AN IRREVOCABLE, LIFE-ALTERING DECISION
by Maddie Girouard
Have you ever made a decision that past you should have known better about, but they didn’t, and now future you absolutely hates all variations of you for it?
Cause I have, and boy was I stupid.
-----
I was doing homework for one of my classes when I saw it:
“Trial Patients Wanted - $30 dollars per hour, one hour per day, seven days. Cancel whenever.”
As a struggling college student, a couple hundred dollars seemed well worth spending an hour a day for a week sitting in some boring facility letting people ask me a bunch of dumb questions or whatever. If only.
I clicked on the ad, went to the website, and filled out the application form. I got a response within an hour of applying.
I was sent an email with an address of where to show up to the next day. I figured at the very least I would check it out, see if it was really something I wanted to do. I decided to click around the website a little bit more. I needed to vet the place first. After all, I didn’t want to let some crazy psychos start poking me just for fun. How ironic.
The next morning, a new email notification had found its way to my screen. The email was a reminder to show up to the lab later that day. I was given the time and place again, along with a reminder to eat beforehand. I didn’t think that was too odd since they were probably going to draw my blood, so that was to be expected. Give it some time, none of this was expected. Plus, it was just the first day. Nothing bad could happen on day one, right?
Wrong. So, so wrong.
-----
Luckily for me, I didn't have any classes on Mondays, so I was able to make it to the lab without any problems.
I pulled into the parking lot and realized just how large the building actually was.
Syntec.
I could tell the company was legitimate online, but seeing the building in person made it seem much more...professional. Hah! Yeah right.
As I stepped inside, I was immediately greeted by a security guard stationed near the front door. The man seemed rather scary, but when he spoke, he was actually quite nice.
“Good afternoon, ma’am.”
“Good afternoon, sir. Is this where the trial patients show up?”
“Yes ma’am, right through these doors you’ll take a left, and the receptionist will get you signed in” he said as he motioned with a pen to his left.
“Thank you! Have a nice day!” “You too ma’am.”
He gave me a big smile as I walked past him and through the second set of doors.
I made my way to the receptionist and got checked in, then found a seat in the lobby to wait in. The facility seemed nice. The walls were pristine white, there were motivational posters everywhere, and the lights were bright white. The little pops of primary colors spread throughout the entire lobby made it feel friendlier. Strong facade. It’s a shame it worked.
It only took about 15 minutes for someone to appear through a set of double doors, calling my name as he stared down at a clipboard.
“Monroe Grimard?”
I stood up and followed the man through the double doors and down a long corridor. The stripes on the walls seemed to make the hallway feel even longer.
When I got to the room, the man told me that the doctor would be with me shortly. I sat down and waited patiently. There was nothing off about the room. Just a typical doctor’s office.
After a few minutes, a woman entered the room and began to do the typical doctor procedures:
Blood pressure, lungs, heart rate, reflexes, height, weight, eyes, nose, ears.
Nothing seemed strange about it, except that she didn’t introduce herself. And you trusted her? Smart move, genius. I didn’t really get the chance to see a nametag, and I could see the lanyard, but it looked like it was tucked into her lab coat.
She still hadn’t said anything to me, and right when I started to say something to her, she said “turn around please.” I complied.
I assumed it was to check my lungs again.
I was wrong.
Without warning, I felt a prick in the side of my neck, and my legs instantly gave out beneath me. I was unconscious before I hit the floor.
-----
When I woke up, the warmth from the light above me juxtaposed with the coldness of the table beneath me was enough to cause some serious disorientation. I tried moving, but I was immediately stopped. I realized my
arms and legs were strapped down. I struggled against them, but no matter how hard I fought the restraints, they weren’t budging.
Once my eyes adjusted, I noticed there were people in hazmat suits in the room with me, so I tried talking to them. Right, totally normal first thought.
“Hey! What’s going on? Where am I?” Nothing.
“Hey! Can you hear me?”
Silence.
They all kept walking around the room messing with different machines and objects, all of which did not look comforting. They stay that way, trust me.
I looked around for anything to give me a clue as to what time it was, or some idea of where I was being held. No answers were found. I became acutely more aware of the situation.
I was strapped to a table.
There were people in hazmat suits surrounding me, but also ignoring me?
I did not want to stick around to find out what they were planning on doing to me. Or had already done, but that is still under investigation.
I fought the restraints again, still nothing.
