I don't own any of this stuff. If I did the show would be a lot different. Less meaningful conversations and moral lessons; much more gratuitous violence. Violence is fun.
Prodigy
Chapter 2 - Brain Glow
From the personal files of Dr. Domovoi Troskey:
I often find it hard not to believe in a higher being. Whether it be the Catholic God or some other supreme deity. I have studied much in my life, and I have never ceased to be amazed at the way nature works. Most people regard science and religion as being polar opposites. I do not believe this. After all, if a god created this world, would he or she not have also created science? And if they created science, would he not use it?
Miracles are disregarded as soon as a scientific explanation is found for them, for people are convinced that a true miracle is something that can't possibly be explained. I like to think that the real miracle isn't necessarily the act itself, but the coincidence that the forces of nature just happened to occur in just the right way to make it happen. For if God created the universe, why would he or she not use his own creation to perform her works.
I was reminded of this today. The day when I isolated the "broadcast frequency" of the mind. I was looking at an MRI scan of the brain, the orange and red spots showing activity, the blue ones showing the opposite. The idea of temperature suddenly entered my mind. I had the technicians adjust the prototype MRI machine to factor in different temperatures when scanning for the mind. The results were as immediate as they were breath-taking.
It wasn't perfect of course, we had to adjust the electrical frequency several times to get a clear scan, but we had found the key. The first clear scan we made looked remarkably like the normal brain, except that the creases in it were not nearly as pronounced; almost non-existent. The color of the scan was also different. Instead of the oranges and blues of the regular MRI scan, this image was a solid, dull blue. Multiple images showed flashes of bright blue electrical energy shooting randomly through the blue mass.
After these initial tests, my curiosity went wild. I arranged for scans of as many different mind types as possible. Men, women, children, geniuses, school drop-outs, down-syndrome sufferers; anyone I could get to agree to the scan. But the big surprise came when I scanned one Marcus Conrad. At first I thought the equipment had malfunctioned, but after checking it seemed to be working fine. The scan of Mr. Conrad's mind was the same shape as all the others, but the color, instead of dull blue, was a deep, luminescent, light blue.
When looking through Mr. Conrad's profile for what might be the cause of this difference, I could only find one unique quality. Mr. Conrad was a practicing psychic. He ran a small business out of his home and had even aided some police investigations. I tested several other reported psychics and mystics. Over 75 had the strange glow to their scans.
Scientifically I knew what the glow was. Presumably the heightened activity in the mind due to the psychic gifts, caused increased electrical force in the brain and mind. This build up of energy caused the luminous effect. However, the coincidence that such a spectacular and haunting appearance was limited to minds possessing such special abilities seemed to be significant. And once again I found myself wondering if it was some inside joke by a higher power.
As my hands slipped from the helicopter's runners, I found myself starring upward in a bit of a daze. Was this really how it would happen? Did these situations really end like this? My worst case scenario would have been capture by whoever had me in the first place or at least shot while running from them. But this; falling to my death without a single revelation, seemed dumb, useless.
My thoughts were interrupted when I hit the first branches on the trees. The smaller twigs clawed at my face and snapped underneath me. I caught a glancing blow from a larger branch that sent me spinning to the side. My side stung as I hit another group of branches and my breath was knocked out of me when I caught one of the main ones directly in my gut.
I finally broke through the last layer of branches and dropped into the thick covering of snow beneath. I stayed were I fell. Every inch of me seemed to be in pain and my vision swam sickeningly. The sound of the helicopter drawing closer registered dimly in my mind, but I couldn't summon up enough consciousness to do anything. Strong winds starting whipping around me, covering me in swirling snow, as the aircraft descended a short distance away to land.
I could hear the crunch of boots in snow and soon two people stood over me, their faces blurry and distorted.
"It's 173," one of them said. Their voices seemed to drift to me from a great distance. I heard the words, but my brain was too fuzzy to put any meaning to them.
"That's the one that escaped, right? They were announcing it over the speakers just before we left." There was a crackling sound and one of them reached to his belt, retrieving something and holding it to his ear.
"What is it?" the first figure asked.
"The base," the other replied, gesturing distractedly towards the building. "Said to bring her back now. Looks like our trips gonna be delayed slightly."
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't let that happen," the first speaker reached into his coat, pulling something out and drawing a surprised shout from his companion. I heard a small explosion and the second figure fell from view as something warm and wet splattered across my face. I blinked, still too disoriented to register anything that was going on around me.
"Well, my dear," the remaining figure kneeled, leaning down closer to me, "I probably shouldn't risk moving you after that fall, but we don't have much choice at the moment." I felt an arm slipping underneath me and another pulling me upward. The movement sent pain lancing through my entire body and I mercifully slipped into unconsciousness.
