into her arm, the thin plastic tubing curling away toward the IV setup. The machine hissed faintly as it activated, dispensing a cocktail of drugs. He glanced at her face as he adjusted the flow, searching for some sign—of what, he wasn’t sure. Pain? Drowsiness? Resistance? 

It wasn’t his first time. He had practiced on primates during his schooling. He knew the sound of a needle breaching bone. He knew the crunch of marrow yielding under pressure. This, he told himself, was no different. 

Kaelan tightened his grip on the syringe. “This will take a moment,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. The bone marrow extraction kit gleamed beside him, a small harbinger of pain and purpose. 

He positioned himself at her side, the needle poised over her arm. His gloved fingers pressed against her skin, searching for the site, feeling the texture of her flesh. Was it human? It was close. Close enough. 

As he prepared to push the needle in, he allowed himself one brief thought. And he tried to smile, reassuringly.

[Visha]

“Okay,” she agreed. Her gaze widened over the room into which he led her, though it was nothing she hadn’t seen before. His manner unnerved her, though. And she didn’t like the idea of laying on the table. Visha had seen enough procedural dramas to understand that this was not how hospitals worked, and while she understood that no one here was able to offer the comfort of holding her hand, she thought the dull steel shine of the table looked more like somewhere to cut up dead things than lay living breathing girls.

She wished she’d brought the bracelet. For courage maybe. But she was afraid that if it was discovered it would be taken away, and with it the memories would be stolen too. Instead she only did as she was told, though she was beginning to feel that worried fizzy feeling inside as her pulse ramped. Watching him ready the line made her eyes round in fear. She hated the needles, and she was trying so so hard to be good, but she knew at some point her body was going to betray her.

For a moment she swallowed it down, listening to the clinical sounds all around her. Instead she tried to think what dinner with Seven would have been like. But her thoughts were buzzing like there were angry wasps in her head. Nothing the doctor said sounded like he was talking to her, just to himself. He touched her arm, and even with the gloves that felt strange, but he was only looking at what he was doing.

“Doctor Müller -- I’m afraid,” she said quickly, desperate to be reassured. Only his smile looked like a grimace, and he smelled wrong. “Ephraim said I can trust you. Is this… will this hurt?”

[Kaelan]

Kaelan’s eyes lingered on the IV line, watching the cocktail of drugs drip steadily into her arm. One bead, then another, each droplet sliding down the thin tube like a countdown to some inevitable moment. But the thing on the table—the woman, the creature, whatever she was—didn’t flutter so much as an eyelash. Her chest rose and fell in a perfect rhythm, too even, too mechanical, like a machine set to mimic life. She didn’t stir. Didn’t react. Didn’t succumb. 

He frowned. Adjusted the dosage. Watched the machine hiss faintly as the mixture thickened. Another bead. Another drip. He waited. Still, nothing. 

Fascinating, he thought, scribbling a note in the logbook with the sort of casual detachment reserved for meteorologists recording wind speed during a hurricane. His pen scratched across the digital paper in deliberate strokes, but his mind was already spinning. What was coursing through her veins that rendered her so impervious? What chemistry held her together, what secret ingredient kept her upright when she should’ve dissolved under the weight of the world? He hadn’t realized how quiet the room had grown until her voice slid through the air like the blade of a scalpel. 

“You may trust me.” 

Kaelan turned sharply, surprised to find her watching him with those unnervingly wide eyes. She didn’t blink. She didn’t breathe wrong. The voice was smooth, calm, and far too deliberate. “I am the most intelligent person in this building,” he said. The corners of his mouth quirked into a faint smile, one that might have softened the moment in someone else’s care—turned it into a jest or an icebreaker. But not here. Not with him. 

Kaelan didn’t laugh. He rarely did. He tilted his head, studying her as though she were a strange new organism under a microscope. “I need undifferentiated mesenchymal stem cells,” he replied, his words precise, almost clinical, as if reading from a manual. “Their DNA contains the purest form of what makes you… you. Unfortunately, they are only found in bone marrow, and there’s only one way to retrieve a sample.”

His expression held steady, as if he’d practiced the art of appearing unperturbed. He was already moving, his hands finding the biopsy needle, the aspiration tubing, his fingers sure and steady even as his mind wandered to the work ahead. 

“This,” he said, lifting the syringe into view like an executioner revealing the blade, “will be inserted into your hip bone. I’ll apply some local anesthetic, but if the cocktail didn’t put you to sleep”—he paused, his eyes locking on hers— “then I doubt the topical will have much effect.” 

It was as though he was looking through her, not at her, peeling her back layer by layer. Kaelan ignored the sensation crawling up his spine. He always did. 

“If you can’t hold still,” he continued, setting the syringe on the tray with a sharp clink, “I will have to apply straps.” He let the word hang in the air for a moment, heavy and sharp, before turning away to don the rest of his gear. The gown was already in place, but now came the gloves, the hood, the plastic face shield that sealed him into something sterile and inhuman, a walking figure of polished white and clear plastic, faceless, distant. 

It was always easier when they complied. He’d learned that much. Less mess. Less screaming. Less trouble. He wouldn’t force her—not outright, at least. He offered the illusion of consent, the way one might offer a dog a treat before the leash snapped tight around its neck. 

The needle gleamed in the harsh fluorescent light, bright and sharp, and Kaelan picked it up with the care of an artist lifting a brush. “Hold still,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “This won’t take long.” 

[Visha]

He didn’t answer. At least not for a long time. Visha watched him making notes like she wasn’t there, which wasn’t an unusual way for the doctors here to treat her. The normality of that should have calmed her a little, but it didn’t, and she was beginning to feel miserable with it – caught between wanting to be good, and not liking what she was being asked to do.

His explanation meant little to her, made with words she didn’t understand. It was filling her with a cold sort of fear. And fear never mixed well with Visha.

“But it will help me?” she wanted to know, desperate for reassurance she could use to bolster both her courage and her determination to acquiesce. She was stronger than any of the doctors, and faster too; reflexes she couldn’t always control, because Visha’s body was always betraying her. She began to blink away tears. The doctor was not as kind as she had wanted him to be.

So make him kinder, a devious voice whispered in her mind. A tiny touch could do that, sometimes, especially if he didn’t notice. She knew she was addictive – it was one of the reasons they had learned to swap her minders out regularly. But for now all she thought about was Ephraim’s disappointment if she was caught.

He continued to ready himself for the procedure, and by then it was too late to create the opportunity – at least for today. Visha watched, still afraid even though he promised she could trust him. Her fists curled under her, left scratches in the metal she didn’t notice. Her skin was definitely sparking now; she could feel it sometimes, and there was a telltale pressure in her mouth too. But she wanted this didn’t she? To be well for the first time in her life?

Her breathing was sharp and shallow when he came closer. She didn’t want to be strapped down, wasn’t sure even with her consent she could fend off the feral instinct to protect herself if he tried. Though she wasn’t sure she could keep still either if it was going to hurt as much as he implied.

She closed her eyes, grit her teeth, and waited.

It hurt more than she was braced for. Visha’s whimper quickly became a wail.

She did shift half way through, and it made the pain flare far worse, but she needed to lean over and spit the venom from her mouth. She sobbed uncontrollably by then, caught in a sea of white hot agony that fried her senses. Her hands clenched and unclenched, gouging deeper scratches. She was barely aware when he bandaged her up – it felt as blindingly sharp as a bone break, and she was utterly dismayed to suddenly realise the pain would not end when the needle was retracted. She could barely curl up on the table, it was too painful. Her arms cradled her head. And Visha sobbed.