Chapter Text
Jack Morrison was the only one in the entire sector that was uneasy about it all.
Just before his thirtieth birthday, his SEP sector dragged in a little girl no older than six; hair buzzed, bags under her eyes, but wore clean, ironed white scrubs. It was rumored that their new injections to give everyone the ability to run faster came from this single, tiny, fragile source.
He did, however, see improvements. Him and the rest of his sector ran faster. Their agility increased as their cardiovascular endurance. But knowing what they were doing to the poor little girl didn’t sit well in his stomach.
He found her in her own little wing in the sector. Her room’s walls were made of glass. It was so stark white that it was nearly blinding to walk into her wing.
It was a pathetic room for a little girl. She has a white mattress with a white sheet. A holographic TV played educational kid shows but she was preoccupied with playing with crayons as she drew on the floor instead of the stack of white papers next to her. She had no pillows. No teddy bear to cuddle at night. No toys but the red, green, and yellow crayons that have been broken so many times that she had to hold each piece with her tiny fist. Her only company was the camera embedded in the top corner of her glass room.
He watched her with an odd sense of fascination. Her brows were furrowed as though she were calculating the solution to world peace. What caught his attention the most was that she was able to draw with either hand comfortably as though she could not decide which hand was dominant.
Months passed and Jack found himself visiting the girl often. She didn’t look up at him at first; a habit she had developed from becoming accustomed to being studied all the time. She didn’t respond to words or noises. It was only when he found an old chalk marker that he discovered that she would respond.
Though separated by bulletproof glass, Jack was able to feel closer to her than before. He would draw her flowers and dogs that looked more like hot dogs with eyes. She would draw on her side of the glass with her small collection of crayons. It was faded and hard to see, but he admitted that the toddler was already a better artist than himself.
One day, he overheard that the serum had been perfected and there was no use for the girl anymore. Rehoming the child would be too much of a hassle and they have agreed to leave her at a national park in hopes of someone picking her up.
He visited the girl that night and knocks on the glass. She wakes up from her flimsy bed and her eyes light up at the sight of him. Her hair hasn’t been cut in a week and he could see a small curl forming on her forehead. How cute she would be if her baby hair fully grew out.
She scuffles to the wall as he sits where he usually sits. When he doesn’t pull out a chalk marker, she furrows her brows in confusion and presses her finger to the glass, pretending to draw. Jack shakes his head.
“Not today, sweetie,” he whispers, knowing she could only see his lips move and nothing more.
He thinks long and hard as the toddler grew impatient, got her crayons, and began doodling by herself. He watches her until it finally dawns on him:
“You’re coming back Indiana with me,” he says confidently. She doesn’t hear him and keeps drawing.
“You’ll have an actual room,” he smiles, envisioning her playing in her own room. “You’ll get toys. I’ll make you food every day. We can grill together.”
His voice cracks.
Was this his destiny? To suddenly be a soldier and a father?
But as they make eye contact, he places his hand on the glass. The girl grins and places her hand on the glass where his pressed. He could almost feel her tiny hand against his own through the thick glass.
After that, all doubt faded from his heart.