"Project ZARATHUSTRA; experiment #43, subject #12. Mikhail Sevchenko." A man clad in a black suit belted emotionlessly, staring down at a clipboard with a pen in his hand. Another man was right beside him, his own uniform a complete juxtaposition in its white tint, a flowing lab coat instead of a fitted 3-piece. 

The door to their left opened. A burly man with a sour look, a decoration of military stars on his lapel, and a cigarette tucked between his lips. "This is room 306, correct?" 

The suited man nodded, "Yes, we've been expecting you general. We were told you would be checking in on the division today. I hope you've seen some things you've liked, already?" 

The general took a long inhale of his stogie and trudged over toward the seated pair, "I've seen better. The reds might believe in this hocus-pocus, but I didn't want to fucking fund it." His eyes rose slightly to peer through the glass. 

"...Why is that child sitting with that helmet on? And why in the sam-hill is he wearing such a big fuckin' diaper? What exactly kind of research are you pencil-pushers gettin' up to here?" 

The scientist cleared his throat, "Our janitorial staff insisted that subjects for this project wear something to...Contain, any spills." 

The suited man interjected, "The current research indicates that children have a much stronger psychic connection than adults, general. Mikhail is an unwilling participant; his folks were commies and we can't be sure that he isn't compromised as a sleeper agent. So this is what we call a win-win. The helmet is supposed to use focused micro-waves to stimulate portions of the brain we believe to house these abilities. We're hoping he'll show signs of telepathy, or telekinesis, or maybe even remote viewing." 

The scientist put his hand down toward a switchboard, "The alternative is...Less than pretty. Most of our subjects haven't done well under the effect of the micro-waves."

[10:18 PM]

The general smirked, "Which is the win-win. You either create a super-solider or a retard, am I correct?"

The suited man nodded again, "Yes sir. Of course he doesn't know of the risks; though what nine year old understands risk assessment anyways? He just seemed glad to not be tossed into an orphanage while his parents rot at a blacksite." 

Mikhail sat on the cold sterile floor of his 'testing room', the only warmth he felt was the insulation of the immense cloth diaper he had been forced to wear. He could see the silhouettes of the men watching him, though he couldn't make out more than that. He touched the helmet, feeling the grooves of it, and wondering what exactly the plan here was. 

He didn't have time to think too much about it. The scientist flipped the switch and the helmet roared to life; in an instant, Mikhail's brain was undulated with wave after wave of ion-distorting energies. The antennas crackled and his eyes grew wide as he could feel his own brain essentially getting cooked. 

It was over in an instant, and before the helmet shut off, he was already pushing out the largest pile of mush into his well-padded seat that his spectators had ever seen. The back swelled and bulged with each new hefty lump while his mouth hung open, dumbstruck by the helmet on his head. 

The general snuffed out his cigarette and turned to leave, "Keep up the good work, boys."