After Yesterday
by Matt Morwell

Disclaimer: The characters and materials used herein are based on the video game "Second Sight", developed by FreeRadical. They are used arbitrarily and without permission. So there.

Prologue

Pain.

So much pain... unbearable, blinding... like Hell born into reality.

Pain in his eye... across his chest... spiking in his legs and abdomen.

Pain that would cause him to cry out in agony – except he could not part his lips to scream, nor could he incite his vocal cords to create any form of audible noise. All he could do was breathe irregularly.

Even that was a challenge. And whatever remained of his sanity screamed at him that it was an exercise in futility anyway... but he didn't know why.

He inched his head to the side, the most effort he had ever put into motion since... since...

Since...

—

Osiris Medical Research Facility
Calton, Virginia, United States
October 5, 1999
6:42 a.m.

Franklin Stubbs tried not to yawn as he pushed the cart out of the elevator and down the central corridor. He had pulled an all-nighter the previous night – half the night had been spent at the facility, the other half of it at a bar in town where he'd tried to get in some hot young blonde stranger's pants.

Hadn't worked. In fact, he'd gotten a slap across the face for it... but looking back on it, some part of him knew he'd deserved it. He'd gotten drunk, and he had a tendency to get pretty brazen when inebriated. That's why his first marriage had fallen apart. Second one, too.

What's AA's definition of insanity? "Performing the same action repeatedly in expectation of a different result each time." He wasn't one to admit his fallacies to others, but he felt no shame in admitting them to himself. He wasn't a perfect man... actually, he was quite the specimen of imperfection. He had a minor criminal record and a reputation for excessive force, the latter of which had gotten him kicked out of the NYPD.

So it had been to his great surprise – and pleasure – to discover this facility wanted him to work for them. The manager had said it was precisely because of his excessive force rap... they needed muscle, and he had it in abundance. They needed, in the manager's words, "a brute", and in Stubbs they had found their man.

Weird. But still, it's a job. Stubbs was certain the word "brute" was by no means a compliment to him, but at this stage in his life, he was willing to take whatever breaks Fate wanted to allow. Pay was decent, and there was very little action to be had here. A few patients here and there had to be held down, but the restraints on the gurneys tended to take care of at least half that job anyway. He'd never had to use his nightstick – though there were days he was sorely tempted to give Connelly a whack over the head or two, just right across that balding scalp of his. That man has, bar none, the weirdest combover I've ever seen in my life.

And being from Brooklyn, Stubbs had seen quite a few of those.

He arrived at the entrance to Surgery Observation and hit the buzzer. On the other side of the door's window, a round, mustachioed face smirked mischievously at Stubbs, and rising up in front of it was a fist the size of a ham with its middle finger raised.

"Lemme in, you chubby bastard," Stubbs muttered. He hit the buzzer three more times, hoping Dr. Henricksen could hear it and get irritated with Connelly for keeping him waiting. To emphasize his point, he spoke louder. "C'mon, Harry, buzz me through already!"

Harold Connelly finally relented and opened the door for his co-worker, with whom he liked to think he had a relationship that bordered on rivalry. They were both competing for the next raise on the grunt level – they had been for some time, hence their cooperative move to the 6th floor of the facility, which had only netted them the same exact amount of monetary increase to their respective salaries.

He ran a hand over the thick patch of hair sitting atop his otherwise bald scalp, which he had dutifully combed to cover as much of that scalp as humanly possible. "Whatcha got here today?"

"It's your Christmas roast come early," Stubbs replied, not interested in trading verbal barbs with Connelly today. "Move outta the way, I got a job to do."

Connelly leaned down to inspect the subject on the gurney, and his eyes widened in appreciation. "Jesus. Is this guy a mess, or what?"

Stubbs pushed the gurney past Connelly and shrugged. "Ahh, that's nothin'. You shoulda seen him before." Stubbs had... it hadn't been a sight any prettier than what was left for them to view now.

Connelly fell into step alongside. "Guess he won't be dating again."

Stubbs scoffed. "Yeah, right, like he's ever getting out. Why do you think he's here?"

"Why do you think he's here?" Connelly countered.

"I don't have to think about it, I know. He's a psycho killer."

Connelly blinked, impressed. "Sweet! What'd he do?"

Stubbs was all for blood and gore – his favorite kind of movie was a good zombie flick – but he found Connelly's attitude towards real-life murderers a little sickening. He turned his attention to maneuvering the gurney past the chemical stores. "That's classified."

This time it was Connelly's turn to scoff. "Yeah, right. That's Latin for 'I got no fucking clue'."

"Whatever."

Connelly rolled his eyes as he opened the door into the operating room. "Why do they even keep these losers alive?"

"Do you ever get tired of asking that question? I've been hearin' it for the past five months, and always, the answer's been the same – the lab wants him."

"What the hell're they gonna make out of him? A crash test dummy?"

Stubbs shrugged. "Who knows? He's been wired up to a box all summer. Maybe he's curin' cancer."

Connelly's eyes narrowed at the subject on the gurney, and then they widened. "Hey, hey, did you see that?" He pointed. "He moved his head... he's lookin' right at me."

Stubbs glanced down at the patient, and indeed, Connelly seemed to be correct – his right eye was half-open and lazily drifting about his surroundings, and Connelly in particular. "Yeah... so?"

"Well, I mean... you think he can hear us?"

Stubbs chuckled. "Leave it to you to be all happy when in the presence of a killer, then scared shitless when he wakes up. He can hear all he wants, won't make a difference." He looked up and into the operating room, where Henricksen was finally taking notice of the room's new occupants. "Hey, Doc! How about a little more monkey juice over here, huh?"

"I was not scared shitless..." Connelly babbled on some lame excuse of a defense, but Stubbs wasn't really paying attention to him anymore – rather, he was watching Henricksen's apparent fascination with the newest research subject.

"Ahh, yes..." Henricksen murmured. "Be careful with this one. Let me see..." He reached down and grabbed the patient's bloated chin between thumb and forefinger in a vicegrip that Stubbs was almost positive would have had a grown man squirming in pain.

Except this guy couldn't do that. Couldn't do much of anything, really.

After having seen a little bit of his history, Stubbs preferred it that way.

Henricksen looked up at Stubbs over his surgical mask. "Hold his arm a moment, would you?"

"Glad to, Doc." Stubbs reached out and held down the patient's left arm at the elbow. He met no resistance, though he was certain that if the patient were fully aware, he'd probably have had a bit of a fight on his hands.

One worth remembering. I barely do shit around here. Same with Harry... He looked over at Connelly, who still seemed intent on convincing his co-worker that he wasn't afraid of some carved up meatbag strapped to a shopping cart. Which, of course, could only mean Connelly was simply trying to make up for his outburst earlier.

Well, I'd love to claim I'm as ballsy as Harry says he is, but there's something about all this...

It wasn't just the patient that was bothering Stubbs. It was everything around him – until he'd come to this facility, he'd never seen an operating room that seemed comparatively so shabby, nor had he ever seen a doctor willing to wear a medical gown with bloodstains on it after a surgery performed in it was finished.

"Uh, Doc? You need any new equipment? Medical gowns, clean needles, that kind of thing?" Stubbs asked, trying to sound casual.

Henricksen waved Stubbs' request off with a flick of his hand. "Not necessary, but thank you. If you gentlemen will please excuse us..." He looked down at his new test subject with a glint in his eye.

Stubbs knew that look. And he knew to be well away from anyone with it if he wanted to retain his sanity.

"...we have some work to do."