The Doctor strode down the sterile white hallway, his polished shoes clicking sharply against the tiled floor. Reaching the heavy metal door to Lab 6B, he paused to straighten his crisp lab coat before entering his personal domain.
The lab was dim, lit only by the ambient glow of monitor screens that lined every wall. Technicians sat hunched over keyboards, analyzing reams of data that streamed across their screens. The Doctor inhaled deeply, relishing the familiar smell of antiseptic and ozone that permeated the air.
"Report," he barked, his voice cracking through the silence like a whip.
A nervous young technician jumped to his feet, nearly knocking over his chair in his haste. "The latest results from Cerebral Stimulation Trial 37B are coming in now, sir."
The Doctor crossed his arms. "And?"
"No detectable resonance, I'm afraid. Subject 13's EEG readings are still well below baseline."
The Doctor's lip curled in disdain. "Just as I expected. The boy is useless."
He strode over to the largest monitor, which displayed a 3D model of a brain mapped with colorful neural pathways. Sections of the model blinked red, indicating minimal activity.
"Despite our most aggressive stimulation protocols, neuronal activation remains deficient across all regions linked to manifestation," said the technician.
The Doctor zoomed in on the underactive areas, noting their correspondence to psychic ability loci previously identified in successful subjects. After a moment, he waved his hand in disgust.
"Terminate the simulation. The results are quite clear."
The technician's adam's apple bobbed nervously. "Shall I prepare Subject 13 for more testing, sir?"
"That won't be necessary," said The Doctor coolly. "The boy has outlived his usefulness. Make arrangements for his immediate termination and tissue harvesting."
The technician paled. "Sir, the Subject is only—"
"Did you misunderstand me?" The Doctor's voice was lethally soft.
The technician quailed. "N-no sir, right away sir." He scurried from the room.
Alone again, The Doctor pulled up footage of Subject 13's most recent procedures. The scrawny boy sat motionless while electrodes were attached to his head. His face was impassive as ever, even when the dial was turned up to deliver painful shocks directly to his amygdala. Not a single tear or grimace.
The Doctor frowned. Such resilience was impressive, but ultimately meaningless without psychic aptitude. All the courage in the world couldn't catalyze dormant potential.
He watched several more agonizing minutes of fruitless testing before closing the footage in disgust. What a waste of resources and talent. But science required objectivity, and the data was unfortunately clear - Subject 13 was a failure.
The Doctor opened the termination authorization form with a flick of his wrist. As he signed off on the order, he wondered idly what had made the boy unable to achieve resonance.
Not that it mattered now. The orderly causes behind psychic impotence were irrelevant in the face of uselessness.
With the boy's fate sealed, The Doctor straightened his glasses and strode from the lab to attend to more promising subjects. The work of unraveling the mysteries of the human soul would continue, with or without Subject 13.
In the cramped holding area, 13 sat with his back against the cold metal wall, forearms draped loosely over his bent knees. He kept his breathing slow and steady, conserving his energy after the morning's trials. Picking at a scab on his elbow, he replayed the latest round of testing in his mind. Needles, electrodes, flashing lights, high-pitched sounds. All useless provocations. If a response existed within him, they wouldn't find it like this.
Not that 13 wanted to give them the satisfaction. Better to remain a disappointment than become another one of their successes, powers exploited like trained circus animals.
The heavy door clanked open and a guard entered holding a tray of food. 13's stomach rumbled at the sight of the meager meal - lumpy oatmeal, limp salad, and a bruised apple.
"Eat up," said the guard gruffly. "You've got more tests this afternoon."
13 accepted the tray and began spooning oatmeal into his mouth without enthusiasm. More tests. More pain. More pointlessness. He chewed slowly, buying time to gather his resolve.
After the guard left, 13 set the half-eaten food aside. He needed to conserve his strength. Closing his eyes, he retreated into his mind. 13 remained there until the screech of the door opening jarred him back to reality.
Two expressionless guards entered. Wordlessly, they yanked 13 to his feet and secured his hands in steel cuffs behind his back. Confused, 13 scanned their faces for answers, but found only cold professionalism.
They ushered him from the cell down an unfamiliar hallway, the lights seeming unusually bright after days in windowless rooms. The unknown destination filled 13 with unease. Change rarely boded well here.
After a silent march up several flights of stairs, they arrived at a pair of double doors marked "Laboratory 6A - Restricted Access." A third guard joined them, swiping a keycard to unlock the doors.
The room inside was cavernous and dim, smelling of chemicals. Rows of gurneys lay shrouded in shadow, some bearing motionless human forms. 13's breath quickened, heart pounding against his ribs. This was no ordinary test.
One of the guards seized 13's shoulder in a viselike grip and marched him toward a gurney bathed in a pool of bright light. The remaining two guards took up positions on either side, faces grim. 13 struggled against their hold, feet scrambling for purchase on the slick tile floor. But their hands were mercilessly firm, propelling him inexorably forward.
"Get on," barked the guard, giving 13 a shove toward the gurney. When 13 resisted, the guard slammed a fist into his gut, knocking the wind from his lungs. Doubled over wheezing, 13 was hoisted onto the gurney and forced down against the unyielding surface.
As the guards locked down his wrists and ankles with thick leather straps, comprehension dawned through 13's panicked haze. This was no test.
This was the end of the road.
...
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