Images began to swim before my closed eyes. Where they memories or just a dream? I was in a room full of people. They were dressed in military or SWAT uniforms, I wasn't sure which. All their eyes were fixed on me, watching me with what looked like pity. I put my hands to my face and felt moisture there. I was crying. What had happened, why was I crying? I couldn't remember.
Then I was sitting at a long table with another group of soldiers. One man stood at the head of the table, talking and motioning at a slide show playing behind him. There was something about that guy. I seemed to remember his head leaning down next to mine, his hand wrapped around my arm, holding it up, his brown skin contrasting with my whiter skin. I could see his bald head and thin beard out of the corner of my eye. He was instructing me to look down the length of my arm. I had something in my hand.
A gun. He was teaching me how to fire a gun. But why? There was also an overwhelming feeling of loss. But loss of what; I couldn't say. The images suddenly exploded into a nightmare of gunfire. Bodies fell to the earth all around me, there was red everywhere; blood everywhere. I felt it soaking through my shoes into my socks. It stained the bottom of my feet and began working its way up. As it reached my chest my lungs grew cold and seized up. I couldn't breathe. The redness kept moving up my neck, over my jaw and up the back of my head. As it closed over my face, my eyes suddenly flew open and I sat up in bed.
I looked around the room, panicking a little when I noticed I didn't have any clothes on. The large fuzzy blanket that had been covering me had fallen off when I sat up and the slightly chilly air sent a shiver through my body. I pulled the blanket tightly around myself. I could still feel a slight ache in my fingers and toes from my time dangling outside the helicopter. The bandages around my stomach had been removed and I could see the mess of stitches that seemed to hold it shut. The skin around them was still red and irritated, and my sudden movement from the bed had torn a couple letting a few drops of blood ooze out of the wound.
The room was rather small and sparsely furnished. Two sad looking beds stood parallel to each other (one of which, I was in) and an out of date TV sat on a stand before them. Other than that, there were a couple ratty armchairs, a tiny closet, and a door I assumed led to an equally little bathroom. The wallpaper was yellowed with age and the shag carpet was a dull, vomit-green. My clothes were draped over a rusty radiator and a mess of soiled bandages lay on the bedside table.
Some of my bandages DID seem to have been changed. The thought suddenly struck me that this must be why the wrappings on my stomach were gone and, if that was the case, someone was probably in the room with me. This revelation coincided with a creak from the bathroom door. The man who came through the door was huge. He was easily close to seven feet tall and was as big-boned as you could get. The strange thing was that the intimidation caused by his size was contradicted by everything else about him.
He had to be close to sixty years old and his gray beard and receding hairline made him look like some kindly grandparent from a Norman Rockwell painting. The small pair of glasses perched on his nose looked almost comical on his huge form. He wore a dark red sweater that came down over a slightly pudgy middle that told of someone not very familiar with strenuous physical activity. A pair of worn brown corduroys and brown shoes completed the look. All-in-all, he looked very much like a stereotypical "computer geek", but a geek who could probably snap me in half if he really tried.
At the moment, however, his hands seemed to be geared toward more humane activities, if the roll of gauze and bottles of antiseptic were any indication. The look of concern on his face also seemed to be genuine, but the fact that I was naked and alone with him kept me on edge. For a minute he seemed to be at a loss for words, but finally spoke, easing towards me slowly, as if sensing my apprehension.
"You're awake," he said, surprised and maybe a little relieved. His voice was deep and gravelly with a thick Russian accent. He hesitated a little after his first statement, as if unsure how to proceed, but then shook his head a little and continued. "I'm sorry about undressing you, but your clothes were soaked through and I had to remove them before you caught pneumonia." He gave a small, lopsided smile, looking extremely embarrassed. "If it's any consolation, I AM a doctor and was very professional about it." I was surprised when I almost smiled at the statement.
I opened my mouth to try and ask him a question, but found that my brain couldn't seem to decide which one to ask first. My hands shook as I clutched the blanket and made a couple of incoherent noises in my throat. The man seemed to see my panic, and held up a hand to calm me.
"I'm sure you have many questions," he said, soothingly, "and I will explain, but I would like to re-bandage your abdomen while I do so." He looked at me expectantly, waiting for my okay before trying to approach. I finally nodded a little and moved the blanket to around my waist, snatching a pillow and clutching it defensively to my chest. Smiling reassuredly, he pulled one of the chairs to the bedside and sat down, beginning to dab at the torn stitches with the antiseptic.
