This is like nothing I've ever experienced before. Hundreds of hues and chromacities swirl in front of me creating a sickening hodgepodge. Schematics of all different types cloud my line of vision in the midst of the swirling colours. Tangentially, I hear voices. I can't make out what they're saying, but there's a dull ache in my arm and my whole body hurts. I feel every alveolus struggle for air as my blood burns. Figures move in the perimeter and for a moment a flash of recognition hits me; smile lines. The EMH. His face is still somber, like he too is in pain.

"What do you see, Doctor?" The voice, the Vulcan's, is like a megaphone sending out reverberating sound waves. The undulations and frequencies of his voice recoil and resound through my cellular structure, causing a nauseating rush of bile in my throat.

I can't respond. I don't see anything; just wave charts and fractals. My mouth won't move. I'm only aware of my somatic thirst and my terror. I want to run. I want to vomit. Nothing makes sense. I'm hurting. I want my husband, my son, my children, I want… Nothing.

/

A cool prick at my neck signals me back into the land of the living. Even the dim lights of this room are too much. I feel the drug lingering in my system despite what I perceive to be a detox hypospray.
"Doctor," The voice is unfamiliar until my pupils constrict and I identify the EMH. "Doctor," his tone is harried. "Doctor, I'm sorry, please wake up. Please, I'm sorry."

The room is still spinning and I try as hard as possible to formulate words, "My family?" My voice is crackled, broken, as I try to focus.

"Is fine. For now." He reassures immediately. He's silent as I try again to regain a modicum of consciousness. "Doctor," I begin woozily. "What's going on?"

He leans over me, on what I perceive to be an exam table. "They're-"

"Who are they?" I cut in.

"Vera, the blonde, and Savet, the Vulcan, and there are others… many others. They're, well, interested in you and your son." I see him slump his shoulders and hang his head. "I don't know a way out of this. Is there," he looks over his shoulder and leans in closer. "Is there someone we could contact? This isn't looking good for your family, Doctor. I have to be honest with you; they'll keep you here until they get what they want and right now, they're not getting it."

"What do you mean?" I mutter, my eyes trailing the small, primitive room.

"They're looking for something in both of you – some genetic sequence, a biological factor, to explain his purported abilities."

"Wesley," My hand goes to my aching head. But even the action of moving my arm is pained around the bruised area where the intravenous line was inserted. "He, he hasn't, I haven't heard, he doesn't…" What am I trying to say? "He hasn't shown anymore of those abilities since that time on the Enterprise 5 years ago, about."

The EMH shakes his head, "Not according to our scans. The Institute, they've been watching him. Ron Gerhardt, he was-"

"Is Ron dead?" I don't know why I'm asking; I know the answer. But, I feel the need to have it confirmed. I don't ask how, though.

He slowly nods his head.

"Ron worked for the Institute as a type of informant, but then he started growing attached and he stopped reporting; he said he wanted out." He again looks over his shoulder, "You don't just get out of anything with this Institute. They run everything. They have officials and eyes everywhere. Seven and I, we, didn't know what we were getting into with them. We had no idea." He leans in close, "We want to help you. Is there anyone that we can-"

The door hisses open and our eyes are riveted towards the entrant. "Is she ready, Doctor?" It's the blonde, Vera.

My insides pitch again. Ready for what?

He turns his back to the door. 'I'm sorry', he mouthes.