The scalpel slides over his arm like butter. Blood immediately floods to the surface, spills over his skin and onto the metal table below. He didn't even flinch. The Doctors eyes flicker between his wound and the timer on his tablet.
A few seconds pass and then his skin heals, folding and sealing back together like a zip on a jacket. He remains expressionless, his hazel eyes staring forward.
"That's 0.2 seconds quicker than last week," the scientist – Doctor Pencil Neck, as he likes to refer to him by – tells him gleefully. "You're improving, 254." His finger taps the screen of his device and 254 grits his teeth in an attempt not to plummet his fist straight into the man's stupidly thin neck.
It's something he's day-dreamed about many times but only put into action once. The punishment which followed was the only reason he'd never done it again.
Doctor Pencil Neck – real name Frank – hastily cleaned the subjects arm using a wet wipe before disposing it into a trash can. "You're done for today. Escort him back to his room," he aims the last part to the guards behind him.
254's hands form a fist inside of the reinforced hand-cuffs restricting him. Two bulky men grab hold of him – an arm each – and he glares at the back of Pencil Neck's perfectly polished gray hair as he passes.
"I'll see you soon, 254," the 40ish year old ass-hole mutters, attention not leaving the medical files on the screen in his hand.
The brutes force Subject 254 down the familiar white halls. He goes willingly with little resistance – resisting them was pointless. It all ends the same way – with him getting punished.
When they reach his room they throw him inside and slam the door shut. 254 stumbles but remains upright. He takes a deep breath, eyes closed before exhaling nosily. He'd kill them all one day, he was sure of it.
It's what kept him going.
His 'room' – more like jail cell – was white like the rest of the place, and had little to nothing to do. The only form of entertainment they gave him was a tennis ball and a book. He didn't get much enjoyment from reading but when he grew bored enough, he gave it ago.
He rolls his shoulders, muscles shifting beneath his light blue top before placing himself parallel with the floor and starting his daily work out routine.
He'd done 500 push ups and was on 389 sit ups when a commotion outside of his cell caused him to pause.
Silence.
Eh?
He'd definitely heard somethin-
A scream. "Get off of me! Please! Where am I? What is this place?!" A feminine voice cries loudly, the sound echoing through the narrow halls. "Please! Someone help!"
Ah, a new subject. 254 almost rolls his eyes at the sound of their distress. It was predictable - the things they say. She wasn't the first to enter this place and she wouldn't be the last. Either way, she'd get no sympathy from him.
He continues his sit ups. Where was he? 389...390...391...392...
The shouts get louder as they pass his cell. His eyes remain closed.
393...394...395...396...
A door opens. They throw her inside.
397...398...399...
YOU ARE READING
Lab Rat(18+)
Romance. Three years. It had been three years since he'd been taken, experimented on, had his DNA altered and became a freak of nature. He knew because he'd managed to peek at the computer when they dragged him into that dreaded room; the one the...