"My name," he began, his eyes never leaving his work, "is Domovoi Troskey. I work... I worked at the Montreal offices of the Northern Drug Corporation. That was the building you were being... held... in." He seemed to force the last part out, as if he were telling himself as much as me. However, the news that he was connected with the people in that building had set me on edge. I began to wonder if my previous feeling of relief was ill placed.
"You worked there?" I accented the middle word, hoping that his use of the past tense indicated something in my favor. He seemed to sense my sudden nervousness, for he continued rather quickly.
"Yes, I sort of... resigned," he finished applying the antiseptic to my middle and began wrapping fresh gauze around the healing wound. "I was in the helicopter you 'escaped' on. They radioed orders to land and bring you back, but you fell before we reached the ground. Once we reached you I realized that this was probably the only opportunity I would have to get you out of there. I... I shot the pilot and carried you to a nearby road. I was able to get a trucker to stop and give us a lift into town and to this motel."
I could hear the catch in his voice as he confessed to killing the pilot. The guilt at the act still seemed to be fresh in his mind. Still, my trepidation did not disappear entirely. Dr. Troskey was turning out to be a little too perfect. The saying "too good to be true" kept popping into my head. I sat quietly for awhile, waiting until he had finished wrapping my stomach with gauze before giving voice to my doubts.
"Why did you help me?" I was grateful to the guy, but why he would choose to make himself a target by helping one of these people's lab rats escape wasn't clear. He sighed heavily, sitting back in the chair. He suddenly looked very old.
"When I first started working for the NDC I firmly believed that they were committed to research that was for the benefit of all. And at first, all the projects I worked on WERE benevolent. It wasn't until later that I began to see signs of illegal activities and... unorthodox testing. I was aware of your situation, and seeing you lying there in the snow...," his voice caught for an instance, as if he was unsure of what he wanted to say. "I couldn't let you be taken back to that."
I was a little taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. So much so, that I started feeling bad for ever doubting him. Left almost speechless, I was barely able to whisper a hesitant "thank you". His face, however, did not convey any pleasure at my thanks, in fact he looked even more upset.
"Do not thank me," he whispered, a little hoarsely, "not after... everything I've done to you." My heart dropped into my feet. Was this it? The part were he revealed he was still working for these people and was going to take me back to the white rooms and metal tables? He slowly pushed himself from the chair and took a seat on the other bed, folding his hands in front of him.
"I finished in the top of my class at the university," he finally began, "fifth in the top ten, if I remember correctly. My area of expertise was the brain. It seemed a given that I would become a wealthy surgeon with my pick of what hospital to work in. This, however, did not prove to be the case." He paused, taking off his glasses and letting them hang around his neck from the small chain that joined the earpieces.
"I was a bit of a black sheep among my colleagues. I was interested in things not readily accepted by the down-to-earth majority of the scientific community. Religion, mysticism, parapsychology, crypto zoology; things of that nature. I was working at the Saint Giovanni Hospital and Emergency Room when I began working on a particular theory. I won't bore you with the details, suffice to say I believed that the brain and the mind were separate instruments. I began to work extensively on proving my theory, to the point that the hospital administration ordered me to stop; told me that my obsession was turning them into a laughing stock."
Troskey was unable to hide the note of bitterness that crept into his voice at that point. He quickly recovered his composure and continued his story in the same scholarly tone that kept making me feel like I should have been taking notes.
"When I wouldn't stop they fired me. After that, work was hard to come by. A doctor who is fired from his job is immediately seen as a risk. They could lose patients and any lawsuit brought against the hospital would be that much easier to win, because the circumstances of my dismissal would be irrelevant. Just the fact that I WAS dismissed would be damaging enough. That was when the NDC contacted me."
Getting up from the bed he began throwing away my old bandages and went to check on my clothes, still speaking as he did so.
"They offered me full funding for my research and a ready made laboratory. All I had to do was lend my expertise to some of their projects." Finding my clothes dry he tossed them to me, pausing to sigh a little. "Looking back on it now, I realize I should have been more suspicious, but I was so intent on continuing with my theories that I didn't use my head. By the time I realized something more sinister was going on, I was already involved too deeply."
Troskey's story was suddenly interrupted by a loud growl from my stomach. The sound brought a deep chuckle from the doctor and I found even the corners of my mouth turning up a little in a sheepish smile. Walking over he patted my shoulder in a gentle manner, smiling in a way that seemed fatherly; that is if I had any memory of any fathers.
"I'm sorry, my dear. Here I am boring you with my life story while you are starving to death. Forgive an old man his ramblings, I lose myself too easily in memories of the past. Take a moment to dress and I will bring back something to eat." Giving my shoulder another small pat, he then exited through the door, closing and locking it behind him.
