The Mechanics of Us

Chapter 4

I woke up three days later to an intense and deep ache stemming from the middle of my brain. It radiated from the core and stretched outward towards my skull. It was as if someone stuck a wooden spoon handle in the direct center of my brain and decided to stir it vigorously. I also had a taste of copper and plastic lingering on my tongue, meaning I went under the knife and was ventilated. The room that I was in was painted a dinghy teal, and at the corners of the room, there was brown sludge that seemed to creep up along the walls. The nights weren't much better as they were fluorescent yellow and very dim. It smelled of mildew, and I noticed there was some black mold on the ceiling that started to expand across the surface.

"He-hello?" I coughed out and attempted to sit up but my wrists had metal handcuffs constricting their movements which were then attached to the bed. The metal dug into my skin, and I could see I must've struggled before since my wrists were wrapped up with gauze that wasn't white but instead stained with dark brown blots. "Hey!" I called out again and this time a woman walked by. She was wearing loose-fitting scrubs, black, and a white pressed lab coat. "Good afternoon, Love. How are you?" her voice was shrill and a little too perky for my taste.

"Where am I?" I croaked, looking around the supposed hospital room. I tried to shift my body again but was stopped abruptly by the combination of handcuffs and the doctor pressing on my shoulders.

"You have been unconscious for three days, you hit that floor pretty hard. Took us three rein drips and a few sutures to patch you back up again."

The way she spoke was almost as if she was singing. Her tone fluctuated from soft highs to mellow lows and then steady in-between. To recall correctly, everything about her seemed to be almost too airy and light. Her hair was thin and golden blonde, similar to strands of wheat which blew in the fields during the summer. Then the iridescent emeralds that casted their glimmering sheen towards me seemed to be almost too perfect and circular. Something seemed off, but I wasn't sure what.

The lock on the door scraped against the rusted keyhole, causing me to crane my neck in the direction of the unsettling sound. A man this time looms above me. His calloused and scarred hands crossed in front of him, a form-fitting black suit and tie clung to his muscular physique, he seemed to be a very unpleasant man to be stuck in a room with. A chin lift and a subtle hand gesture later, the doctor left us alone. Now it was just him and I, in a poorly lit hospital room, my hands tied to the bed, and his large mass was looming over me.

The ominous man pulled up a wire chair next to my bed and almost collapsed into it. I heard the chair crack and splinter under his weight, and I noticed a grimace across his face. All of his unique features made the cogs in my mind begin to turn, and I couldn't help but assess him. A part of being a doctor is that you get really good at diagnosing patients in a moment's notice based on the tiniest details presented. From a simple analysis, I put him at the age of fifty, judging from his thinning hair with patches of grey that contrasted his dark chocolate hair, and his skin was withered and wrinkled. Also, his veins bulged out slightly making it appear as if he had worms buried underneath his skin, which meant he had high blood pressure, that coupled with uneven chest raises; I'd give him five more years tops unless he decides to have a less stressful job, whatever that might be.

"You have broken many laws" He huffed in assertion as he adjusted himself in the wire chair. The way he moved made me cringe. Although he was very buff, I could tell his joints and muscles were too tight, which limited mobility. As a result, he moved as if he was wearing a straight jacket with extra padding stuffed inside.

"I know. But I couldn't let a patient go. And the parents-" my words were cut short once again as the burly man held a scarred and blistered hand up in front of my face.

"You violated statute 49, article 78, paragraph 3, subsection 9. As a result, you have to serve two life sentences in prison..."

I zoned out what he said in two-life sentences; actually I felt myself die inside. My whole universe imploding and being drawn into itself. Destroying what it has created. It made sense as to why those two doctors might've taken their own life. It's better to be dead than to lose your freedom. A few minutes passed before he stopped talking and for me to come around to the idea of being confined to a cell for the rest of my life. The man kept talking, and for the most part, I blocked him out, yet when I heard him say the golden word "But," my attention peaked once more.

"But?..." I mirrored, trying to sit back up as best I could, given my motile limitations.

The man pensively reached inside his suit and pulled out a crinkled yellow slip of paper and placed it down in front of me on a hospital bed tray. My hand instinctively extends, and with pressed fingertips, I dragged it closer to me.

My fingers stuck to the paper as I pulled it up to my face to better examine it. I flipped it around in the air, trying to use the horrible lighting to try to see through it. "What is this?" I questioned with perplexity.

"My boss is impressed with your work and would hate to see you locked up for so long. If you sign this sheet of paper, you will work for us."

"Us?" I repeated.

He cleared his throat with a sharp cough and leaned in, placing his forearms on his knees, his shirt and pants tightening at the joints. In an almost inaudible whisper, he spoke to me-"We are a special group dedicated to the miniaturization of these cyborgs, if you will, to find out more about them" His breathing was labored and I could see a violet-blue tint in his lips—congenital heart failure.

"It is non-invasive," he continued, "and all you need to do is monitor a subject and take notes on them." He leans back against the chair, again making a painful squeaking noise that made my eardrums feel as if they were being stabbed.

Sound after the pain-inducing sound made my patience dwindle rapidly, and my head began to ache with a newer intense pain. I clenched my eyes shut and grasped at the bed railings in agony, and with gritted teeth, I exhaustingly pleaded-"Stop moving, that chair is going to break and that scraping noise. Just stop!" I tried to cradle my head to hold it together when it felt like the pain radiating and pulsing against my skull would make it explode, but again, restricted by the handcuffs.

"I don't hear anything," he scoffed.

"Seriously-please stop moving." I reached over to the edge of my bed and limply hit the giant red call button, and thankfully, a nurse came in with medicine in tow. It wasn't what I was used to seeing as it was a copper liquid, typically the drugs we use are not so metallic in color, but I don't think much of it as a numbness begins to overcome me.

"Just sign the paper. You get out for free, and you get to be as distant as you'd like" He pressed the paper with the tip of a blue ball-point pen and then slides it in my direction.

"If I sign, what do I have to do?" my fingers curled around the base of the pen and steadily placed the tip of the pen on the yellow slip of paper.

"Monitor the cyborg child you created. She is the youngest of them yet. Watch her closely, record your findings, then once a month, mail your findings to us. That's it"

"That's it?" my tone of voice was heavy with disbelief.

"Yes, watch her closely. She is younger, more unpredictable. We do not know what she will do."

"But why?-"

"Doesn't matter-"

"But she's just a child.-"

"She is a cyborg. She is tainted, poisoned, by your doing. We can not let her infection spread-"

"But, there is no evident infection. It is impossible-"

"Her potential lowered when you altered her; we do not know where she stands-"

"But why?-"

"Just sign the papers-"

Without another thought, I let the pen glide across the paper and stain it with its ink; I signed my name.