Jack's consciousness returned the world was a blinding, sterile white, a low hum of machinery the only sound. He was lying in a cot that felt far too big and empty, the rough, clinical fabric of the sheets a stark The ultimate indignity, the heavy, unfamiliar padding of a diaper, was a constant, physical reminder of his new, helpless state.
The door to the lab slid open without a sound. Dr. Thorne entered, her white coat a blinding beacon. She carried a small tablet, her expression one of focused, detached observation. She didn't look at him with warmth; she looked at him as an experiment.
"Welcome back, Jack," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. She didn't wait for a response she knew he couldn't give. "The protocol is complete. We now need to confirm a one hundred percent physiological and neurological match."
She began her assessment. First, she placed a small, brightly colored toy in his line of sight and moved it slowly from side to side. Jack's mind instantly recognized the task: track the object, prove visual acuity. But his tiny neck muscles were too weak to follow the motion smoothly. His head wobbled, his eyes jerking sporadically. He was a perfect imitation of an infant, a fact that filled him with silent rage.
Next, she presented a small rattle, encouraging him to grasp it. His mind screamed for his hand to close around the object with a firm grip, to show his dexterity, his strength. But his tiny fingers simply curled and uncurled in a reflex known as the palmar grasp, a primal, automatic response that felt like a complete betrayal of his will.
"Vocalizations," Dr. Thorne said, making a note on her tablet. She produced a small squeaking sound with a toy, a test for his hearing and vocal response. Jack wanted to speak. He wanted to shout, to demand answers, to state his name, his rank, his purpose. He wanted to tell them what they had done to him. But all that escaped his lips was a soft, gurgling coo. The sound was not his. It belonged to Ruby.
The final test was a simple pinprick to the heel. He felt the sharp sting, a real, physical pain that caused his new body to react instinctively. A wail, high-pitched and raw with frustration, escaped him. It wasn't a sob of sadness, but a roar of pure, unfiltered fury at his powerlessness.
Dr. Thorne waited patiently for the sound to subside, then made her final entry on the tablet. She gave a small, satisfied nod. "Vocalizations, motor skills, reflexes, and cognitive response all within the established baseline for an infant," she said, more to herself than to him. She placed her hand on the cot's bar, a faint, almost-a-smile on her lips. "The procedure is complete. One hundred percent Ruby, now go back to sleep and when you wake up the swap will be complete” jack then realised that the prick was an injection and fell back to sleep.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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