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Tachyon’s lab was cold, much colder than usual. So much so that her fingers felt stiff and her breath fogged up into little white puffs as she went about her business. She could ignore her body in favor of the one splayed out on her laboratory table.
The uma cadaver in question Tachyon had built with her own two hands. Her vast knowledge of biology paired with her newfound, amateur suture skills made for impressive work.
Tachyon had lovingly named her Biological Test No.1, much to Manhattan Cafe’s chagrin who insisted that “If you're going to make an uma at least give her a real name.” That argument had gone on for so long that Tachyon had simply agreed to Cafe’s demand one night to get the uma to leave her to her work. She settled on Jungle Pocket. For some reason or another it felt right.
Pocket always looked so peaceful as Tachyon worked on her. She could almost pretend that she was asleep, not that Tachyon had any moral dilemma over creating life in such a way. No, it was Tachyon marveling at her work. That she was skilled enough to make something that could feel so real underneath her finger tips.
For a moment as Agnes looked down at Jungle Pocket she felt her heart beat quicken in her veins. Tonight was the night she would breathe life into her creation. The thought made her dizzy with adrenaline like the moments after crossing the finish line.
Tachyon felt a grin spread across her face as she traced her fingers down Pocket’s chest and down her sternum. Cold, lifeless flesh that would soon be pulsing and writhing with new life.
Eight months ago the doctors had told Tachyon that she would never race again. That her injury was too severe. Her trainer had dropped her after that. No one is paying to see an uma who can't run. Now as she traced Pocket’s face with her pointer finger, she knew that she would grind all of those who gave up on her into the ground with the heel of her shoe.
She felt giddy, she felt like laughing, she felt so warm inside despite the frigid air that surrounded her.
“What are you doing?” Came Manhattan Cafe’s dull lilt. She stared uncomfortably at Tachyon, the uma leaning over her bare test subject.
“Cafe! You are finally here!” Tachyon exclaimed, clasping her hands together and rushing over to grab her clipboard off her desk.
Cafe didn't get even a moment to prepare herself before Tachyon launched into an informational speech, telling Manhattan all the specifics of what would go into bringing Jungle Pocket to life.
To Cafe it was just a bunch of scientific jargon and biology buzz words that she didn't really understand.
“I will start her artificial heartbeat with this application on my computer, and then I will shock her brain enough to activate her brain and get her neurons functioning. You’re with me, right Cafe.” Tachyon prattled on and Cafe just nodded like she usually did when the other uma went on a rant.
“So… why am I here?” Cafe asked. “And does she have to be… uncovered?”
Agnes looked over at the nude body stretched out on her table. Why should she be covered up? Does Cafe not wish to see the marvel of science that is in front of her? She covered Pocket with a thin sheet in spite of herself, mumbling something about Manhattan's sudden prudish attitude.
Though Tachyon quickly lost her dour mood and went into another rambling explanation.
“You, my dear friend, are here to take me to the infirmary if something goes wrong. Though I have run the tests and my process is practically perfect.” She spoke with an exceedingly confident tone.
Cafe wasn't near as sure about this whole thing as Tachyon was, but no one was ever as enthusiastic about Tachyon's projects as Tachyon.
Tachyon could feel Cafe’s judgmental glare burn into the back of her skull as she stuck the electricity conducting pads to Pocket’s forehead. Even her dearest friend doesn’t believe in her abilities. For the time being Tachyon pushed the feeling away. She would bring Jungle Pocket to life. She had to.
The scientist instructed Cafe to step back as she initiated the first shock.
A crackling sound soon followed by the smell of burnt flesh filled the room. After the fourth pulse of electricity Tachyon stopped and stared at Pocket’s limp body. That awful smell seeping into her senses and the gut wrenching feeling of failure made her sick to her stomach.
How silly could she have been to believe that she, a washed up race uma musume, could create life with her own hands. Fighting back angry tears, she slammed her hand against the button and sent out more electric pulses. Each in consecutive bursts, not paying attention to her test subject anymore.
“Tachyon… stop,” Cafe said, grabbing the other uma’s arm. Pitty coated her words like soot on a tree left standing after a wildfire.
“Let me go Manhattan,” Tachyon demanded, trying in vain to pull her wrist from the other uma’s grasp.
Cafe let her grip go from Tachyon. The moment her hand fell, Tachyon rushed to Pocket’s bedside.
It didn't matter that she couldn't comfort her back, Tachyon wanted to be close to her creation. She felt guilt for becoming so attached to this idea in her head. After months of work on her, Tachyon had become so excited to meet Pocket.
There had been nights where Tachyon could hardly sleep with the excitement of getting to see her Jungle Pocket the next day, so much so that she would forego sleep entirely and head down to her lab in the middle of the night just to look and imagine about what Pocket would be like when she was alive. The perfect uma musume. She would win the URA finals, she would come first in any races she wanted to, she would be Tachyon’s best friend.
Now what more was she than a slab of meat on a butcher’s block. A pipe dream. A failed experiment. At that thought Tachyon let herself cry. With her face shoved into the lifeless chest of her greatest work she sobbed. Her body heaving with the effort.
Through her own pitiful sounds Tachyon heard a quiet rhythmic thump. For a moment she thought it was her own heart beat in her ears, but pressing her ear to Pocket’s bare chest, right over where her heart was, Tachyon could rightfully say that Pocket’s heart was beating.
In the revelry of her new discovery, Tachyon laughed. Tears streamed down her face as she laughed manicly. She cupped Pocket’s face with her hands and kissed her on the forehead, on the cheeks and then on her lips. The smile on Tachyon’s face was so wide it almost hurt.
The gentle rise and fall of Jungle Pocket’s chest as she took her first breaths enthralled Tachyon to no end. The scientist laid her hands on the other uma’s stomach and watched as her diaphragm contracted and relaxed.
In time with Pocket’s steady breathing, Tachyon whispered low to herself. “You are alive.”