Several weeks passed, and the living corpse that emerged from that ancient crypt now looked entirely human—a boy, perhaps ten years of age, with dark hair and pale skin.
He was no longer confined to the glass box. Instead, he sat in a stark white room, and the soft floor was his bed. And on the door was a metal placard,
[Patient: 0]
He wasn't alone in this white room, though. Dr. Aniston sat with her legs crossed on the floor beside him, holding a colorful shape sorter toy. She picked up a red square block and held it up.
"This is a square," she said gently, her voice warm and patient. "It goes in the square hole. See?"
She demonstrated, sliding the block through the matching opening. "Square."
Patient Zero watched intently, his lips moving as if trying to form the word. Only ragged breaths emerged, but his eyes showed understanding.
"Would you like to try?" Dr. Aniston offered him the toy.
