A/N - A brief WARNING just because this chapter is set in a mental asylum so some could possibly find that traumatic or upsetting.

Chapter Twelve

Mac was sat in the chair that was now oh so familiar to him. The small room was lit brightly and devoid of any other life. Its blank walls stared back at him, the same blank walls he'd grown accustomed to seeing each and every day. The floor was plain, the ceiling was plain and there were no windows, absolutely nothing of interest in this bland little room bar himself and his chair. In fact, the most interesting thing was the light, high above him and well out of his reach. Mac shivered and shifted on the white, wooden chair he was sat on. Sometimes there would be a desk in front of him with some sort of task or puzzle for him to complete, occasionally he would play chess with Emerson and on other days the doctor would simply ask him questions. The same questions over and over again. Simple ones like if he remembered his own name and other more difficult ones, mathematical equations and such things.

Mac shifted again, his back was aching terribly and he wondered what new kind of virus surged through his veins this time. It was his fourth one and to his mind that made sense. He'd calculated that he and Flack had now been stuck in this place for a little under four weeks. Twenty-five days to be exact. It seemed Emerson gave him a virus each week; letting it gestate for a day or two, carrying out his experiments for the next two days and then Mac was given the antidote and allowed three days recovery. There was always an antidote of course; Emerson had assured him of that from the start. The doctor had already seen the physical effects of his viruses if he just left them in the body and no longer needed to experiment with that. No, he wanted Mac alive and to discover just what effects these diseases had on the brain function. Mac knew if this continued he would most likely die, the lasting effects of having such things injected into the body couldn't be anything good.

He wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead and then shivered. This virus wasn't as bad as the last and he felt he could still think relatively clearly. The last one had made him go crazy and he'd had to be restrained by the nurses for a few days. The gestation period was always the worst, his body growing accustomed to whatever was flooding through it. Mac sighed as he wondered why Emerson was taking so long, normally the doctor arrived within a minute of him being placed on the chair. Mac knew it would be questions today as the room was empty. Those wretched questions again. Of course he still remembered his name, he always would. He was Mac Llewellyn Taylor. Mac. What was Mac short for? Mac frowned as he wracked his brain, starting to panic as he found he simply could not remember. Mac. Mac...

"No..." Mac murmured in horror.

It was the virus, it had to be. He couldn't forget his identity. It was the one thing that stopped him from becoming a faceless number. He knew he had to get out of there. It had already been too long but the viruses had hampered any plans for another escape attempt and he knew he had to make it count this time. He wondered why they'd not been rescued yet. Mac hated to admit it but Emerson had been right. This place was obviously good at keeping a low profile, at guarding its secrets and not even the disappearance of two New York cops or the discovery of that John Doe had led to it being discovered. Mac knew Jo would have come for him if she knew where to look. And that meant only one thing; they had run out of evidence. And after twenty-five days their case would have been pushed to the back burner, no longer such a priority as new cases cropped up. They'd still be working on it, but only when there weren't more urgent cases.

"567, I am sorry for my delay. There was some trouble down on one of the wards," Emerson said harshly.

Mac jumped, he hadn't heard the aged doctor enter the room.

"No need to worry," the doctor laughed. "I just need to know how my little baby is suiting you."

"Why are you doing this?" Mac growled.

It started just the same. Mac still wanted his answers and wouldn't let go of all the questions he still had running around his mind. He just couldn't understand how a human being could turn so greatly against his own kind. To take normal, happy, healthy people and treat them like guinea pigs until their deaths. It wasn't human. It was monstrous.

Emerson sighed irritably and stared at Mac with a look that pierced the skin.

"Must we really go through this again?" he said coldly.

"You are playing God with human lives!" Mac shouted, spittle projecting from his mouth.

Emerson suddenly started laughing, a cruel high pitched laugh. Mac stared at him in anger, uncomprehending of how he could possibly laugh at what he'd said.

"My dear 567, do you know what it means to feel like God?" Emerson cackled.

"What?" Mac spat.

"Because I do. I create life here. I improve upon the beauty of mankind. I perfect what is an imperfect breed of life," Emerson said slyly. "How does a cell become enslaved to a form, to a destiny it can never change? I have learnt to change that destiny."

"You destroy men and feel no remorse for doing so!" Mac shouted.

"If one is to study nature, one must become as remorseless as nature," Emerson said nonchalantly.

"Nature isn't remorseless. It is full of beauty, kindness of sprit, love for a fellow being," Mac defended.

