Judging by the way he keeps glancing at me as I work, I figure he's curious. He doesn't seem to want to ask, though.
"Kenji is testing the different wires in your arm that send signals to your brain." I explain, gesturing to the man sitting opposite me, his attention focused on the intricate parts inside the subject's prosthesis.
"And I'm watching how your brain reacts when he does different things with the wires." I point to the readings on my monitor.
He looks at the screen for a few seconds, then his gaze strays away. Guess he's not interested after all.
"Shoot!" Kenji's hand slips and his screwdriver clatters to the ground. The subject sucks in a breath, an expression of pain flashing across his face as his grip tightens on the arms of the chair.
"Is he okay?" I look on in concern.
"Yes, he should be fine now. I must have temporarily activated some nociceptor circuit." Kenji shines a small flashlight into the prosthesis.
"I thought he didn't have any pain sensors." I raise a questioning eyebrow.
"This is modified from Russian prosthesis technology that originally incorporated pain and heat sensors."
"Whose work?" I ask, maybe a little too enthusiastically. He looks at me, a sober expression on his face.
"It's best if you don't ask those kinds of questions here, Elise." He lowers his voice, "It's not our job. We just need to get this done."
"Sorry." I apologize. When did it become taboo to ask about established research?
I'm beginning to think Michael's paranoia may be grounded in some truth.
"I'm done here. You can take a lunch break if you want. I'll call someone in to disconnect the electrodes." Kenji glances at me as he shuts the panel on the subject's arm and secures it.
"That's okay, I can do it for you." I reply, closing my laptop screen.
He looks uncertain about my proposition.
"Are you sure you're going to be okay? There's no one else here. Do you want me to call some security down for safety?" He looks at me, then at the subject.
"I'll be fine. He's no problem." I smile.
"Alright," Kenji concedes hesitantly, picking up the toolbox as he stands, "Call for help if you need it."
He leaves, and I set my laptop on the table beside me before turning to the subject.
"Why do you keep doing that?" His brow is furrowed, a frown on his face.
"Doing what?" I ask, tilting my head slightly.
"Trusting me. Being nice to me." He replies, his hands gripping the arms of the chair.
"I'm a scientist. We're supposed to treat our subjects like this." I shrug slightly, removing the electrodes from his face and hair.
"They don't." He mutters, and I understand he's referring to the other researchers… possibly other people he's worked with before. There's something about his words that fills me with pity.
"Well… I'm sorry. I can't change anything about them. But I won't ever treat you like that." I place my hands over his right hand and look into his eyes.
He just stares at me for a moment before pulling his hand out of my grasp, reaching for his shirt on the table.
"Have you been in the program for long?" I try to strike up a casual conversation while he's still talkative.
"…Since they unfroze me." There's a distant look in his eyes. There it is again. Cryostasis. If only I could ask him more about it without pushing him away.
"What about before that?" I frown.
He stares past me, his mouth slightly open, a faint expression of concentration on his face. It's like he's trying hard to remember, but nothing is coming up.
Finally, his eyes meet mine again.
"I don't know."
At the sound of voices and footsteps, I glance towards the door. Michael, Rumlow and another agent—I think his name is Jack Rollins?—enter the lab.
Three men, two of whom I don't even want to see right now, let alone together.
"You can wash up." I turn to the subject, and find him observing me intently. His gaze falls briefly upon the three men as he gets up from the chair.
"They're here to get the subject for training." Michael walks over to me, watching the subject leave for the bathroom.
"And why are you here?" I ask, amused that he felt the need to walk two heavily armed men here. They're speaking in hushed tones at the door, evidently tuned out of our conversation.
"Kenji told me he left you alone with him. You don't listen to a single thing I say, do you?" He crosses his arms, a scowl on his face.
I shrug.
"Why are you all dressed up, anyway?" Michael looks me up and down with a critical eye.
Okay, so I might have put a little more effort into my hair this morning, but I don't consider straightening my hair as getting "dressed up". The eyeliner, maybe.
But it's not like I'm going to tell Michael about my date. There'd be no end to his grumbling.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I just like looking nice every now and then." I walk towards the door and slip past the men with Michael still trailing on my heels.
"Elise." Rumlow calls my name suddenly, and I look back.
"I'll see you tonight."