The light purple dimly inside the nursery, directly onto the tiny orange cradles. Lined Up.
Especially chosen. In rows of 6.
The clock strikes twelve.
The babies awaken by the backward tapes.
A smell of sulphur and paraffine. Acetone maybe.
"This one next formatted" said Dr Zamenoff.
Dr Cameron says "It's all ok!"
The orange lined up cradles.
Babies. Orphans. Little Hands and Feet.
Just an experiment. We'll see if it helps.
Press hard. Dig well.
A siren, they're awake again.
This time it's oats and warm milk and maple syrup. They must be hungry. After torture comes the sweet thing.
The Orphanage, property of the One Church. A MEN.
In the barn, lined up cots, cradles of hell awaiting the call.
A few months and they're good to go.
In the orphanage so sinister
.
THERE WERE JUST BABIES
NOW THEY'RE CONFIGURED!
