lol I'm having a panic attack rn (unrelated to the oneshot)
The lab was eerily quiet, save for the rhythmic hum of the sterilization machines and the low buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. Rody walked down the narrow hallway of the pharmaceutical facility, his footsteps echoing slightly as he passed rows of frosted glass windows. Each one offered a view into rooms where human bodies—no, not even human, he reminded himself—were being used as test subjects. They weren’t even considered people anymore. They were labeled as "organ banks," "lab rats," reduced to nothing more than biological resources for the upper class.
It was a cruel world. The wealthy could afford luxuries like longevity, organ replacements, and miracle drugs, while those deemed "lower class" were discarded, their lives treated as currency to fund those advancements. Rody had spent years working in the field of pharmacology, and by now, he was used to the grim reality of it all—until he met Vincent.
Rody stopped at one of the doors, hesitating for a moment before scanning his badge. The door slid open with a faint hiss, and he stepped inside. The room was small and sterile, with white walls and a single cot pushed against the corner. A boy, no older than thirteen, lay on the bed, propped up on pillows. His skin was pale, almost sickly white, with a gauntness that spoke of years of malnutrition and overmedication. His black hair, though clean, was thin, and dark circles lingered beneath his eyes. But when those eyes met Rody's, they were bright, filled with hope and trust.
"Hey, Rody!" Vincent greeted with a weak smile. His voice was hoarse, strained, as if even speaking took more effort than it should.
Rody forced a smile in return. "Hey, Vincent. How are you feeling today?"
Vincent shrugged, his thin shoulders barely lifting the blanket draped over him. "A little tired, but the doctors said the new medicine should help. They said I’m getting better, right?"
Rody’s throat tightened. He hated this part. He hated lying to the boy, watching him grow weaker day by day while the pharmaceutical trials slowly ate away at his body. Vincent was one of their longest-running test subjects—an anomaly. Most children in his condition didn’t survive this long. Yet, against all odds, Vincent continued to cling to life, as though sheer willpower alone kept him breathing.
"Yeah," Rody lied softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You’re doing great. Just keep resting, and the medicine will do its job."
Vincent’s smile grew a little wider, though it was tinged with exhaustion. "I knew it! I knew I’d get better eventually."
Rody swallowed hard, averting his gaze. He busied himself with the clipboard in his hand, pretending to check Vincent’s vitals, though he already knew what they would say. Blood pressure dangerously low. Heart rate unstable. Liver function deteriorating. All from the drugs they were pumping into his system. The experimental treatments were doing far more harm than good, but Vincent didn’t know that. He believed—no, he *wanted* to believe—that the doctors were helping him.
"Rody?" Vincent’s voice broke through his thoughts.
"Yeah?" Rody glanced up, forcing himself to meet those trusting black eyes again.
"Do you think I’ll be able to go outside one day?" Vincent asked. His voice was soft, almost wistful. "I’ve never been outside before, you know? Not really. The doctors said it’s not safe for me yet, but maybe one day when I’m all better…"
Rody’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. Vincent didn’t know, and Rody couldn’t bring himself to tell him. The boy had never been outside because he was never meant to survive long enough to see it. He was born into this life, raised in this facility as a test subject, just like so many others before him. The idea of a future—of freedom—was nothing more than a fantasy, one that Rody didn’t have the strength to shatter.
