"Dr. Gallagher, do I have a soul?"
"I've never been a religious person."
"People often use heart and soul interchangeably, but I don't have a heart."
I stopped typing my report to look at him. Alan was almost a normal boy. Except for the part where he lacks a heart. Not in a poetic sense. Literally, he has no heart. That's the reason he's here in this God forsaken wasteland.
"Ard you alright Alan? Do you want to talk dr. Young?" I asked him.
Alan said nothing, just looked sullen. His eyes said more than he could have. Fourteen year olds are not know for being good with their feelings, let alone putting them into words.
I had been at the facility for five years. For some reason Alan gravitated to me. He was technically the youngest resident we currently have. He was only two days old when we took him. It was easy enough to fake a case of SIDs, take him and leave an empty shell behind. Alan was too valuable as an object of research to live a normal life. His mother had been a child herself, she was only sixteen. I hope she wasn't too emotionally damaged by her son's "death." Maybe that's why he gravitated to me. I would be the same age as his mother.
"The presence of a soul cannot be proven or disproven by any means, the same way God can't." I told him. He kept staring at the ground. I suppose it wouldn't kill me to soften my words. "Whether you have a soul or not you are a living being with thoughts and feelings. And I'll have you know you're a much better person than some people I've met. If you do have a soul it's a very gentle one."
I couldn't tell if my words got through to him. Despite my doctorial degrees, I'm a complete moron when it comes to interpersonal relations.
"Hey, Alan. Shouldn't you be with your tutor?" I looked over and saw Joey, a colleague of mine. If he didn't wear a lab coat you would probably think he was a vagrant, even if they were almost impossible in this corner of the world. He even covered his name tag with a "Hi! My name is: Joey" sticker. To be fair, I'd cover it up if I had his name.
Alan again said nothing. He quietly got up and left my office. When Alan was out of earshot I told Joey what he had been asking.
"Ah... I get it. Souls are a tricky subject. Especially around here." He said, then shrugged. "But thinking about those things gets you nowhere. Its not necessary. You can't do anything about it." "You're talking like an engineer." I told him. I wish he would be a little more serious at times, but I suppose his disposition is how he's managed to avoid going insane.
I stood up and followed him out of my office. Soft music played in the hallways. When dealing with human anomalies you want to create a calm environment. The music didn't drown out the sound of our shoes on the sterile tile. Sterile tile that is also bullet, blast, and flame proof.
We arrived at the elevator. I hit the button for the fourth floor. The entire time Joey told me about how his research was going and what happened in the shows he had been watching. He also made it into the top 100 racers in the facilities Mario Kart leader board.
The elevator opened to the café. If you didn't know any better you would think you were teleported to a packed Starbucks. That is, if teleportation technology didn't turn you inside out. Currently the guys on floor two have been trying to throw shells through the entrance and having them mostly intact at the exit. The head of housekeeping yelled at them a bit, now they put down plastic. It's a much easier clean up.
Joey led me to a table next to a glass wall. We sit down. I stare out the glass at blindingly white desert. Snow as far as the eye can see and a bright blue sky. I smell Joey's cigarette, he likes the citrus ones. Healthy cigarettes are abundant here, but they're easier to produce for a small amount of people than the general public. Not to mention all tobacco companies that would lobby against us. Big business never like threats.
"I'm gonna get us some coffee." Joey said as he stood up and left. He already knows what to order for me. Sometimes the vastness of Antarctica still gets to me. The temperature must be -70 right now. Anything would freeze solid fast... well, almost anything.
I see a figure in the distance. Human in shape. I doubt it's one of ours. We don't have any residents with extreme body temperature abilities right now and a researcher would be wearing clothes.
"Hey, what is that?" I hear from another table. "Is that one of them?" People gather around the wall. We call them ice zombies. None of that walker or shambler name crap you see in movies and TV shows.
The figure's head explodes, leading to noise from the crowd like their team just scored a touchdown.
A retriever will be sent to gather the remains. I don't know why, we never get anywhere with them. I just know I'm going to do the autopsy. Like I don't have anything better to do. That's exactly what she would do.
Everyone had gone back to their seats. Back to life as normal as if a mysterious life form didn't just get domed right in front of us. I'd be an idiot to get on a soap box about it. These things pop up every so often, and every time they get taken out by the automatic defense system. We'd be screwed if we ever had a Maximum Overdrive situation.
