The scientist was working late. His job, such as it was, was both simple and brutal: running wires beneath the skins of test subjects. Complex patterns, eyetwisting shapes, whatever the bosses told him to do. Sometimes, he would pretend that he didn't enjoy his job, that the frantic pleadings of the subjects made him want to let them free. Then he would laugh.
Sometimes, he would try to convince the prettier, younger subjects that he was going to let them free. He was given quite a degree of latitude in his job, and would hide them away in supply closets or storage rooms for days, once even a week. He would bring them food, clothing, music, whatever they asked for that was small and easy to get. They were often very grateful, and he took every advantage. When they objected – and it was not often, as he let them see, or more often hear, one of the procedures - he would call in security, claim that they were trying to escape, and have them trussed up and put back on the table. What he would do after deserves no words.
He did not like this, however; it was far more enjoyable to pretend to lead them to freedom, only to end up back in the lab. He would break them, then, laughing as they writhed in pain, the fresh implants livid in their skin. Some he would hurt more, although never in ways that would show – or at least last – lest his superiors question his practices. They might not care, though; the broken subjects he delighted in producing for them were much more tractable than the others.
He was not the sort of person you would want to meet in a dark alley.
He was not the sort of person you would want to meet at all.
He was one of the Corporation's most valued employees.
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