Disclaimer: No infringement of the following characters and situations is intended.
Warning: Rated [MA] Mature Adults only. May contain strong m/m sexual scenes, violence, coarse language, drug use and adult themes.
Summary: Michael attempts to relieve his boredom.
Notes: This entirely regrettable fic was inspired partly by too much Vin fic, watching 24 and reading about zoo workers refusing to masturbate a large gorilla for an artificial insemination program. Stew it all together in my fetid little mind and this was the result.
"It's no good," Michael Wiseman finally gave voice to his frustration and embarrassment. " I can't do it, not with you just standing there. Watching me," he added more quietly as the immovable Moai statue that was Dr Theodore Morris loomed over him, stern and forbidding.
"And why not?" Dr Morris demanded, deeply outraged that Wiseman could even suggest that there was a flaw in his creation, that everything was not working exactly as he had designed it.
Wiseman felt his cheeks flush and to add to his humiliation his voice came out at a higher pitch, so he sounded exactly like a teenager when he whined: "Because with you standing there watching me, it's like being caught, you know, by my parents. Can't you give a guy a little privacy?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Mr Wiseman," boomed Dr Morris, switching from annoyance to near malicious glee at his subject's discomfort. "I created that body you inhabit. There's not an inch, not a cell, not a chromosome with which I am not intimately familiar with. I've examined you hundreds of times before, why so coy now?"
"You've never asked for this sort of sample before. What, you're sending me out to stud now?"
A glower from Dr Morris told him not to ask exactly what they wanted with his DNA sample.
"Are you sure a simple swab won't suffice?"
"No."
"Look, you can glare at me all you like but it isn't going to make me perform under pressure any better."
"Mind over matter, Mr Wiseman. I assure you, everything is in perfect working order."
"Like I'll ever get a chance to test that," Wiseman muttered under his breath, but Dr Morris ignored him, merely giving him that clinically expectant smile again. That smile was putting him off more than anything else.
"Come on, Doc, help me out here, at least give me a dirty magazine, anything."
"No."
Michael Wiseman sighed and stared downwards but the more he willed it the less anything happened. He pouted slightly. Of all the indignities he'd suffered under the hands of his creator since his resurrection per se, this had to top them all.
"Are you sure you got all the working parts right?" he complained again, earning another look of reproof because they both knew for a fact that this body did behave like a normal 26 year old male's in that regard, because Dr Morris had observed as such on the all too frequent occasions when his subject thought of, or was in close contact to, his former wife.
Michael wasn't about to think of his wife now, it felt wrong in such a clinical setting and he wasn't about to taint his memories by blurring them with what was happening now.
"Oh, for -" Dr Morris didn't bother to finish his sentence, snapping on the latex gloves, snatching the plastic receptacle from his subject and grabbing the offending piece of anatomy.
"Hey!" Wiseman squealed, suddenly affronted, invaded, violated, humiliated and reminded again just how much of a piece of a meat he was to them. Government property, they called him. He was made brutally aware again that this body he was occupying wasn't really his, though it sure felt like it. Especially right now. Electricity arced up into his brain's pleasure centres and he groaned slightly, leaning into the hand that was pumping him in a business like fashion. He closed his eyes, just revelling in the momentary sensation. God, that felt good. So good. Too good.
Forgetting himself he leant forward, pressing a hand on Dr Morris' shoulder for support, breathing fast as he grew hard and became to tremble in the Doctor's busy hand. A small noise that might have been a moan escaped him as he pushed quickly into that tight fist and spilled eagerly into the waiting cup.
Morris set the cup aside, casting a glance to the elevated heart rate that his subject was recording on the always present monitors. He subject was leaning back, cleaning himself off slowly with a tissue, eyes closed, head tilted slightly back, the long strokes of his hand prolonging his one moment of earthly pleasure.
"That's quite enough of that," Morris snapped him out of it, unwilling to allow that sort of behaviour for anything but scientific purposes. "Get dressed," he dismissed his subject coldly, his back turned to him, already jotting down notes on his ever present PDA.
Michael, chastened like a schoolboy, dropped to pick up his discarded tracksuit pants and t-shirt, pulling them on and leaving Dr Morris to his test tubes and wires.
