The Light at the End of the Tunnel
Chapter Nine: Remember, Bleed, and Burn
"We've faced off before, Ames, yet you've never taken me out. So tell me, what's so special about me? Why not just kill me?"
"You're the key to what we need." The Familiar nodded toward White. "His father," he began, great disdain for the creator of the transgenics evident in his voice, "designed you to save mankind." He smirked as if trying to mimic his superior, yet failing miserably. "But when used the right way, your blood can also destroy them."
"Sandeman knew that once The Conclave discovered your...unique DNA, we would simply eliminate the threat and take what we needed...He wanted to make sure we'd have to keep you alive. The specific enzyme we need from you will be neutralized if you die."
Max turned to assure herself that Alec was okay. Seeing the anguish in his features, without a moment's hesitation, she brought her hands up and twisted her captor's head. The bones snapped as his neck broke. Max threw the man off of her, and jumping up, she hurried to Alec's side. That moment of distraction was all White needed. He lunged at her, spinning her around when she was only a step or two from her destination. He put her into a headlock and brought his gun up to Max's head. Only too late did he realize that Max's own gun was on the other side of her head, the barrel pressed against her temple.
"We got a deal, Ames? Me for them. You let me see them walk out of here safe, let them take the injured and dead, and you get me."
White loosened his grip only slightly on the transgenic's neck, and spat. "Deal."
"Max, no!" Alec had managed to stand up, but was becoming dizzy with the exertion. "Max, you can't..." He trailed off as he began to cough again.
She was placed in a small holding cell that reminded her of the rooms in the basement of Manticore. The Psy-Ops rooms. The walls were painted a blinding white - no windows, and the door was painted white like the room. Everything appeared seamless, as if there were no corners, no door, nothing but white. The irony was not lost on her.
"How are you even alive?"
White smirked at her once again and raised an eyebrow. "You think that Manticore's the only one to perfect cloning?"
She sat alone on the floor, broken. Tears threatened once more to fall, and this time she let them. She had nothing left. This was the price she'd paid for the lives of her family, for the man she loved. She hadn't traded just her life. If she couldn't escape, she'd traded the transgenics for the human race. She sat alone defeated and wept bitter tears for the price of life.
Now onto Chapter Nine:
The infirmary at Terminal City was in utter chaos. Medics were running from bed to bed attempting to determine damage and priority. The once immaculate white walls and floor were now spattered with blood and darker things. The sounds of people in deep anguish permeated the air; people screaming, crying, begging a higher power to protect a loved one. But the worst of all the sounds, was the sound of nothing; the nothingness of death.
Alec lay in a cot in a far corner of the infirmary, his wounds having already been attended. He didn't move; he'd long ago given up his struggle against his restraints. Mira, TC's chief surgeon, had threatened him with sedation after the first hour he'd struggled. There was no way he was letting himself be put under before he had some answers to the many questions storming in his mind. Of course, the burning pain in every part of his body every time he even thought about moving helped keep him still.
As soon as he had been able to think clearly, he'd asked Mira how Max had gotten to the warehouse in her condition. Instead of answering, she had sent for Joshua. As he waited for his friend and for answers, Alec's mind raced. During their fight with White, he'd learned quite a bit, but he couldn't quite wrap his head around everything. He knew that the Familiars wanted Max alive and that she'd sacrificed herself for her people. The only other thing he knew was that Logan had drugged Max, and was working with White. Palpable hatred emanated from every pore as he thought of the man that he had once trusted. I didn't like him, but I trusted him, at some point. Alec closed his eyes, attempting to shut out the thought of what Logan could have done to Max.
"Medium Fella sleeping?" Joshua asked quietly.
"No Big Fella, I'm not sleepin'," he replied. He opened his eyes and couldn't help the small smile the canine man provoked from him. His mere presence helped ebb the rage a little.
"Good." Joshua beamed one of his bright smiles at his friend. "Why did Alec want Joshua?" Alec's rage flew through him again, unbidden.
"Mira wouldn't tell me what happened with Max. She said you could tell me." Joshua frowned and lowered his head.
"Max with White?" Joshua ventured, silently begging Alec not to make him tell what he'd seen. Mira had made him promise that he would try not to get Alec angry.
"Joshua," Alec ground out. "You know that isn't what I meant. What did that bastard do to her?" His voice was low and dangerous as he stared at Joshua, waiting for a response.
