Assisted Reproduction

The reinforced door blows and commandos in black gear start streaming through the hole. It's the third time this month. You'd think a transnational secret research consortium would be more of a secret.

Their leader finds you and aims his gun at your head. You can hear shots from outside, surely the laboratory's security detail coming to capture your assassin. It doesn't matter - he doesn't look like he planned to come out alive from your lab anyway.

"You are the one who wants to raise the monster, aren't you?" He wants to talk. Most of his kind do.

"I'm the leader of the Telekinesis Gene Project, if that's what you mean."

He snarls at you and presses the trigger. The gun jams, and he is slammed against a wall by an unseen force, together with the rest of his troops.

"Son of a bitch," he snarls through the pain. "You already created him."

"She hasn't been conceived yet," you correct him as you collect your glasses from the floor. "But that's only a minor inconvenience for her. Eve, please let them down."

She does. Will do. Has done. The distinction matters to you, but it won't -it doesn't- to her.

You could ask her to tell you how many more attacks there'll be before you can create her, but you aren't particularly curious. You already know you will succeed.

.finis.