Dr Theodore Morris Journal
Wednesday 10.47
Semen sample obtained (see attached report for analysis). While procuring the sample the subject displayed erectile dysfunction of a psychosocial origin. With sufficient physical stimulation the subject was able to function well within normal parameters to my satisfaction. Nevertheless a full examination has been scheduled at 14:00 to rule out any physical abnormality as a cause.
"Is this where I turn my head and cough?" Michael tried to joke as his scrotum was handled and prodded matter of factly by Dr Morris without so much as a by your leave. Dr Morris didn't have to ask Michael Wiseman for permission to examine any part of his body, it all being owned and paid for by the United States government. He was as much government equipment as the abandoned office chair in the corner.
"I'm just trying to rule out any physical cause for your difficulty this morning," Dr Morris deigned to answer him, as he palpated the testes in his hand.
"Just chalk it up to performance anxiety," Michael half pleaded through a fixed grin, but Dr Morris' stern expression told him that personal hangups would be accepted as a probable hypothesis only after all other causes had been ruled out. He'd already been bled, monitored and measured, even his body hair had been mapped out on a chart.
Grimacing slightly as Morris grabbed at him like a housewife at a fruit stall, Michael felt his balls tighten in response and his dick, and he might as well call it his, so shy this morning, was choosing now to be not so shy, thickening and jumping slightly at the unaccustomed stimulation.
Morris straightened, finished with that part of the examination.
"Everything where it should be down there?" Michael asked, only to be answered with a glower and an instruction to turn around and bend over. Uh oh.
Michael leant against the examination table, bracing himself with gritted teeth as he heard lubricant being squirted onto a gloved hand, grateful for that consideration at least, and saying nothing as his cheeky request for Dr Morris to warm his hands first at the start of this examination had already met with brutal retribution.
The intrusion was sudden and severe and he could not help but wince, muscles tightening, but then he felt the doctor wriggling about searching for something and the first touch punched a fistful of warmth directly to his groin. The hand kept rubbing, prolonging the sudden, unexpected waves of sensation that were pounding through him and god help him, he was getting hard. The finger moved back and forth, bringing him nearly to the brink. He grabbed hard at the bed and suddenly all the stimulation was gone, leaving him feeling empty and cheated, and very unwilling to turn around.
He'd had rectal examinations before, but never like this. What was with this body they'd given him? Every sense was sweeter, heightened, including his capacity for pleasure and pain, yet, like his sense of taste, they rarely gave him a chance to explore these new experiences in full. Except the pain part.
Gloves were snapped off and replaced.
"You can stand up now, Mr Wiseman."
"In a minute," Michael shot back, aggravated by his arousal with nowhere to go.
"Now, Mr Wiseman," spoke the doctor in tones Michael had learnt not to disobey.
Scowling, Michael pushed off the table and turned around to face his tormentor, fully male and erect. At least Morris hadn't skimped in that regard, he had to say. Too bad he had no real use for it.
Morris regarded him and Michael waited tersely for the catty comment that must surely follow but Morris surprised him by grabbing the specimen cup, declaring "waste not want not" and proceeding to milk him into the cup like somebody's prized heifer.
Michael was so ready to go it only took two or three strokes of Morris' hand to get him spurting heavily into the plastic receptacle, his eyes closed, his head tilted back slightly, his erection a deep purple and in desperate need of attention. He let slip a small cry of frustration as that large hand pumped him once more time and he came again in stuttering bursts, drawing back spent, a sheen of sweat on his perfectly engineered skin.
"No dysfunction now, I see, not with the proper amount of stimulation," Morris observed but Michael was still trying to hang on and ride out the waves of his fading orgasm.
"Perhaps it's the lack of practice," Michael managed archly at last, if a little breathless as Morris took new readings of his heart rate and blood pressure. "It's not like I get to take this body out for a test drive, is it, and you know what they say, use it or lose it." He straightened suddenly, anger building.
"You gave me this perfect, superhuman body, and you made me pleasing to look at. Why'd you bother? So I'd camouflage with the crowd, because in that case I say you made me too damn pretty. I look like a freaking movie star and for what? I bet I'm a virgin - I am, aren't I?" he accused.
"There has been no need for you to engage in any sexual activity as yet, but should the need arise, we wanted you to be fully equipped to do so, and that includes a certain aesthetic appeal."