"I - I don't know everything," Joshua began. "I...Logan went into Max and Alec's place, after teams left. He tried to hurt Max. She couldn't...she hurt him." Joshua stopped; he didn't want to remember anything. Not what he'd seen, not what Max had looked like, so frail and vulnerable as she screamed. And not what he'd seen in her eyes as she'd picked up Alec's gun and left.
Alec saw the pain in Joshua's expression and wished he could let him stop. But he couldn't; he needed to know. "Josh, I know it's hard. But please."
Joshua whimpered quietly, but bravely forged ahead. "Max hurt Logan and he went to sleep. Joshua heard Little Fella scream...screamed for long, long time." Joshua closed his eyes and lowered his head further. Alec murmured words of encouragement and soon the big man was speaking again.
"Logan knocked out. Joshua threw him off Max. She couldn't move...handcuffed arms and legs. Joshua found key and helped Max. Don't know for sure if - Smelled not right, but..." Joshua couldn't' seem to find the right words. "Joshua think Max stopped him... before. But he must have said - she got dressed and told Joshua, 'Go take this animal to a holding cell,'" Joshua related, trying to imitate Max's voice and gestures, to get it just right. Alec nodded, knowing that if he said a word, his anger would show through. The only thing keeping Alec from once again attempting to break his restraints was the fact that Logan had not succeeded. But there would be hell to pay for all that he had done; the lives that had been lost because of Logan's selfishness; the loss of his Max.
"Is there anything else, Joshua?" Alec prodded after a long silence.
Joshua shifted his stance several times, rubbing his large hands together in nervous anxiety. "Max wasn't Max when she left. She was someone - something different. She took your gun, told Joshua to tell HQ to send back-up for fighting teams. Alec, Max...gone." Joshua turned away as large tears started to fall soundlessly from his eyes. Alec didn't want to think about what Joshua had said. It had been his gun against Max's head. It shook him to the core to know that if she'd have done it - killed herself- it would've been with his own gun. He pushed down all his emotions, all except the incredible hate that filled him.
"Joshua, shh buddy. Why don't you go get Mira now, and then go get some rest, okay?" Alec hoped he'd sounded softer than he felt, for Joshua's sake. His friend nodded and lumbered off to fetch the good doctor.
It took several minutes for Mira to come to Alec's bedside. Things were just starting to calm down a little, everyone who could be had been treated, and Mira was thankful for the lull. "Yes, Alec?" Before Alec could even get out a word, she spoke again. "And before you ask, under no circumstances are you getting out of this bed for another three days at least, understood?"
Alec nodded in begrudged agreement. "That's only one reason I wanted to talk to you. How long has it been since...since we got back?"
"Almost 24 hours, now." Mira winced and the wide-eyed look of shock that passed over Alec's face.
"An entire day?" he asked incredulously. Mira nodded sympathetically.
"You were out cold nearly half that time. You had a lot more than just a gunshot wound to fix. Broken ribs, a broken leg that had to be set, we had to put pins in your knees. That's the short list. It's a miracle you were able to stand at all."
Alec was silent for a long time before he spoke. "Has anyone gone back to the warehouse?"
Mira's face fell as she anticipated his reaction to what she was about to say. "Yes. A team went to do a little recon about 2 hours ago. There's nothing left, Alec. Nothing. No bodies, no equipment, no warehouse. Just ashes. They've relocated."
"Do we have any idea..." Before Alec could finish, Mira shook her head.
"They could be anywhere. But we'll find them. Once everyone's recuperated, we'll find them. And we'll get Max back." Reaching down, she pulled the blanket up around Alec. "Just get some rest."
"Right," Alec said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "Mira, when I can get outta here, I wanna see him."
Mira knew better than to argue this particular point. Hell, even I just wanna go put a bullet between his eyes.
"No one is to touch him, or go near him but me, understood?" Alec spoke with such authority that it was all Mira could do to keep herself from standing at attention, saluting, and saying 'Yes, sir!' Instead, she simply nodded and walked away.
Alec took a deep breath and swore when the action reminded him of his broken ribs. He closed his eyes, but all he could see was Max struggling with White, both their guns at either side of her head. Sleep would be a long time coming.
Two Weeks Later...
Strapped to a cold metal table in a bright white room was a young girl, stripped of all her clothes. Tubes of varying sizes and shapes protruded from her body in precise medical placement, marring her perfect features. Some carried a clear liquid into her, meant to keep her immobile. But most of the tubes pulled her blood - her life - from her and carried it to rest in clear jars. Those who were taking it were not yet sure how to safely extract from it what they needed. That was one of two reasons why she was still alive.
