The first thing that happened was that he took a shower. His thin hospital gown was slicked with sweat from his hot flashes, and it was taken away to be disposed of. Nat didn't mind that Dr. Quincy remained in the room with him, explaining the procedure that had occurred. Nat only half listened, his ears flattened to his head to keep out water. Out of habit he had turned the faucet to warm, and reacted like the water was boiling hot. Now, he cranked it to as cold as it could be, feeling the cool relief of water on his skin. It didn't feel cold at all, though he knew it was. It felt refreshing, cleansing, revitalizing. Like it was giving him life again. He stayed in the shower perhaps a little longer than he should have, just enjoying the freezing droplets on his skin. Finally, the second orderly returned, bringing with him a big, fluffy towel, and real clothes.
Real clothes. The picture surprised him, and he was overjoyed. How many days and nights had he spent in an exposing hospital gown, thin and scratchy against his sensitive skin? He hadn't even had underwear beneath it, and he had to be constantly mindful of how he sat, lest some scientist in an observing room get an undeserved peek at his family jewels.
He happily pulled on the clothes, not caring that they were all a bleached, sterile white. White underwear, white pants, a white high-collared shirt with long sleeves. The sleeves he was grateful for, covering up the long, angry scars that reached from his wrists to the middle of his forearm. Other scars were, unfortunately, visible, the slices and slashes on his fingers and palms, the sideways cuts on his wrist that peeked out from his cuffs from his first attempts at suicide. He hadn't known at first that to be effective, you had to cut the artery along your arm, not across it. Teen dramas and trashy TV had lied to him.
But he put his scars out of sight, and out of mind. No one needed to see them, or ask about them. He pulled on the sterile slippers for his feet, and stuck his hands in his pockets, signaling to Quincy that he was ready. And just like that, no tasers, no handcuffs, no tranquilizers or armed guards, he was led out of the room. The perks of being a cooperative subject, he thought to himself, as they passed by a window that allowed him to see to the outside, ever so briefly. There was a beach out there, white and sandy, with palm trees and tropical shrubs, like something out of a tourist pamphlet. There were more forboding grey buildings, and a helipad on one of the roofs, likely for supplies. And out in front of the building, on the ground below him, he saw a group of strange characters, half-human, half-.... Other things. A boy with a shrimp-like shell, a girl with a monkey's tail, a young man with butterfly wings, another who looked quite a bit like himself, but whose tail was thinner, like a cat's. There was a slick, almost eel like man among them as well, a girl with long dark wings sprouting from her shoulders, and possibly the youngest, a girl in a wheelchair, though she was oriented away from him, so he couldn't see what was wrong with her. He stopped and stared out the window for a brief moment, his cold eyes observing the other subjects below. So, Quincy hadn't been lying when he said there were others. For a second he considered turning around and going out to greet them, to find comfort and solace in the fact that he wasn't alone. And then that second was gone, and he turned away, following Quincy down the hall. None of the others were wearing proper clothes, all still in their hospital gowns. That meant they hadn't volunteered for testing.
He felt rage boil up in his stomach, making him grit his teeth. Of course, this experiment had probably collected other troubled teens, like himself. And if they were anything like the others in the mental ward, they probably wouldn't volunteer. He clenched his fists, his animalistic anger bubbling up again. How selfish! How stupid! This whole experiment was a mistake, an accident! He couldn't be the only subject volunteering, right? He couldn't be the only one who still trusted the scientists, right? He couldn't be the only one who wanted to turn back! Swallowing the bile welling up from his throat, Nat banished the thoughts of the other subjects from his mind, bottling up his resentment. Who cared about them, if they wanted to stay animals, they could. He was going to find a way to turn back, then return to Paris and never set foot in a hospital ever again!
He followed Quincy deeper into the facility, finally being led into a wide, white room. It was completely empty, with one wall have a wide window that he couldn't look into. Probably an observation room. There was a speaker and mic on the wall as well, and high above were air vents, too small to be crawled through. He wasn't worried about escape. Freedom was the last thing on his mind. He was used to living in cages. He looked behind him as the door closed, leaving him alone, and then a few minutes later the speaker crackled.