"Love?" Emerson laughed. "Human beings do not love one another. They are eternally feuding; life is one never ending war of races, of religions, of differences. I grew up among hardship like you will never know; I have seen the degradation of human kind like you wouldn't believe. I know what it is to suffer."

This time Mac was the one who sniggered. "You? Suffer? Then why do you now cause the same to your fellow man?"

"Man does not suffer under my hand. I nurture man, improve upon him, I am his father. And you, all the patients here...you are my children," Emerson replied, a maniacal gleam behind his cold eyes.

"So creating a dystopian society here hasn't caused your so called 'children' to suffer?" Mac said, barely able to contain the contempt and revolt he felt for this man.

"All children need to learn, 567," Emerson chuckled.

"Violence only makes violence," Mac retorted. "I have seen that first hand myself."

"Ah yes...of course," Emerson smiled. "You have worked in the police force and the army. Well, then you will know this power I speak of. To have the ability to control the fate of another human. To take him and imprison him until he is cured. Isn't that what you do every day? When you take a criminal and lock him away until he is well enough to be let back out into society?"

"What I do and what you do are completely different things," Mac replied in anger.

"Really?" Emerson chuckled. "Because I cure people here too. I fix them. Isn't that what you do?"

"You destroy them," Mac snarled.

"I improve them," the doctor hissed.

"You're delusional. You're blinded by your own self obsession and love of power," Mac stated logically.

Emerson stared at him, seemingly in thought. "Perhaps. But I have not been proved wrong thus far. Man is a selfish being and my work on his physical form and mental nature will one day be heralded as the forefront of medical innovation. The solution to cure man of all his problems."

"Have you ever actually listened to yourself?" Mac laughed. "You threaten us with medical experimentation and yet you somehow believe you are doing good. Do you not realise those are contradicting ideas?"

"I am a God, 567," Emerson laughed. "I need no justification for my work here. You will soon see."

"You're no God. You're the Devil and your work is the lowest form of treatment that a human being should suffer."

"Then permit me, 567, to tell you something of the Devil as I've come to know him," Emerson laughed coldly, his eyes piercing straight into Mac's soul. "The Devil is that element in human nature that impels us to destroy and debase. Maybe I am the Devil, but so are you, and so is all mankind. And it is here, in this very place, that I have seen him, found his very essence and chained him. I have dissected him and will cure him. Thanks to me, there will be no Devil and no God. There will just be man and he will rule himself."

"You talk of yourself, no doubt, and the evil that lurks in your own soul!" Mac spat in disgust.

Emerson smiled and then laughed at Mac. "You think you understand me? You think you know everything. But you are not so clever and you will soon learn."

"I already know everything I need to. I've met men like you before. And you won't get away with this. I'll see you behind bars if it's the last thing I do," Mac growled.

"Your empty threats do not scare me," Emerson laughed and then glanced at his watch. "Oh dear, it seems our time together has run out for today. I see this virus has had no affect on your cognitive function whatsoever."

Emerson removed a long needle from the top pocket of his labcoat and uncapped it before pressing it into Mac's arm.

"The antidote you'll be pleased to know. I'll have a new virus ready for you in a few days. Please rest until then," the doctor said before moving to the door and opening it. "You are free to return to your ward."

The doctor then went out into the corridor but paused before disappearing down it. "Oh, and a piece of advice, 567. You may want to tell your young friend to stay out of trouble. He is trying my patience and it wears very thin."

Mac stared in horror as the doctor disappeared down the corridor and then stumbled up. He felt his knees go weak and grabbed hold of the wall for support. It was always like this after the antidote injection, he always felt a little weak and lightheaded. But after a few hours rest he'd feel better and in a day or two he'd be back to normal, ready for another round with the doctor. Mac made his way out of the room and down the hallway towards the stairwell. As he reached the door he looked up at the camera and waited until the door buzzed and then he went through. They were always watching, always had some way of keeping an eye on what he was doing and the security had been upped since his failed escape attempt. Mac carefully made his way down the stairs and then waited at the next door to be buzzed through. As he got onto his ward he noticed how empty the hallway was and wondered where everyone was. As he rounded the corner he got his answer. There was a commotion going on over in one corner and a few of the patients seemed to have gathered round something. Mac suddenly got a dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach and stumbled over as quickly as he could.

"What's going on?" he choked as he pushed his way in.