The other reason stood high above the medical room and watched intently from behind the glass of the observation deck. A cruel smirk decorated his lips as he took in the sight of the girl. She didn't move - couldn't - courtesy of the drugs being pumped continuously into her small frame. One would assume she was asleep, until they saw her eyes. Wide-open, panicked, and alert, her deep brown eyes flitted from one side to the other frantically. She was fully aware of everything happening around her.
A small man garbed in a white lab coat, approached his superior, and told him what new information they had discovered. They had discovered the technique they'd needed. This was the girl's last day in the medical room. The cruel-smiled man laughed icily at the news. Soon 452. Soon you'll be mine. You'll pay for all that you have done. And then, you'll die.
On the table, the woman tried to survey her surroundings, tried to understand what was happening. She felt that she should know where she was, but there was so much she couldn't remember anymore. What's my name? Do I even have a name?. The doctors had called her "specimen", and the man with cold eyes and a suit, had called her a number. 452, she recalled foggily. Strange for a name. She didn't know the man's name, so she'd named him Ice-Eyes, because every time he looked at her, it was with an icy intensity that chilled her to the bone.
She couldn't remember much of her life before the blinding white room, before the incessant testing, and then the cold periods in solitude. Time meant nothing here. There were only the times that she was in testing and the times she was alone. There was only one thing that seemed to rise above the fog; shining eyes, green with flecks of gold. Those eyes held so much emotion; pain, anger, fear, love. Are they my eyes? If she focused on those eyes, she didn't feel quite as lost.
Just as suddenly as the procedure had begun, it ended. The tubes were ripped out of her body with none of the precision and care that had been present when they had been inserted. Drip, drip, drip. The sound of her own blood falling to the floor echoing off the walls to be amplified by her own sensitive hearing. Sounds like gunshots, she thought. At the comparison, a dim memory surfaced; the sound of a single gunshot rang louder than the sea of others around her. A young man laying on the ground, bleeding from a wound in his side; still as death. The evil sneer of Ice-Eyes. She didn't know who the man on the ground was, or why he'd been hurt. She didn't understand why this one memory made her heart clench tight in her chest. She tried to open her mouth, to scream, but no sound would come. Why can't I remember?
"Hello, 452," the Ice-Eyes' voice said. She forced her eyes to the right, hoping that she'd only imagined it. But there he stood, glaring down at her. Several hands pulled at her, lifting her off of the metal table to sit her in a wheelchair facing him. Seeing his face sent tendrils of fear throughout her body, starting at the base of her spine. Maybe not remembering isn't so bad. I don't have to remember why I'm so afraid of him.
"Your testing is over now, you won't be coming here anymore." Her eyes widened as much as they could in relief and surprise. Would they let her go home now? Do I have a home? Is home with whoever those beautiful eyes belong to? Then Ice-Eyes laughed at her, laughed at her hope. "Now you belong to me." She tried to whimper, to yell, to do anything but just wait passively for him take her. But she could only sit silently as he walked around to the back of her wheelchair and began to push her out of the laboratory.
They traveled down so many hallways, past so many doors. Behind some of them the woman thought she could hear people screaming like they were in indescribable pain. Will I scream like they do? After too many twists and turns for her to count, they came to a stop in front of a door like all the rest that she had seen. Everything looked the same here, everything the same sickening white. The man swiped a card in a slot next to the door and pushed her inside the dark room. A pungent coppery odor assaulted her nose as soon as she entered, a familiar smell. Realization hit her and she silently begged him not to turn on the lights, an effort in futility, she knew. The click of the light switch sounded and bathed the room in the same pure light as the whole facility had. This room, too, was white. But deep scarlet stains spattered the walls and floors. She glanced up as far as her immobile body would allow. The same horrid stains were on the ceiling.
No, no, no, no, NO! she screamed in her head. Ice-Eyes picked her up from her chair, making sure that they made as little contact as needed. He carried her across the room and leaned her against the wall. She heard the clank of metal on metal as he reached for something above her head. He clamped her wrists in iron manacles, leaving her to hang from chains attached to the ceiling. The cold metal bit into her wrists as all her weight came down on them when he let go of the hold he'd had on her waist. Her ankles were next, bound to the floor in the same kind of chains as her wrists. The woman could no longer see what was happening, unable to support her head enough to look up. She could see only the white floor, specked with blood, and Ice-Eyes' feet as he moved to her side. The clank of heavy chains sounded again, and the woman felt her arms start to be pulled higher above her head. Once her feet could no longer touch the floor, Ice-Eyes stopped her ascension.