"You mean I was designed so you could pimp me for my country? No, you're right, it's not any different to what I do now, is it. I'd just be doing my mission horizontally, wouldn't I, for king and country."
"Not quite," Morris reminded him, America having declared themselves a republic a couple of centuries previously.
Michael folded his arms across his chest. "Well, it's like I said, Doc, you either use it or lose it."
"Out of the question," Morris silenced him. End of discussion.
Dr Theodore Morris Journal
Wednesday 23.25
Complete physical examination failed to show any organic cause for the subject's earlier sexual dysfunction, therefore proving that the dysfunction is psychological. In spite of a healthy male body the subject continues to exhibit former learned behaviour and as previously demonstrated, the subject requires extensive retraining to overcome these self imposed barriers to performance. A full psychological screening is scheduled for 08:00 to isolate whether the cause is stress, depression or prior social conditioning.
Michael shifted restlessly in his bed, knowing in the ceiling silent sentinels kept watch on his every move, even in his sleep, or his insomnia, as was the case. He was restless, and he knew exactly why, knowing the itch in his belly all too well, even if he hadn't lived in this body all that long. He glanced towards the bathroom, but knew the cameras followed him even in there, lest he have another accident.
Gazing defiantly up into the darkness, he slid his hand down over his perfectly toned abdomen, his fingers fluttering across the over sensitive skin of the erection which had grown painfully hard until he knew he could ignore it no longer. He stroked his own length, thumbing the top, still struck by the difference, the Doc having left him as nature intended in that regard, then letting his fingers glide down again. He sighed and rolled his hips under the sheet, thrusting up into his fist as he worked himself, as quickly as he could before his keepers came in here and stopped him. More than a sin, he suspected Dr Morris would lecture him on destroying government property. Like the old Monty Python song went, not only was every sperm sacred, it must also be worth a hell of a lot in genetic engineering technology, and he idly wondered just how much he was worth before grunting through another couple of jerks and spilling his invaluable and top secret seed carelessly all over the sheets.
He lay back, panting slightly, running a hand lightly over his chest to chase up the last of the tingling vibrations before they vanished. He sighed softly as the sensations leeched from his body, rolling on his side, tucking the pillow under his head and falling soundly asleep.
Dr Theodore Morris had observed the entire performance from the monitor set by his work station, and he found his irritation not so much directed at his subject, who like a monkey or a young child was finding it suddenly impossible to keep its hands to itself, but at himself. Or more precisely, the swelling hardness of his own that had grown of its own accord as he sat watching and listening as his subject masturbated. He unzipped himself and dealt with the matter efficiently, wasting a few minutes and a few tissues before regaining his composure and continued on with his note taking as if nothing had happened.
Dr Theodore Morris Journal
Thursday 15:17
As I suspected a thorough interview with the subject revealed some mild psychosexual problems resulting from previous social conditioning. Using the brain of a 45 year old male has presented a series of unique problems to this program. The use of a pre-conditioned brain was initiated for the sake of expediency and the subject has been very quick to adapt to the physical strength of its new body. However, the pre-existing persona of the subject has survived much more intact than I had anticipated, and this persona continues to effect the body in ways I had not imagined possible. The subject presents an ideal opportunity to study the argument of nature versus nurture as the mind continues to adversely affect the body, creating dysfunction where there is no organic cause.
"Doc, is this really necessary? I promise to be a good little boy."
Dr Morris gave Wiseman a look that told him exactly what he thought of Wiseman's promises to behave.
"Come on, Doc, I feel like I'm at a Catholic boarding school, or have you gone all dominatrix on me all of a sudden?" Bright blue eyes sparkled, flirting outrageously, accompanied by a wicked grin.
Morris stepped back as if slapped.
Michael tested the restraints that bound his hands to the side of the bed. He was sure he could break them if he really tried, or maybe even without trying, but he let them be for now, in case Dr Morris decided to chain him up instead.
Satisfied that he'd buckled his subject firmly to the bed for the night, Dr Morris stepped back to admire his handiwork for a moment.
"What, no goodnight kiss?" Wiseman teased in spite of discomfort of his position, the tight bands already beginning to chafe his wrists.
Morris gave him a disgusted look and stalked out, plunging the room into darkness bar the soft silver blue light that filtered up from the swimming pool. His nightlight, Michael called it, and there were some long lonely nights that he was very glad of those small lights and the soft ripples they cast upon the ceiling.
