Hey guys. Changing the perspective. I'll edit chapter 1 when I can. This is mildly graphic. Cheers!

CHAPTER 2: Dew

The room was blazingly, stark white. Even more so with the bright, warm lights that embraced it. Well, mostly, it embraced him.
He was stone cold, but somehow the lights seemed to indulge an illusion of color and blood to his face. Almost. The wetness that slivered all over his body from the residue of his casing only reflected the stillness that was him. However, the reflection did not adhere peace to his face. The elegant brows bestowed in his features were very slightly—holding a faint expression of... distaste.

An expression fitting, for a dead person. After all, Khan Noonien Singh was dead.

Anne placed the PADD gently on the last mobile table to the left. the contact between the glass of the PADD and the metal composite of the table was the only thing that was louder than hearing her own heartbeat. Silence finally consumed the room bodies after a fifteen hour exertion of trying to bring this slab of man to life. The federation's best doctors scurrying, pacing, and yelling to one another as they struggled to cope themselves from the... newness of this all. The man was new, the situation was new, the circumstances of his casing was new, and most importantly, the man's biological composition was shockingly new. Staggeringly so, to the point where Admiral Marcus and Anne agreed that they looked like doctors just graduated from the academy; like we were witnessing their first surgery. After the thirteenth hour, the doctors declared him dead. Marcus said nothing but as he rose from his seat, Anne could feel his rage as he struggled to maintain his composure. All he could manage was "Thanks for trying. Let's get out of here." The doctors followed suit, and she was asked to remain in the room and wait for the clean up crew and deliver the instructions for the disposal of the body.

Anne closed her eyes and held her hand to her forehead, spreading my fingers along in attempt to rid of the headache that invaded around the fourteenth hour. The crew was late-dawn should be in the horizon soon. Her eyes searched for a blanket from the cupboards- the least she could do was cover him, as it was a decent gesture for the dead. Besides, she was getting sick of the sympathy that startled to settle within her. Remembering from her sanitation class from the academy, she opened the blanket from the foot of the bed, slowly unfolding it towards the head, instead of opening it by exploding it into the air and let potentially dangerous microorganisms get her sick. Especially from this man.

She was nearing his head, and decided indulge in his face one more time. The slickness that is the residue left a very thin film on his perfect pale complexion. His lips full and slightly parted, and his high cheekbones graced his already excruciatingly handsome face. With the combination of his distaste expression and the sharp authority of his cheekbones, it almost looked as if he was... regally aggressive.
Anne wondered if his eyes would hold her hypothesis. Her grey one's focused in to the long, onyx black eyelashes and sighed. She would never know. She had more moral capabilities than to stick her fingers to the deadman's lids just so she could satisfy her curiosity. She wouldn't do that.

A very tiny, sudden reflection of light caught her eyes startled her. She searched for the source-and focused on his right eye... Coated in the corners of his lashes was a small... dew? Was it the residue? No, it definitely had less viscosity. Then it dawned her:

A tear?

At that very moment of her realization, Anne's thoughts crumbled as she was caught by what she thought was an abyss. She felt the smallest of electrifying jolts as she was staring into eyes that weren't her own.
The clear, lightest blue of his eyes, so transparent that she thought she could dive in the crevices of the texture of his irises- colored in the most yellow of sunflowers, the vastness green of the ocean, and the blue of the highest of skies-all clashing against each other in a fight of dominance, weaponed by the extremely sharp edges that defined them. She felt her head spin in a near trance, as she noticed the slightest detail— slivers of translucent silver linings ever so slightly embraced the sharp colored contenders, light and adorned, almost soft like—

"Year?" A hoarse, but velvety low baritone of a voice destroyed the silence, as well as her hypnotic state. She jumped away from him, slightly startled. She did not speak, but her mouth was slightly gaped from the shock of a deadman talking.

He didn't move or blink as he asked again: "Year?" Anne wasn't even sure if he was asking a question. It sounded as if it was a statement, but logic dictated the former, since repeated himself. Year? Who asks for year? Is he talking about the star date?

