Renegade Reborn

Part 4

The exam room the Director left Ren in was white and sterile, with absolutely no ornament or decoration of any kind. Ren shucked his jacket, boots, and socks, carefully arranging them on the chair in the corner. He then hopped up on the table and leaned back against the wall.

The studious-looking young woman in a white coat who walked in a few moments later was clutching a chart, and she opened it to display a mostly blank page. She did a double take when she glanced up and saw Ren's massive form lounging on her exam table, then straightened her shoulders and leaned against the counter opposite him.

"You're Drakos Malachai, correct?" she asked professionally, pen poised, not bothering to introduce herself.

"Yes."

"Do you have any known medical conditions?"

"Moderate ADD. I guess that's a medical condition. "

"Interesting. Now, I have your age down as over fifteen thousand." She gulped. "Do you know the human equivalent?"

Ren shrugged. "My body stopped aging around twenty-one."

She eyed him up and down, then nodded to a measuring post. "Would you mind stepping over here so I can check your height and weight?"

Ren lithely slid off the table and walked over to the plastic length next to the door. She measured him there- six foot ten- and then on the scales- two ninety. The doctor gestured to the center of the room and said distractedly, "Shirt off." Standing in the middle of the room, Ren quickly removed his stretched longsleeved black shirt and cast it aside to join the rest of his clothing. Then, he clasped his hands behind his back and awaited the good doctor's attention. Bet she'll love the scars, he thought cynically. And when the doctor finished writing and looked up, he was correct. She was indeed riveted to the patchwork of scars and ink on his chest and arms. She hurried over, stethoscope dropping out of her hands. Her fingers ran lightly across the slight ridges between his ribs, and she frowned, paying no attention to his icy skin. The frown grew as she traced the marks on his abdomen and face as well, but her breath really caught when she moved around to his back and saw the crosshatching that covered it. "Absolutely perfect," she murmured to herself, her voice horrified.

She walked back around to face him and looked Ren directly in the eyes. Million-dollar question...Ren thought tightly. "Those are not battle scars." She was very sure of herself. "An immortal like you wouldn't have many of those anyway, if the healing factor I have is correct."

"It's gotten faster over the years, but it's correct," Ren confirmed.

She nodded, her lips a grim line. "Those scars were very exactingly and deliberately inflicted, multiple times, likely with demonic weapons to ensure permanent marks. My guess is torture."

Ren didn't let his pain show. "Close enough."

"The tattoo around your left arm and the left side of your chest and back, as far as I can tell, was done in demonic ink to eliminate the possibility of rejection. The design is a red-eyed tribal hawk, identical to the symbol of the demon lord Asmodeus, Prince of Lust. I'm guessing it wasn't voluntary?"

Ren gritted his teeth against the onslaught of memories. "No," he growled. "It certainly was not."

"The stallion tattoo on your right arm, on the other hand, definitely has a more Celestial aura. And I'm getting the sense that it's...sentient."

Ren rumbled a laugh. "He is sentient. That's not exactly a tattoo. That's Mortis, my horse. And trust me, he is fully aware and can hear everything we're saying. He's just bound to my body until I call him out, in which case he becomes a real steed."

The doctor nodded to herself and turned to the chart, scribbling furiously. She turned back to Ren with a stethoscope in her ears and motioned him over. The cold metal pressed over his heart, and her brow furrowed. Ren cracked a grin. The stethoscope moved to the other side and the furrows deepened. Ren's grin widened. She, almost frantically, grabbed his arm and felt first one wrist, then the other, for a pulse. She finally dropped his hands and looked up at his wicked smile suspiciously. "You don't have a heartbeat at all. No pulse, no nothing. What kind of race is like that?"

Ren shrugged. "I'm half angel, half demon, but that's got nothing to do with this. I have no heartbeat because I'm Death. Cold skin, too."

The doctor's eyes narrowed, and she reached for a needle and held it up. "What will happen if I try to take blood?" Ren shrugged. "You'll get something, but damned if I know what it'll be." The doctor expertly tied a rubber strap above his elbow and connected the needle to a vial. Lifting his arm, she studied the crook of his elbow and then jabbed the needle in a vein. They both watched with interest as dark blood moved sluggishly through the tube, filling the test tube. She withdrew the needle and disposed of the other supplies, slipping the blood in her pocket.She quickly wrote it all down and then picked up his chart. "Well, Mr. Malachai, I can certainly say it's been an interesting visit. The men outside will lead you to the psych analysis room when you're ready." She strode briskly out the door, and Ren wasted no time in covering back up. Barely a minute later, he was ducking out the door himself, and then two scowling agents escorted him to a plain room and promptly left.

The room contained nothing more than a metal table and two steel chairs, one of which Ren plopped down in to wait. This, he thought. This should be interesting.

A little over an hour later, after Dr. Hansen the psychologist left, Ren's mind was reeling. "Well. That was informative," he said to himself. "Now I know the scientific diagnosis for the results of every traumatic event I've experienced." Ren had kind of spilled his guts to the psych, and then let himself inside Hansen's head to see what came up. And boy, was that list extensive. Complex post-traumatic stress disorder, as a result of sexual enslavement, captivity, and torture. Depersonalization disorder, as a result of forced exposure to war and punishment. Repressed sadistic and psychopathic tendencies. Low self-esteem and body image, chronic depression. General problems with trust and intimacy and pretty much all-around psychological trauma. Delightful.

Hansen's overall assessment- not shared, of course, but Ren had peeked through the doctor's eyes- said that Ren was "a calm, collected tactical genius extraordinarily suited for this line of work. His traumatic experiences will most likely have no effect on his work with this agency. However, he also has the capacity to 'flip a switch' and become almost a separate person- detached, unemotional, apathetic, and remorseless, vicious and sadistic in combat, yet still entirely focused. Further treatment is advised."

That said it all, didn't it? thought Ren. He was pretty messed-up. Time to move on, then. To the next objective I go, he thought as he stood up and exited the steel room.