Somehow despite being strapped down, unable to move or sleep on his side, Michael managed to fall asleep. He must have for he felt himself floating up to a level closer to waking, still wrapped in the soft tendrils of dream. He sighed, imaging a warm and familiar mouth leaving damp trails across his super sensitive skin, acutely aware of the tiniest breezes that stirred across his skin, buzzing with anticipation as...oh yeah. He bucked forward, letting the dream wrap around him, burying himself as deep as he could in the heat of his dream, stirring restlessly, coming closer and closer to surface until he broke through, waking, a warm wetness spreading over the sheets.
Oh dear, Dr Morris would not be happy.
Dr Morris had watched his subject dream, fascinated. He'd watched those lean limbs pull at their bonds, the arms muscles straining, the back arching slightly, the soft mewling noises and, at last, the culmination of his subject's wet dream. He watched himself become aroused, and dealt with it, and he wondered idly what to with a body at its physical peak, a mind and body that were expressing their sexuality with sudden potency. Deciding on a course of action after considered thought, Dr Morris noted down an increased exercise regime, nearly doubling it, believing the old tried and true methods of dealing with such an obvious excess of energy were the best. By the end of tomorrow, he anticipated, the subject would be too exhausted to do anything but sleep. Yes, that was it. Dr Morris resolved to study the subject's physical limits and rate of recovery. That should fix the problem.
It didn't fix the problem. Michael's body was able to endure everything Dr Morris threw at him, and he still woke in the middle of the night, feverish and twisting against the restraints Morris still had him strapped in, unable to scratch the itch that burned in him, the hunger that consumed him. It was like rush after the close of a long and difficult case, or the first flush of spring. He remembered feeling this way in his youth and he felt it again. This hard young body wanted touch, it craved sensation, and it was being denied everything except grinding pain and exhaustion.
Frustrated beyond words, tied down and essentially tortured to near breaking point every waking moment, Michael finally broke and began crying. Once the first tears breached the wall he'd fought so hard to keep up, the sobs just poured through like an army of ants and he couldn't stem the tide, no matter how much he tried. By the time Dr Morris appeared at the foot of his bed he was weeping insensibly and had to be calmed with a heavy sedative before he could be made to understand a single sentence of reason.
Morris looked genuinely shocked, and he was, sitting by the edge of the bed, stroking Wiseman's cheek in an effort to sooth him, waiting for him to settle.
Morris was quite horrified. Seeing Wiseman break like this, he thought he'd finally pushed too hard, he'd broken his test subject and all his hard work would have to be scrapped and he'd have to start again. It was a fear he held tight in his stomach every time he sent Wiseman out on assignment. What if the body were killed or captured, what then? And what if the ordinary human mind finally broke, unable to survive the stresses of pushing a superhuman body to its limits?
After a long while Wiseman finally calmed. He seemed just about to slide into sleep when he rallied, fighting off the sluggish effects of the drugs to regard Morris with eyes crystal bright from tears.
"I'm not a machine," Michael whispered quietly, tiredly, before Morris could smile at him and ask him just what was the matter in that patronising tone of his.
"Technically, you are a machine. A biological one, but a machine nevertheless."
"A machine doesn't have feelings, a machine doesn't need. You made me so I could feel everything more intensely, then you deny me everything. You feed me pap, there are no flowers to smell, no pets to play with, nothing to read or watch, and no human contact unless they're coming at me with needles or guns."
Morris nodded, trying to head off this bout of depression before it grew entrenched.
"You want a pet? A garden?" He's heard that these things could alleviate depression and he'd even read reports were stroking pets allegedly caused a marked reduction in heart rate and the need for medication. It would make for an interesting experiment.
"That'd be a start. I'm lonely, Doc. You keep me up here in this ivory tower and you're the only person I'm allowed to talk to. You're the closest thing to a friend I have -."
"I'm not you're friend, Mr Wiseman." Morris reminded, more sternly than he meant to.
"My gaoler then," Michael huffed. "If you're my prison guard, then can I offer you a couple of cigarettes for a favour?"
Morris sat up alert. "Cigarettes?" he asked, ominously.
