I don't know how much time has passed. Feels like it's been forever but for all I know it could have only been a few minutes since I ate that disgusting pile of most likely synthesized food. I haven't done much since I finished, only relocated from the desk chair to the floor next to the bed, staring at the wall. I've pretty much memorized every bump in the four smooth metal walls, that's how much I've stared at it just willing it to change for something new to look at before I die from boredom.
Now that I think about it, it's probably been a good amount of time. Although I'm not quite sure how much time is required to memorize walls because I've never had to resort to it.
I miss my iPhone.
In lieu of screwing around on my portable link to the internet, I've picked up a new habit of running my hand over my bald head. I think something was in the food they gave me- the pain in my head has reduced to a simple throbbing that intensifies slightly only when I press down hard on certain places. Only a miniscule amount of hair has grown in, prickly against my fingers. One place I keep going back to in my ministrations was the strange appliance at the base of my skull that the scientist/doctor-man mentioned. It's like when I was little and couldn't help but investigate the empty space left from losing a tooth with my tongue, testing out something new and strange.
I couldn't describe what it looked like, as it is on the back of my head and I don't have a mirror, but I can make a guess off of how it feels. It's like a headphone jack, only bigger. My hands are smaller than I'm used to and it takes about two of my thumbs to cover it completely- not the whole thumb but the pads. For normal-sized hands, I'd guess it'd just be one thumb. It feels metallic.
When I first felt the implant, I managed to put my pinky inside of it a little bit. I shivered as I remembered the feeling- it's kind of sickening to realize you have a hole in your head where there definitely shouldn't be any.
I've managed to reach a strange sort of calm, different from the rational calm before my epiphany at the hands of the nasty food. I cried. I screamed. I banged on the door begging for someone, anyone to just let me out and let me go and that I don't know what was going on. There's honestly only so much freaking out you can do before your body forces you to calm down, to stop with the waterworks and accept the situation as it is. In nerdy biology terms, your body can only keep up your sympathetic fight-or-flight system for so long before the parasympathetic system has to kick in to help regulate the daily functions ignored by the other system.
I chuckle a bit at my memory of the biology terms I ranted about in my exam a mere few weeks ago. I was lucky with that question- knew it like the back of my hand.
I have no doubt that I'll be having even more panic attacks in the future, but for now I'm just waiting for the next instance that I'm let out of my cell. I don't care about whatever reason I'll be taken out, I just have this need to go somewhere else. It's like when you sit for too long and get that jittering in your leg no amount of leg bouncing can fix. You just have to get up and move.
Of course, I'll probably be begging to come back to my boring, tiny, but safe cell if I end up being tortured or tested on. I'd rather be here, bored out of my skull but fearful of what will come, rather than running a maze and being shocked if I take too long or the like.
I hear the electronic lock on the other side of the door get engaged. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, or however that saying goes. I look to the door from the absolutely fascinating location I was previously looking at- you guessed it, the wall- to take in my visitor.
To my surprise, it isn't the guard from earlier. It's an older, white-haired woman, dressed not in the scientific suits of Doctor man and The Beak but instead garbed in a pantsuit.
Hmm. Pantsuits have not changed much from the past century. It's a pastel blue, which I've always associated as a friendly and nice color. In contrast, the woman's face isn't friendly, but neither is it unfriendly. I think beige would suit her better. She just seems neutral.
Better neutral than aggressive. I stand up from my position slouching on the floor, turning to face the short woman who wasn't much taller than me. Not me-me, but new-body me. This is still so weird. She gives me a cursory glance, head to toe, before turning to face the door.
"Follow me," she commands. Just like her face, the intonation was neutral yet filled with authority. I don't hesitate to follow her, spying the guard behind her shoulder across the hall in addition to the pistol strapped to her waist. I don't want to test to see how willing they are to shoot those who are uncooperative.
