Afterbirth

He vaguely remembered waking up from a nightmare when he arrived in the nursery. The dream had been distressing, filled with shadowy figures and an overwhelming sense of fear. The cold, clinical surroundings did little to soothe his anxiety, but thankfully, the bad dreams became less frequent after that.

The carers diligently attended to his needs. Bottle feeding was a novel experience. The sensation of the rubbery nipple and the warm milk flowing into his mouth was strange. He initially struggled with the unfamiliar process, often choking or letting the milk dribble down his chin, but he quickly adapted to the rhythmic sucking. The warmth of the milk filled his tiny stomach, providing a sense of contentment.

Going to the bathroom, however, was a different story. The first time he soiled the diaper, the realization of sudden helplessness struck him hard. There was a rush of embarrassment and a deep sense of shame every time. The rancid, uncomfortable mess clung to his skin until a carer came to clean him up. It was during one of these humiliating moments that he realized he was male, which brought a slight sense of relief and familiarity amidst the confusion.

His carers were meticulous and efficient, making sure he was always clean, fed, and comfortable. They moved with practiced precision, their faces partially obscured by masks. The routine was endless, with feedings, diaper changes, and periods of sleep blending into one another, making it hard to keep track of time. Despite the monotony, Wade felt himself growing and changing. Wade spent much of his infancy in this room. Having nothing to do was making him crazy.

Wade was confined to a large room with rows of other babies—hundreds of them. The walls were adorned with soft grey colors that changed gently, mimicking the calming patterns of an overcast sky. The lighting in the room was quiet and diffused.

Each baby was nestled in a strange cradle with transparent domes. Embedded within each cradle were advanced biometric sensors. From what Wade could see, the sensors monitored his vital signs. The setup reminded him of the sci-fi movies he used to enjoy, though living it was far less exciting. His neighbors, the other babies beside him, were incredibly annoying. Their crying and wailing would wake him. The frustration built up inside him as he lay there, unable to do anything but listen to the cacophony. "Why won't they just be quiet?" he thought, clenching his tiny fists in anger. He despised his noisy neighbors, feeling trapped in a never-ending cycle of disrupted sleep and irritation.

The baby to the left of him, whom he named "Wailer," was the worst of all. Though muffled by the dome, Wailer's cries were close enough that it was audible. Wailer's cries shattered any semblance of peace. Wade grew to really despise his noisy neighbor. In a petty act of revenge, Wade awoke Wailer whenever he found him asleep. Thrashing around in his cradle made enough noise to stir Wailer from his slumber. A small, vindictive satisfaction filled Wade when he saw Wailer's eyes flutter open, and his nemesis started crying again. "Now you know how it feels," Wade thought, feeling a strange sense of victory in their tiny, ongoing battle.

Wade had initially thought this place was a futuristic hospital for the first weeks but had changed his opinion to an orphanage. Believing he had no parents in this new life hadn't been too upsetting. What had been another life with no parents? He had sorely missed his brother, though. His brother had always been at the forefront of his mind most days as that had been all he could really do, which was think and flail his limbs around, eat, breathe, and shit.

He remembered sitting at the dinner table with his brother, arguing over who got the last piece of bread to make toast. It was such a simple thing, but he missed it—real food, the taste of toast slathered with butter. The bland, liquid diet from the bottle couldn't compare. He longed for the day he could chew on something solid again, savoring the flavors of his favorite foods. He might never drink milk again after this.

And he missed the toilet. Sitting on a toilet, something he had taken for granted, was now a distant luxury. He longed for the privacy and dignity of using a toilet.

Where was the end to this? It was like being an unwilling passenger on an unending roller coaster of hell. He most certainly didn't want to die again. What if the next time death was permanent? What if, when he did die, he ended up in a place of unspeakable horrors? Chased to his death again or something worse? He had become resigned to the fact that he would most likely not see his brother or his reality, for that matter, ever again. Was this place the future or somewhere alien? Was he even human, and the women? He looked human, and so did they.

The carers rarely spoke. Young looking and beautiful. Their eyes were a piercing blue, green, bown, and black, standing out vividly against the grey masks that covered their noses and mouths. Hair was uniformly tied back in tight buns, not a strand out of place. Hands were delicate yet strong, moving with a precision that spoke of extensive training. Each one's movements were graceful and controlled.

They wore practical yet utilitarian uniforms: fitted, functional grey jumpsuits made from a durable, seamless, slightly reflective material. Their shoes were plain, flat, and matched the grey of their uniforms. The look was very austere.

