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“Dismissed,” said Captain Michaels. Everyone filed out of the meeting room with minimal chatter. Magnus lifted his chin from his hand and cleaned up his papers. He dreaded the bureaucratic side of his job, comparing notes and financing research. His love of science came more from practical application than theoretical knowledge. If he had his way, the suits would write him a blank check, he’d build a rocket, and be done with it. But he was bound by the procedural obligations of STEM.
Once he was out of sight of the witnesses, he took a hard right down an empty hall and began his real mission. ATLAS had been competing with his administration, POINT, for years, so it was a surprise when they started contacting them about collaborating. ATLAS admitted they’d been recently experimenting with spaceflight, which POINT had nearly perfected decades ago thanks to Magnus’s own contributions. He didn’t like to gloat, but he could confidently say they’d be nothing without him. He had made a name for himself by revolutionizing astronautic technology, most notably building and flying his own rocket. He didn’t buy ATLAS’s so-called “truce” for a second. It was clear they were trying to piggyback off of his success. If they wanted to play dirty, so could he. After sharing his “confidential information,” he sought out any of theirs he could find. An unreleased product, an in-progress experiment, an unchecked OSHA violation—something that would grant him the advantage.
After walking down hallway after hallway, a door labeled “0007” caught his attention. He recognized the symbol on the door’s nameplate. It was the same one stamped on ATLAS’s past biological experiments.
“Bingo,” he whispered, scanning his keycard and letting himself in. The room was dark. It would’ve been pitch black if not for the containers of luminescent fluid and various dots of artificial color on the machines. He took out a small handheld flashlight to aid in his search, but it wasn’t much help. Any light provided was weak and could barely sustain a steady beam without flickering out. Nevertheless, he pressed on.
Not much stood out upon first glance. It was generic machinery, control panels, miscellaneous wires, etc. He surveyed the room until something caught his eye. On the wall was a pair of layered metal slats. Upon closer inspection, it was a pair of metal wings big enough to be proportionate to a human. This must’ve been their hidden project: a mechanical flight suit.
“Remarkable…” he whispered, transfixed by the masterful construction of the apparatus. He committed it to memory, took out his notepad, and made a rough sketch of the shape along with some notes of his findings. He thought he’d found all he needed and was about to leave when he heard a rustling sound in an unchecked corner.
Movement. A form shuffled on the floor, cloaked in shadow. Outlines of wires snaked toward the corner in which it was held. Curved cylinders emanated a faint yellow glow that was barely bright enough to illuminate the shape around them. The light reflected off of some surfaces that looked metal and others that appeared… skin-like.
He turned the flashlight in its direction. The dim light flickered, its narrow range revealing frustratingly little. He scanned the figure for any distinctive attributes. The rough outline of a biped moved under a sheet of plasticky fabric. At the other end of the sheet was a mass of brown hair with red streaks. Beneath the mane was a structure of metal plating with a tan fleshy material above it. He leaned closer to get a better look when its eyes opened. He jumped and dropped the flashlight. The impact on the ground must’ve knocked some sense into the device because it miraculously regained its functionality. He shined the newly invigorated light at the figure and finally got a full picture of what he was looking at. A woman.
Her eyes reflected a bright amber in the light like a cat’s. Around the lower lids were rings of scar tissue. Her arms, feet, and neck were covered in sheets of metal perfectly flush against her skin. Attached to the metal were thick vinyl tubes full of golden yellow fluid, one on each forearm and two from her cervical vertebrae down to her shoulder blades. She wore only a hospital gown with an open back. The immodest garment exposed a metal piece embedded in her spine with two sockets between the scapula. From eyeballing the design, he hypothesized it was an adapter of sorts for the wing apparatus on the wall. She was wrapped in an assortment of wires. Some were connected to the back and arms, while a few ran up her spine along a raised titanium exoskeleton outlining the vertebrae and rib cage.
After scanning her body, he returned to her face. She was petrified. He expected her to scream, but it didn’t look like she could. A metal structure similar to a ventilated gas mask was sealed over her mouth. She couldn’t so much as call for help. What remaining skin she had was peppered with scars of various origins and points of healing. Crusts of coagulated blood and inflamed skin outlined freshly installed augmentations. Printed on the plating of her lower neck was “0007-FH.” This was no mere test subject.
This was torture.
Magnus was frozen in horror at the sight of the prisoner in front of him. His fingers twitched, buzzing with potential energy while he considered his next move. The biomechanical technology on display was truly something to behold. He couldn’t help but admire the organic material seamlessly combined with masterful machinery. The complexity of the wings piqued the interest of his inner mad scientist. What he wouldn’t give to take this technical wonder apart and study it from the inside out. He looked back at the subject with a hint of amazement in his eyes, causing her to flinch away. A cold wash of shame rushed through him and sank in his stomach. He felt sick. In that woman’s eyes, he was no different from the monsters that abused her. And perhaps she was right.
