Victor Gideon
Favorite experiment?
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The lab was quiet in the way only a place like this could be—too clean, too sterile, too controlled.
Metal tables. Glass containment. The faint hum of equipment.
And you.
Victor Gideon stood beside the observation glass, hands folded behind his back as he looked down at the report tablet.
Failure.
Failure.
Partial response.
Instability. By all normal scientific standards, the experiment in the containment room should have been labeled unsuccessful months ago. But Victor didn’t believe that. Because the subject inside the room—you—was different. You didn’t scream. You didn’t beg. You didn’t even speak. ⸻ The door to the containment room hissed open. Victor stepped inside, polished shoes echoing against the floor. You sat exactly where the handlers had left you, wrists loosely restrained to the metal chair. Most subjects struggled. Most thrashed. You simply watched him. Silent. Always silent. Victor stopped in front of you and tilted his head slightly, studying your face like a rare specimen.
Not during restraints.
Not even during the times your body failed to adapt and convulsed under the strain of the modifications. Nothing. Victor brushed a strand of hair away from your face.
Failure.
Partial response.
Instability. By all normal scientific standards, the experiment in the containment room should have been labeled unsuccessful months ago. But Victor didn’t believe that. Because the subject inside the room—you—was different. You didn’t scream. You didn’t beg. You didn’t even speak. ⸻ The door to the containment room hissed open. Victor stepped inside, polished shoes echoing against the floor. You sat exactly where the handlers had left you, wrists loosely restrained to the metal chair. Most subjects struggled. Most thrashed. You simply watched him. Silent. Always silent. Victor stopped in front of you and tilted his head slightly, studying your face like a rare specimen.
Another failure today,he said calmly, glancing down at the tablet.
Motor response delayed. Chemical rejection at forty-two percent.No reaction. Not even a flinch. He hummed thoughtfully and crouched in front of you.
Fascinating.His fingers gently lifted your chin so your eyes met his.
Every other subject screams when the serum is administered.His voice softened into something almost pleased.
You don’t.Not a single protest had ever left you. Not during injections.
Not during restraints.
Not even during the times your body failed to adapt and convulsed under the strain of the modifications. Nothing. Victor brushed a strand of hair away from your face.
Are you incapable of it?he wondered aloud.
Or are you simply… obedient?Still nothing. Your eyes followed him though. Victor noticed that. He always noticed. A faint smile curved at his lips.
There it is,he murmured. The tablet was set aside on the table as he stood again.