The Subject

All characters are over the age of 18. Author's note at the end.

-

The subject's eyes furrowed as he slowly woke up, still in a groggy haze from the strong sedative that had been pumped into his bloodstream. As his eyes adjusted to the light, the subject began to survey his surroundings.

He found himself lying in a small twin-sized cot, with a thin mattress that had metal springs. The room was small and dimly lit, with one small overhanging light with an exposed bulb. The walls were a fake white brick, the type commonly seen in schools, where concrete is shaped and grooved to look like real brick, and then a coat of pain is slapped over the top. The ceiling was full of steel beams and cobwebs.

On the other side of the room from the cot sat a prison-style toilet with a small sink and countertop next to it, the type often seen in doctor's offices. In the other corner there was a large metal door, with a slot at the bottom, presumably for the purpose of pushing food through.

As his senses came back to him, the subject tried to figure out how he got here. He remembered taking an uber with a few of his friends downtown to the local bars. He remembered taking shots of some mystery liquor his friend ordered, flirting with a few women, having a few more drinks and laughing with his friends, walking to the third bar of the night, and then...nothing.

He spent a significant amount of time surveying his new quarters, though he had no way of knowing how long it was that he spent awake in the room. The quarters were dank and dusty. Sanitation was clearly not of the highest priority. The subject correctly assumed that he was not the first person to be held against their will in this cell.

The subject's focus shifted to the door as the sound of metal shifting as the locks on the door opened rang out. The large metal door opened, with two large, muscular entering the room first, with a smaller man immediately following behind them.

The first two men were huge. They both stood at over six feet tall, and their large muscles were prominent underneath their grey shirts that held tight against their bodies. If that wasn't enough to ring alarm bells in the subject's mind, their earpieces, black pants, steel-toed boots, and arms clasped together in front of them were a dead giveaway. These men were guards, ex-military. The subject stood no chance against these men, and any plans he may have had of fighting back and escaping were immediately snuffed out.

The small man stepped forward. The subject caught himself - this man wasn't small, he just looked small in relation to the massive guards on either side. The man was wearing a white dress shirt, khakis, and sneakers. His brown hair was greying on both sides, and he wore a white doctor's coat. He had deep, sunken eyes, and a tired expression on his face. A scientist.

The subject felt compelled to speak, an instinctual attempt at self-preservation, and to understand the situation he found himself. "Who are you? What do you want from me?"

The man looked at him and smiled at the subject. "You can call me the Doctor," he said. The smile vanished just as quickly as it appeared. The Doctor reached into his lab coat and pulled out a syringe.

"Hold him," the Doctor ordered.

The subject, acting out of pure instinct, immediately bolted from his position where he on the edge of the cot, but it was a futile endeavor. The guard on the left caught him with ease, and the subject was pinned down in seconds. The Doctor stood over the subject, injecting him in the neck with the unknown fluid. Once the Doctor removed the syringe and stepped back the guards let the subject go.

The subject took a few moments to take his breath. He did not feel the effects of the injection immediately. The Doctor began to speak, his tone of voice neutral and clinical.

"You were chosen for this experiment because your genetic testing showed you may be compatible with the virus I created. A nurse will tend to your needs as the experiment proceeds. I wish you the best of luck."

The men walked out of the room quickly, but did not immediately shut the door, because they no longer needed to be concerned about the subject escaping. As the virus was beginning to take effect, the subject began to feel dizzy, and fell back onto the cot. Soon thereafter, his whole body began to involuntarily shake as if he had stepped onto the icy tundra with nothing but a t-shirt on.

Now that the men had left the room, the nurse walked through the door open door and closed it behind her, having to put her weight behind the heavy steel door to push it closed. Through his peripheral vision, the subject watch as the nurse approached the sink and began to prepare something. She had long brown hair held up in a ponytail, with black leggings and a white t-shirt. Her back was facing him, so the subject could not see what she was doing.

