Disclaimer: I don't own this. 9 belongs to Shane Acker.
Short by 9 Marbles
Chapter 1: The New Toy
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He stood hesitantly in the door way, a guard flanking him on either side. His hand clinched, twisted, in the material of his new uniform: a white T-shirt labeled with green numbers and a pair of baggy tan sweatpants.
"Come in, come in! No need to be shy, child," called a voice from within the room.
The young man slowly walked in, but jumped and spun around in shock when the door slammed loudly behind him. He pushed his long black hair from his face, and looked about curiously.
The office was bleached white like the halls and had that particular smell that all hospitals shared, just like the one he had been in before coming here. On a few of the shelves were small replicas and these caught the young man's interest greatly. He went from one to the other, examining them closely and reading their tiny labels. He almost touched one of them, but froze when he heard someone clear their throat.
"I see you like my models." He turned to face the speaker, an old man, grey and wrinkled in age with a small pair of round glasses resting on his nose. "I designed them myself; it's a hobby of mine, which is how I earned the moniker 'Toymaker'. I'm also called 'the Scientist' by my other patients. But as dull and ordinary as it may be in comparison to my nicknames, my real name is Dr. Robertson." The old man went and sat at a desk at the back of the small room, and motioned to the seat in front of him. "Come and sit, my boy, we have much to discuss."
The young man took the overstuffed chair that was offered to him. "Do you know why you are here?" asked the doctor.
"Yes sir," nodded the younger man. "It's because I can't remember anything."
"Yes… I was told you suffer from a severe case of amnesia. I take it you don't remember your name." Dr. Robertson leaned back and folded his hands in his lap.
"No, I don't. The people at the other hospital called me John Doe," He made a face at that, which caused the old man's smile to widen.
"It seems as if you don't like that name," stated the Scientist.
"No…" the young man thought for a moment, then continued, "I don't, because it's not mine. They told me they call everyone that forgets who they are by that name."
Dr Robertson frowned and just sat there, staring at the desk while in debate with himself, until he finally looked up and said, "Well, I'm not supposed to encourage this, but…it would be understandable in your case. If you are uncomfortable with being called 'John Doe', we could always call you by your number. You see, every patient here has an assigned number, the same number as your room. It makes keeping track of everyone easier. My patients spontaneously decided one day that they wanted to be called by their numbers in order to protect their identities. I got into a heavy debate about it with my boss, because it is not right to call another human being by a number; that was not the purpose of assigning numbers. But who am I to deny them the right to protect themselves? So we came up with a compromise. In public, they can be called by their number but in private they have to use their real names. So the question is, would you like to be called by your number?"
"What…is my number?" asked the young man.
"It's on your shirt." Dr. Robertson nodded toward his patient, and the young man looked down.
Indeed, there was a small number in the upper left. "6?"
The doctor broke out laughing, "Oh, no, no! You're looking down at it, so to you it's upside down! It's a 9. Would you like me to call you that?"
"9…" muttered the young man, testing the way it sounded. "Yeah, I like that. I'm 9."
"Ah, I almost forgot to mention, those numbers glow in the dark, it helps---" Dr. Robertson was cut off by a wailing alarm. The doctor reached across his desk and hit a button on a digital clock. "Can't believe it's that time already…time is such a strange thing. Sometimes it seems that it doesn't change at all, while other times it just slips by so fast without notice."
Dr. Robertson went the door and looked over his shoulder at 9. "It's nearly time for dinner. I always leave early to avoid the stampede. I think we have enough time for a short tour, though. Come along."
9 followed behind obediently as he was led down the hall. They paused at a door labeled with a big 9. "This would be your room. Fairly easy to identify, don't you think?"
He pointed down the hall, at a room near the end. "To the right is the shower room. You will need to ask someone to unlock it for you. And on the other side is the laundry room. Yes, you are expected to do your own laundry. We only have one washer and dryer set but they are both rather large so more than one person can wash their things at a time. Again though, you have to ask for someone to get you laundry soap."
He turned around, and started heading towards the office they came from, but then turned just to the right of the office and faced two double doors that were wide open. "We have to take these precautions to keep everyone here safe. It's nothing personal against you, 9. It's just the way things are run here."
The entrance they walked though led to a bigger hall with other halls leading off of it. The Toymaker pointed to a plaque outside of the hallway they just came from. "This is our hall, #3, rooms 1-14. Try to remember that. Down there-" he pointed toward one end of the hall, "-is the orderly's station. If you can't find me, you can always go to them for help."
"On the other side-" his face grew dim as he turned toward the other end of the hall, "-is the isolation room. That is the most severe punishment for breaking one of the rules. Trust me, my boy, you don't want to end up in there."
