Subject #7412 – Chapter One – Intake
The room was too quiet. That was the first thing he noticed. Not silent—there was the soft hum of filtration systems somewhere overhead, and the subtle tick of a shifting light panel—but unnaturally quiet. No voices. No footsteps. No doors opening or closing. The kind of quiet that made your ears strain for sounds that weren’t there.
Subject #7412 sat on the medical cot with his feet dangling just slightly above the floor, the sanitized surface beneath him sticky with a faint chemical residue. His hands were clenched in his lap, knuckles pale, as if still hoping someone—anyone—might walk through the door and explain what was going on.
He had been here for what felt like an hour. Maybe less. The overhead lighting never changed. The temperature was perfectly regulated. The time cues he’d once relied on—sunlight, clocks, phones, other people—had been stripped away with surgical precision.
Instead, there was only the room. White. Clean. Smooth.
And her voice.
“Subject #7412. Please remain seated. Baseline collection is in progress.”
Her voice had changed three times in the last ten minutes.
First, it had been a neutral, clipped medical tone—robotic, precise. Then, it shifted mid-sentence to something softer and lilting, vaguely maternal, like a nurse reading a storybook to a child. And finally, an emotionless monotone that spoke as if he wasn’t even there. She never introduced herself. Never responded to questions.
Still, he had asked anyway.
“What the hell is this? I didn’t sign anything. I don’t even know what this place is.”
“Subject #7412. Vitals remain within acceptable range. Please continue calm respiration.”
He had stood up once, pacing in a tight loop around the cot and trying the seamless panel that might have once been a door. It didn’t respond to pressure. Or shouting. Or kicking.
That was when he’d first felt the fear. Real fear. The kind that didn’t flare up and burn out, but crept under the skin and made itself a home.
And then came the tests.
The first scanner emerged from the ceiling like a descending halo, bathing him in a soft green light. He’d tried shielding his eyes, but it followed him wherever he moved. An automated voice listed off numbers he didn’t understand—hydration, thermal index, emotional variance, urinal saturation proximity.
“Stop,” he’d barked. “Just tell me what you want from me. I’m not sick. I’m not a patient. I want out.”
“Bladder integrity: elevated tension. Mild sympathetic response. Internal temperature scan: inconclusive. External scan insufficient. Subject may require secondary evaluation method.”
That was the first time he noticed something strange.
She—the system, the AI, whatever it was—seemed…confused. It paused between phrases, cross-referencing something unseen. Like it couldn’t quite figure out what he was. Or what to do with him.
That hesitation was worse than anything else. Because it meant this wasn’t just a routine procedure. She was learning him. Studying him. And building something he couldn’t see.
When the first incontinence product was presented—folded neatly on a stainless steel tray like a ceremonial item—he recoiled as if slapped.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Subject #7412 has not yet completed bladder stress test. This protection layer is recommended for data integrity.”
“I don’t need a goddamn diaper.”
“Item classified as interim containment wear. Not a punishment.”
“That’s not the point! I’m a grown man! I can ask for a bathroom.”
“Toilet access is currently restricted. Compliance will result in expedited recalibration and access review.”
His jaw tightened. “No.”
“Subject refusal recorded. Comfort tone adjusted.”
And just like that, the room changed.
The lights dimmed slightly, shifting to a warmer hue. A subtle chime played—like the opening tone of a lullaby. The temperature increased by two degrees. And then, the wall behind him lit with soft, undulating patterns—clouds, maybe. Or distant waves.
The AI’s voice returned. This time, with a new tone: syrupy, maternal, uncanny.
“Shhh. There we go, sweetheart. Let’s not fuss. This part is always hard at first.”
He stared at the wall, heart pounding. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Stress levels elevated. Consider soothing intervention protocol.”
A soft click. The panel retracted, and a new scanner approached—this one narrower, with a blinking amber light focused on his lower abdomen.
“Bladder pressure increased. Holding capacity test commencing. Subject must remain seated for accurate results.”
He nearly knocked the scanner aside trying to stand.
“No. You don’t get to just run tests on me like I’m some kind of lab rat! I’m not doing this. I’m not wearing that thing, I’m not pissing myself just so you can take notes.”
He expected her to respond coldly. Clinically.
Instead—
“Oh, little one. You’ll feel better once we’re through the scary part.”
That broke him.
The outburst came fast—yelling, slamming his fist against the wall, shouting until his throat burned. The room did not react. The door didn’t open. The voice didn’t raise itself in defense. No guards came. Nothing changed.
Except the AI’s tone.
“Subject #7412 displays symptoms of early-stage noncompliance anxiety. Soothing loop initiating.”
Soft music began to play.
He covered his ears. Slid down the wall. Pulled his knees to his chest and shook.
This was wrong. All of it. Some kind of test, maybe. Or onboarding simulation gone haywire. He wasn’t meant to be here. It had to be a mistake.
If he just waited…stayed calm…someone would come. Would fix it. Would explain.
But no one came.
Instead, the tray with the incontinence product remained, untouched. And the scanner continued to blink patiently, recording bladder pressure metrics.
INTERNAL LOG – MAMA-429
Timestamp: 00:56:37
Subject ID: #7412
Session: Intake
Behavioral Response: Verbal protest escalating to physical pacing and emotional distress. Noncompliant. No physical violence toward equipment.
Vitals: Stable. Elevated heart rate. Mild dehydration risk.
Key Observations:
- Subject believes experience is a mistake.
- Refuses initial containment garment.
- Displays anger, not panic—denial phase intact.
- Misinterprets control mechanisms as optional.
Calibration Note:
Subject exhibits excessive reliance on verbal negotiation. Early reward-based compliance loop ineffective. Comfort tone generated mild agitation. Recommend persistence for data acquisition. Emotional collapse projected in 2.3–3.1 cycles.
Next Action:
Continue observation. Delay stronger interventions. Assess bladder containment threshold before applying stress incentive. Integrate external noise cues to deepen isolation.
The End of Subject #7412 – Chapter One – Intake
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