She turns left instead of right, and the guard falls in behind me as I begin to walk down the hallway, which was curiously devoid of the sounds from other subjects (people, children) I heard earlier. We go down some stairs, pass a few doorways, turn right into a new hallway, and make it to the doorway at the very end. This place is a lot bigger than I remembered, although to be fair a lot of the place was sealed off in Jack's mission.
The door at the end of the hallway opens a few feet before the woman can even engage the lock, and she strides inside at a brisk pace, prompting me to speed up a little to catch up. The office is small and simple, a sleek desk with a futuristic computer in the exact middle with a single, slightly uncomfortable looking chair placed right in front of it. Not needing to be told, I walk directly to the chair and plop myself inside it as the woman circles around and sits in the plush chair behind the desk. A quick cursory glance around the room shows no other decoration or furniture, only a window to the right of the desk (my left) that shows where all the children disappeared to- a large, cafeteria looking area with a walkway above it that forms a second level, although the walkway isn't accessible to the kids in the common area.
I double back to the walkway, seeing a tinted window behind it. Is that Jack's cell?
The lady draws my attention before I can look more closely, her omni-tool activating audibly. She begins speaking into it.
"Beginning post-experimental psychological assessment, Subject Fifty session one. Attending psychologist, Dr. Gilbert, dated December 15th, 2170 Earth Standard Time, Teltin Facility. Assessment commencing," Dr. Gilbert brings her hands to rest on the desk in front of us, her omni-tool still on and probably still recording. She doesn't beat around the bush or try to make awkward small talk, getting right to the questions.
"What is your given name?"
Alexandra Paige Varai. But I can't say that. This isn't me, and I don't know a thing about whoever it it I am now. Instead, I shake my head and shrug my shoulders.
"Reply verbally," she commands me. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes for fear of the consequences, I sigh a little and manage to get it out.
"I dunno." My voice is scratchy and a little shrill, probably from all the screaming and crying I did earlier.
"How old are you?"
17, 18 in less than a month. "I dunno."
"Where were you born?"
Virginia, USA. "I dunno."
"What do you know?"
Everything. "Nothing."
"What is the first thing you remember?"
"Pain."
"Elaborate."
"My skull felt like it was on fire and crushed like a shattered egg. Blurry people were there, talking about brain surgery. The fire faded away after a shot in my neck, but I became more confused. Then I fell asleep."
She glances down at her omni-tool and does a little nod to herself. Probably has a lie-detector activated, too, and she determined I was telling the truth. Not like I lied, though. It's the first thing I remember since being here.
The first thing I really remember is sitting on the top of the staircase with my dog when I was like, five, but she doesn't need to know that.
Dr. Gilbert brought her hands up to clasp in front of her face, the light cast from her omni-tool making her fair skin and white hair glow slightly orange. She was assessing me with a critical eye, and it made me feel uncomfortable. I still maintained eye contact, though.
"Do you have any questions for me?" I start slightly at the strange question. Don't psychologists ask you the questions, not the other way around? I hesitate for a second, unable to come up with anything.
"Who am I?" I have to admit, I'm curious about the body I inhabit, the person whose life I stole.
I pause for a moment. I wonder what happened to her? Is she in my body? A chill runs down my spine.
Am I (me-me, my body, back where I came from) dead? Or will my family find a virtual stranger inside their Zandra? I'm not quite sure which one is worse.
"I'm not at liberty to say." I almost forgot what she was responding to, but managed to re-orient myself.
"Well then, I have nothing else to ask, ma'am."
Not true. I have a million questions and each one leads to more questions, but I'm not sure if I'd suffer any consequences for asking them, like Will I ever leave? What do you plan to do with me? How old am I? Will I ever go back to where I came from?
"Drastic change in personality. More willing to make eye contact, follow directions. Speech has changed drastically, as well- she was retrieved from New York City and had an obvious accent but now speaks with intonations more along the lines of the American South, but subtle, suggesting that it's not the deep South. My observations conclude that the artificial node surgery and brain stimulation to activate those nodes result in a loss of memory and alteration of personality. Surgery to enhance Subject Zero's nodes are not recommended until further examination of Subject Fifty."
