//------------------------------// // 37: I REALLY hate needles. // Story: Honor the Dead // by BinaryTroll //------------------------------// Honor the Dead by BinaryTroll Pre-read/Edited by Honored Service Chapter 37: “I REALLY hate needles.” -------------- I woke up the next day half expecting yesterday's events to be a dream. Unfortunately, they weren't and I was as trapped as ever. After an hour or so of boredom, Kathrine gave me breakfast and took me to what seemed to be a doctor's office. “So, what happens now?” I asked, sitting down in the chair. She pulled the cap off a needle and tested it's tip.“I need to take blood samples to verify your blood type, allergies and DNA.” “What the hell do you need my DNA for?” She looked up. “We're going to modify it. If all goes well, we will be able to increase your reaction speed one hundred fold, give you increased speed, strength, endurance and healing rate. If it goes perfectly, your higher level thinking will cease and you will be able to be controlled completely.” “I'm starting to wonder if I should have chosen the quick death. Although increased speed, strength blah blah blah sounds cool. The brainwashing stuff? Not so much.” She pulled on a pair of gloves and pulled out a strap.“It's not technically brainwashing.” I sighed. “I know, I'm not stupid. I just can't be bothered being exact right now.” She strapped my arms onto the chair and pulled them tight. “Try not to tense. It will hurt less.” I relaxed. “Yeah, yeah. I know what I'm doing.” Kathrine smiled evilly and plunged the needle into the inside of my elbow. “Well, you'd better hope I do too.” I cringed at the sudden pain. “How hard can it be?” She twisted it cruelly. “As hard as I want it to be.” I winced. “I'm not sure this is proper practice.” “I'm not sure I'm a proper doctor.” I sighed. “And you were so nice yesterday too.” “Trust me, this is far from the worst pain your going to be feeling. Tough love and all that.” “Yeah, I'm totally going to trust the person who kidnapped me. I mean, why wouldn't I?” I said sarcastically. “Sarcasm is the lowest form of humor.” “Like I give a fuck. I'm pretty low right now anyway.” She pulled the needle out and set it in a small rack before selecting another. “Why's that?” “Why do you care?” “It's my job to care. If you start going insane or depressed or lethargic or whatever, it's my job to find out why.” “I'm pretty sure it's obvious.” She thrust in the next needle unceremoniously. “I have a pretty good idea, but I'd prefer to hear it straight from the horse's mouth as it were.” “I've been taken away from my family, my friends and normality in general. And at this rate, I'm never going to see it again. I'll either end up insane, brainless or dead. I have every right to feel like shit right now.” “At least the food's good, huh?” “Ugh. Thing is, I'm not as bad as I should be. I should be breaking down, crying or something. I just feel hollow. Like I don't care.” “You're probably in denial. First stage of the Kübler-Ross model of grief.” “Isn't that for death?” She shrugged and switched needles once more. “You're as good as dead.” I snorted. “Some therapist you are.” “No point lying to you and saying it's all going to be fine. Makes you more likely to snap under stress.” “Fair enough. Now can you stop sticking sharp things into my arm?” She pulled the needle out and set it next to the others. “Get used to it. You're going to have things a lot worse than needles stuck in you.” “Umm, by that I hope you didn't mean sexual abuse.” “If any of the guards were caught doing that, punishment would be swift and deadly.” “Well, that's one thing I don't have to worry about.” “There's plenty more besides that.” I sighed. “I still think you aren't a particularly good therapist.” “There's a difference between a therapist and a psychologist. I'd show you my degree if it wasn't a thousand k's away.” I shrugged. “It doesn't really matter does it? I can hardly file a complaint when I'm being held here against my will.” “True.” I shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, can you take these straps off please? My arm is going purple.” “Oh, right. Sorry.” After that, I ended up back in my little cell for the rest of the day, with nothing to entertain myself except my own thoughts. Kathrine visited again at lunch and dinner, but didn't talk much. Eventually I drifted off to sleep, only to awaken the next day in the same cell. The rest of the week passed by, with little interest. I got more and more bored in my little white cube, spending most of my time sleeping or trying to make something out of little chips of metal off the side of my bed. I'd managed to make a shank the size of my fingernail by the end of the first week. Not that it helped me in any way, but it was something I could do. Eventually, Katherine visited again. “You're results are through, we're in the green.” I flipped the small collection of sharp metal bits into the air, caught them and stuck them on my dresser. “Finally. I'm bored out of my brain.” “Speaking of brains, in an hour yours is going to be out of your head.” “Sorry, what?” “We're taking it out.” “But won't that kill me?” “We can keep your body alive until we're done.” “You keep saying we, aren't you a therapist?” She shrugged. “One of our surgeons got shot, so I'm currently one of the few people with enough medical experience to help with the operation.” I looked up and the ceiling. “This is how I die...” She grabbed my wrist and pulled me to my feet. “Unlikely.” I dropped my hand over her wrist and, using my other am to bend her elbow around behind her back, got her in a rudimentary arm lock. “Can you not grab my wrist? I have way too much muscle memory.” “You do realize that there are guards nearby? With guns.” She grunted. “Yeah, and that's why I haven't stolen your keys yet.” I released the lock. “Just don't grab me. I can move on my own.” She stood up and shook her arm. “For now you can anyway.” I scowled. “The hell is that supposed to mean?” “Subject 4.” She said cryptically, unlocking the