I tried to identify if I was in the same room as before. Survey says...no.
Before! That woman! She injected me with something. What was it? Who was she? Was she one of the people in the suits?
The suits.
They haven’t said a word to me.
Scratch that, they haven’t said a word at all.
Who were these people? Where was I?
What time was it?
What day was it?
I tried again.
“Hey! What are you doing! Let me out of here!”
It was like they didn’t even hear me.
I kept fighting the restraints for what felt like an hour, it honestly might’ve been, when suddenly, all of the suits looked at me.
I instantly wished they were ignoring me again. Yeah, me too.
One of them grabbed my arm and wiped it down with something. The liquid was cold, but didn’t sting, so that was good. Sterilization, idiot. Soon, the smell of isopropyl alcohol was potent as it flooded my nostrils.
Then one of the others pulled out a very large needle and, without hesitation, stuck the needle in my arm. I watched as a clear liquid slowly disappeared from the syringe. You mentioned psychos poking you for fun?
“Hey! What is that?! Stop it! Let me go!” Still nothing.
Whatever they injected me with seemingly had no effect on me, initially, but the pain of the needle lingered.
One of them still had their hand on my arm when a third person grabbed what looked like a patch, and placed it on my forearm.
I barely had any time to register what was going on before a machine arm was attached to the patch, and then I started to hear a slight whirring sound.
All of the people in hazmat suits let go of me, and for a brief moment I was relieved. You shouldn’t be.
Then I felt the pain. And here it comes.
The patch shocked me in a way that I have never felt before. My arm started burning, and I couldn’t help but scream.
It was like the pain punched me in the gut because I suddenly was having trouble breathing. I was gasping for air, desperately trying to suck in every molecule of oxygen in the room.
And then I was out again...
-----
Waking in that terrifying room wasn’t becoming any easier, but this time, I was all alone.
I took a moment to breathe and try to relax, but that was cut short when the memory of what had just happened shot back into my mind. I jerked my head up to look at my arm, and I couldn’t stop the tears from falling out of my eyes.
Burned onto my forearm was a symbol:
Three snakes, loosely intertwined.
What did they do to me?
I didn’t know what time it was. I didn’t know what day it was. I didn’t even know where I was.
“Please, let me go! I want to go home!”
Then the door opened.
-----
It was her.
The woman who injected me. The woman whose name was unknown to me. The woman who was in some way responsible for the mark on my arm.
“Let me go!”
She looked at my arm, then started writing something in the notepad she held.
“Fine. Tell me what the mark is. What did you do to me?” “We labeled you.”
Finally, someone speaks.
“It feels more like a brand to me.”
She tilted her head slightly, then nodded. “Yes, we branded you.”
Her confirmation made me feel worse. That won’t be the only time she makes you feel worse.
“What am I really doing here?”
At this point, I was well past angry, and she could tell. That’s what made her next actions all the more confusing.
The woman walked over to me and unlocked the restraints that held my arms and legs down.
I immediately reached to touch the branding with my other hand. I could feel myself wanting to cry again, and for a brief moment, the woman almost seemed sympathetic. I looked up at her whilst suppressing any tears that threatened to come to the surface. I tried asking my question again.
“Why am I here?”
“You know why.”
“I applied for a trial that involved one hour out of each day for a week. Instead, I was greeted with a needle to my neck which was put there by you, I was strapped to a table, quite literally injected with something, branded, and then left in a room by myself with no answers as to where I was, what time it was, what day it was, and what had been done to me. So no, this is not what I signed up for. No, I do not know why I’m here.”
She just stood there listening to me.
“And where even is here? Am I still at the same lab that I walked into? Is it still the same day? What time is it?”
I hopped off the table and tried walking towards the door, but my legs weren’t fully cooperating. I started to fall, and the woman grabbed my arm to catch me. For a moment I let her help me, but I quickly shrugged her off. No, she was at the very least responsible for getting me into this room, and the branding happened after that.
“Yes, you are at the same lab. No, it is not the same day. The time is currently irrelevant.”
“It’s Tuesday already?! I have class! I can’t just miss my classes!”
“I never said it was Tuesday, and your classes don’t matter anymore.” What does that mean? How long have I been here?
I tried for the door again, this time with more strength, but that strength was soon taken away.
When I touched the door, the mark on my arm stung immensely, and I fell backwards due to the shock.