"Testing, testing, 1, 2, 3. Nathanaël, can you hear me? Please wave to the camera to your left if you can." came Quincy's voice, and Nat was relieved. He quickly found the camera, waving to it as he was told to.
"Excellent, excellent. Alright, Nathanaël, we are going to lower the temperature in the room by intervals of ten degrees. Right now, it's at 20˚ celsius, or 68˚ fahrenheit. I want you to tell me when you start to shiver and when you start to feel numb. We have equipment here that will be monitoring your core temperature, so don't worry about dying, we will stop when we feel your core temperature has lowered too much. Alright?"
Nat gave the camera a thumbs up.
"Alright, we will begin. Lowering room temperature to 10˚ celsius."
He could feel a small change in the room, though it was barely noticeable. If anything, the sweltering heat he had been enduring now became more livable. He still felt warm, but it was a little better now. The second temperature drop he noticed more. He could feel the air become slower around him, water molecules in the air begin to freeze. 0˚ celsius was when water became ice, and he knew it. Still, he felt no discomfort, and continued not to, even as the air became colder and colder. -10˚, -20˚, -40˚, -60˚. It was only when he knew the temperature had hit -70˚ celsius that he felt a sudden shiver run up his spine, the thin shirt and slippers now feeling like inadequate protection.
"D-Doctor Quincy? I-I'm shivering!" he called, looking up at the video camera and tucking his hands into his armpits for warmth. There was a pause, and then the metallic sound of Quincy's voice came through the speaker.
"Excellent, that's very good news, Nathanaël. This keeps in line with our predictions. Worry not, you core temperature is still stable. We're going to decrease the temperature again, alright? You can do anything you can to keep warm, just tell us when you feel numb."
Giving the camera a shaky nod, Nat began to pace around the room. He could feel his pores close off, his capillaries shrinking. He kept his feet moving and his hands stuffed firmly in his armpits. He could feel any remaining moisture crystallize on his eyelashes, making him narrow his eyes to keep them from freezing. His eyes definitely stung in this cold, but he pressed on. He could endure this. He had endured so much already. He had endured to cold eyes of his father, gazing at him in disappointment. He had endured the frigid atmosphere of their house, after his mother left and he was pulled from school. He had endured the icy glares his parents had sent each other across the dinner table for years before their divorce. He was made in the cold, he had long lived in the cold before this test. The cold was his element, it was his home. He had coldness inside him as well.
He felt his fingers, toes, and the tip of his tail start to go numb, and he looked up at the camera, a silent signal that he was numb. He knew hat if he opened his mouth now, the spittle inside would freeze solid. The speakers were silent, and the temperature dropped again. Now, Nat began to feel his very skin begin to go numb, turning cold and blue and freezing...
"That's enough! Good job Nat, we're bringing the temperature back up!" came Quincy's voice, and the room did as he said. Nat could feel the temperature slowly increase back up to above freezing temperature, and he collapsed against the wall, shivering uncontrollably. The door opened and two additional orderlies rushed in, carrying a thick blanket, a hot water bottle, and instruments. They engulfed him in the blanket, and he pressed the hot water bottle to his hands, feet, face. They checked his vitals and some other stuff he probably didn't know about, all he could care about was that it was no longer cold. He looked up as he saw Dr. Quincy approaching, giving him a weak smile.
"H-H-How l-l-long did I l-last?" he stammered, still not over his shivering. Quincy's expression seemed strangely proud, an unreadable twinkle in his eyes.
"-100˚ celsius. Or, -148˚ fahrenheit. You endured -100˚ of frost before your body began to freeze. And that is without any thermal or protective gear. With proper equipment, you could easily make it to -120˚ celsius. You fought off hypothermia at -90˚, the average human being is susceptible at 0˚. The lowest recorded temperature on earth is 89.2˚ celsius, and you survived more than -10˚ more without protection. You, my boy, are a human marvel."
Nat looked down at his clawed fingers, the color starting to return to them.
"... No. Not human anymore."