Red; that was all he could see. There was no more blue sky, or golden fields, or white fabric. Everything had been tainted in bright, burning red, his vision pulsing in and out of darkness. He supposed it should hurt, but everything had gone numb now. It hurt earlier, oh, how much it hurt. It was like his entire core had been ripped apart, agonizingly slow, each seam separating in painful tears. This wasn't far off from the truth. He had been ripped apart, and only shaking pale hands clasped over his midsection held him together. But it didn't hurt anymore. Maybe he was finally drifting away, and that part of him that could feel things like pain had already left him, waiting for the rest of his consciousness to follow. He was certain he heard a voice, someone calling for him, begging him to stay awake, but it was too distant now. Whatever voice that had once been was growing quieter and quieter, and he felt less obligated to pay it any mind.
He could still see those eyes, cold and gray, burning into him with so much hatred he was surprised they didn't kill him on their own. However, that didn't matter; her hands were more than happy to take care of what her eyes couldn't. He didn't bother to try and stop her, to run away or plead for mercy. He was much too happy to see her alive and safe, and much too apathetic to argue with her desires.
It hadn't taken long. In fact, it probably took no longer than a few seconds, but to him it felt like hours. The sharp cold steel driven into him one, two, three times, twisting until her rage was satisfied; it was pain beyond imagination, and their eyes didn't part for one moment of it.
When it appeared she was satisfied she left him, curled on the ground and crying with pain. She didn't utter a word, didn't even wait to watch him die. She owed him no more of her time, and she certainly didn't owe him her voice.
The panic that set in immediately after was the worst of it. Several voices were screaming at once, telling him 'you're going to die' over and over again. There was nothing he could do about it; he was going to die there, alone and in pain and crying, because even if he could do something about it he wouldn't. If she had asked him for permission he would have given it to her. Without a second thought, he would let her do it again. He was entirely incapable of defying her, and he had nothing to fight for.
The calm that came after was worth the terror. He could feel his body stop fighting against him as his muscles relaxed and his eyes drooped. He was still bleeding out considerably but it no longer frightened him. It was okay; it would be over soon. That voice, however, still bothered him. It wouldn't let him rest peacefully. It kept screaming in his ear for him to fight, to not lie back and let himself die. But he didn't want to listen, and tried with all his might to block it out.
The world was still red, but it was growing darker, the bright of the sun dimming to a deep crimson, slowly being overcome by black. It was finally happening; he was finally drifting off to follow the rest of his consciousness. Everything felt light, like he could fly away at any moment. So, this was peace? After all these years of running, he was finally going to be free.
She rarely ran this far. Usually she would run to the end of the paved road and stop there to turn home, but today was different. Today she needed to run faster, harder, longer. Where she would have normally stopped she continued, feeling the hard concrete beneath her feet change to soft dirt as she slammed onto the old road leading out of the town. To her left was the woods, thick and overrun with underbrush and vines. To her right lay miles of wheat fields, some of which was tended to by the locals, but most of which had grown up and wild after years of neglect.
She kept running, deciding to continue on this way for five minutes before turning back. She hadn't pushed herself quite so hard in a long time, it was exhilarating to feel this pressure again. Her heart was beating fast, faster than it normally did during a workout. It's because she knew what lay beyond those fields. Miles and miles away and deep, deep down was a secret; something she never dared to speak of out loud. And she was running straight towards it.
Finally she slowed down into a stop, resting her hands on her knees and breathing heavy. She raised her head, looking out as far as she could see, only to be met with blue skies and golden fields. There was nothing as far as the eyes could see, only the natural world untouched by mechanical hands. It was a sight she never grew tired of.
Standing up straight once more, she stretched her legs and began to start running back when a rustling in the field caught her attention. Thinking it was possibly an animal, she took out her knife that she kept strapped to her side and slowly made her way towards it. At worst it was an injured bird that had fallen from one of the nearby trees . . . at best it was dinner.
Creeping into the field, knee deep in wheat, she slowly made her way to rustling noises, growing quieter the longer she took. Eventually, she saw a dark gray mass farther out in the field, much too large to be a bird. It only took her a few more steps to make out the shape of a person, and the deep red stains on the ground around them.