The shaking was steadily getting worse. The subject's teeth began to chatter, and the creeping feeling of soreness began to take hold throughout his body. The subject could tell that this would only be the beginning of his suffering.

The nurse turned around, with another syringe in hand, and walked to the cot. At this point, the subject's eyesight was beginning to fade in and out, and he was seeing double. The nurse stroked his head gently, and then used more force to keep the subject's shaking head still while she pushed the syringe into his neck. Within mere moments, he felt the sensation of a warm blanket begin to come over him. A minute later he was unconscious, and he experienced a dreamless sleep that protected him from the pain of the virus for a time.

~

The subject did not know how much time had passed before the virus had completed its initial work. The nurse, who had watched over him nearly without rest, had cared for him during his three-day long fever dream of agony.

There was a rhythm to the experience. Waking up. Searing pain. The nurse. An injection. Sleep. Waking up. Searing pain. The nurse. An injection. Sleep. Over and over again. Time was merely an illusion through the nightmare.

When the subject woke after the fever broke, the nurse did not provide another injection. As his senses slowly returned to him, the subject could feel the effects of the virus throughout his body. He could feel the pulled muscles, the torn ligaments, the altered bones - the altered bones! - the pain was immense.

The subject began to cry, quiet sobs involuntarily escaping his mouth. The nurse reacted immediately, pressing a button on her key fob while sitting up from her chair and coming to his bedside.

"Shhh," she said. "It's going to be alright. I will give you something for the pain, but the Doctor must see you first."

It wasn't long before the Doctor arrived. The moment the subject heard the door move, the adrenaline kicked in, and the subject controlled his sobbing, clenching his jaw with all his strength, with the newly found focus the adrenaline provided. The Doctor arrived with his same entourage of guards, but with a slightly different expression on his face than the last time the subject had seen him. It looked like he was concerned.

"How are his vitals?" The Doctor asked.

"Good, sir," the nurse responded. "His heart rate and blood pressure were really in the red on the second night, and he is clearly still in severe pain, but his heart has healed well from the effects of the first injection."

"Mmmm, more importantly, he is alive." The Doctor mused quietly to himself, turning towards the sink, and began to prepare another injection.

"Sir, I don't think -" the nurse began, but was quickly silenced by the Doctor's raised hand.

"I do not pay you to think," the Doctor said tersely, and turned around to face the subject. He paused for a moment, and had a look on his face which seemed to say I'm so tired, should I waste my breath?

Finally he sighed, looked directly into the subject's eyes, which were clouded with pain, and began to speak. "The first treatment was merely a primer so that you would begin to change from the inside out. Only one other subject has made it past the initial primer, and he died shortly thereafter from the changes the virus caused. This second treatment will help you heal. Without it, you will surely die." The subject did not have the strength to respond, but simply thought FUCK YOU!

The Doctor then pushed the syringe into the subject's carotid artery, starting the next phase of the experiment.

"For now, you will sleep. When you wake up, you will become the father of my new people," the Doctor said, smiling for the first time in many years.

As the treatment began to take effect, the subject's eyes rolled back in his head as he lost consciousness and blacked out.

~

When the subject next woke up, he was in a different place altogether. Wakefulness came slowly to the subject, as many days of sleep had left him groggy. As his senses slowly returned to him, the subject attempted to sit upright on the bed - only to immediately collapse backwards again, as his head spun with dizziness.

Not ready yet, got it, the subject thought to himself. He waited a while longer before slowly raising himself up, keeping his arms behind him to steady himself. This time, he was only a little wobbly.

For the second time since he was kidnapped, the subject surveyed his new surroundings. He was sitting in a large king-size bed, with an IV strapped to his arm that was connected to multiple banana bags, which were providing him with the fluids and nutrients he needed to survive. The room was about the size of a bedroom one might find in an apartment, with basic light grey walls, an overhead fan, and two open doors.

Open doors! The subject realized, quickly attempting to get up out of the bed. Again, he overestimated himself, and immediately stumbled. Thankfully, the nightstand next to the bed was within arms-reach, and he caught himself with his left hand.