Michael nodded over towards the wall. "Fifth brick from the top. I snuck them home a few weeks ago."
Morris stood, strode to the wall, located the loose brick Wiseman had pulled from the wall and the crumpled packet of cigarettes he'd hidden there. Furious, Morris ground the packet in his fist and let it fall to the floor.
Michael watched the packet fall, disappointed but not entirely surprised.
"Mr Wiseman, may I remind you that you are inhabiting a perfectly designed, perfectly attuned body and it is not to be corrupted by this...this poison."
Michael did his best to shrug, still tied down to the bed. "What can I say? I had a craving. Been craving a lot of things lately."
Morris' curiosity overrode his fury. Perhaps the subject's sense memory had become active as the subject adapted to the new body, relearning motor skills as though born to it. Perhaps the mind yearned for old sensations the way an amputee still felt the itch of the missing limb. A brain used to alcohol and tobacco was still wired to crave these things even if the body was entirely unused to them.
Morris found Wiseman watching him with pleading eyes.
"Doc, please, just touch me. I need to feel...someone."
The request was spoken so quietly, the eyes so impossibly sad, Morris found himself drawn back to the bed, sitting beside Wiseman, running a gentle hand down a bare arm, watching the small hairs on the skin rise in anticipation. Fascinated, he felt the heart he had built and designed beating beneath his palm, the skin soft and warm to his touch.
Michael had closed his eyes, sinking back into the pillow with a soft exhalation as the hand continued to travel over his skin. One nipple puckered as the fingers brushed close, and he let a small moan escape as the other nipple was teased into equal hardness, Morris watching the simple reaction to stimulus in his subject.
Michael felt his cock hardening as the hand travelled all over his body, seeing the art in his creation for the very first time, the beauty in a flush of skin, the poetry in a rush if breath. The only sounds in the room were the sounds of Wiseman sighing after the brush of skin, and the tiny lap of water in the pool.
Michael twisted against his bonds, trying to get closer to the touch, trying to direct it, and Morris retraced the form of the muscles beneath the skin.
"Please," Michael begged, his voice in a rasp as his erection stroked wetly against the sheets. "Please."
Gasping as the sheet was drawn back, exposing his quivering skin to the cool night air, Wiseman arched up, searching for the missing touch he craved.
Morris felt the heated skin throb in his hand, pulsing with life, and he watched Wiseman writhe under the feel of his touch, lost in sensation. Four long strokes were all it took for the hot semen to spill over his fingers, thick and warm, the fruit of his labours.
Wiseman seemed to shiver like a struck chord for a long moment until sensation subsided and he relaxed back into the sheets.
"Thankyou," was all he said, his eyes still closed.
Morris said nothing, unbuckling Wiseman one wrist at a time, then pulling up the sheet and tucking his subject into bed like a child.
"Sleep tight," he murmured fondly, patting a blanketed foot before he walked stiffly into the bathroom to relieve himself. When he returned Wiseman was curled in the bed, deeply asleep, and Morris deeply hoped the crisis had been averted for now.
Two weeks later.
"Mr Wiseman," Dr Morris sang his name as he strode through the door.
"In here," came the equally sing song reply from the bathroom, with an 'as if you didn't know' muttered quietly and darkly as a rejoinder.
The shower switched off and Wiseman emerged, his skin still beaded with water, wrapping a towel around his waist. He stopped short when he saw what Morris was holding: another plastic up.
Morris grinned malevolently.
"I just wanted to see if you have anything left," the evil grin ratcheted up a notch. "After all the showers you've been taking lately. You must be clean as a whistle, Mr Wiseman."
So Morris had been watching him in the shower after all. Figured.
This was how Wiseman found himself backed into the bathroom, exposed and expected to perform into a cup like a trained monkey.
"Nope," he shook his head. "It ain't gonna work. I can't do it."
"What do you mean you can't do it?" Morris was aghast. "When you've had so much practice," he added, snidely.
"That was just solo work. What can I say? Stage fright."
"I see." Morris remained unimpressed with Wiseman's prima donna antics.
"Come on, Doc, a little help here, for old time's sake?"
Morris huffed and puffed at the indignity of it all as he pulled his latex gloves on and took Wiseman in hand.
Michael closed his eyes and whimpered at the first touch, leaning against Morris.