If she had been more rational she would have stopped to think before running to the side of a complete stranger, but rationality had been thrown out of the window long ago. When she reached the person's side, she saw that he appeared to be bleeding out from his midsection, his hands covering the wound and his entire body trembling. It was difficult to make out his face underneath a tangle of long hair and beard, but it was clear he was male, and more importantly he was dying.
She didn't bother checking to see if he were conscious, instead beginning to tear off pieces of fabric from her shirt (she could always get a new one) and moving his hands to attempt and bind the wound to try and stop some of the bleeding. Upon further inspection it was clear there was more than just one wound, possibly several, and binding it all would take a great deal more fabric. He must have not been conscious, or at least not coherent any more, because he made no attempt to fight against her as she anxiously began trying to wrap the strips of fabric around him, tying them off tightly. She had never had first aid training, at least nothing to this degree, and she hoped that what she was doing wasn't going to make matters worse.
Once she finished, she stopped to examine the area while quickly trying to assess if there was any evidence of what had happened. There was nothing to be seen, other than a small sack that had fallen next to him and-
Her heart stopped. She immediately recognized it, despite having only seen one before. It was smaller too than the one she had seen, but it was clearly the same thing. A small box with pink hearts on each side.
She almost got up and ran right then, wanting nothing more to do with this person, but her brain worked faster than her fear. No, it didn't matter who this person was, she wasn't going to let him die when she could do something about it. She was going to bring him back into town and find the nearest doctor to help, but that cube was going to be left behind.
Bracing herself, she put her arms underneath the man's back and knees and hoisted him up into a carrying position. He was lighter than she expected, but he wasn't very large so she supposed she shouldn't be too surprised. Careful to keep his head from lolling around dangerously, she began her trek back into town, going as fast as her legs would allow with the added weight. If she wasted even a moment it could be the end for him. She was not having anyone die on her watch, she was not.
The world was still dark when Doug finally came back around. Shadows enveloped every crevice, every sight. Pinpricks of light tried to push their way through but couldn't make it past the black mass that threatened to swallow them. It was then that the feeling started coming back; first it was a dull throb that soon rose to a fervent ache. He tried to move, tried to find what was causing the pain, but his body made no response. It was like being held down firmly against your will, unable to fight back against whatever monster held you in place. When he finally broke through it, he could barely lift his hands to cover the place that ached so painfully.
As his mind began drifting back, he started to make out the world around him. He was in some sort of dark room, but there was light streaming in from behind him, presumably through a window. He was laying on something soft, his head supported by what must have been a pillow. Was he in someone's home? The door of the room was closed, and save for a dresser and a few drawers the room was bare.
How had he gotten here? Why was he even alive? He tried to move but the moment he made an attempt to sit up pain shot through his midsection, keeping him down. So, it had all really happened. He had seen her, and she had not been pleased to see him.
Doug sighed, some semblance of relief flooding through him that he had actually survived somehow. As much as he didn't mind before, he was happy to be alive. However, the moment of peace only lasted for a second. He hadn't been alone during that time. Someone was talking with him, staying with him, begging him to stay awake and live. It was a voice he had come to know well and trusted. Turning his head, he carefully scanned the room for his faithful friend, but it was nowhere in sight. It couldn't be heard, either. The room was silent; there was no welcoming voice, no words of encouragement or glad tidings to see him. He was alone.
The panic started to come back. Where was it? Where had it gone? Why wasn't his friend with him? Why had they been separated? He tried to sit up again, determined now to not be stopped by any amount of discomfort. He needed to find his friend.
The pain rocked through him again, but he tried to ignore it. If he could just swing his legs over the side of the bed and stand, he would be set. Though the slightest movement of his legs nearly made him sick, and he was left clutching his stomach in some hopeless attempt to ease the hurt.
It was becoming hard to breathe. The room seemed to be getting smaller, the walls quickly closing in and ready to smother him at any moment. He was going to die alone in this room; in a strange place he didn't know and in pain and so, so alone. His entire body began to tremble, and he tried to burrow his face into his hands, wishing for it all to stop. But it wouldn't end; there was a ringing in his ears that kept growing louder, and it felt as if the oxygen was being sucked out of his lungs. He couldn't stop shaking, why couldn't he just stop shaking? He was going to die, and he was going to do it alone.
