Resurgence

Chapter Three

As if his situation couldn't get any worse, Silas found himself strapped to yet another chair, enduring the sting of his fourth needle of the day. The room was bathed in harsh fluorescent light, similar to the one he had woken up in a few days prior, but this one was even more unsettling. The walls were adorned with bizarre images—cartoon-ish brains being washed with soap and eerie, overly cheerful families with hollow smiles. They were having barbeques and birthday parties, hugging and kissing, their elated grins mocking the very idea of happiness. If this was supposed to make him feel "safer," it was having the opposite effect.

"What's this one for?" Silas asked the doctor, though his eyes were fixed on Nyra, who stood in the corner of the office quietly engrossed in her tablet. She didn't glance up, her fingers flying over the screen as if his presence was the least of her concerns. The doctor didn't respond, just stabbed him with another needle, this time under his knee. Silas' shin jerked violently, his leg threatening to kick the man square in the face if it weren't for the leather bands holding him down. The doctor nodded in approval at the involuntary spasm and faced Nyra, who still hadn't acknowledged either of them.

"Mr. Kane is ready for psychiatric evaluation."

The bruises that once decorated Silas' face had now faded with impressive speed, though he still felt their dull ache as wires were forcibly taped to his temples and brows. His pale yellow uniform, scrunched up at the sleeves and unbuttoned at the chest, allowed easy access to the heart monitor and pulse sensors strapped to him. He had been hesitant at first to really look at his body, unsure of what he might see. But now, as it lay exposed, he took it all in.

His dark skin, toned from what appeared to be years of built muscle and rigorous training, was clad with black and white symbols. They were foreign to him now, their meaning lost. He couldn't help but wonder if they had once meant something important, a reflection of himself. Or maybe he had been reckless, choosing the designs for no reason other than that they "looked cool". However, his attention snagged on a patch of skin on the underside of his wrist that was noticeably lighter than the rest, and extremely textured. Scars of different shapes and sizes covered him from head to toe, but this one in particular stood out, resembling something like poorly patched-up fabric. A wiry voice in the distance grabbed him from his thoughts.

"Any signs of necrosis?" A small, white-haired man sat adjacent to Silas on a rolling iron stool, his piercing blue eyes nearly glowing. His frame was slight, but his mouth seemed abnormally large as he flashed a crooked grin in Silas' direction.

"Sorry?" Silas managed to say, trying not to sneer at the sight of the man's slanted mouth.

"Neck-crow-sis," the man slowly pronounced the phonetics, bending himself uncomfortably into Silas' personal space. Instinctively, Silas' limbs twitched against the restraints, prompting Nyra to push herself off the wall she had been leaning on. She moved swiftly, positioning herself in front of the old man in the white lab coat, her gaze hard.

"Dr. Fleming, please keep your distance." Nyra's voice was firm as she stepped between the doctor and Silas. The rules were clear: Neuromancers and NCS personnel should never put themselves within five feet of a Recalibrant unless they were equipped with their pulseband or a tranquilizer. Nyra had made that mistake more than once, including the day Silas first awoke. She knew all too well how the body could instinctively remember self-defense tactics, even with an absent mind. Which is why NCS required two years of military training before officially granting the title of Neuromancer. Although Nyra refreshed her combat skills a couple of times a month, it had been quite some time since she had been forced to use them in action. She hoped today wouldn't be one of those days, but with the tension Silas' presence continually brought to a room it seemed unlikely.