"What are the rules?" questioned 9 as they approached an elevator that was down a short hallway across from hall #3.
"I didn't want to go over the list today, since you've just arrived and have a lot to process as it is. I will point out a few simple ones, if you wish, but the main list will have to wait until tomorrow."
He turned to face 9, his old wisdom filled eyes never wavering from 9's green, innocent jewels. "One, do not cause physical or mental harm to anyone in this facility. This is a place of healing, not fighting. Two, you are to follow your schedule, and will attend every meal and session, unless the situation dictates otherwise. You will find it hanging up on your bedroom door. Three, there is a curfew: 9:00. Do not wonder around after hours, do not sneak around or break into locked rooms."
Dr. Robertson finally looked away, "There is a consequence for every action, but there can also be a reward for desired actions. This is one of them." he waved toward the elevator. "As we only have one elevator, you have to earn your right to use it. The only other time you're allowed in it is if escorted by a staff member; otherwise you have to take the stairs." He punched a code into a number pad, and after a few minutes the door opened.
The doctor pointed to the number above the door after they entered, "This is fourth floor. Below us is the recreation floor." He pressed the third button, and quickly stepped out after the short ride with 9 right behind him.
"There are a lot of different activities offered here on this floor and we encourage our patients to come here during their free time. It can get a bit crowded, though, especially on rainy days. 6 should be working on one of his projects right about now. Come along 9."
9 was led into a room filled with tables and easels. Different mediums and materials laid about within reach of busy patients. The room seemed less bleached. It didn't have that hospital feel to it, like the rest of the building so far.
Dr. Robertson went to a man standing at an easel near the back, his wide eyes completely focused on his painting as he worked on it with wild, barley controlled strokes. His long curly red hair fell into his face, but it didn't seem to hinder him at all.
"6…6?" After a touch to the shoulder, the man jumped and put his hands up as if to protect himself, but once he realized who it was, he put his brush down and gave the old man a hug. "6, I was just showing my newest patient, 9, around. I was going to take him to the cafeteria for dinner after we finish up. Would you like to join us?"
9 didn't hear what 6's response was. He was staring at the wild-haired man's painting, tracing the lines with his eyes. "What is it?"
6 smiled at him and whispered, "The source."
The doctor quickly snapped his head towards the painting and frowned. Turning back to 6 he mumbled, "We'll discuss this later."
"But what is---?"
Dr. Robertson quickly cut him off, "Now is not a good time for questions, 9. I have a few more things I need to show you before dinner, and we're nearly out of time."
They returned to the elevator, and the doctor pointed out as they were going down, "The second floor is the med bay." The number above the door changed to "1" and the elevator came to a halt.
After they stepped out, Dr. Robertson showed 9 a hallway around the corner and pointed to each room respectfully. "Down here is the library, the gym, and a few empty rooms for group activities. Both the library and gym have specific opening and closing hours which should be listed on your schedule."
They went back the way they came and Dr. Robertson brought attention to the wide entrances that faced each other. "This door leads to the court yard. You're allowed out there during the day and we usually have group therapy out in the yard if the weather is in our favor. mThat building on the other side is our facility for younger patients."
Then he turned to the other entrance and said, "This one, leads to the front yard. You're not allowed out there unless supervised."
Dr. Robertson led the two younger men past the two entrances, to point out yet another one. "And this is where the tour ends; the cafeteria. Do you think you can find your way back to your room on your own?"
9 nodded, and gave a polite, "Yes, sir."
"Good. I will see you tomorrow then, before we meet up with everyone else for group therapy. You'd best catch up with 6 before the crowd gets here." Dr Robertson gave him a pat on the back, then turned and left.
9 did as advised and joined 6, who was picking up his tray. 9 followed behind and copied the other patient. He watched curiously as 6 typed a number into a machine that sat at the end of the counter. "What is that for?"
"To keep track of who shows up for meals." 6 stepped back to let 9 see for himself.
9 examined the screen then asked, just to confirm, "So I put my number in it?" Getting an affirmative, 9 did just that, and hit enter.
Just as 9 sat down next to 6, the doors bust open wide, and a large crowd of patients came pouring in. 9 watched in awe for a few minutes at the sheer amount of people trying to shovel their way in, until he remembered his question from earlier. "6, what is the source?"
The wild-haired man looked up from the macaroni he was picking at and whispered, "I'm not allowed to talk about it."
9 noticed that the other man was looking slightly over his shoulder, and not directly at him. He looked behind him, where an orderly was standing a few feet away, watching them intently. 9 quickly spun back around.
"They're always watching." 6 gave his food another poke. "The eyes are in the walls….and they see everything."