When Restorant is injected into the superior vena cava, the rat writhes, squealing and squeaking. One would think such agony could be heard across cities, but the rat is too small to do anything but squeak. It doesn’t know what’s happening. It doesn’t know that if this experiment is successful, this rat could change the course of history. It doesn’t know how many rats have met their demise before it.

Because rats don’t mean anything. Elian could kill a thousand rats and face no consequences. Rats are small. So small their pain can’t be heard. Therefore, does their pain truly matter?

Elian’s days of experimenting with rats in his garage are long over. He’s moved on to greater things. Like you. So naive, so willing, so eager to be part of something that you had thought would make you known around the world. How foolish you were.

Elian has started somewhat of an organization around Restorant. The lab is a good size with more equipment than Elian could possibly need, and his crew is thankfully competent. For the most part. Elian has been working toward firing Kevin.

Thanks to you, Restorant is so close to meeting its true potential. Elian just can’t see why you’re so sour about it. You’re more powerful than any human who walks the Earth. You are the start of something life-changing. Sure, you’re kept in a cell, fed bland food, and experimented on like an animal, but that’s just a small price to pay for something that will be worth it in the end. Elian simply needs to convince you of that.

Elian is seated at his desk, looking through the records of all of your Restorant injections. Restorant may be powerful, but it wears away after about six months. It had taken Elian seven rats to find a way to continuously inject Restorant without causing major harm to the host. And it had worked. Now Elian can inject Restorant once every six months without killing you. Though it does come with its side effects. Last time Elian saw you, the scars had spread from over your heart where Restorant is injected, all the way across your upper body. The jagged white lines look almost like spider webs spanning your chest and back.

Luckily, it isn’t presentation that matters. Restorant is doing its job, therefore Elian is satisfied. He stands from his desk, walking down the sterile halls with a clipboard in hand. He has this route engraved into his brain from all the times he’s taken it, and he’s at your cell in no time.

Through the ballistic glass wall, Elian can see that you’ve gone on another one of your rampages. The other scientists had wanted to put you on sedatives, but it had taken one rat for Elian to realize no medication could be taken while Restorant was active. Meaning he had to let your rage fester in order to keep up his experiment.

“Sleep well? Looks like you tossed and turned quite a bit.”

The form huddled in the corner doesn’t respond to Elian’s joke. Your neck twitches occasionally, followed by a hitch in your breath. It’s normal, a side effect of Restorant.

In a split second, you’re right on the other side of the wall, screaming and slamming your fists on the impenetrable glass. Elian doesn’t flinch. You can never seem to get a reaction out of him, and it irritates you to no end.

When you’re done with your fit, Elian leans forward, his voice softening just the tiniest bit.

“You’ve no need to be angry. This cell is temporary. I just need you to cooperate with me. You can be the start of something huge, or you can rot away in here,” Elian’s voice is steady, but he’s not sure if what he’s saying is true. He’s not sure if you can rot anymore.