It was just as he'd thought. Flack was lying on the couch, covered in blankets and shivering uncontrollably. His head was resting in the lap of patient 118 while most of the others seemed to be huddling around him to keep him warm.

"What happened to him?" Mac asked as 118 quickly moved out of the way and Mac sat down in his seat, pulling Flack into his lap.

"They took him for an ice shower," 118 squeaked. "He punched Doctor Hartmann."

"What?" Mac said in horror.

An ice shower was just as terrible as it sounded, or so Mac had been led to believe. He'd never actually experienced one for himself but he'd been told what they were. The recipient of one would be led into a small, white tiled room, stripped and locked inside. Then jets of ice cold water would burst forth from the walls, ceiling and floor, spraying the entirety of the room and the man trapped within. This would last for however long was seen fit to be a suitable punishment. After the jets stopped the recipient would then be left in the middle of the room, soaking wet and freezing cold until he was let out. Flack had already experienced two of these for fighting with Logan and Thomas and this was now his third. Mac had warned Flack not to lose his temper but deep down Mac knew he was just like that.

"Don, you have to stop this," Mac murmured to his friend as he held the shaking man close to him.

It didn't escape his notice at how thin Flack felt and how sharp his bones were. Mac knew the younger man had lost a huge amount of weight in the time they'd be imprisoned. The food rations were tiny and Mac wondered how anyone ever survived on what they were given there. He himself was given what might be deemed an average amount of food, Emerson clearly didn't want starvation factoring into his results. Mac would have shared his food but he was locked in by himself to eat and there was never a chance to give any to Flack.

"Is he gonna be okay?" 118 asked timidly, holding on to the bottom of his scrubs shirt and fiddling with it.

"He'll be fine," growled the gruff voice of 59.

Mac held Flack tighter as he watched the other patients of the ward milling around.

59 was an old grey-haired man who seemed to have been trapped in the Asylum for as long as anyone knew. He normally kept himself to himself and stayed out of trouble. Mac guessed he was wise in that respect. He had probably been there so long now that he knew better than to try and interfere or cause a disturbance. He spent his days in a wheelchair, both of his legs gone from below the knee. He also had a terrible cough and it sometimes took him a while to get out his sentences. Mac shivered when he thought about what might have caused that. However he was still one of the sanest people that Mac had met, despite his pessimism, and he could still remember all the patients' names that most had now forgotten themselves. 59 said he was called Benny Irving and that he had lived in San Francisco before coming to the asylum. He never elaborated further than that.

"You don't know that," squeaked 118 worriedly.

118, or Brody Boxer as Benny had informed them, was a young kid, about twenty-three if Mac had to guess. He was a nervous, shy and gullible kid who sometimes seemed to genuinely believe there was something wrong with him and that Emerson was curing him. He had long scars all over his body and Mac hated to think what had caused them. Brody was loyal and dedicated to his friends and showed a thoughtfulness and caring towards them. He had taken a shine to Flack and the detective's tough heroism in the face of the doctors and had started following him around and copying him. Mac thought it was quite sweet really, the way Brody looked up to him, however Flack just found it irritating.

Another patient who had taken a shine to Flack was 436, Winston Edwards. He was a huge hulk of a man who didn't seem to speak any English. According to Benny, Winston had come from Africa but Mac had no idea if that was true or not. The black man had become very protective over Flack and Mac guessed that he was impressed by Flack's fighting nature. He had no hands, just stumps at the end of his arms and Brody normally helped to feed him his meals.

"Don't tell me what I don't know," Benny scowled at Brody. "I've seen enough of this place to know what is and what isn't and I say he'll be fine."

"I'm...f...f..fine..." Flack stammered from where he lay.

"See!" growled Benny.

"These showers are no good, no good, no good at all..." 547 said worriedly.

547 was one of the newer patients on the ward. He still remembered his own name, Charles Montague but that was about it. He had a long scar that ran down the left side of his head and Mac knew Emerson had most likely experimented on his brain. He was another extremely nervous patient and bordering on the paranoia. Mac supposed he had a good right to be like that all things considered. The final patient that was standing around Flack was 74, Moses Moloto. He was a devout religious individual who had not lost his faith despite his current situation. However he told the wildest tales and Mac had a suspicion he made them up. But then again what was the harm in making things up when you were stuck in a place like this with your mind scrambled? Mac still didn't like Moses though, he was always watching, every time Mac looked up Moses would be looking over and it was unsettling.

