Sorry its taken so long to update! In truth, I wrote half of chapter 14 last week but it was saved on my school computer and so I didn't save it till Friday (when school ended for the holidays, yaay!) then Friday night I was out at the cinema with a good friend of mine having a fantastic time and I haven't been feeling very well the rest of the weekend. I probably wont be able to update for a little while because my Christmas has been ruined by the knowledge that I have GCSE Mocks in January so I have to do all my revision over the holiday and my Christmas present from my parents is revision books for all my subjects. Anyway, I genuinely feel terrible for this chapter and I'm sorry to all of you for hurting Chekov but I needed a deeper dynamic for the whole escape thing...I couldn't make it too easy could I? Please review, they're always appreciated xxx
Chekov had lost all sense of time; the world intertwining with that of dreams, and Chekov felt himself lost to reality. Although Chekov had felt this confusion before-in a time long before Starfleet-it had never been so intense, so raw, that it felt like it was driving him to the edge of sanity. It had taken Chekov an eternity to even convince himself that Uhura had come to him; and even then he was teetering precariously on the edge of disbelief, the doubt growing inside him with every agonising minute that passed. Though Chekov did his best to stay positive, the constant onslaught of drugs made his usual, rigid focus slip and on more than one occasion he would suddenly become aware that he was staring upwards unerringly and had to persuade himself to concentrate. Sometime during one of his lapses, the doctors must have returned because his arm ached excruciatingly and a machine hovered over the limb, its vice-like claws digging into his skin, repairing a long incision right across his bicep. He had the vaguest memory of seeing his own amputated arm being studied in his peripheral vision but the image was so fleeting that it would dance away whenever Chekov thought he could identify it.
A dull ache echoed across his entire body and the intense pain in his skull ricocheted through his skeleton. A light sheen of sweat coated his body and accumulated on his brow, his teeth chattering angrily as a result of the icy dampness on his skin. The temperature of the room seemed to have dropped agonisingly lower however Chekov speculated that it was the fever now gripping his weakened body. Chekov hated feeling so fragile; even the mad scientists tiptoeing around him as not to damage their specimen and Uhura's touch had been light; as though she was afraid he might shatter at the most gentle pressure. The worst thing though, was the loneliness, the constant oppressive silence and the sobering lack of companionship. Chekov deeply craved the presence of another, some kind of human contact; Uhura having succeeded in dragging him out of his deepening pit of despair, if only for a few moments. More than anything he just wanted the horror story to end; either by his miraculous rescue or his passing, he longed only to escape this vile place.
At one point, Chekov had dreamed of Enterprise its dazzling sparkle of the lights, the soft humming of the engine at warp and the smooth glass of his station beneath his nimble fingertips. Beside him, Sulu's expression had held its usual blissful enthusiasm as he had watched the white specks of stars whiz past on the viewscreen as he'd adjusted his grip on the helm controls. When Chekov had turned, he had been hypnotised by Uhura's bright, loving smile as she sat back from her station with the translation device in her ear; looking entirely calm and at home in her pristine uniform. In contrast, Scotty sagged a little with his usual rough, weary exterior but the same enthusiastic gleam in his eyes. Even the Vulcan looked comfortable in his position, a slight smile hinted across his otherwise stoic jawline and Chekov felt a grin creeping across his own face as he remembered the rather amusing banter between the Captain and his doctor over the subject of the emotionless pointy-eared goblin. At the Captain's chair, Bones stood with his usual brooding expression as he glared down in mock frustration at his cocky, blond best friend who had an equally swaggering smirk on his face and his usual aura of complete confidence that Chekov so deeply relied on. The dream had ended with a resounding snap that reverberated in Chekov's mind and he had no doubt that it was some kind of induced hallucination; but he clung to it all the same.
Another bang alerted Chekov to his tormentors return and he instinctively flinched, feeling the scabbing on his bound wrists crack as he tried futilely to break free. Uhura had said he only needed to last one day, but already Chekov felt his sanity start to bend and crumble; and Chekov doubted he could last even a minute longer it the cursed laboratory. He temporarily wondered whether the Captain was suffering as much as himself-after all, the Captain had a knack for attracting trouble and getting beaten to a pulp-though if there was something worse than what Chekov was experiencing he was pretty sure that even the infamous James T. Kirk couldn't have formulated an escape plan and Uhura certainly wouldn't have been so concerned with Chekov's wellbeing. The Russian's mind flashed back to those aboard the Enterprise and he wondered what fate had befallen them. Had Sulu received his transmission; with the device having been so temperamental beforehand? Did they even know what was going on? Were they going to save them?
A rubbery latex hand startled Chekov from another of his moments and he blinked at Dr Standing, trying to read the man's seemingly blank expression. He was even harder to read than Spock. The doctor's hands pressed against his body; testing him as he read off useless things to the nurse beside him. Chekov found he no longer cared; as long as he felt no pain then just lying back and cowering behind his own mental shields seemed like a good idea. For a while he just lay there peacefully, staring up at the ceiling and wishing he could just drift away and be back on his precious ship with his most treasured friends; then cursed himself for being so sappy and instead focussed on being someone else, calculating what Spock or the Captain would do. When that did nothing and his mind came up blank, he reverted to his usual solution to whatever problem was thrown at him and buried himself it a tumble of complicated mathematics and swirling sequences that he built and broke down off the top of his head. It was a strangely relaxing exercise and Chekov found his fear dissipating and the shortness of his breath slowing into a calm rhythm. He was vaguely aware that the other people around him found his meditations highly intriguing, and were watching him intently and taking down lengthy notes, probably of his psychological health and Chekov momentarily considered whether this would be considered normal of a boy his age and whether-when his crewmates eventually came for him-Bones would deem him stable enough to return to duty. Probably not given the extreme circumstances; his young age, the seriousness of his injuries and the rest of the crew's excessive protectiveness.
