Sophia blinked. Her vision sharpened. She was staring down at her feet, which were resting on a plush red carpet. She slowly raised her head, her brain pounding sluggishly back to life as it emerged from a thick fog of shock. A hulky shape was sitting behind the desk directly in front of her.

“How are you feeling?” Doctor Reynolds asked softly. The sound of his voice and the smell of his cologne---a sharp and minty odor---hit her with the force of a runaway semitruck. Dad? The word hung thickly on her tongue and she couldn’t get it out. She didn’t want to get it out. Thinking of her dad made her think of her mom---that bloated horrible face. Sophia’s eyes stung with tears. She felt sick to her stomach.

“Jack,” she croaked.

“Don’t worry. He’s been restrained.”

“What about Felicity?”

“She’s in the infirmary. Try to relax, my dear. You hit your head.”

“She might need another dose,” said a familiar voice that raked on Sophia’s ears like rusty knives. Clara. A spark of anger flared in her stomach, overtaking the fear and the nausea.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped.

“Manners,” Clara said coolly.

Doctor Reynolds leaned back in his chair and surveyed Sophia with cold, glittering eyes.

“I don’t want this meeting to be unpleasant, Sophia.”

“Really? Because that seems pretty fucking unavoidable, doc.”

He looked at her politely, his eyes as watchful as a crocodile’s. “Ask me anything you like. I will hide nothing from you.

The first obvious question that came to mind was why the flying fuck he had her mother’s corpse locked up in this place? But she couldn’t bring herself to ask about that now. She groped desperately for something else.

“What exactly is Project Camilla?” she demanded.

He answered readily. “The Project is a government-funded rehabilitation program aimed at improving the mental health and stability of prison inmates. It has an extremely high success rate. We’re quite proud of it.”

“Who runs it?”

“We have a variety of Adroit employees working there. However, the large majority of the organization is--”

“Sorry, what? Adroit?”

“Ah, forgive me. That is the common term used to refer to people who have abilities that function correctly. You would not have heard that word here.”

“Oh, you mean the ‘normal’ mutants?” Sophia asked scathingly.

“Correct.” Doctor Reynolds’ smile was decidedly cold. “But as I was trying to say, most of Project Camilla is run by Telepaths since our main goal is to heal the minds of the felons enlisted in our program.”

“Using recollection reparation?”

“Yes.”

“So that’s all the Project does? A bunch of mutant shrinks deep dive into criminal minds and try not to lose their own sanity on the way down?”

“For the most part. The rest of the resources at the organization are spent on...research.”

Sophia took a deep breath. “So where is this organization located?”

“I’m sorry, my dear. That’s classified.”

Sophia glared at him. “Okay, then can you tell me if the Project is somehow connected to this Institute?”

He nodded. “They’re sister programs. Project Camilla focuses on research and rehabilitation, whereas the Reynolds Institution oversees the business of quarantine.”

The next question was out of her mouth before she could consider the fact that she might not want to know the answer:

“Why have you been feeding me the Basement residents?”

“Is there any reason I shouldn’t? Based on Doctor Vendra’s reports, I got the impression you were more than up to the task.”

“That’s not what bothers me.”

“Enlighten me, my dear.”

“Those people have memories that seem pretty fucking incriminating, doc. Why would you want me to see them?”

Sophia’s gut clenched with apprehension as Reynolds rose from his chair and began to pace behind his desk.

“I had really hoped to tell you all of this at a much later date. But you’re too smart for your own good. Just like your mother.”

He smiled at her. Sophia heard Clara make a noise in her throat, and she glanced over. The doctor’s mouth was twisting like she’d tasted something sour. She saw Sophia looking at her and raised her eyebrows. Sophia looked back at Reynolds, scowling.

“The children in the Basement Complex are very important to me,” he said slowly. “Back then---I mean before this Institute was birthed and we were all part of Project Camilla---I was surrounded by Adroits every day and yet I never wondered how their abilities worked, or considered the idea that their powers might pass on to offspring. That changed when one of the Project’s employees started to notice that her daughter was displaying some telepathic abilities. We ran some tests on the girl and found she had a latent gene which possessed powers similar to her mother’s. Naturally, we began to wonder if the children of other Adroit employees displayed similar genes. We ran tests on these children as well and found the exact same results---though with an interesting twist. Not all of them were showing signs of power. Even though they had the gene, many of them did not seem capable of any abilities whatsoever. So we wondered further: could these latent genes in the children be accelerated? Was it possible to give them these gifts, to help them reach their potential? I started a new research department at the Project and began to experiment on these children.” He saw the look of horror on Sophia’s face and said quickly: “The parents consented to all of the treatments. I assure you it was perfectly safe.”