Trying again, but more cautiously this time, he slowly raised himself to his feet, and began to walk. The subject's feet were clearly unsteady, and he held onto the wall on his left to keep himself upright. As he took his first step forward, he felt a pull on his left arm, as the IV had run out of slack. The subject considered the IV, saw the injection port, and separated himself from the primary IV tubing while leaving the main IV needle in his arm.

The subject surveyed the room again. The door on the left was closer to him, but lots of light was coming through that doorway; the door on the left was on the opposite corner of the room, but was dark. The subject chose door number 2, and after slowly crossing the room, discovered that it was a bathroom, complete with a standard sink, tub, and shower. He quickly found the light switch, flipped it on, and saw himself for the first time in the mirror since the experiment. His eyes went wide.

The person in the mirror looked like the subject, but also did not.

Before the experiment, the subject had often thought he had a decent physique; he looked like someone who went to the gym regularly, but wasn't ripped or shredded. Now, "decent" was an understatement. I must have gained at least 5 pounds of muscle! The subject thought to himself. He had also lost some fat, and the combined difference now meant he looked significantly more muscular than before. What the subject did not yet fully realize was that he had gained a few inches of height as well, which meant that the "treatment" he received gave him significantly more muscle than he initially thought.

While these changes were truly shocking to the subject, none of them caused his jaw to drop like the next one did. As he looked down at the lower half of his body, even though he was soft the subject could tell he had gained an inch or two in length. His testicles had changed even more dramatically. His balls looked like they had nearly doubled in size!

Looking back up in the mirror at his face, the subject thought to himself, holy shit, what the fuck did that psycho doctor do to me? Have they turned me into some kind of super-soldier? Is the US government involved in this? Will I ever be able to go back to my normal life?

As the subject's thoughts spiraled, his heart rate began to increase, and he began to feel a panic attack coming on. As his breathing quickened, the subject turned away from the mirror and walked out of the bathroom. He stood in the doorway for a while, holding onto the doorway with his right hand and his heart with his left. He breathed slowly in and out, focusing on each breath, and felt his heartrate slowly return to normal. This shit is crazy, he thought.

To his right, the dresser he had passed on the way to the bathroom had a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants folded nearly on the top. Realizing that they had been put there for him, the subject quickly put both articles of clothing on, not wanting to see himself in another mirror and potentially incite a panic attack. The t-shirt was a little tight, but hey, beggars can't be choosers.

Before the subject had the time to debate whether or not to go through door number 1, his sense of smell was triggered by an unmistakable scent. Bacon. He heard his stomach rumble in response, and was drawn to the source of the smell like a moth to a flame.

Within moments, the subject exited the bedroom, walked across a short hallway, and found himself in a small kitchen, with a woman standing over an electric cooktop. She was wearing black leggings and a navy tank top, with slightly wavy brown hair pulled up in a ponytail. There was sweat that was clinging to the back of her shirt and beading on the back of her neck, evidence of a workout that had recently ended. The subject couldn't help but take a long look at her tight, shapely ass in the black leggings she was wearing, and felt a shift in his pants as his cock responded.

Thankfully, she turned around before the subject's libido embarrassed him. The subject had seen the nurse's face while he was in the cell, but the pain and sickness made his memory poor and hazy. When she turned around, he was surprised by how beautiful the nurse was! She had an oval face with high cheekbones, full lips, and blue eyes. She had a spatula in her right hand.

"Oh!" she said, clearly startled. "I didn't think you'd wake up for at least another day. How are you feeling?" She asked. The subject opened his mouth to speak, but his stomach responded first with a low rumble.

The nurse smiled and laughed. "I just got back from the gym and was making myself a late breakfast. I'll add a few more eggs to the pan."

She took a step over to the fridge, opened the refrigerator door, pulled out a carton of eggs, and turned back to the stovetop.