There were three other patients that made up their ward. 371, Rick Droober, who was a terribly violent patient and was best left alone. Occasionally he would suddenly run over to something and just destroy it, whether it was a wall or a chair or a person. He would hit and kick at it, uncaring for any damage to himself until he was escorted away. Benny had informed Mac that Ricky used to be quite a nice fellow, until he was worked on. 292, Alexander Rawston, was another very disturbed patient. He would sit by himself staring into space for most of the time. Then something would set him off and he would shout out the most hideous, filthy things Mac had ever heard. Words that weren't fit for anyone to hear and it would fill the mind with all sorts of nauseating images. 503, Blake Ellison, was a vegetative patient who stayed in his armchair and said nothing to anyone and was never aware of anyone or anything. He had also been worked on and Benny had seen him transformed from a bright young man into a vegetable.

"Stop your worrying, Monty, he'll be fine," growled Benny again. "That is, if he don't go do that again."

"He won't," Mac said sharply.

"Can ya guarantee that, eh?" Benny grinned, most of his teeth gone. "You can't watch him all the time."

"I'll talk to him," Mac sighed.

Benny giggled jovially. "Can't stop him Mac Taylor. He's just like the rest of these poor buggers. I've seen them all come and go. All the same, all with their fighting attitudes. It don't last long, not once their fixed. Just look at Blake or Rawston over there."

At the mention of his name Rawston looked over at them and then grinned wildly in glee. "WIRE, BRIAR, LIMBER, LOCK!" he yelled out at the top of his voice.

"Nice one, Benny. He won't shut up for ages now," Moses sneered.

"Go do one, Mopey!" Benny growled angrily at Moses who slinked off to the other side of the room.

"The arguing, the arguing, everybody's arguing...I don't like it," Montague cried anxiously, pacing on the spot.

"Don't worry," squeaked Brody. "It'll be time for our food soon and then everyone will calm down."

Mac watched the patients interact with one another and couldn't help but feel relieved that he and Flack weren't in this alone. But then again as he looked around, he knew he couldn't let either of them become like these men.

"Urgh..." Flack groaned as he pushed himself up and sat back next to Mac. He wobbled for a moment and immediately Winston leant a huge bear paw of a stump down and steadied him. It was amazing how the man had learnt how to live without any hands.

"Thanks," Flack muttered, shaking slightly less now.

"You don't look good, Don," Mac said worriedly.

"So?" Flack snorted. "You ain't looking so pretty yourself there, buddy!"

"You need to stop doing this," Mac hissed. "You'll get yourself hurt."

"I can protect myself," Flack retorted.

"No you can't!" Mac almost shouted, staring angrily at his friend.

Flack turned to him in shock and stared for a moment uncomprehending of exactly what Mac meant. "What do you mean, Mac?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing," Mac swallowed. "It doesn't matter. I'll get us out of here, I will."

"Ahaha," Benny laughed. "Nobody gets out of here."

"Someone did," Flack retorted. "We found them in New York City."

"I don't believe you," Benny snorted. "Anyone who goes against Emerson is dealt with. He doesn't like troublemakers."

"Like 200..." Brody murmured.

"200, 200, oh 200," Montague said worriedly.

"Shut it, Monty. You didn't even meet him," Benny growled.

"Who's 200?" Mac asked.

"Simon Trons. He was an intellectual. I dunno where they got 'im from. But he was too intelligent for his own good. They done him in. He saw too clearly what the doctors were doing, spoke too plainly and they didn't like it. One day he was 'ere, the next...gone. Vaporised"

"He was just a legend, he was never here," Moses said, coming back over. "I would remember."

"They make you forget, mess with ya 'ead!" Benny snarled.

"Easy guys," Brody said timidly.

Just then Rawston shouted out a string of abhorrent swear words, interrupting the discussion.

"Argh!" Moses groaned and hurried away.

"The shouting, I hate the shouting," Montague whimpered and also disappeared from the group.

Benny watched them go with shrewd eyes. "You mark my words," he hissed. "Stop rebelling if you wanna survive this place. Best to keep outta trouble and life will go on as it always has done. That is...not well." Benny then grinned again and rolled himself away cackling.

"Fuck!" Flack muttered as he leant against Mac.

"We'll get out of here," Mac whispered, well aware Brody and Winston were still listening. "We have too."

"I know, Mac," Flack murmured. "I know."

A/N - Not a big fan of this chapter as too many OCs and I do dislike OCs, even most of my own. However it was necessary for the plotline.