The Disparate One

The test subject woke up in a daze. He softly groaned.

His ears picked up beepings. Turning to his right, he found some medical machines standing next to him. One was a heart monitor, and the others were left unknown. Each had displays, showing numerous diagrams of what he guessed to be his body. On the other side of the bed was a small, circular, wooden table. Placed on it were folded white items of clothing. A white general hat rested atop. The gold symbol in the middle of its front glittered. Next to those was a pair of black shoes.

Am I in the hospital? he thought, squinting at the harsh light and finally sitting up, finding himself naked under a hospital gown with sensors attached to his skin.

Now in a different position, he discovered a white helium balloon tied to a wooden armchair between two doors. The one on the left was made out of brown wood, the other was grey metal. The wooden door was ajar. He could see a toilet and a shower curtain past the dark.

“Hmm,” a sudden pain surged on his head. With the pain, he figured he had head surgery. The idea was strong until he found one more odd thing.

His instinct of placing his hand over it was prevented by handcuffs linking him to the side railings of the bed.

Staring at the glistening chains, he thought, This is not a hospital. Am I in an asylum?!

He remained calm despite seeing the red marks banding on his wrists where the cuffs made contact.

Shifting on the bed, he slid his legs towards him while trying to guess how he ended up here. He couldn’t remember how. In fact, he couldn’t remember anything! When he tried to, it only brought more pain. It felt like something was pinching his mind, boring itself deep into it, a parasite perhaps?

He shook the chains, clunking echoed in the empty room as if it was going to set him free by hoping it wasn’t locked. But it was. And now that he was taking a closer look at it, the chain looked different. Instead of chains linked to one another, it was replaced by tiny, cylindrical magnets that were powerful enough to replicate the strength of chains.

This is not a hospital nor an asylum.

Letting go of the cuffs, he scanned every inch of the quarter and found something shiny in the distance. He was staring again at the folded clothes where he found a device that he assumed to be the key. It was sitting next to the hat.

He darted his eyes at his wrists then back to the key. He tilted his head and shot his brows up for a second.

Flattening himself across the bed, he reached for the key with his foot, but the cuffs pressing on his wrist were hurting his progress. His toe was just inches away from contact! He tried several times, grunting and squealing in pain until he heard someone speaking from one of the doors followed by footsteps.

His eyes widened when his ears directed him to the metal door. Instantly, he propped himself back on the bed like he just woke up.

His mouth was about to open when the knob turned and the door swung open, revealing a man wearing a black suit while holding a tablet. His hair was somewhat freshly combed to the right mixed with strands of brown and grey. He was slightly taller and his body had some heft to it. He looked like someone in their forties.

Though, for some reason, this stranger radiated some exquisite class.

He moved up to his brown eyes surrounded with white, softly wrinkled skin. The stranger looked at him as if he had been doing this for his entire life. He could see the amount of boredom weighing on him. He was calm, yet somehow sleepy.

“Huh… I didn’t expect to walk in here with you already awake,” said the man walking towards him, leaving the door wide open. He sat on the armchair, bumping the balloon with his head in the process. He firmly made himself comfortable, elbows resting on the armrests. He looked at the test subject with a question.

“Do you understand me?”

“Y-yes.”, replied the teen on the bed, squinting from the throbbing pain.

The adult sighed with relief. He thought this subject would be those types where they spoke different languages or didn’t speak at all.

Finally, something new for once.

The suited man shifted his gaze at the tablet temporarily, writing something down with his stylus he plucked from his pocket. He took note of the subject’s language before returning his attention where he noticed the questionable squinting and the urge of raising one of his hands. He asked about it.

“I-its just… m-maybe a headache or something…”

Oxford took note of it. He jumped from the chair and sighed while stretching his neck. He guessed it was the cause of a bad pillow. Typical. He shrugged it off and reminded himself to get this man something for it.

“Aside from that, do you feel anything that I should be concerned about?”

The man shook his head No. He watched the stranger continue to jot down on the tablet. He thought he would be a nurse, but how come he was wearing a black suit? While the older man had his eyes on the pen, he asked.

“W-where am I?”

Oxford moved his eyes at him when he doted on the surface.