Joey puts a cup in front of me. "Caffè mocha, just the way you like it." I take a sip. "Another one of those things?" He asks, looking out the window.
I heard someone heaving. I look over and see a young woman puking into a trash can. She must be new. Probably fresh from some big name university with a shady secret society. That's typically where whoever operates this place finds new recruits. Horrible bangs.
As it says in the employee handbook, I don't need to know. The ones that can't help it and dig deeper don't stick around long. The handbook says I also don't need to know what happens to them. Probably just a memory wipe, putting them somewhere like Alantic City with a bunch of empty booze bottles, and some fresh false memories.
Otherwise... well... nothing goes to waste here.
"So Alan is wondering about souls huh?" Joey asks.
"It's not surprising. He's been reading books on religion and philosophy since he found out the significance of his condition." I say.
"What is the status on his research anyway?"
"We believe he has self propelling blood. It could really help people if we could figure out just what it is that makes his cells so abnormal. From all angles they seem to have the same structure as any others."
Joey has a moment of thought.
"You know, his birthday is coming up next month. You think he would like some MCR CDs?"
"I suppose he is at the best age to listen to them. But is feeding into his emo phase good for him?"
"C'mon, it's not like he's going to be a kid forever. Besides, it's not like he'll ever experience life outside of here. Let him enjoy himself."
I hated being reminded of that. Alan should be trying out for teams and getting in trouble with friends. At least from what I hear teenagehood is like. I mostly just studied. Probably the reason why I can't read people well. Or the autism. Could be both.
Joey went on about something. I wasn't really paying attention in all honesty. I was sipping my coffee and watching the clean up outside. A retriever had gone out. They looked like a mix of a skid loader and the mar rover. It drove out and scooped up the body, along with any bloody snow. It then deployed it's cover to protect the specimen from any more contamination.
I remember someone from engineering say that one of those was about the same price as the state of Wyoming. Wyoming is the least populated state, but still, not an amount to sneeze at.
"You can't get rid of your soul you know."
That brings me back to the one sided conversation. I look at Joey. I know he's going to give me a soft earful.
"You've been sneaking your blood in with our emergency supply again. Haven't you?" He asks, already knowing the truth.
"I'm a universal donor. Logically I should donate more."
"I know that's the reason you tell yourself but the amount you give is self destructive. Your going to wake up with us pumping your blood back into you again. I don't want to make that call again."
Why did Joey have to be on friendly terms with my parents?
"I haven't been a child in two decades, so don't treat me like one."
"I'm just a concerned friend, Opal."
"Doctor Opal Gallagher to the administrator's office, Doctor Opal Gallagher to the administrator's office."
I was more than happy to leave Joey at the table when hearing the PA announcement. I went into the elevator and hit the button to sub floor 2 where my office was. I might have wanted to get away from the situation with Joey, but there was no way I was going to the administrator's office. Agate could figure her own problems out. She never summoned me for anything worth the trip there.
The elevator stopped and opened. I continued to my destination.
"I know I have some weird thing going on with me but I have to get back to Cincinnati!"
Oh lord, must be a new resident. I turned the corner and saw a man arguing with a CNA. Best too walk by and ignore.
"My name is Richard Hamilton and I need to get out of here." The man apparently named Richard said.
"Nice to meet you mr. Hamilton, I'm Dr. Gallagher, I'm a doctor here at the Bryd Research Facility." I said wearing the face of my more pleasant sister.
"Well, I've just about had enough of you people. I try to get some information but you guys just keep talking in circles! What is this place? What about my wife and kids? Are they here? Are they okay?" I look behind Richard, the CNA is holding up a clipboard with his information on it.
Richard Hamilton, 54 years old. Cincinnati, Ohio, United States. Manager of a small financial firm, wife of 30 years, two kids in high school. Reason for admission: extremely rapid cell division when experiencing anger.
Great, he's already pretty pissed, now I have to make sure he doesn't flip out.
"Your family is safe and sound in Cincinnati. You are here for medical testing, so that we can figure out what is going on with you." I said.
"Well, can I at least call them? I've got to let them know I'm alright." He said. That would be a bad idea. At this point Richard here has most certainly been declared dead. The Switchers probably tossed a shell of him off a building or something.