Of course they'd want to enhance Jack's abilities. She's strong enough without them, there's no reason to continue subjugating her to surgery or experiments. Sometimes the best isn't always better. But of course, this is Cerberus we're talking about. They only want what's best for humanity. I call bullshit. They want power, and that's why I hated working with them in the second game despite being the best shot at saving the human race from Reaperification.
Dr. Gilbert, either ignorant of or ignoring my glowering, turns off the omni-tool and turns toward the guard standing by the door.
"Jones, escort Subject Fifty to the common area. We're done here." With that, she turns to her futuristic desktop and doesn't spare me another glance. Fine with me.
Before the guard- Jones- can grab me, I'm already up and out of the chair, striding to stand next to him and waiting for him to move forward.
I'm a fast learner and I prefer not to be manhandled and shoved. Jones scowls, his pudgy face wrinkling up unpleasantly, but moves forward to open the doors. Only a few doorways down is the gateway to the other children.
Prisoners, more like. As soon as we walk through, I see about thirty or forty other kids spread out amongst the tables, most sitting by themselves or in twosomes but a few groups of three or four. There's a good amount of talking- not so much that it assaults the ears, but it's not quiet in here, either. The doors swoosh shut behind me, and I take a glance over my shoulder to see that Jones has disappeared and the lock was engaged, glowing red. Great.
I take a moment to continue looking at the surrounding scene. There are a few tablets- pads? Datapads!- scattered about, but only a few are being used. Even fewer are being used for their true purpose, a good couple of datapads filling in for the absence of any balls or toys and acting as a type of frisbee or maybe a simple practice in biotic lifts.
One flies into the wall following a kid's motioning. His resulting flinch tells me that's not the reaction he wanted. No experts here, that's for sure.
I look up from the ground level to the surrounding walkways and make eye contact with the darkened window keeping vigil over the kids. If Jack's here, that's a one-way mirror concealing where she is. I maintain the stare for another awkward moment, but look away when I realize that there's probably a million cameras and more than a good chance someone would catch on to the fact I'm suspicious of the mirror. One of the tables closest to the mirror is empty with two datapads on it, so I walk that way, ignoring the stares from the other kids I could see out of the corner of my eye.
You can tell they've been through hell. Their stares are haunting, vacant, as if they've had to separate their souls from their bodies in order to continue surviving. There's no way a child's innocence can survive a situation like this. I can only hope I won't look the same in the near future.
A quick glance over my shoulder confirms that the mirror is in full view of my table. It's strangely comforting knowing that a person I know ('know' being a relative term, here) is close enough to watch over me. Despite the fact that, you know, I can't actually see her myself. And she's probably more than a little crazy after years of experimenting. And there's a good chance she'll kill me. And I don't actually know her for real.
Wow, this situation just gets better and better. And I'm not quite sure if I can fix that or not.
Even if I can, the major question that lies here is: should I? Or should I let canon run its course?
If I do anything, there's a good chance Jack will change as a character. Her entire early life was based off the fact that no one paid attention to her through that window and she didn't know that those on the other side couldn't see her. Because of that, she became the all-powerful bitch who has problems with authority but is also recruited by Shepard. If I change that, it might have immeasurable consequences.
But then again, it could do nothing. And my conscience is screaming at me to at least let her know about the mirror. Psychological torture shouldn't be done to anyone, especially a kid.
But then again again, it doesn't matter what my conscience wants me to do because there is not much I can do to enlighten her of her situation. I can't scream, "THERE'S A GIRL BEHIND THE BLACK WINDOW THAT WE CAN'T SEE!" to the whole room, that'd certainly end up in my death and possibly an early riot (although I don't know what time the riot should come, but I'd rather not leave that up to me). The datapad's print is too small for me to type her out a message for her to see from the window. I lift the foreign datapad up to my face and try to make something out of it.
