“The medical reports?” the young man with the sandy hair asked.
Doc Labyrinth grunted.
“Yes. The medical reports.”
Seymour glanced down again at the clipboard in his hands.
“Well, physically she’s fine, save for some bruises obtained during her struggle to pull herself out of the throne, but we expected that.”
The shadow was long, long enough to engulf the hollowed-out hangar in which the creature had been grown. How beautiful it was, Labyrinth thought, how majestic, how inhuman.
“And mentally?” he asked.
Seymour squirmed.
“Ah. Well. That might be more of an issue.”
Again, he grunted.
“Yes. I thought so too.”
He waited, gazing up at the creature, feeling an odd stirring, a strange excitement in his stomach whenever he looked at it, the excitement of the knowledge, the power, knowing that he could just as well bring it to life as he could trigger the self-destruct mechanism within its heart
“She hasn’t come to work today, has she?”
Seymour swallowed hard.