Daddy [Mommy Sequel]

Chapter 13: Jello

As soon as the servants entered, they left, the bowls of white, cold liquid left in front of us.

No matter how much I tried to convince myself that this wasn't Mommy's house, that I didn't have to react to situations like I used to—I couldn't stop myself as I quickly reached for the spoon they provided.

I had to eat fast or they—

I stopped myself before I could grab the spoon. No one else was reaching for theirs, and I realized the fact that I was overthinking almost caused me to mess up.

I slowly lowered my hand, looking around. Everyone stared down blankly at their bowls of 'food', and I quickly copied them, afraid of standing out. I froze in that stance—fearing that it was already too late to fix the mistake I almost made.

I felt eyes on me, and I swallowed. I could feel my shoulders tense up.

The Master was watching.

I froze in that stance until I once again heard the sound of crackle and static fill the room from the speaker, and the familiar, commanding voice following it.

"Proceed to eat. Thank you for being patient."

I sighed in relief, watching as the children all simultaneously picked up their spoons, dipping them into the slop. I followed shortly, not thinking twice before I took a bite.

I've eaten worse.

Besides, I remembered that the man with glasses called the blood on the nurse from earlier unclean—so I doubted they would feed it to us.

I took a bite, and my face shriveled up—only slightly. I held it in my mouth before swallowing, refusing the urge to cough. My temples tingled with the sensation.

It tasted like lukewarm biscuits mixed with water and vinegar. It was nearly repulsive, but I didn't dare to spit it up. It's not the worst thing I've eaten—and I knew I could stomach it.

I noticed the other children were very silent as they ate, their spoons not even touching the inside of the bowl. I followed their actions, staying as silent as possible.

I took another bite, forcing it down. That's when I noticed that some of the children didn't have food.

They sat at the tables silently, staring down at the tables with cold, blank expressions. I noticed a few of them without food, and that's when I realized there was a similar theme going on.

All the ones that didn't have food in front of them were more on the bigger side—their pristine clothes almost too small to fit. I almost let the food fall out of my own mouth. My brows furrowed in frustration.

They needed to eat, just like we did. Even if the food wasn't good, they still needed some sort of nutrients in their bodies. I could see they looked almost ill; I felt bad for them, and I was rather frustrated.

Why didn't the Boss just take people who were perfect—or close to his form of perfect, instead of taking people who didn't fit his standards as all?

When he wanted deathly pale children, he still took in children with dark skin tones. And when he wanted lean, slim children—he still took in ones that were larger than he even wanted.

I stayed in my thoughts as I continued to eat from the sour bowl. Why did the Boss have to make his so-called process to perfection so difficult for everyone—the children and himself?

That's when I remembered Transfer 342's words.

"This place is a life-long held experiment ran by our Boss—or as I can say—your new father, to create a series of pure, and advanced children that fits to his description of perfection. He takes different children from different backgrounds and locations, and sees if he can change them to how he desires."