Chapter 2: The Experiment Begins
The break room smelled like burnt coffee and regret. I leaned against the chipped Formica counter, watching Emily stir a sad-looking packet of powdered creamer into her cup.
"A little gas," I repeated, grinning as the words left my lips. "I like the way you think." The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering just enough to make the whole place feel like the set of a low-budget horror movie.
Emily smirked, her green eyes glinting under the harsh glow. "You say that like it’s a pickup line." She took a sip, grimaced, and dumped the rest down the sink. "Christ, that’s awful."
Before I could suggest ditching this sterile hellhole for something a little more… private, the group leader clapped his hands together. His lab coat was wrinkled, his hair a mess of gray spikes—like he’d just rolled out of bed and into a mad scientist cosplay.
"Alright, folks, break time's over." He grinned, showing off teeth that had seen too much coffee. "Time to get gassed!"
Dr. Smith—because of course that was his name—gestured us forward with the enthusiasm of a kid showing off his chemistry set. "If you'll all follow me, please." His voice had that weird, breathless quality of someone who spent too much time talking to lab rats.
We filed down a narrow corridor, the walls lined with framed diplomas and research papers that looked like they’d been stolen from a mad scientist’s scrapbook. My eyes snagged on one title: The Effects of Isoflurane on Rodent Sexual Behavior.
"Charming," I muttered. Emily snorted beside me, her shoulder brushing mine. The air smelled like antiseptic and bad decisions.
The rooms at the end of the hall looked like something out of a sci-fi porno. Two conjoined spaces, separated by thick glass, each with a metal table, a blinking machine, and a gas mask hooked up to a tangle of tubes.
"Alright," Dr. Smith said, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain. "Mr. and Ms…?" He squinted at his clipboard, then shrugged. "Johnson, you’ll be in Room A. Mr… uh… whatever your name is, you’re in Room B."
Emily shot me a look, her lips curling into a slow, knowing smirk. "See you on the other side," she purred, before disappearing into her room. The way she said it sent a jolt straight through me—half anticipation, half nerves.
Dr. Smith herded me into Room B, his excitement practically vibrating off him. "Now, just lie down on the table, make yourself comfortable." He patted the cold metal surface like it was a luxury mattress. "This won’t hurt a bit."
I scoffed. Comfortable? In a Speedo, about to inhale experimental gases? Yeah, right. The disinfectant stung my nose as I stretched out, the table digging into my back.
The mask was cold when he pressed it over my face, his fingers lingering just a second too long. "Just breathe normally," he said, adjusting the straps. "And try to relax."
I took a slow breath, the sterile plastic taste filling my mouth. The machine beside me whirred to life, lights blinking in a pattern that felt vaguely ominous.
"We’ll start with a low dose of nitrous oxide," Dr. Smith explained, fiddling with the dials. "Just enough to get you… relaxed." His grin was unsettling.
I closed my eyes, picturing Emily on the other side of the glass. What was she thinking? What was she imagining? Would her fantasies be as twisted as mine?
The first wave hit me like a warm, syrupy rush. Sweet, metallic, thick on my tongue. My head spun, my limbs going loose and heavy. The room blurred at the edges, colors bleeding together.
The gas-induced haze crept in, slow and insistent. My pulse thrummed in my ears, anticipation coiling low in my gut. Would Emily’s fantasies mirror my own? The line between science and desire blurred, and I was ready to cross it.