Maybe I could talk to IT about making a chat bot of his family? What would the ethics of that even be? He's never going to see them again, but it would keep him happy. A memory wipe would be the simplest, but to erase that much data from a brain would probably cause early on set dementia. Then it would be harder to keep him under control.
"I'm afraid our phone lines are down at the moment." I said.
"Could I do an email then?"
"I'll see what I can do. Just do what," I looked at the CNA's name tag. "Bridgette here tells you too. We'll get you a nice cup of coffee, doesn't that sound good?"
"I, I guess that makes sense." Even I could see the disappointment in his face.
"Alright, I'll talk to someone about getting you a laptop." I said as a started walking again. After a few step I can feel my face go back to normal. It's exhausting to wear that mask.
I finally reach my office. I could feel a headache coming but I needed to type out a few more words.
"Doctor Opal Gallagher to the administrator's office, Doctor Opal Gallagher to the administrator's office."
I put on my headphones to block out anymore noise. I booted up the facility's media streamer and opened my music playlist. I hit play and was able to get into a work frenzy to the sound of Tool's Sober.
By the time I was finished Gojira was playing. I checked the time, 22:00 exact. I checked my schedule for tomorrow. Just as I thought, a five hour block had been booked for an autopsy. It's going to be a long day tomorrow.
I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. The headache is worse now.
I slowly start to feel my blood flowing in my veins. My head pulses in rythem with my heart. There's too much blood in me. I have to get rid of it. In my younger days I let the blood go down the drain, now it seems so wasteful.
I get up. The hematology lab isn't far. At this time of night they should have clocked out by now. I use my badge to get in. The lights turn on and I sit at the phlebotomy mechine.
It's difficult to find a good place for the needle to go in when you've donated as much blood as me. As a medical professional it's not out of my scope, I went with my left arm that day.
I'll be honest, I know it's self destructive to do this. I've had collapsed veins and passed out before. I've had hypovolemic shock. I know I'm mentally ill. I always have been. This is my normal. Really, I'm just wasting time till death.
As my lifeblood is drained, I feel useful, at least. I have negative O blood. If anyone should give blood, it's me. We do have an oxygen rich solution that can be used as a temporary repreave from blood loss, but its structure is unstable. It dissolves fast, but it buys us up to two hours, depending on the person's size and prior health conditions.
Not that health conditions exist here beyond the residents. They're concidered too valuble as research subjects to fix them. When you arrive here you under go a procedure. You are sanitized, inside and out. Any outside germs or bacteria is not allowed. Along with disability. Missing limbs, arthritis, almost anything you could think of.
I used to wear glasses. I used to have scoliosis and asthma. But I was changed. I was fixed. Made better.
The printer can make new organs. The most it can do is create an entire human body, an empty shell. We've been able to program them for short things. It's just making the right electrical signals go off at the right time. The shells have no free will. No soul.
I stop the blood collection machine.
There's a liter of blood connected to it. Roughly speaking, a human has about five liters in their bodies.
I take out the needle and remove the tourniquet. I dress the wound and get up, wobbling. I used the wall to keep myself steady. My head is among the stars. My part is done. The phlebotomy mechine will do the rest.
Ours have more automatic abilities than what you find at the average hospital. Our machines are able to take blood, clean it, bag it, and refrigerate it. They even have a centrifuge option and hemoglobin analyzer.
I make my way out the door, trying to not seem suspicious as I make my way back to my office. I assume this is what it feels like when you're drunk. Alcohol is something I've never understood the need for.
I finally get back to my office. I fling my small fridge's door open and down a half a cartoon of orange juice.
If someone that only knew my sister saw this, would they think I was her? No. She would never do this. Not the perfect one.
I take a blood replacement serum and inject it into my thigh. I screwed up. I wouldn't have to waste one of these if I had just stopped being a masochist for five seconds and turn off the mechine. I should have never figured out how to override the safety program.
I disposed of the needle in a secret sharps container. Technically, I wasn't supposed to give injections in my office, but it's my body. I can at least have the autonomy to stab myself and dispose of it safely.
I flip the light switch and crash onto the cot Alan had been sitting on earlier. My breathing hard, my pulse fast. Maybe I'll die tonight. That's fine. They can throw my body in the harvester. Nothing gets wasted here, not even the dead.
Having a soul isn't all that great.
It's too heavy sometimes.
