Pregnant.

Dr. Eleanor Briggs, the facility’s lead physician, stared at the report in silence. It was impossible. Blackridge was a maximum-security prison for women only. No male staff were allowed unmonitored contact, and all inmate interactions were recorded and timed. The only conclusion that made sense was the one no one wanted to believe — something, or someone, was happening beyond the cameras.

The First Shock

Eleanor immediately ordered a second test. Then a third. All confirmed the same result. When she informed Warden Samuel Price, his face drained of color. “That’s not possible,” he muttered. “Run it again.”

But within two weeks, it wasn’t just Mara.

Three other inmates — all from different blocks — tested positive for pregnancy.

The warden ordered an internal lockdown. Interrogations began. Cell inspections were doubled. The women were questioned for hours, accused of smuggling, of making false claims, even of “attention-seeking behavior.” But every test came back real.

“How can this happen in a place with no men?” one guard whispered during the morning briefing.
“No men,” another muttered, “that we know of.”

A Web of Fear

The pregnancies began dividing the prison. Some inmates were terrified, others defiant. Rumors exploded: ghosts, experiments, divine intervention. A few even claimed they’d heard noises at night — the sound of vents opening, footsteps when no one was supposed to be there.

Eleanor, unable to accept superstition, demanded the installation of hidden cameras — not the standard security ones, but covert micro-cameras only she and the warden would know about. She placed them near the infirmary, laundry, and storage wings — the only areas where the cameras didn’t have direct angles.

What she discovered weeks later would turn Blackridge into a national scandal.

The Secret Camera Footage

At 2:13 a.m. on a Tuesday, one of the hidden cameras in the laundry corridor caught movement. A shadow slipped through the ventilation grate, followed by a figure wearing a full sanitation suit and mask. The person moved with precision — like someone who knew the blind spots of the security system.

He carried a syringe.

The footage showed him approaching Inmate #317’s cell. The camera, barely the size of a button, captured a faint flash of metal, a prick to the inmate’s neck, and the figure retreating silently back through the vent.

Eleanor watched the replay five times before she could speak.
“Someone’s drugging them,” she whispered. “This isn’t an accident — it’s a controlled experiment.”

When she showed the warden, he went pale.
“Turn that off,” he said sharply. “Don’t show anyone else.”

But it was too late. The next morning, Eleanor’s office was raided. Her computer was confiscated. The footage vanished from the system.

The Whistleblower

Three days later, Eleanor disappeared. The official statement claimed she’d been “transferred” for security reasons. No forwarding address. No contact.

However, a week after her disappearance, a USB drive arrived anonymously at the local newspaper, The New York Sentinel. On it was a copy of the footage — along with Eleanor’s private notes.

In her journal, she had written:

“It’s not the guards. It’s not the inmates. It’s the program. Someone inside the government is testing a reproductive serum — a formula that allows conception without intercourse. The inmates were chosen because no one would believe them.”

“The injections are scheduled between 2 and 4 a.m. The staff on duty those nights are all contractors, not official employees. Their ID numbers don’t exist in the prison database.”

The report described symptoms consistent with hormonal manipulation — nausea, rapid cell division, unexplained immune responses. According to Eleanor’s final note: “The pregnancies are progressing at twice the normal rate.”

The Fallout

When The New York Sentinel published the story, the country exploded in outrage. Protests erupted outside Blackridge. Families of inmates demanded answers. The government denied involvement, claiming the footage was fabricated. Yet investigators found that several “contractors” listed in Eleanor’s notes had connections to a private biotech firm — GenXCore Laboratories, a company previously accused of illegal gene-editing trials.

Days later, Warden Price resigned abruptly, citing “personal reasons.” His statement to the press lasted only 23 seconds. When a reporter asked if he believed the pregnancies were part of an experiment, he simply replied, “No comment,” and walked away.

Within months, five infants were born inside Blackridge. None of the mothers were allowed visitors. DNA tests were requested — but blocked by federal order. The babies were reportedly taken into “protective custody” under state supervision. Their exact location remains unknown.

The Unanswered Questions

Despite media coverage, the deeper truth remained buried under bureaucracy and silence. No one ever located Dr. Eleanor Briggs. Some believed she’d been silenced. Others claimed she’d entered witness protection.

One anonymous insider from GenXCore later confessed in an encrypted message to a journalist:

“Eleanor was right. It was called Project Genesis. Artificial conception through stem cell activation. They needed hosts — and prisons are perfect. No one asks questions. No one gets out.”

When asked why the experiments stopped, the source replied:

“They didn’t.”

Epilogue

Months after the scandal, a new warden took over Blackridge. The cameras were replaced, and a statement declared that “the facility has returned to normal operations.”

But a night-shift nurse reported something eerie: every few weeks, she found faint scratches on the infirmary walls — small carvings made with a spoon or nail file. Always the same word, repeated over and over:

“Eleanor.”

And once, beside the hospital bed of a newly transferred inmate, she found a folded piece of paper tucked under the pillow.

It read:

“They’re still here. And this time, they’re not stopping.”