After around half an hour of trying to fall asleep; my thirst, hunger, and need for a refresh hits me.
I scan the room: an office desk and matching chair, a wall of filing cabinets, tall shelves stuffed with books, a mini kitchen with a half-stocked fridge, and a water dispenser humming in the corner. Another door, likely a bathroom. My hand slips into my dress pocket, fingers brushing cold metal.
The clock on the wall reads 12:08 AM.
[The Laboratory]
... Am I really that bad at lying?
I thought I played it off fine. Maybe I shouldn't have said "a few times" in that voice. Or stood that stiff. Or looked away immediately after.
I've never really had to lie before. Not seriously.
When I was younger, I think I tried a few times—like when I knocked over a sculpture and blamed it on the wind. That didn't go over well.
The office around us was dead quiet, the kind of silence where your own breath feels too loud. The air tasted recycled, filtered too many times. Sterile.
My mom. What was that thing upstairs? It looked like a monster.
Considering how strong she is, she was probably at least able to escape.
However, there's still a part of me that worries. That creature is unexplainable.
The bookshelves were packed and organized by subject— psychology, anatomy, theology, and something labelled 'adjusted metrics'. Each one was marked with small colored tabs.
I noticed a thin folder tucked behind the kettle labeled simply "Reactions – High Yield", as if the test subjects were crops.
I didn't open it. The wording was enough. It read more like agriculture than medicine.
Looking over at Prudence, I noticed her looking faint. She hadn't said anything in a while. Probably shock. Or adrenaline crashing. I walked to the fridge and pulled out a glass.
"... Why are the dishes in the fridge?" She called out after a few seconds.
"To save space."
"... But there's a counter right there."
"..." She gave me a look which I ignored.
"There are spare toothbrushes and towels in the bathroom. Some floss, too. No skincare, sorry."
She paused. "Oh. Uh... thanks."
She shifted weirdly, and it clicked what I'd just said.
Wait—"No, I didn't mean it like—!"
"I know, I know," she laughed, waving it off.
Clack. The bathroom door shut behind her.
... My whole family does skincare. Even my dad has his routine. Every bathroom in the house has a lineup of products— except this one.
I only remembered that after I spoke.
I took a deep breath and focused on something else. There were a few granola bars in a tin. Homemade. I took a few, placed them on a napkin, and poured a cup of cold water using the sink.
The water ran loudly in the otherwise soundless room. Every click of the faucet echoed back.
She came out 30 minutes later, dressed in her own clothes and wearing my dad's bathroom slippers, no longer only donning socks.
"There's nothing in this, right?" she took the water I placed on the counter first.
I looked up fast.
"I'm kidding," she said, sipping it anyway, "Don't look like a dejected puppy."
Settling into the chair across from me, her voice lowered, "I was thinking— with how much funding your dad gets, does he really need to target locals?"
"... He doesn't," I answered. "He gets sent volunteers— well, test subjects— every month. From all over. But they're scheduled. Screened. Most aren't unstable enough for him."
I watched her face, "He doesn't want that. He wants people in distress. The locals— he picked them because there's no transition period. He grabs them when they're still in shock. That's what he wants. It's... part of his criteria. He thinks fear and disorientation produce more reactive results."
She stared at me, "... Also, since he has a secret basement here, why's there a torture room upstairs?"
"That room upstairs is designed to be easy to escape from, so people can have a false sense of hope he can exploit and crush."
A few seconds pass. The fridge hummed on and off in the background.
She broke the silence. "Almost cartoonishly evil. And you let him do all that?"
"I thought he was just enhancing them at the end of the day. At least back then." I paused. "It's cowardly, but I didn't want to think too hard about it. The ones I previously saw— most looked better than before. Some left. And I never saw corpses."
"... Except the locals?"
I nodded, "Whatever he's doing to them... it doesn't end well. I didn't find out how bad it was until recently. That's why I resisted."
My mind flashes to the last test subject I came across, arms— dismembered.
A long pause followed.
"... And I thought my family was messed up," she muttered, "Tonight's a disaster. Also, what the hell was up with that monster?" I scratch my head at that, "... Facades are cracking left and right."
Was she also talking about herself?
She always looked like she had everything handled— except schoolwork— talking fast and moving first. But sometimes, it felt more like momentum than confidence. Like if she stopped, she might not know where to go next.
Seeing her so disoriented now, being caught unexpected and not knowing what to do, it seems like that momentum was more than just her personality. A defensive measure?
And him... he guessed his was pretending he was cold, distant, or whatever people called him. Most assumed he was being rude. Prudence never seemed to mind, though. Same with Elijah and Ama.
Him, too, I guess. Though that's all in the past now.
So she was probably right. Maybe something was cracking. Their facades had been bouncing off each other for the past year, and now they're seeing each other be vulnerable for once.
He didn't know if that was good or bad. Just that it was happening.
"Sorry," I said, "I was trying to keep my distance from people. Parents."
"Yeah, I figured... That's why you acted like such a jerk sometimes."
"I did?" I get being called distant, but was I being rude?
She blinked, "Are you serious?" Tossing the empty cup into the sink, she turned to face me with a mock-hurt look, "I tried talking to you practically every other day. After some time, you made it a habit to always try shutting me down."
"... Sorry for being a jerk," She smiles at my apology, signalling forgiveness.
I paused. "Now that I'm thinking about it, why did you even do all that? I've never met someone so pushy. I'm sure you could get any friend you want."
A bout of silence crept in.
The digital clock flicked to 12:39 AM with a soft click.
"Did I say something wrong?"
"No," she said quickly, eyes shifting.
I scrambled to change the subject, "I guess with the exception of Adonis."
She raised a brow, "You knew him?"
"We used to be friends. When we first met during elementary, he was just as persuasive."
The tension shifted in her face. Like something clicked. Then, just as quickly, she changed the topic.
"I don't think I'll be able to sleep," she stretched her arms out, "You never went past the first few sections of the basement, right? I think we should," she added, "If we're stuck here anyway, might as well figure out what your dad's been doing. For clarity. Or proof."
I shifted my weight, "... I think I'm gonna have to run away, too. I don't want to be complicit anymore. My mom..."
Her face flashes in my mind. Despite her growing hollowness over the years, I can tell there's still a part of her that treasures and loves me.
"She's probably going to let me, give some money also. But she's not going to let you go. She's fully complicit in this whole operation."
As I frowned, she commented, "... Think about it. That thing upstairs was real, as far as I'm concerned. And your mom's not going to let me walk out of here, not without a problem. I don't think a measly scalpel's gonna do anything. If we're planning to escape later, we'll need something to defend ourselves with. I doubt you want to fight a monster with a tiny scalpel." She lifted the blade I'd given her.
I didn't answer.
She continued, "Even if she lets you go, you'd be leaving without knowing the full extent of what you've been part of."
"... There's a weapons storage further down."
"... Perfect— Lead the way."
Sensing Prudence was going to suggest digging deeper for my sake, "I don't want to explore. Let's just obtain some weapons and get out."
"Fair. But Dolores?"
"Yeah?"
"If I were in your place... I'd want to know exactly what my father was up to." Her expression is sympathetic, and I could tell she's speaking truthfully.
I looked away. She was right. I just didn't want to admit it yet.
A part of me wanted to argue. Say it didn't matter. That surviving was enough. But I knew I'd be lying.