"Please. Don't. Rush," Michael pleaded in halting gasps as Dr Morris' strong hand pumped him firmly.
Morris was all too aware of the body heat pressed up against him and the rapid breaths that came roughly against his throat, the heart beat speeding up in time with his hand as he brought Wiseman shuddering to the brink, over the top and into the cup.
Morris set the cup down gently and tried to disengage himself from the young man but Wiseman clung to him like a limpet, lifting up his head suddenly as Morris looked down to rebuke him, catching his mouth on the Doc's.
Morris opened his mouth in shock and suddenly found Wiseman's tongue darting inside, stroking up alongside his. For a moment, just a moment, they shared the kiss, then Morris' brain kicked in at a higher level and he prised Wiseman off him firmly with a grip hard enough to bruise.
"No! Mr Wiseman - no!" he demanded. "I don't know what you think you're doing -"
"Just trying to get some action," Michael sulked, throwing it back at him, bitter in rebuff and unable to believe just how bitter he was.
Morris was shaking his head emphatically.
"Mr Wiseman, this simply cannot continue."
"Come on, Doc, five minutes of fun, who's going to know?" Michael couldn't believe he was begging, but he was. He needed it, he needed it badly.
"No," Morris was backing up. "You're bored, that's all. It's my fault. I shall have to design new training programs in lieu of any assignments."
"Oh. No," was all Michael could say, closing his eyes and letting his forehead rest forlornly against the cool glass of the shower stall in defeat. This wasn't life, this was purgatory.
Dr Theodore Morris Journal
Tuesday 09:23
The subject has begun to display homosexual behaviours despite no such behaviours having shown up overtly before in the subject's conduct or in the subject's profile. I can only assume that, as with prison populations etc, when there are no available females the subjects will engage in homosexual acts. The subject's isolation appears to be causing increasingly aberrant behaviour. The subject will need to be monitored more closely. Should these aberrant behaviours continue, the current subject may need to be replaced.
Michael Wiseman was in heaven, or as near to heaven as his life was likely to get these days. After a particularly hard workout Dr Morris himself was giving Michael a rubdown, Michael's earlier friskiness with a woman brought in to supervise his training having forced Morris to resort back to their previous one on one relationship.
Michael sighed audibly as Morris' strong hands kneaded their way down his bare back, startling Morris enough to withdraw for a moment. He began again and Michael tried to keep still, but Morris could tell just from the way his subject was lying on the bunk that Wiseman was enjoying this much more than he should.
"Roll over, now," Morris instructed, strictly businesslike.
"I can't," Michael was forced to admit.
"Can't or won't, Mr Wiseman." Morris had no time for this.
Wiseman grinned in spite of himself. "Well, okay, be remember, you made me this way." He began to obediently turn over, his towel accidentally dropping away to reveal an enormous erection standing dark and ready.
"Wanna give me a hand here, Doc?"
"No." Morris cut him off sternly.
"Aw, come on, Doc, it's like a freaking redwood."
"Mr Wiseman, I must test your hearing again because you obviously didn't hear me. I said no."
"You mean you want to just stand there and watch me jack off? Okay," he shrugged and lay back down, stretching his arms above him and sighing, before bringing his arms back down, running his hands all over his skin, pulling and twisting at his nipples, his hips rising slightly as he teased over the tightening skin of his balls. He slipped his hand over own length, still bemused that Morris had built him like a porn star, then forbidden him to do anything with his equipment. He closed his eyes and began breathing hard as he began the quick motions to bring himself off good and fast. Several strokes in his own hand was pulled away and he bit down on is cry before another hand took over, a large warm hand that rubbed up and down his pulsing dick until...he grunted and erupted into the Doc's hand, breathing out in a rush over his release.
After a moment he opened his eyes and sat up, Dr Morris handing him a cloth to wipe himself down. The doctor took his pulse, leaning close to measure it in his throat, timing it on his watch.
"Going low tech today," Michael teased fondly, then shocked the doctor by turning and burrowing against him, snuggling close, breathing in his heat and aftershave, holding him tight, too tight to escape, one hand running wickedly up a thigh until -
"Hey, Doc, why didn't you tell me?' Michael purred, rubbing over Morris' own heavy erection. He patted it fondly. "I could help you out there," he promised.
