by Tom B. First
"Tom B. First," came the reply. It was a response to a tray of food being slid in front of him. The security officer turned away from the old man as he shoved a spoon in his hand. "Tom B. First," the old man mumbled as he grabbed the spoon and began to immediately gouge spoonfuls of oatmeal into his mouth.
"I tell you, Vic..." The officer looked at his partner. "...I have no idea what that thing was."
"I heard a baby crying."
"Babies don't have snakes coming out of their heads!" the security officer snapped back.
"Snakes? You actually saw snakes on his head?"
"They were hissing."
"Tom B. First." The old man raised his spoon, dropping oatmeal on the floor.
"Cripes!" Vic yelled. "We gotta clean that crap up, old man!"
"Tom B. First," came the reply.
"What the hell is this senile old goat doing here anyway?" Vic asked his partner.
"I think he showed signs of the metagene supposedly during the initial outbreaks, but the old man's records have been misplaced in the confusion that followed those first few weeks."
"I thought maybe this was the guy they thought had died and then came back to life?"
"You hear all kinds of crazy rumors around here."
"So he's kept here in observation in the hope his metagene will reappear sometime?"
"That's the plan."
"Stupid plan," Vic smirked. "Stupid old man. Not worth the trouble of keeping alive."
"Tom B. First!" the old man's voice was a bit louder than before.
"What? Did he understand me?"
"I doubt he understands anything, Vic." His partner grinned. "And you're probably right. If he doesn't show some sign of the metagene soon, he probably will be... disposed of."
The big metal door clanged shut, and the old man listened as the keys turned in the lock. "Tom B. First," he said softly. A smile crept across his face as he shoved the last big spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth.