Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)Doctor Lukas Hahns skimmed through several sheets of computer printouts, filled margin to margin with esoteric equations and formulas few men could decipher. He placed them aside without a second glance and commenced to drum his long fingers upon the gleaming metal desk. Subject number twenty-nine would be stirring from her drug induced sleep any minute now, he reflected; it would be best he be on hand to explain the great part she would play in his work.
The forty-four year old man heard his tendons crack slightly as he stretched his arms and stood up. Doctor Hahns had more gray than black on his head now and a few more wrinkles upon his somewhat gaunt, pale face. The years had worn down on him as they do all men, but his black eyes remained as sharp and bright as ever. He was a modestly sized man, perhaps 5'8 with shoes, and with a spare figure that spoke of many nights gone without dinner, yet those bright eyes of his (bright with madness some might venture) lent his aspect a strong vitality and an undeniable presence.
After adjusting his white lab coat, the Doctor took his time, admiring his laboratory as he headed towards Subject #29's area. The laboratory was his and his alone, hidden underground, beneath a farm he had purchased years ago. To the world, Lukas Hahns was a retired scientist turned gentleman farmer, and but for a few colleagues and esteemed companions, the Doctor was all too happy to keep up the facade. Of course, the farm above was fully functional, tended to by hired hands, but his real work lay here, in this stainless steel compound he had built in secret with stolen funds.
At last he came into the brightly lit chamber where Subject #29 lay, strapped spread-eagle on a cold, metal surface, stripped of all clothing. Steel restraints bound her wrists and ankles. A few sensors were stuck here and there on her body, connected by wires to a machine by her side that displayed her vital signs. Doctor Hahns went to his work desk and picked up a clipboard, ticking down what the vitals signified. Satisfied thus far, he wheeled a small tray upon which lay a variety of medical instruments, most prominent among them a fairly large hypodermic needle.
"Subject twenty-nine, Case number four dash three. 0200" The Doctor spoke as the digital recorder on his computer turned on. "Subject's vitals are stable and all signs indicate she will shortly be coming around... I can only hope she won't need a sedative like the last two..."
The forty-four year old man heard his tendons crack slightly as he stretched his arms and stood up. Doctor Hahns had more gray than black on his head now and a few more wrinkles upon his somewhat gaunt, pale face. The years had worn down on him as they do all men, but his black eyes remained as sharp and bright as ever. He was a modestly sized man, perhaps 5'8 with shoes, and with a spare figure that spoke of many nights gone without dinner, yet those bright eyes of his (bright with madness some might venture) lent his aspect a strong vitality and an undeniable presence.
After adjusting his white lab coat, the Doctor took his time, admiring his laboratory as he headed towards Subject #29's area. The laboratory was his and his alone, hidden underground, beneath a farm he had purchased years ago. To the world, Lukas Hahns was a retired scientist turned gentleman farmer, and but for a few colleagues and esteemed companions, the Doctor was all too happy to keep up the facade. Of course, the farm above was fully functional, tended to by hired hands, but his real work lay here, in this stainless steel compound he had built in secret with stolen funds.
At last he came into the brightly lit chamber where Subject #29 lay, strapped spread-eagle on a cold, metal surface, stripped of all clothing. Steel restraints bound her wrists and ankles. A few sensors were stuck here and there on her body, connected by wires to a machine by her side that displayed her vital signs. Doctor Hahns went to his work desk and picked up a clipboard, ticking down what the vitals signified. Satisfied thus far, he wheeled a small tray upon which lay a variety of medical instruments, most prominent among them a fairly large hypodermic needle.
"Subject twenty-nine, Case number four dash three. 0200" The Doctor spoke as the digital recorder on his computer turned on. "Subject's vitals are stable and all signs indicate she will shortly be coming around... I can only hope she won't need a sedative like the last two..."