He knelt down to her level and reached out a cautious hand, which she initially backed away from. He treated her with the same gentleness and care he would have with a wounded animal. This man looked friendly, but he wasn’t the first. Plenty of the others before him seemed kind and innocent. They’d outstretched many an innocuous hand that would later tinker and tamper with her body. She knew better than to be fooled by another scientist who promised her help. She saw the brief flash of madness in his otherwise compassionate eyes when he marveled at those dreadful attachments on the wall.
She watched the man’s every move, anticipating an attack. She examined the placement of his limbs and took note of his outfit. It was a blue crewneck sweater over a white button-up and slacks. No lab coat. He didn’t don any of the familiar logos and symbols of a typical ATLAS employee. Instead, he had a POINT logo patch on his sweater. The badge on the lanyard around his neck designated him as a guest. She recalled hearing about that company from her time as a military volunteer for ATLAS. They were considered rivals during her training. Back when she was a plucky young recruit whose loyalties laid with her commanders. Before they’d turned her into this.
Her self-preservation took a backseat to her desperation for salvation. Maybe this time would be different. Despite her better judgment, she found her hand slowly reaching out to his.
He hesitated. His eyes darted around the room like he’d just become aware of his surroundings. He reluctantly withdrew his hand and headed for the door. He spared a regretful look behind his shoulder at the woman. She stared back at him with wide puppy dog eyes like a beaten animal. The intravenous solution pumping through those tubes on her back brought out the flecks of yellow. He whispered, “I’m sorry,” before abandoning her and letting the door automatically lock behind him.
He tore himself away from the room that held the answers to questions he never should’ve asked. It killed him to leave her behind, but he had no choice. What was he supposed to do? Carry her out of there bridal style and blow his cover? He couldn’t risk getting caught. He’d lose everything. It wasn't practical to make a move now. He’d have to come back at a later date. He needed to come back if he wanted a chance at sleeping at night. Magnus walked down the hall, trying to shake off the heavy shame weighing on him. The further the distance between them, the more he hoped the guilt churning in his stomach would lessen.
He didn’t get far before the sound of footsteps and voices came from down the hallway. The man panicked and threw himself in the nearest vacant room.
It was darker than the previous one, with only a sliver of light peeking out from under the door. Sensing that the coast was mostly clear, he took a moment to breathe. An uncomfortable warmth pulsed through his veins. It brought a sensation akin to warm wax dripping down his shoulders. He stumbled around in the darkness until his shaking hands found what felt like a cold, rectangular pillar.
The surfaces shifted and tilted under his limbs, offsetting his balance. Images of the woman’s pleading eyes replayed in his mind. The look of betrayal haunted his memory. Perhaps it would’ve been more merciful to have spared her his kindness instead of instilling false hope. The only thing worse than that torturous life was being teased with the possibility of rescue before cruelly snatching it away. In his greedy pursuit of knowledge, he’d done more damage than intended. He mumbled, “There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing you can do.” Meaningless words on a loop, every cycle hammered it further into his head. There was nothing he could do.
Once he’d collected himself, his fingers traced the crannies of the shape in front of him. From the geometric lines and protruding handle, he could deduce it was a filing cabinet. Almost forgetting it was there in his stupor, he took out his flashlight to confirm his suspicions. Unable to rein in his curiosity, Magnus opened the drawer and rifled through the files. Each tab he flipped past concealed horrors beyond his comprehension. In his search, one thing caught his eye: a manila folder labeled “0007-FH.”
“Long way from home, aren’t we?” a voice from behind him piped up. His heart skipped a beat, and he spun around to face the intruder. Or rather, the person intruding on his intrusion. A woman in a lab coat stood in the doorway, her small frame casting a menacing shadow taller than his own.
“Dr. Feer! Funny seeing you here. I didn’t know you worked in this department.”
She ignored his desperate attempt at diverting her attention. “What are you doing here?”
“Business matters,” he blurted out. “Your team wanted my expertise. Can’t say I blame them.” Magnus put on the performance of a lifetime as himself. Each breath he took was forceful and controlled so as to not give away the speed at which his heart was beating.
He tried to covertly close the filing cabinet drawer behind him with a casual lean against it.
“Right, like they’d need the academic musings of a charity case like yourself,” she said with her usual condescension.
His mask of false bravado threatened to wane. He knew she was trying to get under his skin by downplaying his achievements. It was nothing new. He should’ve built up a tolerance by now, but every now and then, one comment would slip through the cracks and chip away at his ego. “If saving the company from bankruptcy is anything to go by, I’d say that makes me one profitable charity case.” Defensiveness shined through his poorly obscured terror of the woman in front of him. He’d heard she was an expert in instilling fear in her subjects, and he was no exception.
