A Cruel, Mad Experiment

"This steak is cooked to perfection, Michelle, dear. Any longer, and it would have lost that sublime quality. Come, take a bite!"

The voice sounded familiar.

I turned and saw a woman holding a glass of red wine.

It was my mother, Blaire Devos. She wore a silky gown, and I had never seen her look so relaxed.

A man in loungewear stood nearby, carving the steak. He was my father, Mitch Devos.

Michelle took a bite and gave a thumbs-up. "Incredible! This is exquisite! The two of you really know how to live."

I looked down at my hands.

I could see right through them.

Only ten minutes earlier, those same hands had been stained with blood.

I had wanted to leave my parents the last can of food in the basement, so I had used its jagged edge to kill myself. It had been slow and agonizing, but I endured every second because I believed I was doing something noble.

I had believed I was a hero.

"That reminds me." Michelle set her glass down and pointed toward the lawn. "How's the kid? Not many people have the stomach to put their own child through Apocalyptic Survivor Training."

My mother barely paused as she cut into her steak. "Spare the rod, spoil the child. Anyone who disagrees is simply shirking their responsibility."

She took another bite and chewed with practiced elegance. "Young people these days are such snowflakes. He's no different. Without adversity, he'll never unlock his true potential."

She dabbed her lips with a napkin. "What we're doing is far nobler than people realize. We're making him earn his right to live in this world instead of handing it to him on a silver platter."

My father took a sip of his red wine.

"I checked his data just now. He's performing very well. He broke his previous fasting record of 72 hours," he said matter-of-factly. "This proves that true potential can only be unlocked through adversity."

I wanted to scream in their faces. I wanted to rip those smug, self-satisfied expressions right off them.

That wasn't "fasting"!

They had told me it was the last food we had left.

I had been so determined to save it for them that my stomach held nothing but acid. I had even gnawed on splintered wood from the corner of my bed just to put something, anything, into my stomach.

"You people are incredible," one of the male guests said with open admiration. "If I had even a quarter of your resolve, my useless son would already be a true man of action with real potential."

He shook his head in amazement. "You two are visionaries. Creating an apocalyptic environment to immerse a child in extreme hardship and build grit? This is the next step in elite education."

My mother smiled, her expression calm but unmistakably smug. "I've always hated how society and modern parents coddle their children. They can't face a single setback without threatening to take their own lives because they're so weak."

She folded her hands neatly on the table. "What we're doing is awakening the strongest parts of his genetic potential while eliminating the weak ones. He will become the first man of our species' next stage of evolution."

I still felt hungry.

I drifted toward the table and reached for the steak.

My hand passed straight through the plate and the table.

Right. I was already dead. I wasn't even qualified to remain their experimental subject anymore.

A large dog lying beside them suddenly noticed me and barked.

My mother frowned and gently patted its head. "Max, hush. As one of our observers, you should conduct yourself with a little more poise."

An observer?

Only then did I notice the tiny camera hanging from its collar.

The "monster" I had faced in the basement had been nothing more than this dog. My mother had told me it was a mutated beast that had wandered into our bunker from outside and ordered me to hide.

It had terrified me so badly that I curled beneath the bed and held my breath every time it appeared.

Now I knew the truth. It was just a dog they valued far more than me.

The dog enjoyed sunlight and premium steak, and it served as an observer. Meanwhile, I was nothing more than a test subject providing data.

My father raised his arm and glanced at the exquisitely crafted watch on his wrist. "It's almost time. Ten more minutes, and it'll be time for the next stress test."

He looked at my mother. "Administer a few shocks. He's been too passive these past two days."

My mother nodded and pulled out a remote control.

"I agree. Neutral data is practically useless." She turned to the crowd with a welcoming smile. "Well, now that everyone's here, I'd like to invite all of you to a live demonstration of our ongoing research."

She gestured toward a massive LED screen set up nearby.

The display flickered to life before settling into darkness. Only the faint glow of an emergency light illuminated one corner of the image.

It was the basement bunker I had called home for the past 18 years.