Throwing off the blanket I shivered a little at the chill, pulling on my clothes quickly. Not that the undershirt I had woken up in did much to keep me warm, but at least I wasn't naked anymore. Wrapping the blanket around my shoulders I headed off towards the other door. After a quick use of the toilet I began looking around the small room. The doctor's coat had been left hanging on a chair by the bed. Still feeling a little paranoid, I rummaged through the pockets. The inside pocket held the dead weight of a handgun while the other pockets contained an eyeglass case, a few crumpled papers with notes written on them, and a medicine bottle full of some clear liquid.
There had been a rather large backpack in the bathroom stuffed full of equipment, probably taken from the helicopter. There was also a silver ring lying by the sink. The sides were engraved with a symbol of two snakes wrapped around each other and at the top was a black stone with something blue in the center. Holding it up to the light I could make out a ghostly image of a brain. It looked like a shrunken down x-ray or something, but was a glowing blue color.
Hearing the door open in the other room I returned the ring to its place and walked out of the bathroom. Dr. Troskey was just coming in with a couple Styrofoam boxes and a battered looking duffel bag over one shoulder. Giving me a little smile, he took the lamp off the nightstand and set out the boxes and some plastic forks. We each sat on one of the beds, eating in comfortable silence.
The meal was much the same as the room; not pretty, but adequate. There was a lump of mashed potatoes, some slightly brownish corn, a strip of processed chicken, and watery brown gravy that had been dumped on the potatoes and oozed around everything else. The mediocrity of the food was lost on me, however, as I eagerly ate every bite. I hadn't had much time to think since I had woken up and now that I had a moment's peace, I found I was starved.
Troskey had also brought a couple sodas, probably bought from a vending machine outside, and I cracked open mine. Sitting back a little as I washed down my food I looked over at the doctor as he ate. It had been kind of hard to picture the huge man as a surgeon, but watching his hands move carefully, yet purposefully even in the simple act of eating, it was easy to see. I was silent while he finished eating, frowning a little as I went over what he had said before.
"What did you mean," I finally asked as he put down his fork, "about what you've done to me?" The sentence had been rattling around my head ever since he said it and I was dying to know the rest of the story. That pained look appeared on his face again and he ran a hand over his beard before speaking.
"I told you that I believed the mind and brain to be separate organs," he began cleaning up the food as he went, I got up to help him. "And that the NDC had offered me funds to prove my theory. Well, I did it. I modified an MRI machine and scanned energy signatures from the mind," the slight hint of pride in his voice was easy to catch. "After that I was eager to learn everything I could from the scans. I soon found that many people who claimed to have paranormal abilities had a unique glowing aura to their scans." My mind snapped back to the image on the ring.
"Soon I began experimenting to see if I could manipulate the mind's energy," the pride in the doctor's voice was gone now, replaced by a slight hint of guilt. "I found that some minds with a certain electrical signature were receptive to attempts at heightening their energy output. I developed an enzyme that, when injected into different parts of the brain, could produce telepathic and telekinetic abilities in the subject for a short time."
"It was around this time that the company actually became interested in my research. Up until then I had done some DNA splicing experiments for them and only worked on MY experiments in my free time. But once I had successfully tested the drug, the executive members offered me an entire laboratory and research staff to help in my work. I perfected a formula, but was hesitant to test it. The previous drug's effects were temporary. This new version was designed to fully unleash any psychic abilities the subject might have, permanently."
"The company chairmen assured me that they would find trustworthy volunteers." Troskey paused for a moment, running a hand through his white hair. "Their lies seem so obvious now, but I talked myself into believing them. They provided "volunteers", but I was never allowed to talk to any of them. By the time I had any contact with them, they were already under anesthesia and prepped for the procedure. I should have known something was wrong, but I was so intent on my work succeeding that I allowed myself to be fooled. When they brought me you, however, the evidence became too much for even ME to ignore."
Unconsciously, I leaned forward a little on the bed. I had begun to see where the doctor's story had been headed and I got the feeling that he was reaching the end. I had questions, of course, but I held them back for now. Better to get the whole story and then fill in any blanks later.
"It was obvious that something terrible had happened to you," Troskey continued, a slightly apologetic look on his face, "and there were definite signs of recent surgery also. Apart from some general scrapes and bruises, you had a couple fractured ribs, a slight concussion, several nasty gashes on your arms and legs, and two gunshot wounds in your abdomen. All had been recently worked on. Couldn't have been more than four hours ago. I refused at first, saying that your injuries made you too weak for the process. It wasn't long, however, before their steady insistence became rather subtle threats."