Dr. Feer rolled her eyes. “Let’s not kid ourselves, Xavier. You’re not a scientist. You are a subject.”
“Hey now, testing on myself doesn’t make me any less of a scientist.” The way he saw it, if you want something done right, you should do it yourself. He was the only one he trusted to test his creations. If his rocket killed its test pilot, he would hopefully be the sole victim of his own mistake. If that was considered “dangerous” or “unethical,” then so be it.
“Neil Armstrong didn’t build Apollo 11.”
“Well, not everyone’s willing to put in the work,” he replied with an air of unearned smugness.
“Cut the shit, Xavier. How did you access this room? Last time I checked, you don't have level 5 clearance.”
He struggled to fabricate an excuse. “Uh, they didn't tell you? I figured Captain Michaels would’ve kept you in the loop.” He hoped his comment would discourage her from pressing the subject further. He had no such luck.
A burst of static came from the scientist’s pocket. A masculine voice spoke on the other side of a walkie-talkie. “Feer, any word on the situation in Sector 32?”
The woman’s cold stare told him everything he needed to know. There was no negotiation. No chance of mercy. His fate was sealed. She brought the walkie to her mouth, but before she could press the button, someone else beeped onto the channel.
“It’s handled,” said an older feminine voice from behind her. Feer stepped aside to see her associate, Vicki Virgil. Magnus felt a weight lift from his shoulders at the sight of his old friend. “False alarm, I’ve got it under control,” she said into her walkie.
“Copy, Vick. Over and out.” A click punctuated the end of their exchange.
“He’s with me,” the redhead affirmed. She towered over the lady in the lab coat who looked up indignantly at the mechanic. “I’ll take it from here.”
“Was this visitation approved?”
“He was authorized as a temporary assignee.”
“Why wasn’t I notified about this?”
“It’s on a need-to-know basis. Your approval wasn’t essential to this assignment.”
The shorter woman’s jaw tightened. She straightened her spine and puffed out her chest to mask her bruised ego. “Well, consider notifying all relevant parties before allowing a random contractor into a classified area.”
“Next time I’ll remember to have you sign the permission slip.” She waved over the man to join her. He obeyed, sparing a glance at Feer on the way. He was met with a vindictive glare that burned holes through his skull as he walked out of the room. “Give us a minute,” Vicki said as she closed the door on Magnus and turned the lights on to speak with her associate.
“Was all of that really necessary, Felicity? You know him. What’s with the third degree?”
“If he doesn’t want to be treated like a criminal, he shouldn’t be breaking into restricted areas. Do you think your little boy toy can waltz around here like he owns the place as long as you’re his guard dog?”
“I don’t know what you’re implying.”
The scientist fumed at her blasé attitude. “The last thing we need here is a rat, and you’ve had one too many slip-ups to be a coincidence.”
Vicki was unfazed. “I must be really unlucky then.”
“You’re on thin ice, Victoria,” she hissed, poking an accusatory finger at the woman’s chest. “Your indiscretions will not go unreported.”
She let the threat roll off her shoulders. It was hard to be intimidated by someone almost a foot shorter than her. “Thanks for the warning. Tell me how that goes next time we’re on break.” He turned towards the door. “I’d better get going. I don’t want to keep my ‘boy toy’ waiting.”
Before she could leave, Felicity grabbed her arm. “He got awfully curious wandering around, poking his nose where it shouldn’t be. Make sure he doesn’t get lost again.” Her tone was foreboding, enunciating in a low voice to stress the gravity of her words.
“I’ll grab his leash on my way out.” Feer huffed at her snide remark and relinquished her co-worker's arm so she could exit.
Magnus let out a sigh of relief upon seeing Vicki return unscathed. They continued down the corridor, passing more doors with designated numbers and symbols. Doors that held God knows how many other victims behind them. How many people had ATLAS taken? How many of them were still recognizably human? How many of them were still alive? Where did they keep the rejects? He forced his gaze forward and willed himself to stop counting them.
He looked at Vicki, who didn’t even flinch. It was like she couldn’t see the dozens of rooms lining the wall. She must not have known about the hidden atrocities that lay within her place of work. Either that, or she just didn’t care. She cleared her throat and subtly opened her palm at her side with the stealth and sleight of hand of a drug deal. He got the message and returned his keycard. Immediately, she snapped the card into pieces and stuffed them in her jumpsuit pocket without a word or looking in his direction.
Once they’d walked a safe distance away, Magnus whispered, “Thanks for saving my ass back there.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”