One of the most exciting things was when the stump of his umbilical cord dried and fell off. Wade grabbed it and examined it up close, his tiny fingers exploring its texture. Like a piece of dried fruit, the stump was small, shriveled, and hard. Its surface was rough and slightly flaky, with a brownish color that made it look almost like a twig. The texture was strange and somewhat unpleasant, a reminder of the lifeline that had once connected him to his previous existence.

A caregiver swiftly removed the umbilical cord, but that wasn't the only thing taken away. Wade noticed that Wailer and several other babies near him disappeared around the same time. Shortly afterward, they were replaced with new babies. At least the new ones were quieter newborns, providing a brief respite from the constant noise. Wade often pondered where the others went and why they were replaced, the mystery adding to his growing unease about his surroundings.

He eventually started to gain more control over his body. Rolling over onto his stomach was definitely a 'turning' point for him. At first, it was frustrating; his arms felt made of lead, and each attempt left him exhausted. But with each effort, his determination grew, fueling his tiny muscles. One day, after endless attempts, he finally managed to roll over. Lying on his stomach, he could lift his head and look around more.

From his new vantage point, Wade's curiosity was piqued by the sights and sounds he had previously missed. He felt a mix of excitement and trepidation. One day, he saw an older baby sitting up, the child's tiny hands pressed on the glass. A few hours later, he saw one of the caretakers approach, her movements calm and deliberate. She gently lifted the older baby from the cradle and carried him away. The quiet departure left him in further disquiet, wondering what happened to those babies.

Wade worried about acting like a normal baby. He didn't want to draw attention to himself, but luckily, there wasn't much interaction with the adults. Mostly, he was bored when he was in the pod. To pass the time, he started giving names to the twenty women who cared for all the babies. He created whole fictional backgrounds for them, letting his imagination run wild in the monotony of his days.

There was "Grace," the quiet, demure one who he imagined had a secret passion for painting landscapes that came to life and told stories of ancient worlds. "Lila," with the light steps, was an undercover spy in his mind, gathering intelligence for a rebellion against a tyrannical regime, always a step ahead of those who sought to capture her. "Mara" had a stern demeanor, with piercing green eyes that seemed to see right through him. Her auburn hair was always pulled back into a tight bun, not a strand out of place. She stood tall, easily over six feet, with a commanding presence that made her seem even taller. Her skin was pale and flawless, and despite her sternness, she had soft features—high cheekbones, a gentle curve to her jawline, and full lips. A small mole between her brow added a distinctive touch to her otherwise perfect complexion. Her hands, often seen in motion, bore thin white scars on the palms. She moved with a soldier's precision, her posture always rigid and upright. Wade envisioned her as a former soldier, a decorated war hero who now dedicated her life to protecting those who couldn't defend themselves.

"Elena," always efficient and quick, was an engineer working on complex projects in secret, perhaps designing advanced technology to save the world from an impending environmental disaster. "Sasha" had a sweet voice, and Wade could see her as a singer who had once performed for kings. She had striking black eyes that seemed to be smiling and long, dark brown hair neatly tied back in a bun like the other carers. Her skin was a pale brown, and her features were soft and elegant, with plump cheeks. Sasha was shorter than the other carers, her petite frame moving gracefully among the cradles. She whispered very low when she soothed the babies as if so that no one else could hear her. Wade liked to think that Sasha's hands, always gentle, could coax the most beautiful melodies from any instrument she touched. Her presence was one of calm and comfort.

He had stories for all of them: "Nina," the athlete who ran marathons in her free time; "Tara," the writer who penned novels late at night, her books so powerful they could alter reality itself; "Fiona," the chef who could make gourmet meals from simple ingredients, each dish capable of granting temporary magical abilities to those who ate it. Each name and background made the days less tedious, giving him something to consider other than his current predicament.

His mouth felt funny when he tried to talk, like it wasn't doing what he wanted. But when he tried, it came out all jumbled and strange. His tongue was too big, his lips wobbly, and his throat made funny noises.

Once Wade could sit up by himself, ever stoic, Mara lifted him from his cradle into her arms. The abrupt change of pace left him wide-eyed and in anticipation, his gaze fixed on her every move. He was being taken somewhere else for the first time since he was born. His mind buzzed with questions as they moved through the rows of cradles. His head swiveled, trying to absorb every detail. Babies lay still in their pods, and carers moved about with quiet efficiency, their actions soundless except for the soft rustle of fabric.

Ahead, a wall shimmered and parted smoothly before them. Wade's eyes widened in amazement. The technology was beyond anything he had ever seen. They entered a dimly lit hall, where the pure white walls were unblemished and seamless. The chill in the air made him shiver, and the silence was thick, broken only by the muted echoes of their footsteps.