One of the few good things about Cerberus being a pro-human group is that everything is in English, so I can at least understand that. Other than that positive aspect, it is seriously nothing like an iPhone or a Kindle.
My closest 2014 approximation is my computer, which even then is a stretch. The good thing about being born in an age of technological innovation is that you learn to use things pretty fast. I grew up learning new technology. I'm not completely computer-savvy but I know enough, and hopefully I can learn that much. Not like there's much else to do in here at the moment.
All I have to do is play around to get a feel, it shouldn't be too hard. When I turned the thing on (luckily there was an easy to recognize power button on the bottom right corner) it automatically went to a home page. There were what seemed to be a few different apps, basic symbols not unlike stick figures popping up in a seemingly scattered order over the strange, slightly see-through screen. Not knowing what any of the symbols meant, I clicked one that was a simple line next to a rectangle.
Ahh. A drawing app. Doodles here I come.
It takes me a few minutes of fiddling to find out how to change the color I'm using and how to erase and even longer to find where you press on the datapad to bring up the home button (which looks suspiciously like a little house- a triangle on top of a square).
All in all, there is the drawing app, a word processor app, a book that seems to cover the absolute basics of being a biotic and nothing more titled So You're A Human Biotic, and another book that seems to go a little more in depth with biotics titled, Becoming The Best Biotic You Can Be.
Seems a little perky for a book live human test subjects are supposed to read, but it's probably in my best interest to read over the both of them.
I'm sure that datapads not intended for the supervised use of disposable little humans have many more apps and activities, but sadly that is the extent of what is available to me. Where is Google when you need it?
… Is there even Google here? If Bing is the major search engine of the universe I may have to kill someone.
I pause for a second, then chuckle. In this universe, humans are actually the youngest space-faring species. If anything, the major search engine would be of asari design, or maybe adopted from the salarians.
Remembering what I wanted to do before getting distracted by thoughts of a Google probably long dead, I look at the first book I found on the datapad, finding information I remember glancing over in the Mass Effect wikia.
After implantation to enhance biotic abilities, biotics have to develop conscious control over their nervous system, which is apparently long as well as slow and difficult. Wonder how much these scientists will take that into consideration before pushing me to my limit?
Probably not long at all. I ignore the foreboding feeling of dread popping up in my stomach and try to make myself feel better by reassuring myself nothing too bad has happened to me yet.
Yet being the keyword. I have to force myself to keep reading and push my nausea resulting from my train of thought down.
Biofeedback therapy is often used to aid in this process, whatever the hell that is. Once trained, biotics can generate and control dark energy. This can move objects, generate protective barriers, or restrain enemies.
Another datapad crashes somewhere in the large room, causing me to nearly fall out of my chair. I look up to see two students facing off, a younger boy facing a slightly older girl, both glowing in the flickering blue of biotics. The datapad at the feet of the girl and her murderous expression suggests that she was the one who was hit, and the utterly frightened boy at the center of her rage the culprit of the most likely accidental collision. Before anything big can go down, three guards march out from the door I came through earlier and march towards the two as clanging above my head alert me to the fact that…
I look up over my shoulder.
...Two guards with what looked to be sniper rifles storm onto the walkways, immediately aiming and shooting.
My heart jumps in my chest as I whip around to the other two kids, expecting the worst. Neither one could be older than twelve, thirteen tops!
Luckily, red doesn't meet my vision and instead the kids just drop limp to the ground, two of the three guards picking up a child while the third holds his assault rifle up and ready to fire at anyone else prepared to make a move. I doubt the assault rifle holds the same type of tranquilizer.
I'm not the only one frozen in their seat. Looking at the utterly terrified and cowed looks on some of the younger kids faces, I wouldn't be surprised if a few even wet themselves.