That was when firm hands grasped him, holding onto his shoulders before rubbing up and down his arms in an earnest manner. The sudden contact shocked him, making him shake more, but a soothing, sweet voice helped to slow his breathing.
"It's okay, you're okay, I've got you," it said, hands once again holding onto his shoulders, attempting to help stop his shaking. Doug didn't dare open his eyes; he didn't want to see what person his mind had conjured up in that moment. Instead he focused on listening to the voice, attempting to steady his breathing.
"Breathe in and count to four," the voice continued. "Then breathe out and count to eight. It's okay, just breathe."
He obediently followed her instructions, taking a shaky deep breath, trying his best to hold it for the correct amount of time before letting it out again. It was working, at least a little. He was still shaking but not quite as violently, and with each new breath he felt himself relax more and more. The voice continued encouraging him to breathe, patting his shoulder as the tremors slowly came to a stop. When he finally felt as if he'd gained some composure, he dared to open one eye for a glance at this new mirage.
He had expected to see someone he knew, a coworker or old family member, something familiar that his brain would create in a time of distress. But the face he saw was unrecognizable. It was a woman, couldn't be any older than her mid thirties, with bright red hair tied back in a bun and a warm, gentle smile.
He quickly closed his eye back, squeezing both eyelids shut tightly before opening his eyes again for another peek. She was still there, and looking rather confused by his actions.
"Are you alright?" she asked, worry flashed across her face. Though he supposed she already knew the answer; he could hardly be considered 'alright'.
He shook his head, attempting to back up away from her, but not managing to move himself very far.
"Don't be afraid, I'm not trying to hurt you," she attempted to assure him. "I found you out in the field a couple mornings ago. You nearly died. You're in my home now; a doctor will come by soon to check up on you again."
Doug continued shaking his head, trying to follow her words but not making much sense of them. Who was she? Why had she brought him here? A couple mornings ago? How long had he been unconscious? Had she drugged him to keep him asleep? And who was this doctor checking up on him? There were too many unpleasant possibilities running through his head, too many chances for danger, and he was trapped here, unable to fight against it. He wanted to crawl under the bed and hide, but the woman had him cornered, and he was in no condition to fight against her. Panic threatened to envelope him again, but he managed to keep his breathing steady, and only suffered a slight shaking in his hands.
"It's okay, we just want to help," the woman continued. "Can you tell me your name?"
He shook his head again, more intently this time. Maybe if he covered his eyes she would go away? She would stop existing if he could stop seeing her, right?
"My name is Mel," she said, holding out a hand in introduction. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
He didn't respond, only staring at her extended hand instead, which he made no move to shake. He kept his hands by his face, ready to protect himself if any sudden harm came towards him.
"You don't have to speak if you aren't ready, that's okay," the woman, Mel, continued. "But I suggest you lie back down. You're still healing, and too much movement could reopen your wounds. Medical attention is scarce here, so we have to conserve every little bit we can get."
Doug didn't make any move to lay back down, instead trying to pull his legs up close to his chest in attempt to curl into a ball. The less of him she could see the better.
"You're going to hurt yourself that way," she cautioned, worry returning to her voice. "You're clearly disoriented and afraid; is there anything I can do to help put your mind at ease?"
He debated her words for a while, his thoughts immediately returning to the absence of a certain presence in the room; an absence he wasn't ready to accept.
"Where is it?" he asked quietly, his voice hoarse and barely audible.
"Where is what?" Mel asked, the confusion evident on her face.
He took a breath, looking around the room carefully, as if making sure no one else was around to hear him speak. "The cube," he eventually said, still barely above a whisper.
Mel's eyes widened a bit before she dropped her gaze, biting her lower lip and taking a moment to consider her response.
"I left it," she admitted. "I wasn't able to bring it back with me."
His face fell, feeling as if she just told him his best friend had been killed, which wasn't far off from the truth in his mind.
"It should still be there," she added quickly. "I can try and bring it back if that would help?"
For a moment his face lit up again, but he quickly averted his gaze from her, not wanting to give into the hope. He gave her a small nod in answer, deciding it was worth trying rather than doing nothing at all.
"I'll go bring it back, but you have to promise to stay in this spot, okay?" she told him, a stern look coming over her face, one that was almost enough to scare him into submission. He nodded again, struggling to not cover his face with his hands.
