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“It looks like the lab was built specifically for this “ProGen Series” study, which you are evidently a product of.” I worry that my words are too direct, but I don't know how else to say it.
Six slides off Luis' lap and comes to stand next to me so she can see what I'm reading. There's a slight tremble in her limbs. Wanting to comfort her, I grab her hand and tug her gently into my lap. Wrapping one arm around her waist and placing a small kiss on her shoulder, I scroll back up and show her the information about her birth.
“If I'm understanding this correctly, they created the Raleigh lab specifically to run a study they refer to as the 'ProGen Series,' which was an attempt to create a 'genetically superior specimen.’ Basically, they used modified DNA and what they refer to as a 'host subject' to produce offspring. Eight fetuses were created in total, but most of those pregnancies resulted in miscarriage. Only two children survived past infancy—numbers six and eight.”
I wonder momentarily if the “host subject” was a willing participant, but as they don't even name her or give any further information about the poor woman who would effectively be Six's mother, I'm assuming not. At least in this file, there are zero notes about the pregnancies or the fate of the woman who carried them. Almost as if she didn't even exist beyond her purpose as an incubator for these test subjects. It's sickening.
Six touches her ear, running a finger over the back where a tiny “6” is tattooed.
“What happened to number eight?”
“There's nothing in this file that I've found so far. But most of these records seem to indicate 'ProGen6'—you, as the only successful outcome of the study. Which is, I suppose, why they started referring to you as the 'Progeny'.”
Her gaze settles on her lap, briefly reminding me of her time in the hospital.
“So how is this “ProGen” series connected to your files?” Six asks in a small voice. I think she's afraid to hear the answer.
Jackson raises his eyes to Luis, who gives him a small nod. He looks like he'd rather sink into the ground than face what's right in front of him, but he clears his throat and does it anyway.
“It was your DNA that was used to make the serum that we were each injected with at birth. The shot our parents received was a variation of that same shot, but was made from the same genetic material that they used to…make you.” He cringes at having to use those words to describe her birth.
“That could explain the strong connection we have. I wonder if it was an intended consequence…” I muse out loud, not intending to suggest anything negative.
Six's body stiffens in my lap. I want to shove my foot in my mouth when she quietly slides out of my lap and walks towards the back room.
“I think I need to lie down for a while,” she says softly, not looking any of us in the eye.
The door closes behind her.
“Shit.” I rake my fingers through my hair and over my face roughly.
Why am I such an asshole? I didn't even mean it as a bad thing. My brain is attracted to reason and patterns, and I just spit out the correlation without considering how it might sound.
Both Luis and Jackson stand to go check on her, but I stop them.
“Let me, please. I need to explain and apologize.” I stand, hesitating at the troubled look on Micah's face.
His jaw is tight, eyes haunted and downcast. He looks like he might be sick at any moment. Walking around the table, I place a hand on the back of his neck.
“It's bad, man. The things they did to her… Inhumane doesn't cover it.” He says in a quiet voice so it doesn't carry.
Placing a kiss on his temple, I make my way to the back room, knocking gently. There's no answer, but the door is unlocked, so I let myself in.
“Six?”
It takes my eyes a few moments to adjust to the dark room, but when they do, I see Six lying on her side in the middle of the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. My heart drops and I don't hesitate for even a moment before I am lying next to her, pulling her back into my chest.
She isn't even crying, which is somehow more jarring than if I had found her sobbing. Her eyes stare off into the wall, open but unseeing.
“I'm so sorry, I—”
She cuts me off. “It's okay. You were right.”
“No, it's not okay. I didn’t mean it the way it came out, and I’m sorry that it hurt you. I should learn when to keep my analytical thoughts in my head, because the fact is that none of it matters.”
She turns around to face me. “How does it not matter? You were right. There is an explanation for all of it. None of this isreal.”
“Just because there might be an explanation does not mean our connection isn't real. I don't care if someone had put chips in all of our brains and predestined that we would be together. It doesn't change the way we feel about each other… The way I feel about you.”
