Thanks for reading my story so far. I hope you like it! :) This part's a little boring, but the next parts will be better and longer!
"Wake up, Four!" barks a woman. I sigh and open my eyes. Way to make my headache go from annoying to insufferable. She's wearing a light blue shirt and pants, and a blue mask. I notice she's standing far away from me. "Stand, if you can," she orders.
I touch the bandage on my head and glance at the stitches ony my right arm and leg. "Stand up," she growls again. I stand up off the plain white bed, blinking hard in the white light. "Walk onto that pad," she commands, pointing to a white mat on the floor. I shrug, wondering what she's doing, and walk onto the mat. A person in a yellow suit walks up to me, holding a square device with many knobs and a wire connecting to a white stick-like device with a circular end that looks a little bit like a speaker. I stare at the device, and shiver.
"Hold still," orders the doctor behind the suit. "Spread your legs and arms away from your body," he snaps. I do as he says, and watch him lift the speaker-like thing up to my head, careful to keep it a few inches away from my skin. He slowly inches the machine across my body, several clicks following every square inch. The doctor sighs in frustration as he glances at it, shaking his head. "Get me one of these that work," he snaps at who I assume is an assistant.
"That one is working, sir. It's never been used! I checked it several times before I gave it to you," he whimpers back.
"Well, how do you explain THIS?!" he yells as he shows the assistant the measurements. The assistant gapes at it.
"But....I'll get you another one," he says, seeing the threatening scowl on the man's face. He hurries back a few minutes later, a new device in tow. The doctor moves the device over me, hearing the same number of clicks.
"No....it can't be!" gasps the doctor. The assistant runs into another room, comes back with yet another device. Same result. "What...what are you?" asks the man, eyes bulging at the reading on the machine and at me.
"This is impossible," murmurs the assistant.
"Obviously not," sneers the leader of the Tattoos as he walks up.
"I've never seen anything like it!" exclaims the doctor.
"What's the matter with my Five?" asks the Tattoo leader calmly.
"She is a hypocenter," says the doctor. The Tattoo leader waits for an explanation of whatever the heck that is.
"You saw what this-" the assistant points a trembling finger at me,"did during the fight, right? The keloids that erupted all over that Five's skin?"
"Yes, but where are you going with this? Is she or isn't she radioactive?" snarls the Tattoo leader, fingers tapping on a desk.
"Yes...like I said, she is a hypocenter," says the doctor.
"Meaning?" growls the Tattoo leader.
"This thing hasn't been effected by radiation, it is the cause of radiation, just like a nuclear bomb," explains the assistant.
"Excellent," laughs the Tattoo leader. The bulging eyes and dropped jaws of the doctor and his assistant say differently.
"Excellent? This thing is a biohazard! It's a walking time bomb! It must be taken to the Facility and destroyed, before it is set off," says the assistant.
"My Five appears to only harm when there is blood on skin or blood on blood contact, so the Five will only harm other fighters. You will be quite an intriguing fighter, Five," the Tattoo leader says.
"No! Sir, you can't! We don't know anything about this hypocenter! It could mutate, change, become increasingly dangerous! This is a mistake!" hollers the doctor. The Tattoo leader waves him away, and looks at my stitches and bandages.
"When can the Five fight again?" he asks the nurse.
"Very soon, if we....improve her," says the nurse with a wink. I gulp, because that really doesn't sound good. "Improving" us usually means surgery and replacement of skin. I've never had it before, but it's not like I can protest when I"m given a shot and it all goes black.
YOU ARE READING
Radioactive
Science FictionA futuristic world in which leaders called the Tattoos force people who have been mutated and distorted over time to fight in a metallic underground pit, rating their strength and agility from five to one. Whoever wins? Eats. Whoever loses? Dies.
