Jim had nothing except a massive smile plastered across his face as he marched proudly down the beige corridor with Iggy's plump medical file locked under his arm. Planning to report everything to his boss and colleagues in the morning meeting, he was expecting applause, and a lot of it. He opened the conference room door, but to his surprise, all of his most respected colleagues were already sitting around the table with his boss long before the scheduled time. As he entered the conference room and took a seat, uneasily confused, everyone stared at him in an awkward silence.
His boss's deep voice nearly startled him. "It's good for you to be joining us this morning."
Jim glanced down at his wrist watch. "I'm not late, am I?"
His boss shuffled the files that were laid out in front of him. "No. We were having a meeting of our own based on some interesting information that has come to light."
"Oh, really?" Jim straightened his spine and squeezed his cheeks to suppress his smile from working its way out. "Which is?"
"Hopefully just rumors." His boss peered up with a crooked look that conveyed his interrogation plans. "I have been informed that the Foe to Friend trials have taken an unexpected restart. Is there anything you need to tell me about that?"
Jim's mouth dangled for a moment or two as he gazed around the table into the glaring eyes of his work partners. Feeling like he was roasting in the hot seat, he stammered, "uh, yes, Sir." He laid the medical file down on the table. "Last week, I was assigned patient IF17. Upon assessment, I found that he had full activation of the thirst response upon nonmoving stimuli. His appetite and health were not compromised. I couldn't find any reason for this reaction, until his venom potency was checked. He tested at a 9.8 out of the 10th's scale." The table rattled in scoffs and sneers, so he paused. He flipped open the medical file to the assessment page and slid it slowly across the table to his boss. "He has the newest version of the virus, too."
His boss laid his hand on top and scanned the proof. "It says here that he also has a high healing rate." He sat back in his chair, drawing his arms off of the table.
"Yes, Sir," Jim continued. "However, he was the perfect candidate for my Foe to Friend program. I couldn't disregard that."
His boss sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. "Dr. Branching-" he leaned forward "-I'm doing everything possible to create alternatives to infection. I'm not trying to perfect the virus, as you have incorrectly determined. There is no reason for us to waste our time and resources helping them. That's why I am requiring everyone here to work in the organ repair and transplant program so that we can start helping the people who matter. Average people."
Jim's chin hung forward. "But, it was successful. My methods extinguished IF17's thirst reflex almost completely."
"I am not interested." He tossed the cover over and closed the file. "I want subject IF17 to be in the transplant series, immediately. We need all the subjects that we can get. By taking such a promising specimen all for yourself, you've let me down. You've shown us all that you are selfish and not thinking of what is best for the whole team. As a result, you will take a significant salary reduction until you deliver a promising organ harvest." He thrust the medical file back under Jim's hand, then he turned his attention across the table to a woman with big brown curly hair. "Now, Beverly," he addressed her, and she looked up at him. "Give us an update on patient BF15."
"Gladly," she opened her file. "I retracted his liver and left kidney four days ago, then replaced them with a cirrhotic liver and a kidney with a GFR of 5 percent. Within twenty four hours, I observed an improvement in both liver and kidney function. It seems that people with strong bloodlines have no problem regenerating healthy organs from deceased ones..."
Regardless of what was occurring around him, Jim was absorbed in grief. All of his hard work and time was wasted by this small group of people. Discredited. Thrown into the trash to be forgotten. What he had done was amazing, but these people refused to see it. Instead, they were going to punish him for it?! He couldn't stomach the idea of helping them anymore. In that moment, he'd make sure that there wouldn't be any progress in their transplant series. If they couldn't let him have his deserved win, he couldn't let them win, either.
The following day he made his grocery trip to the butchers, just as distraught and numb as he had been while sitting at the round table. As he stood before the high display counter peering through the glass at bright red fresh meats, he didn't feel a twinge of hunger. Only anger. A heavy depressed anger.
The butcher stared at him expectedly from the other side. "What will it be, sir?"
Jim lifted his gaze. "Do you sell whole organs?" he asked quietly.
The butcher's face went blank. "Organs?" He looked side to side and nodded. "We do. What will it be? Liver? Heart?"
"The freshest. Cleanest."
"I just cut up a pig an hour ago. Do you want its heart?"
Jim knew very well that a pig's heart could never transform into a fully functioning human heart. That would have been a miracle if it did. Therefore, implanting it would ensure failure to the operation. Also, heart transplants were usually a bloody mess, and no other doctor would want to redo one if it were shown to be failing. They'd never know what caused the death of the subject, and by default, would assume that it was just another failed trial.
Without seeming to be too excited, Jim nodded once and replied, "sure. Is that the freshest?"
The butcher leant over the glass and narrowed his eyes. "An hour is not fresh?"
"I will take it."
Adrenaline coursed through Jim's body during each moment of the operation and "recovery," but he wiped away the stinky sweat from his armpits and forehead, and kept a straight face. He needed to make it look like he actually tried, so he added a few extra stitches and a medicine patch to prevent the organ from rejecting too quickly. Then, he sent subject XIF17 down to the Base Prison a few hours later.
The Base Prison was located on the underground level of the laboratory. It was the place where subjects were discarded to die. On occasion the Base Prison was used as a holding unit if the upstairs just so happened to be overpopulated, but since turnover was high, that was a rare occurrence. Cold concrete cells stacked side by side with barred doors separating the rooms from the hallway, a grim parallel to the shiny experimentation wing one floor above, dark and grimy with no natural sunlight or fresh air. The void of two essential things to aid in a faster death. After the inmates transformed into blood craving monsters, incapable of speaking, let alone having a meaningful conversation, they'd die shortly after.
There were only two guards that held the keys to the cells. Robert and Jay. As well as containment, they monitored the inmates and then they transported their bodies to the cremation room when they were dead. Robert was the night guard going on thirty six years, now. Jay was the day guard, and in between the two, the Base Prison was managed.