Escapee from Region IV

Prologue

March 17, 1998

"Dr. Ashton, he's flatlining!" The new young doctor cried. Doctor Michael Ashton, an old veteran of this business, calmly walked into surgical room four.

"Give him 40 cc's of epinephrine." Doctor Ashton said.

"What? That won't do anything!" The young doctor cried, as he whipped around to start performing CPR, his necktie clapping him in the face.

"Don't you question me!" Doctor Michael said loudly. "Do it! 40 cc's of epinephrine now!"

The smaller doctor looked up at Ashton's 6-foot-5 frame and hurried over to the small table of needles. He stumbled and knocked the table over, it went crashing to the ground with a loud "CLANG!" as the doctor face planted into the floor of the third level subterranean surgical room. Dr. Ashton roared and shoved the younger Doctor out of the way as he tried to stand back up. Ashton grabbed one of the needles off the ground, uncapped it, and shoved it into the right side of the test subject's chest, directly underneath the man's pectoral muscle. The right lung would normally be there but the man had been fitted with a second heart instead of a lung. The subject's heart rate sped up slightly before steadying out to a normal pace.

The young doctor propped himself up on a wall, trying to stabilize himself. Ashton walked over and grabbed the front of the young doctor's shirt. Ashton pulled the man up to him to look at him eye to eye. His feet dangled five inches from the floor as Ashton growled, "What's your name?"

"R... r... Richard Borenstein, sir." The young doctor muttered.

"Borenstein...." He shoved the man out the door, and Borenstein fell on the ground. "Leave my surgical room, meet me in my office. We're going to have a nice chat." Ashton glared at Borenstein as he stumbled off down the dirty hallway towards the staircase.

Ashton turned around, took his surgical gloves off, told another doctor to watch the test subject, and made his own way towards the staircase. He pulled a Marlboro cigarette box from his pants pocket. Lit one, and put it in his mouth. Ashton didn't smoke normally, only on special occasions, and this was a very special occasion for Ashton and Borenstein. Ashton walked up the staircase at he began to smoke the cigarette.

By the time Ashton reached his office on the ground floor, the cigarette was half gone. He walked into his office and Borenstein was sitting in a chair at the front of Ashton's desks. Ashton calmly walked over, and put his hand on the back of the young doctor's head. He took the cigarette out of his mouth, and shoved the lit end into Borenstein's neck, then slammed his face onto the desk. Ashton put the Marlboro back in his mouth, took a drag, and sat in his own chair.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing in there?" He said to the young doctor, who was holding onto his now bleeding forehead. Borenstein groaned in pain. "What is it that you think we do here?"

"We're doctors, sir." Borenstein replied.

"God, Borenstein. You're so fucking stupid. We're not just doctors. We're scientists who are trying to improve the human condition better than God ever could. We're trying to put our species at the true top of the food chain. And the last thing this company needs is people like you who disobey orders."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Sorry?" Ashton screeched. He started yelling at Borenstein. "Sorry doesn't cut it here! Your damned incompetence is unacceptable! People like you are the reason this place almost went down fourteen years ago!" He leaned over, grabbing Borenstein's necktie and pulling him closer. Ashton produced a switch blade pocket knife from his lab coat pocket. He flicked it open and held the blade up to Borenstein's neck. He growled, quietly so that only Borenstein would hear him, in the case of any eavesdroppers. "If that damn thing dies, it's on you. Understand?" Botenstein nodded in small, slow movements, trying to not push the knife further into his throat. Ashton smiled. "Good." He sat back in his desk chair, keeping the knife in his hand. "Now go home." He said quietly. "And when you get here tomorrow, you're going to pull a twenty four hour shift. Guard duty over that things life. If it starts dying again, you're going to be the only one to take care of it. If it dies before the end of your shift..." Ashton put the sharp side of the knife blade up to his own neck with his left hand, and drew it across his own throat, slicing it open. Blood came flowing out of his neck and down onto his clothes. Staining his white lab coat red. "You'll be next." He gasped. He picked up the cigarette and inhaled. Smoke came billowing out of the freshly opened wound. "Now get out of my fucking building." Ashton said, glaring at Borenstein.

Borenstein got up and tripped over the rug on the floor. He pushed himself up and scrambled out of the office. He ran down the hall and took a right towards the main door.  He fumbled for his key card to let him out, panting and manic. He grabbed ahold of it and put it up to the scanner. The door beeped and he shoved it open. He bolted out and took a left, towards his car which was parked in the grass since the building didn't have a parking lot. Blood was beginning to drip into his eyes from his forehead. His neck was throbbing in pain. He ran to his car, and as he grabbed for his keys he leaned over and vomited into the grass. Borenstein had seen a lot, he was a surgeon for a few years before joining the Regions Organization. But the actions he had just witnessed were something else. A man had just slit his own throat infront of him. The sad part was, Borenstein knew that Ashton would still be there tomorrow. It was gross, and it might have been deep enough to kill him, but it wouldn't.

On the drive home he kept thinking about what all had happened today. He was terrified. He didn't want to return to work the next day but he knew if he didn't he was going to be killed by order of Ashton. Dr. Michael was a warlord in scrubs. When Borenstein got home he downed a whole bottle of wine. As he was passing out he knew that the next twenty four hours would be the most stressful event of his life.