door. “Although I must say, good work with that arm lock.” “Thanks, I guess.” “I'll leave you fully mobile then, just always remember that I'm not the only one who works here.” I sighed and walked out. “Yeah yeah.” “Tell you the truth, I'm surprised at how compliant you are. Every other subject fought tooth and nail.” I grinned. “I'm a lover, not a fighter.” She raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?” I sighed. “Not really. I'm antisocial as fuck.” She rolled her eyes. “Come on then.” She set off down the hall, past more cells. I hurried to catch up. “Whats up with all these cells?” I asked. “This used to be a prison. It's also convenient for later research.” We continued in silence, walking through a maze of white corridors, occasionally passing a guard or two. A couple raised their eyebrows at my freedom, but didn't speak. Eventually, Kathrine stopped outside a door that was indistinguishable from any others, save the pair of guards that stood outside. “Kathrine, I must ask you to secure the subject. He could be dangerous.” One of the guards said, pointing his gun at me. “He's a kid, what's he going to do?” She replied. “This is against protocol Kathrine. I must ask you to secure the subject.” I rolled my eyes. “You're afraid of me? A chubby fifteen year old. You have a gun!” He jabbed at me threateningly with the barrel. “Subjects should not speak!” Kathrine groaned. “Neither should you. Now shut up and let us in.” The guard reluctantly stepped aside and opened the door. I followed Kathrine inside. “Woah.” The room was almost empty except for a massive doctor's table with a cyan sheet over it. A huge rack of medical instruments sat nearby, including what appeared to be an artificial brain. “Lie down.” I made my way over to the table and got onto it. Kathrine pressed a switch and it slowly transformed into a chair. Once it was complete, she strapped my arms, legs and head to the chair. “Uh, what's this for?” I asked, trying to move. “To stop you from struggling.” Said a far deeper voice. “Hello Jackson. Are you ready?” “Why have you not gagged the subject?” Jackson asked. “I am doing so now.” Kathrine replied, leaning over me and stuffing something in my mouth. “Bite down on this.” I did so. “Thank you.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jackson holding a scalpel and a wicked looking pair of scissors. “Excellent, time to make the first incision.” I spat whatever was in my mouth out. “What the hell happened to painkillers?” “We can't use them. They interfere with your bodily function too much.” Kathrine replied, sticking the gag back in my mouth. --- “I don't remember much after that, besides a lot of pain.” I looked up at the group. “You do not know pain until you've had your head slowly cut open. Ten seconds in, I wished I was dead. I think I passed out after that.” “That's horrible.” I shrugged. “That's what happened.” --- I woke up with an overwhelming desire for blood. I opened my eyes. There was a light directly above me. It was partly blocked by a man holding a defibrillator. I could hear his heart beat. More importantly, I could hear his blood being pumped through his veins. I wanted that blood. I wanted it more badly than anything I had ever wanted in my life. I tried to grab him, but my hands were trapped. I was strapped to a table. It made me angry. I struggled against the straps, but they held fast. I gnashed my teeth in frustration. I was so close. “He's awake.” The man had spoken. “Odd, his heartbeat seems to be greatly accelerated. I'm also picking up some weird brain activity.” Someone else. Female. Less blood. “See if he responds.” The woman leaned over me, exposing her throat. “Subject 7? Can you hear me?” Hearing? Of course I can hear you. I can hear the blood pumping through you. Just come a little closer. “He doesn't seem to be able to speak.” I growled. Speaking is irrelevant. The only language I need is the language of violence. “Why is he growling?” “I'm not sure.” Talk talk talk talk talk. The only thing you're good for is the blood in you. “Should we take him out?” Yes. “Ready a tranquilizer, just in case.” Hurry up already. As soon as I felt the first strap loosen, my hand shot out and grabbed the man's shirt. I quickly pulled him towards me and sunk my teeth into his throat. Blood, lovely salty red blood, flowed into my mouth. I shoved him away, just as something pierced my neck. Everything went dark. I woke up some time later, I never found out how long. “What are we going to do with him?” I opened my eyes. I could taste something coppery. Blood? I spat. Not blood. It was more of an aftertaste from blood. As though I'd had it in my mouth recently. “Observe him. He killed our last surgeon, so we should not terminate him until we can afford to.” “Understood.” I sat up. I was back in my cell again. On my bed. Kathrine was outside, talking to someone in a suit. I swung my legs off edge of my bed and stood up. “Did the thing with my brain work?” I asked, yawning. The pair turned to face me. “You tore out Jackson's throat.” Kathrine said, standing rock still, emotionless. I blinked. “Say what now?” “Once we revived you, you grabbed him and tore his throat out with your teeth.” “I did?” A few scattered images and thoughts popped up in my mind, eventually solidifying into a perfect recollection of the scene. I clutched my head. “What the hell?” --- “So you have perfect recall?” Shyvanna asked, raising an eyebrow. I shook my head. “No, it's only after a bloodrage. I don't forget everything, I remember every moment to perfection.” She looked at me quizzically. “That seems backwards.” “When I bloodrage, my body overclocks, including my brain, giving me perfect recall, increased reactions and a bunch of other crap.” “So overclocking is when you increase how well something performs?” “At the expense of more energy and/or decreased run time. I'll talk about that a bit later. Anyway, I'm almost done. Just bear with me for a bit longer, okay?" There was a collective nod and a single snore from Joel. I sighed. “Goddammit Joel.”