“Put on your clothes, I’ll explain everything after that,” said the man when he turned and snatched the key from the white clothes, “You can call me Oxford by the way.”

The man who was finally setting himself free and introducing himself made him somewhat less distressed from the situation. Though, there were still questions to be asked.

Oxford stepped away and eventually returned to the armchair while the subject rubbed his wrists and sat on the edge of the bed. He could visualize the questions piling on top of his head.

Relax, just do what you do, as usual, Oxford thought, tapping his fingers on his lap.

Oxford observed the actions of his test subject. He was a little thinner than him and noticeably shorter. The description on the documents matched everything.

The teen shivered when his feet touched the floor and walked under an air vent. He grabbed the clothes, with the hat, and calmly walked over to the bathroom, passing Oxford without a word.

Inside the bathroom, the test subject was staring at himself in the mirror while he buttoned the uniform up to his neck. He was not admiring himself, he was staring at the color of his irides that were as white as the light above.

Firmly placing the hat on his head, he returned to Oxford who was now standing next to the metal door, looking back at him like he was some kind of a butler. The test subject took one last look at the strange room before following Oxford through the corridors.

While he was trailing, he thought of some ideas about himself. He checked out his white uniform, feeling the soft fabric and the premium craftsmanship rubbing against his body. He took off his hat and felt the gold symbol stitched onto it. It looked legit.

Maybe he worked for the military and ended up having surgery? However, he didn’t see any scars or stitches when he removed the gown earlier. His skin was as clean as a baby’s!

He moved his thoughts aside when he noticed they stopped in front of a large, metal double door. Across it was a giant, bold 7.

Oxford stood straight in front as it slid open.

Passing the door, Oxford looked over his shoulder, seeing the teen dragging a growing number of questions. He gestured to him to walk alongside to answer his question earlier.

“You’re in a facility located deep underground,” said Oxford with calm professionalism.

He went silent for a few seconds, expecting a response from the teen. He got none so he resumed the protocol.

“For now, you’ll be staying with us. I assure you, you’ll be safe,” Oxford turned to the short hall of elevators.

The test subject remained quiet despite now having an answer. When they got into the fairly spacious elevator, his brow raised when he heard Oxford say “Infirmary” to which the elevator responded. They headed upwards soundlessly. That was until the test subject finally began to speak again.

“Who- who am I?”

Oxford looked at the teen’s reflection on the glossy door. He raised his tablet into his view and began his search for his name. He only found the common one which each subject started out with: Subject 48th.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have an answer for that. We found you unconscious in Mejit, one of the islands in the Marshall Islands,” Oxford walked out when the door opened.

The test subject was surprised to finally see nurses and smell the scent of sanitation. The silence was replaced with the nurses’ heels tapping on the floor, the ringing of telephones, and the beeps from nearby machines.

“Stay here,” instructed Oxford when he walked to the front desk, leaving his subject next to the opened elevator.

Seconds later, Oxford walked back with two small, orange containers.

“This should deal with your headaches.”

He handed them to the subject and told him to take only one of either. When the teen swallowed and put the cap back on, Oxford guided him back to the elevator.

“Hungry?” asked Oxford when the door shut.

His test subject nodded while tucking the pills away.

“Cafeteria,” Oxford said and the elevator moved up again.

During their peaceful moment in the lift, Oxford remembered the odd moment with his 42nd test subject. It had tentacles like an octopus, but a transparent body of a jellyfish.

Apparently, it got taken out. Killed. Because while they were in the cafeteria, the subject suddenly burst into anger, throwing him in the distance to a wall. Guards quickly arrived and eliminated it into messy goo.

They had no idea what was the reason behind it. They closed the investigation just hours later.

Oxford hoped his current subject wouldn’t be like that. He didn’t have a transparent body nor tentacles, so that was somehow a good sign, to begin with.

Arriving at one of the enormous cafeterias, Oxford signaled his subject to take a seat while he went to talk to the cook.

The cafeteria had three floors total, enough to accommodate at least 50,000 individuals, depending on their sizes of course. Each bench and table was at least ten meters long. All were positioned to follow the octagonal shape of the place. High above was a humming, massive, industrial, ceiling fan. Each side of the octagon had robotic guards stationed, all of which were heavily armed. All of which were staring at the test subject.