Sophia glared at him. “Yeah? Well it looks like your experiments worked. You must’ve felt really proud of yourselves, thrown a big fucking party and everything.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Language,” Clara growled. Reynolds waved his hand dismissively and went on:

“They did work, but not in the way we expected. You see, my dear, every resident at this Institute is actually a child of Project Camilla. As we continued to perfect the gene acceleration, we had truly stupendous results. But there were also errors---as there are in any scientific undertaking. Many children manifested their abilities in a way that was destructive. We tried to reverse the effects when we saw this occurring, but once the gene was activated, it couldn’t be subdued again. Whenever those instances occurred, we isolated the Defective patient by transferring them to a new facility.”

He spread his arms wide and gestured around them, a proud smile oozing across his face. There wasn’t a trace of jest or regret in his words. Sophia felt like someone had thrust a fist into her stomach.

“So all that stuff you said before about us being born ‘flawed’ was horseshit,” she said hoarsely. “We weren’t born broken. You’ve made us that way.”

“As I said, there were errors---”

Sophia didn’t give two farts and a flying fuck about his errors or his quasi-scientific bullshit. It all seemed to boil down to him just wanting to play with bodies that weren’t his to play with. She was incinerated in the bonfires of a white-hot rage.

“You’re crazy.”

Clara reached for something in her pocket, but Reynolds raised his hand, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Sophia’s face.

“You shoved two little boys into a fucking fridge like they were fucking Christmas hams!” Sophia snarled. “You stuck all those kids with needles---your own daughter---and let those goddamned Coppulas make them cry and lock them up and---you sit there and---like it’s nothing---you---”

Her words ended in an angry splutter. Her face was red, her blood was boiling. The doctor regarded her coolly. There was no kindness in his eyes; they rested like flat coins beneath his bushy brows.

“I would hate for you to misunderstand, Sophia,” he said softly. “The children in the Basement Complex are not mere guinea pigs. I need them. They are crucial to the development of my latest venture. However, as you have already noticed, their memories have become a liability. There was a time when we could work with them in peace, but the Institute has attracted some bothersome attention in the last couple years. That’s where you come in, my dear. And you have performed your role marvelously. You absorb the memories of these Basement residents, gaining the nourishment you need, and they cease to become a risk. I can’t have them getting too chatty with any snooping police. They can’t talk about what they don’t remember, hm? It’s a rather tidy solution, if I do say so myself.”

“What ‘venture’ do you need the Basement residents for? And why make me a part of it? You have other people like me here, right? Why make me do your dirty work?”

Reynolds put his fingertips together and frowned. When he spoke, it was like each word weighed him down.

“You are the only Defective Telepath we currently have at the facility, Sophia. And at the beginning, I had no intention of exposing you to the Basement residents. I supposed you would merely get your nourishment from our comatose infirmity patients.” He looked at her pleadingly. “Sophia. I must emphasize this. I desired with all my heart to honor your mother’s wishes and be a good guardian. I wanted nothing other than to take care of you and help you integrate your powers.”

“At---at the beginning?” Sophia repeated nervously.

Reynolds sat back down in his chair, sighing heavily.

“The visits from law enforcement were becoming more frequent. I was increasingly anxious about how to handle it. Then Clara started to bring me her reports about your Sessions. You possessed abilities that we hadn’t seen in any Defective Telepath. For almost a decade, the only power your kind manifested was memory digestion. Some of them could move objects with their mind, but usually that was an accident, and under emotional duress. But you were different. You had taught yourself projection and were even making strides in telepathic communication. Yes”---he laughed softly when Sophia made a startled movement—“Clara noticed. She said she felt you slip into her mind during one of your sessions.”

“But non-Defective Telepaths can do everything I’m doing—and probably do it better. And you just said that a bunch of them work for the Project. Why not get them to help you?”

