Subject has heavy scarring over thighs, arms and torso. Self-mutilation? Remember to tell Lucy to keep watch when he sleeps.
He stares up at me with large, dark eyes and a scar runs smoothly from the corner of his eye to the corner of his lip. He's dressed in a simple long-sleeved white shirt with dark shorts, reveiling the bandages wrapping neatly over his legs. He's extremely skinny, and I notice his chin comes to a startling point. It's as if he hasn't eaten in weeks. He reminds me of a starving bird. "W-who are you?" His voice is barely a whisper, and I can see his fingers clench around something.
I blink, looking back up to his young face, moving slowly as if approching a frightened animal. I squat down to his eye level, setting the clip board I had previously been carrying in order to take whatever object this kid has.
His fingers are limp as I move them away, frowning at the shallow cuts running across his light cinnimon skin. The straight razor glints up at me, barely covered with crimson; I let out a long sigh, helping the kid up from the floor. "T-TELL ME WHO YOU ARE!" He shrieks, using his wounded hands to push at my chest, staining the crisp white lab-coat I'm wearing.
I remain calm, looking about the room for a first-aid kit, before telling him to sit on the bed. He does as he's told, looking at me suspiciously while itching at the bandages covering his thighs with his uninjured hand.
I begin to wrap gauze around his fingers, pausing every-so often when he twitches in pain. "My name is Alex Mercer. I'm a doctor and I'm going to help you."
Subject's age is unknown. Looks around nineteen, maybe twenty, though that could be pushing it. Says his name is Sixteen. I wonder what type of parent names their kid a number...
When he's under, Sixteen looks pained, frightened, and peaceful. It's a weird cocktail of expressions, but I can't help but admire him. I notice that the hollowness of his cheeks is becoming more prominent as the sessions become longer; he has bags under his eyes that suggest he hasn't been sleeping much, and I find myself wanting to stroke the bruised skin. He has that kind of attractiveness that starved supermodels have.
Lucy monitors how the Animus is working, watching the kid's brainwaves and heartbeat. Vidic plays SuperMario Brothers on his computer. The blonde woman has a look of concern on her face, glancing at Sixteen when he groans.
I sit calmly beside the large, square computer; my arms are folded in front of my chest, and I glare at the floor, waiting for when Lucy'll finally pull the plug and let the kid rest.
Hours later, the woman says that the machine is over-heating, that if they don't pull him out now, he's good as dead. Vidic merely shrugs a shoulder, going over to the coffee pot to refill his white cup.
Sixteen sits up, gagging and sobbing. He tears at his face, drawing blood until Lucy and I can pull his hands away. He worries at his mouth, eyes flickering from side to side until they land on me.
With a sob, the kid launches himself from the Animus and wraps his skinny, bandaged arms around my neck. His nose is buried into my chest, and I awkwardly pat at his back. Lucy gives me a sidelong glance, but I narrow my eyes in a small glare.
Subject is beginning to have hallucinations of his time in the Animus. The 'Bleeding Effect' or something, that's what Lucy says it is. They don't last long, 30 sec. is maybe the longest...I'm worried and confused as to why I'm worried.
"I thought you were going to help me?" I press my thumb over one freshly made cut, earning a soft groan from my patient. Gauze is stained pink as it soaks up the blood running in rivets down Sixteen's arms.
"I can't help you if you don't help yourself, Sixt." He complains that the bandages are too tight, but I merely grunt, angry at his carelessness.
Sixteen sighs shakily, dark eyes lined by bags watching as I put away the first aid kit. "...but what if I don't wanna help myself?"
It's been weeks since I've last checked on Sixteen; I haven't been able to sit in during the Animus sessions due to Gentek and Abstergo riding my ass about the BLACKLIGHT project. Makes me wonder what the hell they're planning on doing with the damn thing. I hope that they don't just dump a corpse on me when I get to the building and expect me to heal him.
I find the kid laying a pool of his own blood, his wrists and legs hacked to ribbons. Symbols are smeared over the too white walls of the main area of the Animus room, and I can see that Sixteen crawled out of his room while rapidly losing blood. There are spatters over Vidic's desk, and the keys are stained crimson. Biting back a growl, I grab Sixteen by his too skinny shoulders, turning him over.
He's smiling up at me, dark eyes clouding over while shallow breaths escape his thin mouth. "Sixteen!" My heart is hammering in my chest, and I feel like I'm about to puke up the dry piece of toast I had that morning.
"I'm...f-finished..." I watch as his chest stops moving and as the last few drops of blood leaves his body. My head is pounding behind my eyeballs, and I feel rage bubbling in the pit of my stomach. The white lab coat is covered in blood, and I cradle Sixteen's lifeless body as if he's only sleeping.
Of course it proved too much for him! He was just a fucking KID! The signs where there, but I ignored them. For what? My cushy job? They're going to PAY. All of them.
()-()
Yes, my weird enjoyment of Alex Mercer/Sixteen. Enjoy.