White closed his eyes and sat back in his chair. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he felt a headache coming on- twirling heat just behind his eyes. He sat back up and looked down at his desk. So perfect, pristine and in order. Just like his prison. Everything was sanitized to the point of disturbance. His eyes dropped as he leaned over opening a drawer. A great amount of things had changed since he first enlisted.
A scar painted across his left shoulder reminded him of the war that was raging outside of his cage. The aches that would come, signaling the change in the weather, reminded him of the debris that had been pulled from his arm and of a time when he was able to do more than sit behind a desk and give orders.
He and his partner, Six, had been a force to be reckoned with. Six had the agility and the speed. He had the brute force and the fire power. They were leading their arming- raging war against the nanite infested threats.
White pulled a small framed picture from the desk and sat back. It ate at him. It was destroying him little by little to know that there was a cure now. A cure that could have saved them. He closed his eyes. There was always the possibility that they were incurables. But he would never know that. He closed his eyes. He slipped into his mind- a safe place- where he could think. He imagined the feel of the wind rustling through his hair. The smell of the city- the country- and his home.
His mind took him to a place then. A place filled with smiles and laughter- but soaked with pain and memories. He was walking through a meadow; dried grass tickling at his pant legs, burs gathering on his shoe laces and a small hand curled protectively in his own.
Elizabeth Marie was a radiant child. Golden brown hair pulled back into a bouncing pony tail and clear blue eyes pure and alight with the innocence that came with her short seven years.
He smiled, his eyes still closed. Her voice was rolling on the wind as she asked him question after question- her insatiable appetite for knowledge a blessing in disguise. Atop his broad shoulders, sat another little bundle of energy- small feet kicking at his chest- tiny fingers curling around his ears almost painfully and laugher rocking the child back and forth.
Alexander Noel was the son he thought he would never have. Hair identical to his sister's remained permanently ruffled on top of his head. Brown eyes held the mischief that most four year old boys had- and then some. They were all so happy. The smell of the lake reaching their noses long before they could even see it.
It was one of the few times he could actually take away, but he cherished those moments. Helen was already at the lake when they arrived- Elizabeth had dropped his hand and ran as fast as her scrawny knees could take her, diving into her mothers arms.
White opened his eyes then, looking down at the picture in his hand. Helen was one of the most beautiful women he had ever set eyes on. Her touch was soft, her heart was caring but she was so fragile. She had almost died giving birth to Alexander but she pulled through with him by her side. White narrowed his eyes. He would never again be able to touch his wife or his children. He would never be able to see Elizabeth get braces, and make the cheerleading squad. He would never have to threaten a young boy on prom night then wait up until she got home safe. Alexander would never see his father at any baseball games. He wouldn't get to have the talk.
White felt his jaw clench. He would never be able to walk his daughter down the aisle or pat his son on the back as he graduated college. He turned his eyes from the picture. He was no longer the happily married man he once was. All that had changed. A little more violently than he intended- he threw the picture back into the drawer. Hiding it away, burying the memories and suppressing the urge to scream.
He looked over the files and reports on his desk in disgust. He had been fighting the war for several years. They weren't winning. They weren't loosing. They were sitting still- hung in a permanent stale mate until something gave. They had an advantage, of course. Rex could cure them. Not all of them and his abilities were not always one hundred percent- but he was an advantage none the less.
White looked at his white walls, his white desk, his white existence. If only he had known about Project R.E.X right after the event he could have saved Helen. He could have had her cured.
Instead he had to watch his precious wife turn; tied to a bed, words spilling out of her mouth that had never before touched her lips, and her body bending and bowing into angles that it shouldn't be able to do. Bones snapped, ligaments tore and flesh burned back as the transformation devoured her. The restraints didn't hold her long after the transformation finished- and then she went on the rampage.
White closed his eyes. He couldn't allow himself to delve into those dangerous thoughts and memories. But his mind was not going to listen to reason. Just as vividly as when it happened the events played on his lids. Her ripping Alexander from his bed as he tried to stop her. Six grabbing up Elizabeth in an attempt to save her. The bright crimson flood that surrounded Helen's feet as Alexander's lifeless body hung from her massive jaws.
He could still here Elizabeth screaming as Six tried to protect her. Six was almost fatally wounded as he tried to protect his daughter- the entire time screaming for White to shoot her.
Helen's barbed claw and missed Six's vital organs as it went through him- but caught Elizabeth in the heart.
The echo of his daughters dying scream still haunted his nights just as the sound of the shot that finally took Helen's life did. He had dropped the gun- his hands trembling. In the course of thirty minutes he had lost everything he lived for.
White brought a shaky hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he rubbed his eyes with the other. He shook his head and reached into his drawer pulling out a bottle of pain killers. A small buzz sounded in the otherwise quiet room- bringing him out of his walk down memory lane.
"Buck up and get to work." He snorted to himself. There was work to do.