Francis (TSS) + "Never Again" [Is this alright?]
“And you’re certain this area is absolutely secure?”
Francis’ intimidating tone didn’t seem to faze the technician. The small, frail old man simply turned to offer a relaxed smile, craning his neck to look the agent in the eye – something Francis had long grown accustomed to. He’d quite literally grown into his role, becoming the tall, imposing man Epsilon had been.
That every Epsilon had been.
“Absolutely. This area has the tightest security technology we have available. And besides,“ he turned back to the looming piece of machinery before them, reaching for the handle, “no one ever comes down here.”
The steel door opened with a dramatic flair that was, Francis thought, rather uncharacteristic of this organization. A thick fog poured from the opening as the hinges groaned. Inside, the frosted wire racks were lined with test tubes, all meticulously sorted and labeled.
Francis frowned. “This is it?”
The technician hummed in affirmation.
“I can’t recall.” The tech gave him a baffled look. “Does it matter? I certainly hope you’re not getting sentimental.”
“And I certainly hope this operation is more organized than you’re implying, agent.” Francis turned his head sharply. “If there’s ever an issue with the Epsilon line in the future, I trust you’ll be able to quickly trace and destroy any similarly tainted DNA samples.”
“They’re identical. You all are.” There was exasperation in the technician’s voice. “If it’s that important to you, I’ve got it on file somewhere.”
The technician’s even expression tighted as he wordlessly turned on his heel toward a row of cabinets on the far wall.
Francis closed the freezer, circling around the side and reaching back to inspect the wiring. “And this technology is infallible?”
“My, my, aren’t we feeling paternal all of a sudden?” The tech called, not even trying to hide his mocking tone. When Francis turned his head he could see the man was holding a manila folder. “Your father won’t be decommissioned for a few years yet.”
Decommissioned, Francis thought with disdain. As if sugar coating the word would soften the reality. Their organization didn’t like loose ends.
“After that, we’ll take a freshly fertilized zygote, pull out its DNA and replace it with one of our samples. After nine months in a tube, you’ll get your bundle of joy.”
Not the phrasing Francis would have chose. He snatched the folder from the tech’s hands and paged through it. “I trust the process will go smoothly, then?”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
“Indeed I am.” He held up the file and the tech grabbed it back with a grumble, scuttling back over to the cabinets to put it back.
Francis turned his gaze back to the cooler. It had been keeping those samples preserved for countless generations without incident. No one had any reason to expect it to malfunction now.
They left the room, and the tech began to lock up behind them. Francis wondered how long it would take for someone to notice that power to the cooler’s motor had been severed. It’d have to be quick. After all, after those DNA samples thawed, it wouldn’t be long until they were completely useless - it would mean the end of Project Epsilon forever! And then no future children would ever get to share the wonderful childhood he’d had.
It’s too bad, Francis thought with a small smile as they headed toward the elevator, that no one ever comes down here.
