Chapter 21
"What the HELL do you mean you don't have a difibulator!" Bero snapped, turning to the nearest doctor, and grabbing him by the white collar. A young woman rushed in with a cart, difibulator already charging upon it.
Moments passed slow and grueling...and finally.
"CLEAR!" nothing. "Increase the voltage! CLEAR! NO! No! We' can't lose him! Increase the voltage!"
"Doctor it-"
"DO IT! CLEAR!" and suddenly, a small blip appeared on the heart monitor. "Turn off the probes." ordered Bero, now significantly relieved. There must have been a shortage. He didn't plan on using those damned things again.
Perhaps he would get a telepath...? No, too risky. Just let the boy rest. In a few days they would check up on him again.
"It's Christmas Eve." muttered Mortimer to himself. "I believe I can safely say this is not the best Christmas I've ever had." he rubbed his aching chest.
"You're awake." a voice somewhere to his right averted his attention. He was in a different cell now, one that more resembled a prison cell then a medical wing. Barred walls, cot, sink, toilet, end of story. There were bars separating his cell from the woman in the next.
She was about 16, but judging by her eyes, she had seen things best left to people beyond her own years. They were cold, harsh, scrutinizing eyes. After a few moments, he noticed that they were the same golden sheen as his own.
Her skin was iridescent- a mother-of-pearl sort of colouring, and her hair was a dark brown. She looked like a work of art; not a person.
"I thought you had died." she said. Her voice was toneless and indifferent.
"How pleasant." he muttered, rubbing his head again. All that was left of his hair was a small green bristle. Not a problem. He had rather fast-growing hair anyway. He'd have it back in three weeks.
"It's not uncommon." she continued. "That's why you're occupying that cell right now instead of a single suite like you came from. They've deemed you docile enough to put together with other mutants. You'll probably live longer."
"Where are we?"
"A division of the Weapon-X program. I've been here three years. The life expectancy here (at most) is a month. Maybe a month and a half."
"What?"
"Well, not life expectancy, per say. But I count life as something beyond a brain-dead vegetable. Once you're soft enough, they drill a headset in to your brain. It creates illusions of what's happening around you, so that the people here can manipulate you."
"So why're you still here?"
"The same reason you are. Even among mutants, we are different." she said. "They believe our mutation to be so great...that they can locate it in our genes, and destroy it."
"A cure?"
"A death sentence. You can't tamper with someone's DNA and expect them to live. They're deriving a cure for the future. We're guinea pigs. They test their procedures on us."
"Wonderful." he muttered.
"We're nothing more than numbers to them." she said. Mortimer realized the girl was fighting back tears. "They haven't started the operations yet. Just little experiments." she paused, sitting down on her bed. "I...I don't want to die. My life's barely beginning. I...I don't want...to end it yet."
"Nobody does." he said. He didn't feel in the mood to comfort this girl. He was going to die, wasn't he? What a pathetic end for a pathetic life. His entire existence had been one mistake after the other.
Hold on.
What?
Hold on. Just for a little bit longer. Just hold on.
Who are you?
A friend, Mortimer. Just a friend.
What do you want?
I want you to have faith.
Mortimer shook his head, rubbing his knuckles in to his temples. He had finally snapped, hadn't he? But that voice-- he knew that voice. It was kind, gentle, yet powerful. He was glad he had that voice on his side. Hadn't the Professor said that telepaths could no longer read his mind?
Please, don't leave me.
I will return.
Because I am so incredibly WONDERFULLY nice, I shall give you a clue on who our mystery telepath is. Go back to the Author's Note I left at the very end of the Lack of Fear Volume 1.
AIN'T I CLEVER!
No, not really.
Damn.
