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The subject is closing in on her. His eyes are ablaze. It has barely taken a few words after a long day, a little scolding after an already exhausting experiment to overwhelm his mind and send him flying into a tantrum.
She stands by the wall, not close enough to the door to run. It wouldn't save her. She is not fast enough to evade laser beams.
The subject is trembling with rage, become helpless with it, lost in it. He is quite a sight like this. On a movie screen, this righteous rage will enrapture the audience. Barbara has always thought it’s a waste to put him on the big screen one day. He's a weapon, not a prop gun. But Stan wants him to be, and their funding depends on Stan Edgar's goodwill.
Behind the door, the faces of the others crowd against the narrow window. The subject doesn't see them; he has his back to the door, facing her and only her. The others have so little faith in their methods. It's pathetic that she's the only one in this room right now.
The heat that the eyes emit is beginning to get uncomfortable. He's barely three steps away from her, hands deformed into claws from the sheer tension of his anger.
"John," she addresses the child. "Play nice."
His eyes widen.
Then he squints.
She can see his whitened pupils expand, a telltale sign that with any further effort from him, the lasers will fire.
Barbara remains still, arms leisurely crossed. She holds John's eye contact. She draws her eyebrows together, twists her mouth into a frown. Visual cues aren't as successful as words, but they do the job just fine if need be. Today, they serve as a nice finishing touch, making him back off.
He blinks, the light in his eyes retreating. As does he. The disappointment on her face might as well be a kick to his shin with how he drops his defences and lowers his gaze to the floor, hands clasped in front of him: a regular ten-year-old about to get an earful from his parents.
Barbara pushes herself off from the wall, walks past the subject and leaves the room, the waves of scientists in front of her parting like the Red Sea. She walks past, vindication flowing behind her like a cape. "See, gentlemen? Did I not tell you?"