Alex

Inadequate

When Dr. Meyers and I arrived at the training center, Ashcroft was already there, waiting. His presence sent a chill through the room.

"So nice of you to join me, Daniel. Not like I have anywhere else to be," he sneered from his wheelchair, his gaze a cutting blade.

"Mr. Ashcroft, Sir, I wasn't aware you would be here today," Dr. Meyers stammered, visibly shaken by his presence.

"I assumed your pet there would have informed you," Ashcroft snapped, gesturing toward me.

Dr. Meyers glanced at me, and I gave a small shrug. "I thought you weren't arriving for a few more days," Dr. Meyers tried to explain.

"Yes, well, our timetable has accelerated," Ashcroft's voice dripped with malice. "I was hoping for a bit more—"

"Cut the shit, Daniel!" Ashcroft interrupted. "I'm here now, and I want to see your progress."

"Y-Yes, Sir," Dr. Meyers stuttered, quickly moving to the control panel, nearly tripping in his haste.

"Alex, are you ready?" Dr. Meyers asked, his voice betraying his unease.

I was more than ready. I wanted to prove to Ashcroft that I wasn't just some failed experiment. "Let's do this."

"Let's start with the obstacle course," Dr. Meyers instructed, flipping switches and pressing buttons as the course materialized before me.

This was the most challenging configuration I had seen yet, but I had something to prove. The timer started, and I was off—running, jumping, climbing—pushing harder than ever before. Each movement was fluid, instinctual. I hit the buzzer, ending the run in record time.

"Not too bad for a girl," Ashcroft jeered from behind me, his words cutting deep.

I clenched my fists, swallowing the urge to shut him up with one punch.

"Let's see something with a bit more action," Ashcroft declared.

The room reset, transforming into the hand-to-hand combat simulation. Armed assailants rushed me in waves, but I took each one down with calculated precision. None of them landed a hit. Each opponent crumpled, defeated.

"Stop! Stop the simulation!" Ashcroft shouted. "Is this the best you have to show me, Daniel? I thought you said she was ready."

My blood boiled. "You think you could do better, old man?" I shot back before I could stop myself.

Dr. Meyers gasped audibly, his eyes wide.

"I know I can," Ashcroft snarled. He rolled his chair onto the training floor, his eyes glinting with contempt. "Strike me."

I hesitated, unsure if this was a trap.

"I said strike me!" he roared.

I glanced at Dr. Meyers, who gave me a hesitant nod. Without further delay, I lashed out with a straight right hand. Ashcroft dodged to the side effortlessly. I followed with a spinning heel kick—he evaded. A flurry of punches followed—left, right, left—none connected. How was this man, in a wheelchair no less, outmaneuvering me?

On my next high kick, he blocked with his arm and, out of nowhere, produced a cane, sweeping my legs out from under me. I hit the ground hard, the wind knocked from my lungs. Before I could react, he jabbed the cane into my ribs, pain searing through my side.

Hovering over me, he sneered, "Pathetic. I never should have allowed a woman for this project. Clearly inferior."

I lay there, humiliated and in pain, as Ashcroft wheeled himself away, his voice trailing behind him. "Get that trash cleaned up, Daniel. I am truly disappointed. Prepare Samuel. The buyer will arrive first thing in the morning."

Dr. Meyers' face fell in defeat. "Yes, Sir," he whispered, his eyes cast down.

Once Ashcroft was gone, Dr. Meyers rushed over to help me, but I pushed his hand away. I couldn't even look at him. I had failed—him, myself, the project. Struggling to my feet, I left the training center without a word.

"Alex, wait!" Dr. Meyers called after me, but I didn't stop.

The walk back to my room felt endless, the weight of failure pressing down on me. When I finally sat on my bed, the tears came. I cried in the dark, alone, until I fell into a restless sleep.

The next day came and went without any sign of Dr. Meyers. It wasn't like him to leave me waiting. Was he ashamed? Or was he just busy preparing Samuel—the real success—for the mysterious buyer? My thoughts churned. How many of us were there? How many more like me had been created? And for what purpose?

It was late in the evening when I finally heard a knock at the door. Dr. Meyers entered, looking more disheveled than I'd ever seen him.

"I'm so sorry, Alex," he said, barely able to meet my gaze. "I had no idea Ashcroft would inspect you so soon."

"I'm sorry too," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I failed you. I made you look bad."

"No, Alex," he said, stepping closer, his voice thick with guilt. "You didn't fail me. I failed you. I didn't prepare you properly."

"So... now what?" I asked softly.

He hesitated, his words catching in his throat. "I'm supposed to..." He broke off, unable to finish.

"You're supposed to terminate me," I finished for him. He nodded, pain flickering in his eyes.

"I understand. It's what I deserve."

"Like hell it is!" Dr. Meyers snapped, fury flashing in his eyes. "I can't do that to you. I—" He stopped, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I love you."

His words hung in the air, heavy and raw. I blinked, stunned.

"I have a plan, but you need to trust me," he said, his voice steadier now, but still filled with urgency.

I looked into his eyes, letting his words sink in.

"I do," I whispered back.