"The doctor might come by while I'm gone, will you be okay with that?" she asked, getting to her feet. He immediately shook his head, dreading the thought of having to meet with another person so soon after meeting this one. He still wasn't convinced she was even real, but the longer time went on the more he was willing to believe this wasn't a hallucination.
"He's just going to check that you don't have an infection and are healing properly, and hopefully give you some medicine for the pain," Mel assured him. "He's very nice; there's nothing to worry about."
He didn't believe that to be true, but attempted a small nod all the same. When she appeared to be satisfied with his response, Mel left the room and closed the door behind her. As soon as he heard another door close, presumably the front door of her home, he tried to once again get up from the bed. However, just as last time, he had little luck with such an endeavor. Standing wasn't possible just yet, not without a chance of reopening whatever wounds he sustained.
In that moment, the memories of what happened came flooding back. He had just escaped, finally released from his dark prison for so many years. He walked for what felt like miles, until like a dream he came face to face with her.
It was clear she hadn't expected to run into another person. The shock on her face was evidence enough of that. What she was doing in that field to begin with, he couldn't understand. Had she only just escaped as well? No, she was wearing new clothes, and carried a weapon by her side. Was she on her way to returning? No, that couldn't be possible. Whatever her reasoning, he would never know. Whatever she had intended to do, it all came to a stop when she saw him.
It only took a quick glance for the realization to hit. He was still wearing his lab coat at the time, after all. The logo had long since been torn out, but between his attire and the cube on his back, it was obvious where he came from. He had almost called out to her, almost smiled at the sight of seeing her alive and well. But he never got the chance.
It happened faster than he could register. She was upon him in a moment, weapon drawn and pointed threateningly at his weak frame. He didn't even put up his arms to protect himself. He just stood there, transfixed by the sight of her, willing to let her do whatever she wanted to him. After the hell he put her through, why should he stop her from having her way with him?
It was over in three moments, three painful moments. He barely even cried out, too shocked to react. Had he really been so content to die?
He shook his head, trying to shake the memory away. He didn't want to think anymore, he didn't want to be awake. There was too much happening at once, too many things to process. And the ache was only making matters worse. Carefully, he tried to lie back down, wanting nothing more than to be under again. The world could melt away for all he cared, he just needed rest.
Rest didn't come. Instead a very old, very irritable man with needles and other cold metal tools to poke and prod him with came after an hour of lying restless. The doctor was a terrifying enough sight on his own, but when he started getting close in an attempt to change his bandages Doug nearly kicked the doctor in his panic. It took several minutes of shouting and poking before he finally gave in and let the doctor do his work.
After the bandages were changed, a long needle attached to a syringe filled with a mysterious fluid emerged from somewhere in the doctor's coat, and it took every ounce of strength for Doug to not attack the doctor then and there when the old man tried to administer the medicine into his system.
Only then did sleep finally come, and in the brief moments before the darkness overtook him, he was certain the doctor had poisoned him and he, in fact, was going to die. But instead he drifted into a restful sleep, the pain finally subduing to a barely noticeable throb. When he finally woke, the doctor was gone and the light streaming in through the window was coming in from a different angle.
You slept through the night, a familiar voice spoke.
Doug turned his head quickly to the side, the sight of his friend sitting in the corner immediately filling him with relief.
"You're back," he said, a smile breaking out across his face.
That woman left me, the cube said, sounding rather angry about the whole ordeal.
"But she brought you back," he told it, feeling a small amount of gratitude towards the woman.
The cube made a huffing sound in response. It was clear it was still rather offended, but it would get over it eventually. For now, he just wanted to relish the moment of happiness their reunion brought him. Perhaps he would be able to thank the woman later when she returned?
She must be real, then. So must have that doctor, as well as this room. As well as her. He had really escaped, he was really somehow still alive. It was almost too much to believe, but here he was, definitely worse for wear, but alive nonetheless. And there was a whole world out there for him to see, a world without gray walls and living constructs ready to kill him at any moment. Instead, there was sunlight, and people, and all sorts of new dangers a wide world brought with it.
The peace only lasted for a moment, replaced by a new level of terror. He was alive, but now he had to live.