A wave of intense, visceral resistance flooded 1152's eyes. As a human guinea pig trapped in this sterile hell, he was utterly sick of this hopeless, agonizing existence.
Five more years of life was a massive temptation. But the cost—having his legs sawed off, rotting in a wheelchair, and remaining locked in Lab C's endless cycle of torture—was a price he refused to pay.
No. He wouldn't accept it.
He asked desperately, "What's the second choice?"
Maeve didn't drag it out. "Choice two: I use my medication to sustain your life and completely eliminate your pain. You can eat whatever you want, do whatever you want—like call your family or friends. You can sit in a wheelchair, breathe fresh air, and actually feel the sunlight."
She held up seven fingers. "But this will only last for exactly seven days. The medication loses its efficacy after that. If we push past seven days, your body will build a massive tolerance, and the resulting side effects will multiply your previous pain tenfold. But if we stop the medication, you will pass away peacefully in your sleep on the seventh night."
Ultimately, she placed the choice firmly in his hands.
1152 didn't even hesitate. "I choose the second."
He was done living. If his final seven days on earth could be completely pain-free, he would trade his very soul for it. Dying quietly in his sleep was the greatest mercy he could ever ask for.
Maeve confirmed one last time, her voice grave. "Are you absolutely certain? Seven days is nothing compared to five years."
1152 offered a tragic, broken smile. "Forget seven days. I'd take seven hours if it meant I didn't have to hurt anymore."

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABEL
Comments
The readers' comments on the novel: Divorce Failed My Wife's Secret Identities Shock the World