As the human woke up, his muscles tensed and he let out an echoing wail. He couldn't see around him with the enveloping darkness. His body was sore and he felt more than one section of his body was bleeding and charred.
There was a flash. People running everywhere, screaming. There had been an explosion—the mine he was working in exploded. Alarms were buzzing as he struggled to move—knocked over by the explosion, the element zero burning his body while he lay motionless on the ground, the saving grace of shock completely numbing his body to the severe burns.
Snapped back to reality as a door slammed shut, he looked around the recently illuminated room. The sterile-white luminescent lights gave him a pounding headache. Blinded by the pain, he was helpless as two strong arms lifted him and dragged him to a bed, laying him down roughly.
Machines were buzzing and omni-tools scanning his wounds as the physicians went to work. His master must have cared something about him; slavers rarely kept physicians around to heal the infirm and the helpless, preferring instead to let death overtake the weak and replacing the fallen with younger, more able slaves.
Medi-gel poured onto his wounds, sending unconscious once more as the anti-septic sealers closed his wounds and sanitized the infected charred tissue. If he survived the blast, he still might die of eezo exposure, and the physicians knew it. Eezo exposure most often cause the immune system to shut down leaving the person ravaged by unknown diseases. Other side effects were just as fatal—critical organs shutting down like the heart or the liver, or the eezo liquefying the brain; some died of monstrous tumors, while others developed cancers or died outright. The "lucky ones" had to live their lives with intense migraines…but in rare cases, some might develop biotic powers, and this is why they worked feverishly to sustain his vital systems.
Wondering why he was alive, he struggled to open his eyes. Blinking back tears and blurry images, his eyes struggled to clear themselves as he turned his head side to side to look around.
"He's waking up again—should I knock him out?"
"Don't—perhaps he can give us some information."
He struggled to look at the one speaking, but had to close his eyes again to avoid blacking out.
"Human—what is your name?" An unintelligible mutter was his response, and the physician questioned him again. "Your name, human—stay with me."
He struggled to recall it. His master always beat him when he used his name—A slave doesn't have a name, his master used to say, so all he could come up with was "Four-oh-two, six-six-three."
"No, human—not your slave number, your name. Name? Don't you have a name?"
"Ryan," he said with much effort.
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-one."
"What is your planet of origin?"
A slave isn't born, a slave is bought, his master's voice chanted. "I don't know."
Without missing a beat, the salarian physician asked him "Known clan members?"
A slave has no family, only a master. "I don't know."
"What was your slave-duty?"
"I monitored the pressure on the refinement tubes in the eezo mine…I was right up front when they burst under pressure. Someone had disarmed the automated-adjustment terminal so the gauge wouldn't correct itself."
"Yes, yes, we're aware of that. Do you know why you are here?"
He thought for a moment, his head finally beginning to clear. "No—why would you help me?"
"Your master sold you off—he'd have just killed you if the Illusive Man didn't find you important." To his assistants he added, "His condition is stabilizing, and there isn't anything else I can do to help him. I want to see the Illusive Man." The two human assistants scurried out of the room, apparently relieved to be free of medical charge of their patient.
"Who is the Illusive Man?" Ryan finally ventured, daring to look at the salarian.
"Have you heard of Cerberus?"
"No—what is it?"
"Cerberus is an organization that doesn't like how the Alliance does business—they exist everywhere, every level of government on every human world. The Illusive man is at the top. They're openly hostile to the Alliance military and all other alien races…I wouldn't be doing this if it didn't pay so well."
Ryan struggled to sit up, pain lancing through his side and torso. "What do they want with me?"
"I don't know, and if I were you, I wouldn't ask. Just be happy you're alive, it may not last long." The salarian turned as the door opened once again. One of the soldiers who helped him earlier was there.
"He will see you now—next door there's a burst transmission on the terminal. Don't keep him waiting."
The physician left silently, and the human stared at Ryan. "You're lucky he wants you alive, or I'd just as soon shoot you now…ugly little slave." Turning to leave, he added one more comment, saying "He still may want you dead, so watch yourself."
Leaning back on the bed, Ryan fell into a deep sleep, relieved nobody was around to bug him.