The woman tried so hard to focus on something -anything- other than the manacles biting into her flesh, other than the pain in her wrists and shoulders from the strain. Ice-Eyes grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back so she could see him. His eyes glittered with menace as he glared at her with open disgust, and spit in her face. "Filth! You, you're the reason that my son is dead!" He screamed the last word at her, pulling her head back painfully further. A small sound, a whimper, escaped her lips, and that small triumph made her forget the pain momentarily.
"I...I don't remember..." Speaking hurt, and she was only barely able to squeeze out a whisper, but she had been able to talk. She dared to hope that now she would be able to talk Ice-Eyes out of whatever he was going to do. Her words fell upon ears deafened by hate and Ice-Eyes laughed humorlessly.
"You don't remember?" He searched her eyes for some kind of sign that she was lying. "Must be all the drugs in your system and the loss of blood. But don't worry, that'll fade. You'll remember, and then you'll wish you could forget it all." Roughly, he let her hair loose and walked away. Her head fell and once more all she could see was the floor. She tried to lift her head and discovered she could move it, but only slightly. The drugs were beginning to wear off, and foggy memories were coming to her mind's surface. When she saw the sight in front of her, she immediately wished she hadn't looked.
Ice-Eyes stood in front of her, his features radiating malevolence. He'd gloved his hands, and she had a moment to remember similar hands, ones that wore the same latex covering. Traitor. In one hand was a metal scalpel, the white light of the room making it glint dangerously. In the other hand, was some object she didn't recognize. It was the same shiny metal as the scalpel, but had a curved tip, both edges serrated. She could only guess at its use.
The pain went on and on, for what seemed like forever. It could've been minutes, hours, even days for all she knew. All she knew was the pain. Her blood flowed in rivulets down her naked body to spatter the floor with more stains, the new ones a bright and glistening red in the harsh light. With each incision, the effects of the drugs were driven off. She struggled to focus on her surfacing memories, something to distract her from the hurting. White. The word flew to the top of her consciousness; Ice-Eyes had a new name.
She'd vowed not to scream, not to let him have the satisfaction, for she knew he would revel in her broken cries. The longer she was silent, however, the more violent he became and she longed to take herself away from it all. All her memories were there, almost tangible, scrambling to get out. Flashes of images, too quickly passing to grasp, filled her mind's eye.
"452," White spat out, as if the words had tasted foul. "Why are you resisting? Just give into it, and maybe I'll stop...for now."
452, 452, 452. The number repeated over and over again in her head. She knew she despised the number, but couldn't remember why.
Before she passed out from exhaustion and pain, she was able to capture one memory.
"My name," she croaked, "is Max." Then the world turned black, and she was left to her fitful slumber, still hanging limp from the ceiling.
Alec breathed in deeply as he stepped into the corridor in the basement of the building that housed HQ. He walked dangerously and deliberately toward the heavy door with "14" written backwards on the barred window. Every day the number changed. Every day the window was washed and the number was made to equal the number of days she had been missing. And every day, Alec came down to the cell to pay a visit to its prisoner.
As Alec turned the key in the lock he could hear the scuffling sounds from the other side. It was the same every day; the prisoner would try to hide. But the cell was small and bare and did not contain any safe harbors.
He stepped inside slowly, shutting and locking the door behind him. "Day number fourteen and still no sign of where White has taken her," Alec stated coldly. He took a lighter out of his pocket and raised the metal rod he'd been holding. He brought the tip of the iron to the flame, letting it heat until it was bright red. He quickly crossed the space of the room, no emotion showing in his features, and grabbed the man cowering in the corner. He grasped the now screaming man's forearm and pressed the red-hot metal to it, searing the flesh until it hissed. When he pulled it away, an inflamed "14" was left in its place. All the way from the prisoner's shoulder to his forearm there were numbers burned into his skin; one for every day Max had been gone, a reminder of the pain he'd caused.
Alec released the arm from his grasp and threw the man to the hard cement floor. Turning, he walked out of the cell as if nothing had happened. Logan cowered in the corner once again, nursing his newest wound. He could only hope they found her soon, before they ran out of space on his arms.
This chapter was never meant to be so...dark, but I just couldn't help it. I sat down after trying to write the first part and giving up, and all of this just kind of wrote itself. Tell me what you think...am I absolutely evil?