Robbie Dorman - Regrowth

“Of course,” said Shaw, smiling again. “Anything.”

“How is it? You know, up top?” asked Jon.

“Ah,” said Shaw. “Not well. Massive food shortages and riots, across the globe. Exposure is increasing exponentially, as well. Several smaller governments have experienced coups. It’s terrible. The US is surviving, but they have deployed the National Guard in multiple cities. I hope you forgive me, Jon, but it’s the reason I’ve been so urgent. I want to deploy solutions topside as soon as possible, and I only know a foot to pedal, you know?”

Jon nodded. “Do you know how Maya is doing? My ex-wife?”

“Ah, yes,” said Shaw. “Our last update has her in largely the same routine she was in prior to your arrival. She’s still working. Doing her part, so to speak.”

“That’s good to hear,” said Jon, but his mind whirled. Did he trust Shaw on even that, at this point? Or was Shaw telling him what he wanted to hear? To get his results? Jon didn’t know, but he pushed it away. Worry about him right now, you idiot.

“I’m glad I could help,” said Shaw. “If you need anything, come to me, Jon. I’m serious. Your project is number one on my plate, and if there is anything standing in your way, you tell me. I don’t care what it is, we’ll remove it. Understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Shaw,” said Jon.

“The coming days will require sacrifice,” said Shaw, standing up. “When you want to change the world, sacrifice sometimes comes right along with it. There is a strength in it. In seeing a price to be paid, and paying it gladly. I think you understand that better than most, don’t you Jon?”

“I—”

“You were there when your son lost his legs, weren’t you?”

CRASH, and the noise of glass shattering, of metal tearing, of calamity and disaster. They flashed through Jon’s mind in an instant.

“Yes,” said Jon.

“So you understand,” said Shaw. “The drive, to pay down a debt. To reclaim what was taken. It’s gotten you this far. Let it push you a little further. You’re closer to your goal, Jon. We can reach it, together. Just push harder.”

“Yes, Mr. Shaw,” said Jon, again. He just wanted out of here. He couldn’t breathe. His heart thudded like machine gun fire inside his chest.

“Good to hear,” he said, walking over and extending his hand again. Jon stood and shook it, and its grip was tight, squeezing harder than before. Or was that only in Jon’s imagination?

“Push yourself and your team, Jon, and you’ll find your success,” said Shaw. “There is no room for stagnation in the special projects division. And there is no tolerance for anything but success.”

Jon nodded this time, ready and waiting for the metal prosthetic to let him go, to get out of the grip of Shaw, get out of this office, back to the elevator, and he did, and then as the doors closed, he stood there gasping.

A few minutes later, he asked Nadia for travel back to the dark lab, and she complied wordlessly. He looked to the camera in the ceiling. Was she watching him, as he panted away the panic that had risen in his guts?

Was Shaw?

The pressure didn’t ease on Jon or his team. It only built as more and more failure piled up.

Jon looked away from another mutated chimpanzee, its arm distended and horrible, twice as long as the other limbs, massive, with bulging muscle breaking through the skin, the bone punching through both. Luckily, the chimp would never awaken again.

Jon threw his mask in the bin with disgust and walked out of the operating theater, leaving his team to clean up the mess. It was late, but Jon didn’t really know what day it was anymore. There was nothing that separated them, only periods of work and sleep, with brief interruptions for necessary bodily functions.

He thought he had seen Tommy this morning, but he couldn’t remember now. He wiped his eyes, thinking there was something in them, but they were just bleary. He was exhausted, the whole team was exhausted. You could see it in the way they moved. It had been two weeks since his talk with Shaw, and they had gotten nowhere. They had tried, and tried some more, but nothing.

Stone walked out shortly behind him, and Stone, normally indefatigable, also drooped, his feet scraping along the tile floor.

“I need a drink,” said Stone.

“We need to do another tonight,” said Jon.

“Why?” asked Stone. “It’s not like we’re getting anywhere.”

“We have to keep pushing,” said Jon. “We need results to work with if we’re going to adjust the model.”

“You sound like me, Jon,” said Stone, wearily. “Okay. One more tonight. But I don’t have much hope. We’ve already gone through the most promising serums.”

Stone retreated to his workstation, to prepare for one more procedure.

Jon thought over Stone’s words. He did sound like him, but he had been left with little choice. He felt the pressure hanging over all of them, a sword of Damocles ready to swing at the next failure. And that same pressure had pushed away his hesitance and anxiety about experimenting on the chimps. He had become desensitized, after an endless parade of animals had been brought up into the lab, ready for Jon to perform his mad science on. One by one, they had been put under, had their arm amputated, and then would deform, mutate, and be destroyed and dissected. Jon watched each time, making himself bear the burden of such terrible atrocity. It was his doing, he should at least own that. But he wasn’t alone.

The rest of the team watched as well, even Mel, who had cared so much about the rats. She still flinched but she had hardened in her time down here. Just like he had. Normally he would have dismissed his team hours ago, but Shaw wanted results, and his conversation with Tabby hadn’t left his mind in any waking moment. Had Shaw killed those who disagreed with him? Or couldn’t meet his expectations?

Jon didn’t know, but he didn’t want to test him. He wanted to see his research bear fruit, but there was more there now. Now survival was at stake, and more importantly, Tommy’s survival. Jon didn’t know what would happen to Tommy if Jon was exiled or killed, but he doubted it would be good. Shaw, for all of his magnanimity and desire to do good, only wanted people who would serve his purposes. No hangers on. No leeches. No parasites.

How long had they been down here? Only a couple months, but time had lost all meaning. He remembered wanting to find the answers to his research, to help Tommy. Now he only wanted Tommy to survive.

And Jon would need to get results to guarantee it.

Mel approached him.

“Jon—”

“Tell the team to get another chimp ready,” said Jon. “We need to do another tonight.”

“I don’t think—”

“Don’t question me,” said Jon, his voice hard, and Mel averted her eyes and retreated. Jon felt a pang of guilt, but pushed it away. It was for the best. They needed results.

With the last chimp euthanized, and one of the biologists already working on an autopsy, they prepared for another procedure. It was clockwork now, with all the players knowing their roles, even if they tired of them, tired of killing animals for no real progress.

They moved, doing their pieces. Sedating the animal. Removing the arm. The nutrient bath. The new serum. Standing by with more nutrients.

Jon stared at it, studying each part, trying to parse where the failure lied. They had gotten more and more information with each chimp, but no closer to success. They had fine tuned the serum, accelerating and decelerating the regeneration, the absorption, the rate of change, the transfer of cell growth, but none of it had proven any more successful. It felt like a crap shoot, directionless, and Jon hated it. But the only way out was through.