WARNING/S: Attempted suicide. Child abuse.
494 was strapped to the exam table – again – but this time they had thoughtlessly left the instrument tray too close. It had been 174 days since his clone's unit broke out of Manticore, leaving him to handle the fallout. Tests, questions, beatings, drugs, they wouldn't stop. He did nothing wrong. He had never thought of escape. Not once. Not when they made him sleep outside in the snow, not when they killed 389 in the tank, not when he was stripped of his rations for days. Never. And yet for 174 days he had been mercilessly punished for an escape, for the actions of another and nothing he did or said made them stop.
494 listened out into the hallway. It was silent. The only sound he could hear were the muffled sobs of 211. She wouldn't last much longer, he thought briefly. Confident that the hall was clear of personnel, he slowly dipped the tips of his fingers into the tray – it was just close enough to reach. His nimble pinkly cautiously lifted the scalpel by the tray's edge. Once he was sure in his grip, he carefully pulled his hand back to its original position and got to work.
It shouldn't take long, he thought. He just needed to free his arm. After that he would just need 63 uninterrupted seconds. Despite knowing from experience how sharp the tool was, it was proving difficult to cut through the strap from such an odd angle. Just as the material started to give way, he heard it. Footsteps – two sets. One was definitely Dr. Romanoff, he'd know her steps anywhere. The other belonged to a man, but he wasn't familiar with the cadence.
"Come on, come on," he muttered anxiously. The doctor and her accomplice were rounding the corner just beyond 211's room. The strap gave way. Not wasting time on celebrating, he unceremoniously brought the slightly dulled instrument to his ear and without hesitation dragged the blade downward, slicing into his carotid artery. It hurt, but pain was temporary. It would be over soon. 34 seconds was the last thought 494 had before he lost consciousness.
With 32 seconds left Dr. Klara Romanoff and Col. Donald Lydecker entered the exam room. While the unexpected sight of the child covered in blood momentarily jarred the doctor into inaction, Lydecker immediately pounced on the exam table and put his hands to 494's neck, trying to staunch the bleeding.
"Fucking fix this," Lydecker yelled at the immobile doctor as blood seeped through his fingers and down his hands.
The order roused Romanoff into action and she grabbed the wall phone by the door, dialing the intercom to request medical support.
"Keep pressure on the wound," Romanoff instructed needlessly after hanging up. She frantically began pulling out the necessary supplies from various draws and cupboards around in the room, sparing a moment to gracelessly toss a pack of gauze Lydecker's way.
Lydecker brought the pack to his mouth, keeping one hand on 494's neck, and used his teeth to tear the plastic open. He quickly dumped the contents onto the child's chest before scrunching all the material in his hand and then against the wound, which continued to bleed heavily.
Moments later Lydecker was pushed aside by the medical team who took over operations working to repair 494's self-inflicted damage.
Romanov would not be returning to Manticore, he decided as he watched the doctor assist her colleagues. She was killed the following evening - an apparent convenience store robbery gone bad. The culprit was never caught. Deck did not tolerate stupidity, especially when it almost cost one of his kids their lives. (494 may not have been his, but his resemblance to 493 was enough to stir a warped sense of loyalty in him.)
When 494 regained consciousness he immediately knew, he had failed. While he had been briefed on the various faith structures of the world, he was under no pretense that there was an afterlife. The fact that he was aware was the only proof he needed that he was still very much alive and, based on the smell, still very much in the medical ward.
He kept his eyes closed as he assessed his surroundings: he was on a gurney, slightly softer than the exam table; his heartrate was slower than normal, based on the sounds coming from the EKG machine; and, most importantly, he was not alone.
"Open your eyes, 494," the man ordered. He complied. He saw that the man was seated near the foot of his bed. "That stunt is going to cost you."
He tried to bring his hand up to feel the wound but once again found them strapped tightly – much more so than before - to his gurney. Exhausted, he was unable to stop himself from glaring at the mysterious man. The man he rightly assumed responsible for thwarting his plan.
"You're upset," Lydecker correctly assessed.
494 kept his jaw locked, looking away as frustrated tears blurred the face in front of him.
"Look at me 494." 494 kept his face turned. "Look at me, soldier!" The anger in the man's voice startled him and he did as commanded./p
"You do not get to die. You are property. Your life and how it ends is ours to decide. Do you understand? Had you been successful today it would not have mattered because we would have brought you back. We will always bring you back. Until WE are done with YOU.
"Not only did you fail to carry out your objective, you've prolonged your time here. You're a genetic flight risk and apparently prone to suicidal tendencies. Flaws that cannot stand. They will have to be corrected – but first studied."
The realization that there was no escape was crushing. Tears flowed freely down 494's cheeks.
Lydecker stood up and leaned over the boy, wiping away his tears with his thumb. Before he pulled away, he whispered, "You need to get better at this, son. You don't have a choice."