I knocked over a tray table, and a few different medical tools fell to the floor alongside me, but the only object worth mentioning was a syringe. Or was it a gun? But there was a needle on the end of it.
Wait, is that what they used to inject me?
I hadn’t noticed it before, but now it was obvious. Printed on the gun was a symbol. A symbol I am all too aware of now:
Three snakes, loosely intertwined.
I looked back at my arm, the brand even more prominent than I had realized. The burn still felt fresh, though I’m not sure how long it had actually been.
I stood up and held the injection gun in my hands. I looked at the woman and asked what I was injected with.
“A serum.”
“What kind of serum?”
“I am unable to disclose that to you at the moment.”
“Unable or unwilling?”
Before she could react to my retort, the woman got a call. Clearly it was important, because she left the room before she started speaking.
I took this as an opportunity to try and escape. I looked around briefly for anything important, but aside from the injection gun that I honestly didn’t want to keep holding, nothing stood out to me. I peeked through the window on the door, and to my surprise, I didn’t get shocked. I set the syringe down, I made sure the coast was clear, and then I took off running.
At this point, I didn’t have any of my belongings, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out of there. And oh how we tried.
I ran down what I thought was the same hallway I initially walked through when I first showed up. It wasn’t. I burst through the doors at the end of the hall and was face to face with that same woman. She looked me in the eyes, shook her head, and then I felt the unnaturally painful shock radiate from the snakes on my arm again.
The woman almost looked remorseful. Like she felt bad for me. Like she wanted to help.
But she didn’t.
Two guards grabbed my arms, and after trying my best to nonverbally plead with the woman to help me, I noticed that one of the guards who grabbed me was the same guard who greeted me when I walked in.
I stared at him in disbelief, too stunned to continue fighting back. He simply mouthed “sorry” before beginning to forcefully escort me back down the hallway.
I wanted to get something out of this. Some piece of information that could actually mean something. So I looked at the woman and said:
“Tell me your name.”
“You will learn my name soon enough.”
“No, now. Tell me your name.”
I was halfway down the hall when I said that, and she looked over her shoulder for a brief moment before answering.
“For now, you can call me ‘D.’”
-----
Following my attempted escape, I was placed in what I can only describe as a dorm room. This one, however, was very different from the ones you’d find on a college campus. Yeah, this one was in a crazy science lab filled with crazy science people.
To be honest, the room looked like it was still being used, but the guards said the previous occupant of the room would no longer be needing it. Yet another red flag, but at this point, it’s not like you need them.
Upon first glance, there were minimal items in the room: A desk, a chair, and a bed.
The guards pushed me into the room. I turned around to attempt to escape, but they had already closed the door. You’re not very good at that. The guard who greeted me just stared at me through the window on the door, but right as he started to say something, he was called away.
And to think, he seemed so nice.
I inspected the room a little further. On the desk there was a notepad and pencils, and on the bed there was a blanket and a pillow. Beyond that, there wasn’t hardly anything in the room with me.
Well, at least I can write down how much I hate this place on this handy notepad.
I grabbed the notebook and one of the pencils, and I sat down on the bed. I tried to think of all the ways I could try and escape, and then thought it would be better that I not write them down. Finally, a smart idea.
I went to lay down, but my head landed on something hard.
I sat up, and saw that there was only the pillow behind me. I picked it up, but nothing was underneath it. I then felt the pillow, and noticed there was something hard in it. I took the pillowcase off, and discovered that within the actual pillow itself, someone had torn a hole and stuck something inside it.
A bit perturbed, I shook the pillow over the bed until the foreign object fell out: it was a tape recorder.
-----
Setting aside the fact that the object was hidden in a sketchy room in a sketchy lab filled with sketchy people, I was undeniably curious as to the contents of the recorder.
I looked at my door and saw that no one was there, and I didn’t hear any people nearby, so I turned the device on. There was only one recording, and after checking my surroundings one more time, I pressed play.
-----
TAPE STARTS
“Patient F5908, Log #23. After today’s first injection, my side effects became noticeably more challenging, but manageable. The serum injections are brutal, but the initial pain from each injection only lasts a few hours now. The feeling of the serum is becoming more familiar, but I’m certain I’ll never get used to it.
With the serum, it’s just...different. It’s not the typical uncomfortable feeling you get when you eat something bad, or when you have to have an unpleasant conversation with someone, or even when you drink something really cold and you can feel the liquid as it goes down your throat and into your stomach, although it’s kinda similar to that last one.