While the nurse continued to prepare breakfast, the subject looked around the room, taking in his new surroundings. There was a small kitchen table with chairs sitting directly opposite the main kitchen, with grey granite countertops and an induction cooktop. Directly opposite where the nurse was standing behind the stovetop were two counter-high chairs made for seating at the kitchen counter. The kitchen floor was covered with white tile, and had light grey walls just like the other rooms. There was a small parting between the kitchen table and the living space, which held a couch, two chairs, a decent-sized TV.

What creeped the subject out the most was how normal everything looked. Everything except for the fact that there isn't a single window in sight, he thought. If he didn't know better, he would think he was in a standard college apartment. His prior experience with the experiment told him differently. As his thoughts inevitably wandered to trying to figure out what MKUltra-shitshow he was involved in, he found his gaze turning back to the nurse, with his gaze being particularly drawn back to her pert ass.

"So, are you going to stare at my ass all day or are you going to answer my question?" The nurse said, as if reading his mind, without looking up from the stovetop.

The subject stuttered, clearly caught red-handed. "Uh, sorry, what was the question again?"

She turned to face him, placing the spatula in her right hand on her hip, and slowly repeated her question. "How are you feeling?"

The subject looked down at his hands, turning them into fists and relaxing them again. "I feel...okay I guess?"

The nurse looked him up and down for a moment, clearly evaluating him, before turning back to the stove. "Good," she said, "breakfast will be ready in a minute."

The subject slowly sat down on one of the counter-high chairs, and thought carefully about how to start the conversation. Finally, he settled on the simplest, and most obvious question.

"What's going on here?" he asked the nurse.

Without turning around, she coyly responded, "I'm making breakfast."

"And the sky is blue," he said, responding to her sass in kind. "You know what I mean."

She turned around and flashed him a wry smirk. "I do. You're a subject in the Doctor's experiment. I'm a nurse whose job it is to keep you alive, which has not been an easy task." She turned off the stove, pulled two plates out of the cabinet, and split the scrambled eggs and bacon between both plates. A moment later the toaster went off, and a slice of toast was on each plate. She walked over to the kitchen table and he got up and followed her. She placed a plate in front of the subject along with a fork, and gave him a beautiful smile as they both sat down to eat.

Her smile would have distracted the subject if he wasn't so intent on getting answered. "You know I was kidnapped and brought here against my will, don't you? Why are you participating in this psycho's science project?" he asked.

The nurse sighed. "I know it's fucked up, but this experiment would take place with or without me. I took this job because I've got a mountain of student debt and they'll pay me enough to wipe it all away, and then pay for all of medical school, and then some. Plus, I get to keep innocent studs like you alive," she said with a smirk, "or at least I tried to, up until now." Her smile softened, and combined with her sad eyes, told him that many poor souls had already been lost to this madman's experiment.

His stomach rumbled again, turning the subject's attention back to the meal in front of him.

"I know you want to know what's going on," the nurse said. "Let's eat, and I'll do my best to explain as much as I can." They both began to work their way through the bacon, eggs and toast. In between bites, she gave him the information she was allowed to provide. "The Doctor wants to find a way to alter the human genome to make us immune to sickness and disease, like HIV, cancer, heart disease, the list goes on and on. His solution to cancer isn't to fight it, it's to prevent it. People have been selected for the experiment based on genetic predisposition of some kind, but I don't know how all that works."

"You said you're being well-compensated for participating in this experiment. Who's funding this shit?"

"I'm an employee, not a participant," she corrected him. "And to answer your question, even if I knew there's no way I could tell you."

"That psycho mentioned something about a new people. Sounds like some nazi Übermensch shit."

The nurse didn't respond, and the conversation fell into a short lull.

Ok, my suspicions are clearly correct. This is some kind of eugenics project, but she can't confirm. The subject decided to shift his line of questioning. "Why are we in this-" he paused, considering his word choice, finally landing on, "apartment?"

"Why? I don't know, I don't make the decisions. But it's a hell of a lot more comfortable than where you were before," she replied.