As they traveled down the long hallway, they passed other carers. Some carried babies, their movements graceful and almost ghostly in the subdued light. Others walked empty-handed, their destinations unknown. Doors melted open and closed silently, revealing more rooms filled with cradles and the soft hum of machinery. Wade felt a tightening in his chest at the sheer scale of the place. He noticed some older children walking hand in hand with the carers. The children wore red jumpsuits, their small figures contrasting sharply with the caretakers' grey attire. The children were as stoic as the caretakers, their faces blank and their movements calm and controlled. He had never seen such well-behaved five-year-olds.

Seeing these older children brought a strange sense of security. If these children could survive here, perhaps he was safe, too. His fear of being disposed of lessened slightly. The thought of being safe for now brought a flicker of hope. However, the children's emotionless demeanor also disturbed him. Their blank faces and robotic movements made the environment feel even more surreal and oppressive.

Eventually, Mara stopped and stepped into a new room. The quiet was almost overwhelming, pressing in on Wade as he braced himself for whatever was to come.

Fourteen other toddlers and infants occupied the room, each engaged in various activities. Wade was number fifteen. This room was probably his home for the foreseeable future. The new environment looked like a sterile daycare. The new environment was cold. A flat and monotone voice made sounds and spoke simple words in the unfamiliar language. These sounds were rhythmic but lacked any warmth or playfulness. Some older toddlers talked to the voice, while younger ones quietly played with hologram projections. One hologram projection featured simple, geometric shapes that floated in the air. He watched as the toddler stacked, rearranged, and manipulated to form basic structures and patterns. The children focused on holograms and did so in silence.

As Mara carried him into the room, only a few toddlers turned his way, their curiosity evident. The toddlers paused in their activities, some craning their necks to get a better look. A few of the older ones whispered to each other while the younger ones stared with wide-eyed fascination. As they assessed the newcomer, Wade could feel their attention, a mix of interest and wariness. A couple of babies were in a gated playpen, one picking its nose and the other sleeping, oblivious to the commotion.

The room's furniture was minimalistic, the kind you'd find in a wealthy person's home with a taste for barren, high-end design, which, in Wade's opinion, was hardly any taste at all. The chairs and tables were ergonomically designed for toddlers, sleek and devoid of any unnecessary detail. To Wade, it felt like a place with no soul. Simple mats were arranged in a circle in the center of the room, where a couple of children slept. There was a small area with low sinks and toilets, clearly designed for young children but offering no privacy. One child, with a strained face, sat on a small, prison-like toilet, making the whole setup feel even more dehumanizing.

The room had no windows, just seamless white walls that gave it a sterile, almost clinical feel. Decorations and personal items were absent. Wade observed the room with great distaste. ' A room with all the charm of a hospital ward,' he thought dryly. His eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail. The children's well-behaved, reserved nature was also bizarre. Children were not supposed to be like this—most of them, anyway.

As Mara continued into the room, her body became noticeably stiffer, and her posture became rigid with a sense of reverence and caution. She bowed, not daring to look directly at a woman in the room. The mystery woman's face was veiled in white silk-like cloth, and her attire differed from the other women's. She wore a full, flowing white robe covering her head to toe. Beneath the robe, a white dress fit snugly to her body, its material catching room's light. Her silk-like clothes glimmered poorly, reminiscent of sunlight reflecting on the surface of a murky pond or a pond of milk since it was white. It was both mesmerizing and unsettling. Not an inch of her skin was exposed. Mara's grey garments were comparatively drab and utilitarian.

Her long, spiderlike fingers emerged from the flowing sleeves. She measured Mara with subtle head movements. With her fingers moving, Wade imagined that they were poised to strike their prey. She motioned Mara forward with a simple, silent gesture with her spindly fingers. 

"Matreguis," Mara genuflected, her voice deep and somber like a contralto.

Wade was taken aback; it was the first time he had heard her speak. He had always imagined her voice to be as commanding as her presence, but instead, it was soothing and almost melodic despite its depth. 'Matri' or whatever Mara called, the spidery woman reciprocated this greeting.

In a loud, powerful, monotone voice with a light, raspy quality, like a snake could talk, Matri commanded her, "Tural, inter mete guis."

Mara, or Tural, answered obligingly, "Ari, Matreguis." She approached slowly, head bowed, and eyes averted. She carefully handed Wade to Matri, then backed away reverently from the woman in white and made her retreat quite swiftly.

Wade was beginning to get a sense of why these children were so reserved.