Long-Term Care

[witchbells]

“Subject #002, the second of his kind, in the cultivation experiments.” Phoebe set down the recorder on the stainless steel table beside her, and rolled it over to her patient with a foot.

Said patient - if he could be called a patient in this situation - was strapped to what looked like a dentist’s chair, clad only in a patient’s gown, and surrounded by an array of machinery. An ECG monitor and a respirator sat untouched next to him, and there was an IV squirreling a brown substance into his arm. A bag was strapped to one of the bare legs, looking spectacularly useless at the moment.

“The subject is still currently sleeping, thanks to the sedatives. It is..Five twenty four, AM.” She dragged over a swivel chair over to the patient and sat down, grabbing up a folder from the table. “The subject’s name is Peter McIntyre. Currently employed as..job history..Ah, missing both his hands, one full arm, and a leg. Smoker. Well, that’s unfortunate.” She tossed the folder on the table and stood back up, snapping on a pair of nitrile gloves, and stole a nefarious-looking mechanism from the table.

She gently pried open the patient’s mouth and, lowering the mechanism, slipped a half-circle shaped disk between his lips. She adjusted it so that the device clamped securely around the man’s jaw, and turned the knobs on the side with a click, click, click, holding his mouth agape. She retrieved one more item. A small glass dish, containing a fluorescent yellow shrivelled something. She pried open the petri dish, took this, and dropped it into her subject’s open mouth.

“Day one.”