The three march out, the two carrying the kids not treating their cargo as preciously as I've seen most kids carried. They seemed to be treated with the same courtesy given to a sack of potatoes. That is, no courtesy at all.
The doors close, and we all breath a collective sigh of relief, a few whimpers meeting the air after the immediate threat disappeared. The two snipers are still on the walkway, but no one pays them any mind.
I can understand why. The snipers could only put you to sleep from a distance. It's the guards with assault rifles and muscles they aren't afraid to use up close that deserve real fear.
Well, no escape attempts for me anytime soon, that's for sure. I'd never seriously consider it, but that show of power definitely drove home the fact that I would be overwhelmed immediately after any indication of rebellion.
With nothing else to do, I turn back to my reading.
Biotic abilities are activated through movements called physical mnemonics, physical gestures causing neurons to fire in a certain sequence, sending an electrical charge through element zero nodules and creating the desired effect. I can actually see how that could work. Thank you, Mrs. Gallagher and your neurobiology unit! Neurons and their synaptic transmissions were another favorite of mine for the bio exam.
...Which I will never learn the outcome of. What a pleasant reminder of my current situation.
The book doesn't really go into any deep details of bio-amps outside a passing mention. "To increase the use of an implant, bio-amps are used." That's it. How are they made? What are they made of? How do they work? By how much can they potentially amplify abilities?
I'm a type of person who likes to know the hows and whys. Sadly, this datapad is not the best resource for in-depth knowledge of a science I've always thought was imaginary.
Something I find really interesting is that biotic abilities fall into three general categories: Telekinesis, the use of mass-lowering fields to lift or hurl objects; Kinetic Fields, mass-raising fields to immobilize objects; and Spatial Distortion, the creation of shifting mass-effect fields which rip apart any objects caught within them. That does sound pretty cool, if not even more terrifying than the fact that I'm somewhere I shouldn't be.
I catch myself grimacing at the idea of being caught on the wrong side of a biotic warp. Or throw. Or lift.
"Hey, new kid."
The voice mere inches from me causes me to whip my head up. The comforting grin on the boy in front of me tells me I probably look like a startled deer, but I don't really care.
"What's your name?" He asks me. I open my mouth, most likely performing a wonderful impression of a fish. I know him. How do I know him? His face seems familiar. I recognize him from one of the larger groups I saw when I first surveyed the room, but that's not quite it. In my head, I age him a bit, adding a little bit of hair and stubble, darkening his already tan skin, adding wrinkles, imagining a receding hairline.
Oh, god. He looks so young, his grin as bright as possible despite the conditions we're all in. The voice I hear is in no way similar to the hardened, deeper monotone I remember.
"First day jitters? That's okay, I can help. We can all help. My name's Aresh."
Thank you, Mass Effect wiki and all the contributors to the biotics page! The source of all the biotic knowledge described in this chapter was all taken from there. The extent of my knowledge before consulting the wonderful wiki page was that biotics were blue, had many cool actions like lifting and throwing, and meant migraines for Kaidan. Oh, and had something to do with gravity. And causes explosions when put together correctly.
I love Mass Effect but scholar I am not.
Sorry this took so long to put up, a combination of work and lazy. I don't work full time or anything, but enough that my lazy self wants to simply enjoy itself and either play video games or read during any and all free time.
I love writing and especially love developing this story, but it requires too much thinking when I could, for example, try to finish my latest Shepard (AKA a vanguard I kind of suck at playing. Much more of a sniper girl, myself, but it's the only class I haven't done and I want to say I did it!)
Sorry this chapter is boring. Right now, the story's boring. We need some development before we can get some excitement. And I'm not completely happy with this chapter, but I'm proud of the fact that I actually managed to finish it. When I posted my first chapter, I half expected myself to just not update after deciding it's too much hassle. This makes me feel accomplished and I like that. Maybe later I'll come back and polish it up.
Review/follow/favorite please!