“Yes,” I breathe because I feel everything. My skin hums as my pulse races, but my thoughts... They don’t line up anymore—they scatter and split as the room stretches.
Jagger looks bigger—closer, but Killian's eyes are too focused, making me laugh. It’s like they are too big for his head.
“He’s hyperfocusing as the drug does its thing. It’s actually hilarious,”Jethro says, but I look over at Vinny who has his eyes on the exit, but they shift to me and he frowns, then back to the door they go.
Suddenly, I realize something. They didn’t inject us to control us. They did it to see what happens when we stop holding back. My head tilts and my smile stretches, but something inside me finally—lets go.
“Don’t worry,” I whisper. “You wanted to see what I am…What we are?”
I pause as Jethro laughs with me. “…now you will. One by one.”
Specimen L
Killian Klebs
After being shoved into this room, I couldn’t take my eyes off the man in the suit—Master D. I listened to every word he said, logging it all into my mental notes. I watched how he touched my canvas. I heard the words he said to her. I don’t trust him. His persona is a farce, a rouse, and my girl is blinded by it. After Charlotte stuck me, I told her she needs to go back to the nurses’ station and practice on how to administer drugs the correct way. Master D chuckled at that but didn’t scold me for speaking out of turn. He knew I was right. And I also think he knew I was going to say something. I can’t help it. It’s the way I’m programmed. There is no changing it.
A sudden rush of heat flowing throughout my body has me gripping onto the nearest object. A singular metal chair. I take a deep breath but it’s extremely hard to breathe. I shut my eyes and listen to my heart beating erratically in my chest. I count, then lose count when Lolli giggles. I try again but all the noise in this room is heightened, making me grit my teeth. My fingers tingle as the tightness in my chest begins to diminish, so I tryto take another deep breath. This time, I can and feel more relaxed. I open my eyes and immediately catalogue the room. Five beds. Metal frames—bolted. Bathroom—single entry with no lock. Camera in the top left corner and a useless mounted TV.
Observation. Ha.I almost smile as the drug hits me again. Not like before though. It’s expanding, like something inside me has unfolded, but my thoughts don’t slow. They multiply. All the details sharpen. White walls. White mattress. White everything. Edges clarify and patterns are—everywhere. Clean. Everything is clean. No blood.
I exhale slowly. Measure it. Count it. One. Two. Three. My pulse steadies.Good.The drug isn’t chaos. It’s access.
“Look closer,”something in me whispers, and I do. Jagger is pacing between the beds with too much force and energy.Uncontained.Lucifer is sitting on the floor rocking but still smiling, only tighter now.Less controlled.Vinny—unmoving, staring at the exit, but his eyes aren’t empty though. Then my gaze finds Lolli—my perfect canvas, and everything in the room drops away. My breathing stills as the drug narrows my focus specifically on her. The way her chest rises, the way her fingers twitch. She’s fascinating. I step closer and no one stops me. No one even tries because they feel it too. The shift. Something has changed inside all of us.Inside me.
Her eyes widen when I step into her view. She goes to say something but I shake my head.
“Not yet. You will get your moment, but right now, it’s mine,” I whisper, and she tilts her head.
“Then show me,” she states, but I step back from her. Not because I want to, but because I need to see everything. Jagger is pacing again, only more erratically, walking up and down the aisles of the beds mumbling like it’s their fault they’re in his way. Lucifer is speaking to the voices, rocking faster. I glance over my shoulder to see Vinny watching me, and Lolli then turns back tothe locked door. Lolli’s hand gripping onto my wrist has my head snapping towards her. She sways slightly, and my jaw tightens.That’s unacceptable.Her eyes flick to mine as I bring my fingers up to her face.
“Hold still,” I tell her, but my voice sounds different, like it doesn’t belong to me. It’s lower—tighter. She smiles while her eyes twinkle with mischief.
“Or what?” she whispers, making my pulse race. I shouldn’t feel that but I note it anyway.
“I need to see,” I say quietly as my fingers brush the cracks of her skin where her scars lay. I observe them and the way they shift when she breathes. Incomplete, but not broken.Never broken.“Do you feel it?” I ask as her head tilts up at me.
“Feel what?” she breathes, and the question irritates me.I don’t like that.
“You’re different,” I say as my fingers brush her jaw lightly. Her skin is warm, and my mind races and thrusts me into a memory from not long ago.
Machines hum at a steady pitch as the lights burn clean and white overhead. Everything is exactly where it should be. My hands are steady and gloved as I look down at the body in front of me—open to interpretation. Not broken, just misaligned.
“Doctor,” someone says loudly behind me, but I don’t look.
“Silence,” I reply, not harshly though, and not with any emotion. Just necessary, because sound disrupts focus and focus is everything.
I lean in closely and observe every detail. The rhythm beneath my fingertips and the way the body responds—the way it doesn’t . There’s always a pattern. “There,” I say, finding the small flaw. People think damage has to be obvious and messy but it doesn’t. Sometimes it’s just one thing out of place. One piece that doesn’t belong where it should be, and once you see it—you can’t unsee it. You have to fix it.
I work slowly, not because I’m unsure, but because precision takes time. Rushing creates errors and errors create consequences.
The room stays quiet while they learn or maybe they’re afraid. Both are still useful. I adjust, correct, and refine. The body reacts, and I smile.
“Hold steady,” someone says, and I grit my teeth.
“I am. You’re the one shaking,” I say and continue sliding the needle through the skin and pulling the thread tightly. Every movement is intentional. Every action has purpose. This isn’t harm—it's improvement, even if I didn’t have their consent. But they won’t know when they wake up what had happened. They won’t thank me for the work I’ve done. How I made their looks better. This is the part they never understand. My students—my proteges. They call it something else—dangerous and unethical, but they don’t see what I see or understand the potential. What something could be if someone just took the time to fix it properly.
My breathing stays even and my hands don’t falter. This is the only place things make sense. The only place where chaos becomes—something better. I lean back slightly, assess, and adjust again. Perfect.