Oxford returned with a tray of steaming meals: a spaghetti with eye-sized meatballs, a salad, a pound of steak with mashed potato and grilled asparagus, and a freshly blended mango juice.

All ingredients were artificially made in-house.

Sliding the tray, Oxford observed the teen grab the knife and fork like any human being. He kept his eyes on him as he ate, taking notes on his tablet.

He began to guess that Chap or the management was playing a trick on him. Maybe this was a test for himself? He snapped himself out of his thoughts and reminded himself of the protocol he still had to go by.

“During your stay, you’ll be taking necessary tests for us to gather more details about you,” said Oxford, which made the other choke on the pasta.

The teen wiped his mouth and drank his juice.

“W-what?”

“You heard me. We’ll be giving you a wide variety of tests.”

“W-why? Am I not smart?”

Oxford didn’t answer immediately, he glanced down at the document, seeing the details of his subject’s blood type. It was unnatural for him to see a human being with a different blood type, let alone an unidentified one.

Those white irides were already a big red flag.

“Well… let’s admit, we basically only have two questions about you. It’s who you are and what you are.”

What am I? the test subject thought as he sliced the steak into pieces, like his questions, sizing them into answerable ones. Enough for him to take it all in. He had the same question the moment he saw his own irides.

“We took samples of your blood earlier, by ‘we’ I meant my team. Your blood apparently doesn’t match any in our database, for now.”

Oxford paused, expecting a reply from the subject.

“Once you’re done eating, we’ll be heading to my office where we will discuss your name. After that, I’ll introduce you to one of my colleagues in my team and call it a day.”

When the plates had been licked clean, Oxford guided his subject back to the elevator, which was still the same one. The subject patted his stomach, flattening it under his clothes.

They arrived at another place, making the subject think that this elevator was a portal of some sort. But it was just an ordinary lift. Everyone thought the same thing on their first day, even Oxford.

The corridors were different. It was a black carpeted floor with gold railings on either side. The light fixtures were fixed onto the sides where the wall and the ceiling met. Just like the hall where the subject came from, it had endless rows of metal doors and large double ones, only… they were designed exquisitely.

They stopped at one particular door, labeled B14. It had Oxford’s name on it.

Oxford brought out his ID and tapped it on the scanner. It beeped and moved the door to the side, revealing the neatly arranged room. The room where Oxford could only act like himself, that is if he was alone.

The subject was the first to walk in, gazing at the numerous folders and the massive glass desk greeting him. Strangely, no windows.

Oxford already plopped himself on his armchair, giving his subject some time to think what he should be called with. Oxford grunted and yawned when he slid out a piece of paper and pulled one of the fountain pens from the holder.

“You can extract ideas from those folders, just remember where to put it back,” said Oxford.

The teen hesitated at first before making his way to one of the shelves. He walked sideways, gliding his fingers across the rows of folders before him. He stopped and pulled one out randomly. He glanced at Oxford with the folder in his hand before opening it, flipping through the compressed pages.

“How about Trox?”Oxford spoke all of a sudden, looking up at the ceiling. He shook his head instantly with regret. Naming things was his greatest weakness. Some even made fun of it.

The subject skimmed through the pages, seeing sketches or blueprints of something, probably a spacecraft. He grabbed another folder after putting the one back. The folder this time contained information about a gas giant found outside the solar system. This planet had a surface under the thick atmosphere. At the bottom of it was a handwritten question circled with a red marker.

How?

He took another folder, this time from the other shelf.

“Mystery of Project Zero,” he murmured the title, this caught his attention.

Flipping through each page, he learned about an ancient civilization that invented and built devices and other materials that had the capability to end all races or any civilizations. It was classified as a hypothesis.

Moving onto more pages, his eyes grew wide for a second. Keeping the folder in his grasp, he turned to Oxford who was spinning the pen around his fingers, staring back at him.

“You found something I assume?”

The subject nodded.

Oxford left his seat and moved to the other body, seeing which folder his subject was holding. It caught his attention as well. He had forgotten about its existence. It was passed down to him by his predecessor who also received from his’. Passed on to countless generations for some reason. It was the oldest one in the office. Probably the oldest in the facility.

Oxford trailed his eyes on the subject’s finger that was pointing at one word.