Slowly, not take her eyes off of him, she answered "… 2257.04— I mean, January 4th, 2257". Anne slowly took a step back, hoping to inch her way back to the mobile table, towards the PADD and her communicator. Her eyes never away from his lying form, she moved cautiously, though the raging beating heart and her elevated breathing rang her ears in nervousness and fear. He didn't move, but his eyes slowly angled to face her. He spoke slowly,

"I can hear your heart beating." She could hear nothing but his words as confusion washed over her face. She felt as if in that moment, her heart stopped beating and she stopped breathing—as if in that very second, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of her living. What was that about?

Not wanting to ponder over an answer, Anne turned quickly for her communicator, but her right hand suddenly was caught in a trap of pale, cold skin that was his arm, and yelped loudly from the sudden force. She struggled for her arm to be free, but a sudden move to her hip twisted her position, and that is the position to face him. She felt a thunderous shiver and blood leaving her olive face.

Khan Noonein Singh faced her, a towering figure almost twice her size, an ominous look bestowed on his face, as the headlights embracing his was-dead figure now seemed to scurry away from his dark, glorious, presence. He made no sign of struggle as he held her—effortlessly as it was, his gestures were tinged with elegance from his menacing gaze.

"Where am I?" His voice was clearer now, rich and low, with a slight compass of an english accent. Anne could very much say she appreciated his vocals, if her near-paralyzing fear didn't overcome it. With her will to fight, she needed to call someone, or she would probably die. Somehow, she was going to aim for the communicator with her left. Being careful not to reveal her plans with her eyes, she swallowed hard and stared directly into his eyes.

"I cannot delve on that information, Mr. Singh." She spoke firmly, her voice slightly trembled, as he challenged his eyes. Khan's eye's furrowed at the mention of his name, slightly gritting his even teeth.

"Do not be foolish, girl." He said seething with impatience "Where am I?"

"I cannot—"

"Where is my crew?" He moved closer to her, his left hand gripping her hip with a stinging force.

"Mr. Signh—"

"Enough of th—" Anne quickly twisted her left arm and dove for her communicator, all the while falling to the floor. her hand flipped it it opened, as she felt a blowing kick at her back. She gasped at the pain, a sensation driving through her nerves. She resulted in cradling herself before she spoke, tears swelling her steely grey eyes.

"Marcus! He's awake! Please, he's awake—Ahhhhhhhhhhh!" Anne screamed in pure agony as Khan placed his foot over her hand, and twisted it while kicking it downward. Crack. Her eyes shocked at her dislocated hand and even more so destroyed communicator. The pain registered immediately, her eyes stinging with tears. She cried even louder when Khan grabbed her heavily injured hand as he pulled her upwards from the floor. Her screams almost made herself deaf. She could feel her bones breaking and ligaments tearing apart as her hand held her body weight. Tears consumed her eyes, as his hand steadied her head, looking straight at her.

"You have such delicious screams." He spoke with cold genuinity, towards her ear, eyes focused on hers. "It would be a waste to kill you."

All Anne could do was muffle a cry. No matter how much she was in pain, she couldn't move her eyes away from his piercing gaze. She could tell that he was relishing her fear, as it fueled his malice. It made her sick.

Their stares were cut short when she heard multiple footsteps from the door. A squad of Starfleet guards and Marcus holding phasers towards their direction. The admiral walked closer to the pair with concern and excitement riddled in his eyes.

"Welcome back." He started. Khan didn't move, but he eyed the Admiral. "And here we thought you were dead. You scared us, son".

"I don't care for your introductions. Where is my crew?" He bobbed his right hand where he held Anne, and she winced in pain.

"Don't worry, they're alive and safe. I can't tell you now, for security reasons. I'm sure you can understand."

Khan narrowed his eyes slightly, before turning to Anne. He lifted his left hand, and roughly caressed the bruises on her cheek. Her tears overwhelmed her, by her fear.

"I will kill her—"

"STUN HIM!" in an instant, multiple red lasers flew out at once, directly towards Khan, and he yelped in at the numbing sensation and let go of Anne. She fell and met the floor roughly, her her injured hand kissing the floor first. The intense pain raged through her nerves—the pain registered to her hot and bright, before her eyes closed, her consciousness dead.

Okay, more graphic than I had expected. Poor Anne. Please tell me what you think :). I'll try to have another by thursday so stay tuned!