"Pass me the cerebral invisulator." Chekov eyes snapped over to Dr Standing as he took a strange device-much like a small ring box from another of his willing colleagues-and carefully positioned it over his left eye then proceeded to take one more and place it over his right eye.
Inside, Chekov could see the tiny trails of fluorescent lights that danced and swirled across the odd metal and Chekov felt himself strangely curious as to the machine's purpose. Sharp pints dug into his skin across his forehead and on his temples, making Chekov wince at the sudden pressure and he squirmed uncomfortably only to feel the band around the top of his head tighten.
"Are we ready?" Dr Standing's voice lacked the enthusiasm it had before, and seemed disturbingly monotonous "Activate."
A searing pain erupted behind Chekov's eyes and his brain felt like it was cooked alive in an instant; the lightning bolt effect leaving his screaming out in agony. The monsters around him seem undeterred and Chekov could feel the metal pints growing hot and burning his pale skin as the power-and the pain-intensified drastically. A shock snatched him back from unconsciousness and he found himself unable to screw his eyes shut as electricity pulsed through his body, setting his nerves alight and burning him from the inside out. This time is throat could take the strain of his scream and it felt like he had ruptured some of the blood vessels down his tracheal causing his mouth to fill with the metallic taste of blood and his breathing restricted.
One of the nurses cried out in alarm "His body cannot take the reaction. He is at risk of catastrophic cardio and respiratory failure under the exertion."
Hands pushed down upon Chekov and his mouth forced open before a tube was shoved down his throat and he tried to lash out. The plastic feeling pipe made his lungs feel like they were constricting and he immediately coughed and gagged involuntarily but the nurses only rammed the apparatus down harder until it reached the correct position and his previously blocked airways were filled with artificial, uncomfortable buffets of air that came in irregular pants and forced him to control his breathing. The pain in his eyes alerted him to the other present danger and he growled in frustration against the tube in his mouth as his arms barely lifted off the table and he was unable to defend himself against the onslaught. Someone flattened tape across his lips-thick and heavy-so that the tube could not move and his mouth was shut tight against the plastic nozzle at its tip. Chekov screamed a gut wrenching sound that he was certain could be heard from the castle beyond before he was promptly shushed by someone to his left and another sharp spike of pain cut his cries off.
As quickly as the pain had begun, it stopped, and Chekov could hear the audible sighs of what he could only describe as relief from the onlookers.
"Everything is stable sir, Subject Seven survived the procedure; unlike Subjects Three and Six. His vitals are already returning to relatively normal levels-given of course the consequence of his stress and anxiety, not to mention the delayed reaction to the medication."
"Good," Dr Standing sounded tired and Chekov wished he could see the man's face; to give himself even a small insight as to his position "Make sure all the data is recorded and stored; we may need to refer to it soon. Let's remove the cerebral invisulator and ascertain its effectiveness."
Chekov felt his heart freeze with unusual dread and he breathed in a deep, wheezy breath through the hateful contraption in his throat. A latex hand rested against his temple, sliding away the spike of the metal band as though it were a crown of thorns, before carefully plucking the two boxes from his face. Chekov's first thought was of how surprisingly dark it was-given of course that the room, minutes before, had been glaring with artificial light that made his eyes water-and he finally came to the decision that he had yet to open his eyes. He blinked, and felt his eyelids move and his long eyelashes tickle his tear stained cheeks but still no image or light would appear to him. Confused, Chekov tried again and again to look around but for some reason, he seemed unable to.
They had blinded him. Those despicable machines have taken his eyesight.
Chekov sobbed before he could catch himself, his heart burning and the terror returning with such vengeance that Chekov felt himself swallowed by it "My eyes? Vhat hawe you done to my eyes?"
The tube in his mouth made the question come out as a muffled groan that made his throat constrict and he felt his chest squeeze his lungs, a machine beeping at him angrily.
"His eyesight is not functioning sir, just as you predicted. Brilliant as ever, Dr Standing." a praising tone ignored Chekov's attempt at a question and Chekov felt hot breath on his face as someone pried open his eyelids and tilted his head a couple of inches to the side.
"Hmmm, if we could turn this into a gas form, it would be most helpful against our enemies." Dr Standing mused, and Chekov writhed on the bed at his self-satisfied tone "I will go inform the King that our first official experiment was a complete success."
With that, there was the fading of footsteps until gradually all other sounds disappeared and Chekov was left to ponder the probability of his escape-for once desiring the ignorance of most his own age; to lack the extensive knowledge of how to calculate his chances-and he waited in the suffocating darkness with torrents of tears spilling down his sift cheeks for his friends return. Thinking all that time…
…how to I get them to leave me?