Morris closed his eyes for a second, wanting, needing as that hand stroked him through the cloth of his trousers. Then he felt Wiseman's tongue dart out across the skin of his throat, just above his collar. The twin electric shocks tore through him and he jumped back as if burnt.
"Mr Wiseman I must insist you stop - you're contaminating the project," he pleaded.
Michael stopped as if slapped, drawing back quickly, cold fury snarling across his features.
"Contaminating the project? That's all I am to you - a science project, a lab rat?" he accused.
"That's all you can be," Morris admitted quietly, almost sadly.
"Damn you," Michael hissed, hopping down from the bunk and standing to his full height, shorter than Morris but several times more deadly.
Morris backed up, trying to regain his composure. "I think that's all for today."
"You're dismissing me?" Michael almost screamed, unable to believe the man's coldness.
Morris matched him with condemnation. "Yes, Mr Wiseman, that is all."
He just turned and left, leaving Michael to slump down on the nearby weight bench, head in his hands.
Morris continued to watch his subject remotely via the video feeds for the rest of the afternoon. Wiseman had showered, then had sulked for a long time on his bed, just lying there unmoving, rolling onto his side to hide from the cameras at one point, then glaring angrily up at them at another.
Glancing up to check on his subject again, Dr Morris noted that Wiseman was up and in the gym area. He wondered idly what Wiseman was doing on the high bars, and then he realised, knocking his coffee splashing all over his notes. Dear god, no. He pushed away from his desk in a panic.
By the time he got inside the door Wiseman was already dangling limply from the cross beam of the high bar, suspended like an unwanted puppet by the bed sheet that he'd twisted around his neck.
"No," Morris almost wailed. He should have known. This too was an activity observed in caged inmates. For a moment he was struck with the idea that Wiseman really had committed suicide at that train station, despite his protestations to the contrary.
Hastily he untangled the makeshift knot and caught Wiseman in his arms, lowering him tenderly to the ground and beginning basic CPR while he waited for the medical team to arrive - the silent alarm should have sounded the moment Wiseman's heart had stopped.
"Come on, Come on," he begged, knowing the body could be salvaged but not the experiment. "Don't you do this Mr Wiseman, don't you think you can leave the program this easily," he threatened.
After a moment an eyelid fluttered, then the lungs drew in a sudden breath.
"What," Michael asked groggily, eyes still closed. "Afraid you won't get your deposit back?"
Morris sat back, beaming and relieved.
Michael coughed, his hand going automatically to his bruised throat.
"The things a guy has to do to get a kiss around here." he complained, rasping for breath. "You really bring me back?"
"Yes." Morris was frowning again. "You do know you can't kill yourself that way, don't you? At least not immediately."
"I thought I'd give it a try."
"You were serious, weren't you."
Michael closed his eyes again. "Yes," he admitted sadly.
Morris cupped the handsome face fondly for a moment, then drew away.
"That simply isn't acceptable, Mr Wiseman. I'm having some experts flown in to deal with your recent behaviour."
"You're going to start putting bromide in my tea, aren't you," Michael accused tiredly.
"Something like that, yes," Morris admitted.
Michael threw his forearm over his eyes, his breath hissing out angrily.
For a moment Morris thought his subject might cry, but he didn't. He just lay there, defeated.
Morris stood, looking down at him.
"This can't be allowed to continue, Mr Wiseman. I've invested, we've invested too much to ruin the program now. I should have foreseen this tendency to depression and allowed for it. For that I am sorry. These gentlemen will fix you up right as rain and we'll continue on as before."
"You're just going to put me on Prozac," Michael complained, still lying on the floor. "Your perfect little Stepford Assassin."
"Mr Wiseman, that is the purpose of the work," Morris reminded.
Michael rolled over onto his side, half curling up.
Morris watched him, shaking his head.
"It's for the best, Mr Wiseman. This is what you signed up for, after all."
Wiseman rocked slightly, miserable beyond belief. His Faustian bargain.
"You don't care," he accused his devil quietly.
"I can't," Morris admitted equally quietly. "That's not the way these things work."
He stepped back and allowed the medical technicians in. They loaded Wiseman onto a stretcher and wheeled him out, taking him up to the lab for further tests.
"I'm sorry," Morris offered in the barest whisper, watching as the wheeled Wiseman away.