No, with the serum, it’s like you’re constantly aware of where it is inside of you. And after enough injections, and enough time, there isn’t a part of your body that the serum hasn’t infiltrated.
You eventually learn to deal with the feeling, and maybe it subsides a little, but it never goes away. That serum is part of you, and all you can do to prevent the rushing wave of anxiety that comes with the realization that this serum will forever be a part of you, is to hold on to that small sliver of hope that says ‘You’re wrong. There’s a way out. I’ll find a way out...’
(silence)
But, uh, but anyway, I uh, ahem, I found out earlier that I’m part of something called Project Pegasus. Not quite sure what that is or what it means, and I don’t have any information other than that. It’s not like they were forthcoming with that much to begin with. Luckily for me, some of the doctor’s have a hard time keeping their mouths shut. Unfortunately, I still don’t know what the serum actually does, or why the mixture of some of them pre-injection is necessary, but maybe I can become more knowledgeable on the substance that I have been forced to receive as a...gift. (mumbling) Gosh, it’s disgusting that he would expect us to call this a gift.
(a few deep breaths)
But, uh, yeah. I think by this point in the log, anyone Syntec related has probably stopped listening. Even if they haven’t, my distaste for this place is not unknown. But I’m pretty sure they just listen long enough to make sure I don’t refer to myself by name. Or as the sociopathic narcissist likes to phrase it, so I don’t mention my ‘past self’ because ‘we are not doing this for ourselves, we are doing this for the future.’ He actually thinks they are doing something good here. Well if they are, I’ve
never witnessed it, and it sure doesn’t feel like it from this end of the injection gun.
But if you’re not Syntec affiliated and you are listening to my voice right now, I would honestly just be quite impressed with how you managed to get this tape. They keep pretty tight wraps around this place. No one gets in unless authorized, and no one leaves until they have been inspected.
(silence)
Sorry, it’s just...I’m the one whose life is on the line here. The least they could do is have people call me by my name. It’s been almost four months, I think, and everyone still refuses to treat me like a person. But maybe it’s my fault for expecting too much. After all, these experiments aren’t exactly the most humane things.
*deep breath*
But Nelson said there was no point in letting me keep my name because a name doesn’t mean anything. A name doesn’t give me more value. A name isn’t worth more than another name. A name isn’t special. That my name isn’t special. But I think he’s wrong. I know he’s wrong. Names are important.
(slightly tearing up)
A name labels the place I’m trapped in. A name is the reason I’m in here. A name is all I can hold on to while I’m incapable of leaving this terrifying place. A name could just be a name could just be a name. Or, it could be a key to a door that opens a room infinitely full of tremendously meaningful things.
-----
So no, a name isn’t just a name. A name could be
everything.
And that’s why I will never forget mine...(whispering) Please, don’t let me forget mine.
(deep sigh)
Chloe.
(throat clears, then, confidently) My name is Chloe.”
TAPE ENDS
The recording stopped, and I sat in the silence of the room, not moving a muscle.
All I could think about was how hurt she sounded. How defeated her voice was. The pleading tone of desperation as she muttered those last few sentences:
“Please, don’t let me forget mine. Chloe. My name is Chloe.”
Who was she? And who is Nelson? If he’s anything like D, I never want to meet him.
A chill ran through my body as I remembered what one of the guards had said about this room’s former tenant.
The previous occupant will no longer be needing it.
I dropped the tape recorder and was glad it landed on the bed, because a few seconds after I picked it up, I heard footsteps approaching my door.
I shoved the recorder back into the pillow and threw the blanket over it just in time for the door to open and for “D” to walk in.
She stared at me, and right on schedule, the moment I stood up, the snakes bit me again.
D almost tried to catch me. Almost.
I stayed on the floor, staring at my reflection in the tiles beneath my hands.
I didn’t know who this Chloe girl was, or what happened to her, but after hearing that recording, and looking at the snakes that had forced their way onto my skin, I knew I was next.
Stupid ad.
Thank you for reading our very first Subject 4 canon short story! Stay tuned next Friday the 15th at 2pm PST for the next one!
As always, stay curious.
— Shenelle
omg this was a great start & im so excited to read more!!
Well done, Maddie! This is splendid. Not gonna lie, got a little emotional reading Chloe’s message. <3