A Hand To Take

Two

Sometimes, I believe that death is a gift, a gift for those who desperately want to escape the hell they live in, or for those who await the end of their journey. Yet, I also believe that it is as much of a curse as it is a gift. It is a curse for the people whom still long to live a full life and it is a curse for those who fear it for its unknown nature.

Today, I fall within the former.

Hearing that man's name makes me wish for my last breath, for the last beat of my heart. Unfortunately, there is nothing harmful in this facility that us test subjects can gain possession of without being sedated.

Shaking those thoughts away, I continue my way through the bathroom entry. Shutting the lockless door behind me, I place my clothing on the sink counter before taking a look at myself in the mirror facing me.

I take note of the paleness of my ivory skin, my prominent collerbones and the bones jutting out of my shoulders, my disheveled brown hair that falls past my shoulders, and the muscles that flex in my arms as I tighten my grip on the counter for stability. Under my pale eybrows, my dark honey eyes appear slightly down turned and my so-called "Grecian nose" looks straight from bridge to tip as it rests above my uneven pink lips.

I turn away from the mirror and walk to the shower in order to turn it on. As the water heats up, I begin to strip off the cotton night dress amd undergarments from my small frame. I can't help but look at my bare body in the mirror.

I hate the sight of the injection scars on my inner forearms and the fact that my ribs became prominent whenever I lifted my arms.

However, I enjoyed that I could see the muscles in my abdomen, legs, back, and arms. It gave me comfort that I wasn't just skin and bones like five years ago when I was ten.

When I feel the steam from the shower against my back, I turn my attention away from my reflection and step into the warmth as it begins raining down on me, awakening my body and mind. It was moments like this that not only keep me sane in this facility but also minorly prepared me for the tasks that faced me.

As I clean the sweat and dust from my hair and skin, I think about my "meeting" with Dr. Andrews.

I never cease to dread the times when I'm forced to sit in front of him as he looks me over like a chunk of meat. That man-- no monster-- is responsible for introducing the pain simulators to my labs as he said that I had potential for being a success. Even in the warmth of the shower I shudder at my previous encounter with him six months ago.

When I had entered his sterile and bleach scented room, he had me strapped on a cold, metal table in his "office" where I was forced to endure constant whippings and pain sims for the longest time. When he had finished, the leather flogger was drenched with my blood and I was left trembling with tear soaked eyes as the last of the fire had left my blood. Then he simply smiled and said, "Well done Sage. You are the only one to have not passed out during this test. You have the most potential out of all those we tested."

The moment relief had washed over me, I felt a slight sting against my abdomen. It took me a moment to realize I had just been whipped again when Dr. Andrews began to speak again.

"Huh. You barely reacted and I just hit you to the point where you're bleeding. Incredible. However, I know for certain you still can't handle the sims yet so I'll just add them to your daily routine."

From that day on, I still am unable to take the pain simulations.

My thoughts break away as I turn the shower off and step out on the cool tile. I take the towel that lays folded on the rack to my right and start to dry myself.

Once my body is completely dry--with the exception of my hair-- I begin to put on my undergarments and slip on the day gown that falls right above my knees. I have to constantly readjust the thin straps to both the brassiere and dress to keep them from falling off of my shoulders.

Once that is settled, I clean my teeth and dry my hair to the best of my abilities before brushing it out with one of the disposable brushes on the countertop.

Taking the used clothing and towel, I walk back into the hall where the woman awaits patiently for me. When I am full out of the doorway, she escorts me to the hampers where I drop the garments in the hamper labeled S.C#22.

Once that had been done, the woman leads me down to the test subject's dining hall where I obtain and begin to wear a foldable pair of slippers before walking out onto the area.

No one in this dining hall ever looked nor talked to one another since we never knew who would have to kill who in the next ability rounds.

Ablilty rounds were awful things. Every six months the two subjects with the highest skill set are chosen to participate in an armed fight until one is killed. Depending on how the participants' minds work, these ability rounds could last anywhere from one minute to one hour.

We've had nine of those so far, the most recent one being last night. I was the "victor" of the round and had won the previous eight fights.

Shockingly, I am still not phased by my opponents' deaths; I had no reason to be.

As I walked up to the short line for my food, I wondered what horrible things the doctor would subject me to today.

Surprisingly, I found that I was just hoping that he would kill me. I am sick of this. I am sick of having to be a pawn in this brutal game of chess. I am sick of having needles shoved into my body and having to go through numerous strategical lessons. I am just sick of living.

I grab my tray and walk to my table, not even caring about anything anymore except wanting to either die or escape; however, both were impossible.

When I sit down at the table, I finally stare at my food. Toasted bread and some sort of oatmeal sat on my tray along with a glass of water. I pick up my spoon and begin to eat, not even tasting the food. The moment I finish, I place my tray and whatever was on it, into the disposal.

I walk to the woman in blue as she calmly waits to take me to his office.

We silently walk down the corridors where the only sounds were the screams of other subjects and our footsteps against the concrete floor.

I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart when the woman places her hand on a touchpad against the door labeled Dr. Andrews AUTHORIZED PERSONAL ONLY.

The door opens and I am forced into the large room before the woman leaves me alone inside.

That's when it sinks in. I'm going to be alone with the man who holds the power to make my life a living hell in his hands.

I begin to shake in the room where only a metal table, tool trays, and a strange cabinet like thing fill the minority of the vast space.

When I hear the door open again, I flinch and whirl around, only to come face to face with a tan, aged face, cold steel eyes, and white hair.

Dr. Andrews

A deep voice rings in my ears like a bell.

"Don't be afraid Sage, this is just going to pinch a little."

Something sharp stings my neck and the world fades into black.