He was silent for a minute, hanging his head. Finally raising it back up, he continued. "I'm not a very brave man," he said sadly, "so I did the procedure out of fear. Afterwards I could tell they knew I no longer trusted them. You were taken to a different part of the building and I wasn't even allowed to check on your progress. I went on with the work they gave me, but I refused to do any more of my procedures and insisted on speaking to you and the other patients. It was almost two months before they finally realized I wasn't going to give up in my protests, so they said they'd arrange a session with the subjects at another location. I didn't really believe them, but I didn't have much choice in the matter. The helicopter you jumped on was actually taking me to the supposed location, though I had a feeling that a much different scenario was planned."
He left the statement hanging, but I could guess what he meant. I mentally reviewed what I now knew. Somehow I had become a test case for an operation that was supposed to give certain people psychic powers, which would explain what happened to the guard in the computer room. But I didn't feel like I had any powers. After all, if I could read minds I wouldn't have sat here for the last half hour listening to Troskey. Perhaps the procedure hadn't worked, could it have failed? One question out-shone any others, however.
"Do you know who I am? What my name is?" I looked at him hopefully, but no sooner had the words passed my lips, I could tell he didn't. A look of sorrow crossed his face and he shook his head sadly.
"I am sorry," he said quietly in his thick Russian accent, "but I was given no information to your background. I only knew you by your patient registry. Number 173." I looked at the floor, disappointment eating away at my insides. Silence descended on the room for what seemed like hours. I tried to think of something to say, but my mind was a blank.
"So," I finally said, softly, "what now?" Troskey looked up at me, suddenly seeming rather nervous.
"Well," he answered, twiddling his thumbs, "I actually had something to ask you." He paused, looking at me for an answer. When I showed no signs of resistance, he continued. "I'm sure the other patients are still being held in the building and seeing you, I can only imagine what they must still be going through. I am an old man and have never been much for physical exertion at all. I cannot save them on my own, but with you helping me, perhaps we could free them. I know I have done nothing but harm to you, but I am asking you, for their sakes, to help me."
I didn't have any definite memories of any movies I may have seen, but I did know that if this had been a movie, my response would have been a righteous "YES". But this was not a movie, and the feeling that spread through me was not to protect my fellow man, but of fear. I did NOT want to go back to that building, I didn't care WHO was being held there. Only my slight embarrassment at my callous feelings kept me from shouting out a definite "NO" at the doctor.
"Back to that building?" I asked weakly, instead. Troskey saw my discomfort and tried to smile understandingly.
"I realize it is too much to ask, but I cannot leave those poor souls in there. If you do help me, I promise to help you with anything you need afterwards." I felt like screaming that their might not be an afterwards, but refrained. I had to think about this logically. Apart from the message that hacker had given me, I had no idea what I was going to do. Troskey knew the country and could probably get me anywhere I had to go faster than I could alone. And also, the thought of his "procedure" kept recurring to me. If something came up with that, it would definitely be helpful to have the doctor along. I was beginning to feel like a rat in a trap. I really didn't have much of a choice.
"All right," I agreed, my shoulders slumping a little, "I'll help." Thankfully, Troskey didn't show any signs of happiness, the circumstances weren't suited for it. He simply smiled sadly and nodded. I looked out the window at the large snowflakes falling to the ground. The peaceful landscape was a stark contrast to the chaotic darkness that currently surrounded me. My relief upon escaping that building had brought a new sliver of hope, but now I was being pulled back. Would I be able to escape again, and even if I did, would I then ever find out who I was? A sense of dread sunk deeper into my bones, chilling me more than the icy wind that howled outside the window.
To be continued...
Whew, lots of talking this chapter, but that's the price you pay for character development. More action in the next chapter when they return to the building.
Dragon Blade5 - Thanks for the words of encouragement. They always help.
YoukaiLover80 - Great? Maybe not. But I try. And while I don't watch Kim Possible (and truthfully, the slang makes me want to tear my ears off), I try to treat every show I see with respect. (Except reality shows) Kim Possible may not be my particular cup o' tea, but it's still a good show.
eckles - "Intriguing" is good.
Jezrianna - Still haven't seen Resident Evil, though I want to. I loved Milla Jovovich (sp?) in the Fifth Element. As for the protagonist's identity, I'm going to keep that foggy for a few more chapters.
Yamal - Glad to see my last stories didn't drive you off. Thanks for the praise, I'm really excited about this story and I hope it turns out as good as I imagined it. Just about everything is better in my head than it is on paper.