The Wall

Mother

The internals of the large vessel were well maintained for the most part, though some sections, akin to her armor, were a menagerie of haphazardly attached metallic platings, inefficiently welded to cover bare piping, wiring, and ventilation. He was afforded little time for examination as his savior led him to a medical bay.

The clinic was illuminated by particularly luminescent ceiling fixtures, irritating to Rocket's vision as he, at the female's behest, sat atop the tall, strap laden examination table with the aid of a bolted down stepping stool, then laid back of his own accord. Though the initial adrenaline fueled will to live imbued by the perceived risk of death had faded, her intervention and alleviation of his fate, at least temporarily, left him with a burning curiosity, the faintest embers visible above the stygian mire pervading his psyche. He turned his head to the side, locking his eyes on her as she dug through various cabinets and drawers filled with unsorted medical supplies.

There was an odd beauty about her, though perhaps that was derived from his past associations. The humans and similarly humanlike staff of the facility where he was created were a persistent cause of suffering and abuse, yet such abuse was never suffered in the sole company of his fellow experiments. Her movements held the same determined intention as the doctors that granted him consciousness, yet minute flaws interspersed within her actions betrayed an imperfect nature about her. Fingers getting caught on stationary objects, hands missing their marks when her eye looked elsewhere, and occasional pauses as her focus momentarily waned in favor of attempted recollection, hallmarks of a flawed individual.

Perhaps sensing his gaze, she paused and turned, locking her eye with his. She maintained her indifferent glower as she stared, perhaps attempting to read him just as he to her. Though, subtle twitches in his jaw signaled an attempt to speak, catching her attention and prompting her silence. After a quick swallow of residual saliva, he spoke his question in a wan, barely audible voice.

"Why?"

Despite the vaguery, she understood full well what was being asked of her. Regardless, her intention was his recovery, a goal she knew he had little interest in, and desire could be a good motivator for effort. Further engagement with her and their surroundings could lead to an expedited recovery.

"Why what?"

She simply said as she went back to her search, her voice lacking in disdain or disinterest, though similarly void of enthusiasm. It was an easily recognized rhetorical question, and one the male raccoon had no intention of entertaining. He shouldn't have spoken up in the first place, so soon he'd abandoned his newfound axiom motivated lifestyle of relational isolation. A further display of weakness, however petty.

He returned his gaze upwards at the lights, squeezing shut his eyes once more. Her retort snuffed out whatever curiosity he'd held, and once again he resigned himself to silence. She pulled out a metallic cup shaped object which's lid was covered by tearable plastic, examining it for a moment before placing it atop the drawers, then returning to her search. Before long the woman's search concluded as she pulled out a blanket of sorts, rough yet durable, scratchy from years of use pulling apart its ever-loosening threads and firm from a sporadic spattering of dried blood, the latter presence indicating its original, intended purpose as a flame retardant going unutilized.

She brought the blanket back to him, silently sighing as she saw him gazing upwards once again, his only real sign of sentience so quickly reverted. Seeing that her patient would not yield, she attempted to reignite his interest by presenting her own conversation as she set the bunched-up blanket atop his stomach.

"All information about your surgeries and tests are recorded. The files are transmitted to this ship without the knowledge of the scientists. I've been keeping track of you for a while now."