“Because I don’t want them to help me,” Reynolds said, his voice still very soft. “I want you.”

A terrifying thought flared up inside of her. The only reason they would let her see memories that incriminated the Institute would be if they didn’t plan on letting her live afterwards. A blaze of panic tore through her, and with it came a rush of power so strong she didn’t hesitate; she turned and locked eyes with Clara. The doctor was startled; she had no time to resist. Sophia dove straight into the wells of her mind and scooped out the information she needed before Clara even realized what was happening.

Reynolds was harvesting the powers of the Basement kids to create cocktails that could be sold to interested parties.

Billionaires. Governments. Criminals.

Clara had helped him with the selection process. She was the one who had gathered the children. The Basement Complex wasn’t where the Institute housed “problematic” residents; it was the home of the ones who had been specifically enrolled in this project.

Max and Mason were unclassified defectives---the only kind Reynolds had ever come across. They had regenerative abilities powered by blood. The more “life force” they consumed, the greater their ability to regenerate, and thus they had lived an abnormally long life. This elongated lifespan was what Reynolds was after. He wanted that “immortality” quality in his cocktails. People would pay generously for eternal life.

Samantha’s abilities were useful for disguise purposes. A camouflage to make the user undetectable. Perfect for the military.

Reynolds enjoyed the “subtle brutality” of Liam’s power. It could do a lot of harm without causing overt destruction that would attract unnecessary attention. Also useful for military warfare, no doubt. At the very least.

Once Reynolds had taken what he wanted from these chosen few, they would be transferred to the infirmary and sentenced to a lifetime of comatose bedrest. Any relatives who cared to inquire about their state would be told that their child’s power had gotten the better of them. The Institute had done everything it could. Deepest condolences, etc.

And then new children would be collected to create new cocktails.

That’s why they needed her. Not to kill, but for storage.

Sophia had no one left who would notice if she disappeared. She was valuable precisely because she was anonymous to the world. She had been selected to perform damage control. Whenever Reynolds was done with the Basement kids, she would be brought out to clean up any evidence.

It was easy to hide information if it was in one place. Sophia would die one day, and all the incriminating information she knew would die with her.

Clara was looking a bit dazed, as if she’d been clubbed over the head. Sophia resisted the urge to run over and slug her in the stomach. Rage and fear were pumping through her blood with such ferocity her knees buckled, and she had to clutch the edge of the desk to remain standing.

“Sophia, are you alright?” Reynolds asked.

“You son of a fucking bitch,” she whispered.

“What’s the matter?”

His voice was infuriatingly calm. His eyes darted over to Clara and lingered on her vague expression.

“Did my mom know about this?”

“Evelyn brought you here when you were young to take part in the experiments, but it wasn’t long before she put a stop to it. She decided that she wanted to give your abilities time to develop naturally. I said you might never develop your powers without our help, but she was willing to take that risk. Of course, it just so happened that your powers did emerge later, but they revealed themselves to be broken anyway, the very thing she’d been trying to save you from. Pity.”

“Not that. I meant what you’re doing to the Basement residents. The bullshit potions you’re making.”

Reynolds went very still for a moment, and then he moved very quickly for a man his size. Sophia thought he was going to attack her, but to her surprise, he walked right by her and over to Clara. He pushed her down into an empty chair. She crumbled into it without resistance, still looking dazed. Then he reached swiftly into his pocket, extracted a vial full of purple fluid, and injected it into her arm.

“Don’t worry,” he said when Sophia uttered a startled noise. “It will just make her sleep for a bit.”

When he had emptied the vial, he placed it back into his pocket and turned to face Sophia again.

“I take it you read her mind just now? That explains why she looked like that…I was a bit puzzled for a moment…very impressive, my dear.”

“So now what?” Sophia asked, her body a rigid pole of tension as the doctor slowly turned and wandered back over to his desk. Every movement he made was like tripwire to her nerves.

“Relax, Sophia. I’m not going to hurt you. What you saw in the doctor’s memories was only half the truth. It was the one I told her.”

“So you’re not making potions from their powers?”

“No, I very much am. But the elixirs won’t be for sale.” He turned and looked at her. His mask broke and beneath it she saw the face of such profound grief her heart stopped. “It’s for Evelyn.”

“What?”

“I’m going to bring her back, Sophia.”