Chicago, 1968 — Federal Building, Sublevel 3
The room smelled like cigarettes, wet paper, and bleach.
Three lights buzzed overhead. One flickered. No one fixed it.
A woman sat across from two men in black suits. Her hair was messy, her lips cracked. She looked to be in her mid-thirties. She was twenty-three.
"Thanks for coming in, Miss Mercer," said one the one on the right. "We're grateful for your cooperation."
She didn't look at him, just stared at the dirty floor. Her hands rested on her belly, round beneath her hospital gown.
"You've responded quite well to the treatments," said the other man. "Better than expected, frankly. The fetus is stable. Developing normally—though, as you've seen, with some... enhancements."
He quietly reached into his jacket, pulling out a form and slid it across the table. Yellow carbon copy, typed out in dark black ink.
At the top: REDACTED — FINAL CONSENT AGREEMENT.
"You'll be well taken care of," he added. "Afterward."
She stared at the line marked Signature. Her fingers curled around the pen.
"Will I remember him?" she asked, voice barely audible.
The man paused.
"Only if you want to."
She signed.
~~~~~~~~~
Hawkins National Lab — Six Months Later
The delivery was fast. Painless, almost. Too painless, like she was detached. She didn't scream. Didn't cry.
The nurses watched her with subtle unease. The lights overhead pulsing in rhythm with the beeping of the heart monitor.
The baby was quiet too. He opened his eyes and stared straight ahead, almost like he understood what had happened.
Dr. Brenner entered the room wearing surgical whites and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Congratulations," he said. "He's perfect."
She didn't respond.
"You've done something extraordinary. Do you understand that, Miss Mercer?"
She turned her face to the wall.
"Just take him," she whispered. "I don't want him."
"That's understandable," Brenner said smoothly.
She didn't move. She was already somewhere else.
~~~~~~~~~
Observation Chamber 2B - One Week Later
The boy lay in a plexiglass crib, surrounded by machines too advanced to be comforting.
A mobile spun lazily above him. Then it stopped. Then began swaying back and forth.
On the monitor feed, the nurse beside the crib froze mid-step—then backed up slowly, as if frightened.
The tape recorder clicked off.
Dr. Brenner adjusted the dial.
Inside the crib, the baby didn't blink. He was staring at the two-way mirror.
He was staring straight at Brenner.
And then, the lights in the lab flickered. Just once. But long enough to make Brenner's smile vanish.
He leaned towards the window, tapping it once. Then twice. No response.
The boy just kept staring.
~~~~~~~~~