“...truly superb.”
“I know.”
Voices around me. Fading in and out. Trying to wake up.
“You've really outdone yourself this time, Dr. Grace.”
I force my eyes open. Everything is fuzzy. And white. As I slowly gain consciousness, I realize the room I'm in has white walls, white blinds blocking the potentially colorful outside, a man wearing a white doctor's uniform hunched in the corner like Quasimodo. And before me a large white desk with an older (about mid-forties) white guy with white hair and a white suit sitting in a white chair. I feel like a black hole in the middle of all this white.
His eyes are ice-blue and unaffected by his pasted-on smile. He'd almost be handsome without that sickeningly arrogant air about him. I recognize him instantly; not remembering specifics, only the name and the face.
“Deus,” is all I manage, my voice cracking. I hope I at least pull off a decent sneer.
“She speaks. Dr. Grace, it's our guest of honor.”
I try to lift my arm to flip him off, but I'm strapped down to one of those chairs normally found in insane asylums. The thick leather bands cut into my wrists and ankles.
“Good morning, Jezebel,” his voice is slick, cocky; it makes me want to puke on his shoes, “I have a proposition for you. As I'm sure Gabriel informed you before you two were so rudely interrupted, you are a part of an experimental therapy known as T.I.S.S. We would like to observe you, study you, note any physical or mental changes in you. We will provide you with housing and all of your necessities, as well as a good deal of luxuries. In fact, anything you can think of can be yours as long as you follow a few simple rules,” he slides a paper across the desk towards me. I glance at it; there's a list of ten items. I don't bother to read any.
“And if I refuse?”
“You're cell awaits you.”
I give a self-satisfied chuckle at that; I got out of it once...
“And don't think you'll be able to escape again. We could have stopped you at any time.” He leans forward, a sly smile curling his lips, “We let you escape before. It was a test of your abilities, as was the attack in the alley. So, you can either follow my rules,” taping the paper, “or you go back to your cell. The choice is yours,” he finishes, leaning back in his cushy chair.
“That's not a choice. I'm a prisoner either way,” I growl.
“There is a third option,” he offers, (though something tells me I'll like it even less than the first two). “Dr. Grace has administered a drug—the Basic Life and Intelligence Stabilizing Serum—to virtually all of the lesser test subjects. Basically, it wipes their memories completely. They don't remember who they are or what life was like before their cell. Following our command,” he gestures to himself and Dr. Grace, “is all they know. We do not wish to do this to you. We want you to work by our side, as Gabriel does. However, we are willing to take these measures.”
Need a plan, buy time, get info, “So, what are you going to do with all these people, anyway?”
Deus smiles, laces his fingers together, “I am going to clean this city up,” I stare at him in—what I hope to be—disbelief (though I'm actually closer to confusion), “Take you, for instance. You were going to NYU! You had stellar grades! And then you traded in your dream of being an architect to be a crack-whore,” my look turns to a scowl, “You know it's true! I know; I have all your records. Money buys a lot of friends, you know. Anyway, I—er, we,” glancing at Dr. Grace, “found you, gave you a second chance at life, bestowed upon you these talents you never thought were possible of a human. We did the same for Gabriel, as well as the other subjects in this building. That is what I want to do to this city; and who knows, after that, maybe the world! Once we have perfected our treatments, we shall send out people like you to, erm, encourage people of the city to obey these rules. For those who have a harder time with the concept of the rules, we have Dr. Grace's B.L.I.S.S. to help us, and them. Now, I am willing to give you all that you desire. All I ask in return is your compliance.”
“You don't want to clean this city—or the world, or whatever,” I strain against the leather straps around my wrists, “you want a bunch of mindless slaves to do your bidding!” I can feel the right one start to give, then the left, “No; I won't follow your rules, I won't be your slave, I won't help you in this demented scheme!” The straps snap; I rip off my-ankle straps and jump up, “In fact, I'm going to do everything in my power to stop you!”
Posted at 12:49 am by
FNInsomniac
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