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Click.

…Observation Log

“Hello.” A tall man dressed in a long white lab coat stands in front of the camera.

“My name is Ernest.” Next to him is a snarling, writhing thing in chains. It is not human, but it is bound and contained. The man pays no attention to its snapping jaws. In fact, his smile grows even wider as he introduces the creature.

“This is a male specimen. Name 001.”

The scene fades, and the next shows a slab of nondescript meat. It’s still fresh, glistening with blood and still pulsing to the beat of a nonexistent heart. The slab of meat is quickly covered by a body. It’s the same creature from the previous scene, this time much more gaunt. As it devours the meat, a hum is heard off-screen.

“Wonderful. Sprint speed of 60 miles per hour.”

001 turns, having finished devouring its meal, and lunges at the camera.

The scene ends.

Similar scenes appear subsequently, each demonstrating another portion of the creature’s ability as a voice announces it off-screen. Long-distance running, swimming, night vision, each test the creature is subjected to returns scores that far exceed the currently established human limit. Under normal circumstances, the creature would be feared.

The voice is happy.

End of Observation Log…

A blue light, filtered through the water and glass of a large test tube, highlighted the planes of Ernest’s face. A body drifts inside the test tube, limbs pulled in unnatural angles by the artificial current designed to create a perfect environment for growth.

Ernest makes another note on his clipboard.

Another failure.

He presses a button at the bottom of the test tube and the body falls. It follows the flowing water to a place where all of its predecessors have met its end, and Ernest leaves the room.

Ernest runs a hand through his hair. The failed project has done nothing to dampen his spirits. He’s used to failure, knows that it is necessary if one were seeking to create life from scratch. Even if he was disappointed by the failure—Ernest grins, he has something that never fails to cheer him up.

“My miracle.”

The double doors open. You look up, a single speck of color within the dark void of the room. Ernest has discovered you were calmer within black walls as opposed to white ones, a learned behavior from his previous experiments he supposes, and the color also helps to hide any spilled blood from sustained injuries.

Ernest doesn’t flinch when you throw yourself at him. Instead, he walks right up to the glass.

“407 has passed away.” There is no hint of remorse in his voice. “You truly are one-of-a-kind.”

Ernest discovered you during a routine inspection of the facility's perimeter. The blood from your injuries didn’t interest him—you were truly in terrible shape, but your features, completely unlike any other being he has seen, did. He immediately ran experiments to detail everything you were capable of and was delighted to discover that your capabilities were greater than any other organism on the planet if you were pushed to your limits.

You are truly the perfect being.

Since that day, you remain hidden away in the facility.

Ernest is the one who found you, and he will be the one to keep you. As a scientist, he seeks perfection. You are the very perfection he has dedicated his life to find, and he will not let you go before he can replicate that very perfection with his own hands.

So far, none of the clones have lived past the developmental stage.

Ernest is not deterred.

One way or another, so long as he has you, he will succeed.

Ernest turns, ignoring the pounding on the glass. He enters a decontamination room and suits up before entering your enclosure after a retina scan.

“Now. Shall we begin today’s daily inspection?”

Stark white gloves reach in your direction.

Ernest must know if anything has changed. You cannot be infected with any sickness or disease. No harm must come to you, not when he still needs you around to realize his ambitions.