The Room

There was no sense of time, locked in the room. There is a ticking or a tapping coming from somewhere beyond the little door that opens sometimes.

When the door opens there is always someone standing there, blocking the stream of light; it is always cold, a frosty wind blowing around the bare blocky room. The person has no face, or maybe it's just too hard to see their face? They're wearing a long jacket and it's hard to see any other defining features.

When was the last time they spoke?

Did they ever speak?

The scratching of their pen on paper is enough to grate on sensitive nerves. They scratch down, mouthing the words as they do "Subject 202 is non responsive once again." and the door is clicked shut with a soft final huff of chilled air.

There is a small squeal of something slowly turning before a final click as the lock is falling into place. The room is sealed once again, the only sound a tick or tap beyond the door.

The person comes to the door at what must be the same time everyday. The door is opened and the charade is repeated. Sometimes there are voices, but it is never clear if they come from the figure in the door.

"The subject doesn't need food or water, it is not human."

"Are you sure it wont die?"

"Subject 202 is immortal." The door is closed.

Tick

Tap

How close is the sound now? Subject 202 does not move, does not react.

The figure in the doorway moves into the room, checking if anything has been moved or touched in anyway. The bed is made, the sink is dry. Subject 202 is propped against the wall in immaculate condition, like a porcelain doll.

Scratching on a notepad, the figure is still dark.

How can they see what they're writing?

Tick

Tap

"And what is this supposed to be?"

Two figures in the doorway, one with the long coat and the other a coat with shiny buttons that catch the minimal light from beyond the doorway.

"Subject 202 is eternal life."

"Doctor, we've been over this, there is no such thing."

"I will be finished soon, and you will see." The door is closed, the light disappearing once again. Subject 202's leg twitches from where it is splayed behind them.

Light fills the cold room once again, a shivering nurse standing beside the Doctor, as he is now known.

"Sir, it's moved." Her hushed voice is filled with terror.

"Impossible, Subject 202 hasn't moved since we began the insemination period. Once it was successful nothing has happened beside the fetus growth." The Doctor doesn't space a glance behind him.

Tick, tick.

The nurse is stepping back to the wall on the other side of the door.

Subject 202 is standing, swollen belly protruding from an emaciated body. Skin taut over bone, veins stark blue.

"What are you doing, we must retrieve the asset and dispose of the incubator." The Doctor turns, and breath is caught in his throat. "Subject 202 is responsive upon ending of incubation period." Awe in his voice, a small recorder clutched in his fist instead of the notepad.

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.

The nurse is running.

Subject 202 stands to it's full height, almost as tall as the doctor in the doorway and begins walking forward, opening it's mouth and tilting it's neck as it does.

Crack, creak.

The sound of bones coming to life after months of disuse.

"Subject 202 is approaching me, a miracle given the state of it's body. The asset within it's womb looks to be thriving as well, moving as the subject approaches. Upon further inspection there is wetness in the subjects place on the wall, a clear indication I was right about the gestation time coming to an end." The Doctor is still speaking.

Soft footsteps.

Subject 202 is barefoot, a hand touching the long coat, running up to the Doctor's throat.

Squelch

The Doctor stops speaking, blood flowing around nails that have grown long from the time in the room.

Thud

Subject 202 licks their nails, dropping next to the Doctor's body and feeding, preparing for birth.