Shut up, shut up. Stop being negative, peoples.
The blackness whirled and became absolute, utter…darkness.
Sentences perforated it and thoughts as time swept by, churning her like so much ocean litter.
“Wow. This place is gorgeous. Cross between office and laboratory.”
“And fighting machine.”
“I aim to please. I also have coffee machines. I regret I will need to shut down again.”
Was that Big Daddy?
Swirl came the dark, gobble-gobble, gobbling her up.
Sounds intruded, whirrs. Pain in her arm. And she couldn’t move even though she wriggled, hard.
She’s fine. The throwing up is to be expected. Keep her on her side while we clean up.
Damn. She hasn’t talked for ages.
You mean days.
Yeah.
There’s papers back here. Tons. A total craptastic mess. Maybe we will find what happened in these notes.
Rustling sounds. Cursing. Chairs scraping, and she opened her mouth to speak.
Everything started to shake. Her head rattled, and memories blurred across the landscape.
Papers. The words were blurry.
She’d signed because someone had to. Someone. He was essential to this, so that left only her. She was the last expendable.
She’d lain on the table and let them sink in the needle. After that there was nothing. Blessed silence reigned.
Then…
People screaming. Big Daddy enunciating the protocol. Needles and more needles.
The writing had been on the wall. They were ALL going to die. If she turned into superwoman like he said, why not. Why the ever-loving fuck not…
Needles entering her.
The pain edged up her arms, fire in the veins.
If this doesn’t work.
I know. I know. We all know.
The pain reached cataclysmic levels, and she screamed, arched off whatever she lay on. The screaming tore her throat until it faded into whimpers.
Do something!
She’s still breathing. She’s okay. This is what we have to do. It hurts, but it has to be done.
You two go read up on something. Go back there. Those papers you found. Go.
