Unplugged: The Beautiful World (#3, Unplugged Trilogy)

Chapter Fifty

Matthew

    Fake Enna shakes me awake and I blink away the crust in my eyes. It's a cloudy day today, so the sunlight that manages to sneak through the fog casts a muted, orange glow into my already-dark room. The clock on the opposite wall reads 12:15.
    "What do you want?" I groan, wiping my eyes. My voice is weaker than I've ever heard it, not that it matters really. "Who's winning?" Fake Enna stares down at me silently, eyes dark. It's uncharacteristic of her not to taunt me or gloat in my moment of weakness. Something must be wrong.
    "Get up. Get dressed." She emotionlessly tosses a pile of clothes at my chest and strides over to the empty door. I stare after her, flabbergasted. I wonder if she'd had it out with Jeremy. But even if she did, why would that require me to be awake? My mind whirs as I slip off my old, ratty jeans and pull on black combat pants and a thin, ash-colored t-shirt.
    "What's happening?" I ask. Fake Enna just stares straight ahead silently. I fold my arms and set my jaw. "If you don't tell me what's going on, I'm not leaving with you. You'll have to knock me out and drag me around. Again."
    Stiffly, still facing forward, Fake Enna mutters, "Enna didn't uphold her side of the bargain. There are repercussions for such a crime." I pull my eyebrows together, and a pocket of fear opens up in my chest.
    "Wait, wha -- ?"
    "Follow me," she hisses, finally turning to face me. Her green eyes look dark and haunted and angry. Deciding it might be for my better interest, I remain silent and follow her out of the room. The hallway outside my prison cell is clean, beautiful, and warm. A granite floor spreads onwards beneath my feet and cozy-looking chandeliers hang inches above my head. If I didn't know any better, I'd feel welcome in this place.
    So when Fake Enna eventually leads me into an all-white lab, I pause in my tracks.
    Not this.
    Not again.
    In front of me lies an inclined, felt-covered table. A man wearing a lab coat and holding a tiny pair of tweezers is the only other thing in the room. Breaths wheezing through my nostrils, I stumble backwards against Fake Enna. She firmly grips my shoulders and steers me into the room. Everything spins, and I feel as though I've traveled back through time. This is the same -- the exact same -- room that I'd entered in the AGD. When I was plugged in. The pieces start to fit together in my mind, and, for the first time, I recall everything that had happened that fateful evening.

    "It won't hurt," my father had muttered emotionlessly. He straightened the crimson collar around my neck and turned me to face him when he finished.
   "I know, father," I muttered. The corners of his lips turned upwards in a mirthless smile, and I felt a pit open up in my gut, swallowing me in unease.
   The AGD lobby rang with shouts and giggles, young people running this way and that. I didn't know any of those people; no one wanted to fraternize with the son of an Executive. I didn't blame them.
   "Go on." My father gave me a slight push, urging my stiff legs into action. I looked back at his stern face one more time, searching for any hint of fatherly guidance, or -- heaven forbid -- sympathy. But I wasn't surprised when I was only met with pompous regality.
   "Come on, boy, we haven't got all day." A lazy-sounding guard stepped out from the clinic, rolling his eyes at me. I wondered how many other pale-faced, trembling-kneed teenagers he'd encountered that day. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, and allowed the man to lead me into the room ...

    "Matthew." Fake Enna's voice drags me out of the memory, and the surgeon in the room beckons me towards him. From up close, I can see that there's an almost microscopically small chip clutched between the metal arms of the tweezers.
    I won't let this happen to me; not again. I start to move towards the table, then I swing out a leg and catch the man behind the knees. He cries out in pain and falls, hard, onto his back. I swivel around to duck out the door, but Fake Enna meets me all the way. Her super-human strength catches me by surprise as she slams a fist into my gut. I stumble backwards into the wall and stand there, gasping, trying to remember how to breathe. The pain is truly unbearable.
    "Nice try," she hisses, teeth clenched. For some reason, there are tears in the corners of her eyes. "Lie down on the table." I stare back at her, eyes wide, pleading. She doesn't budge, let alone look at me straight on.
    "Listen to the girl," the man says in a monotone. He removes a syringe from a pocket in his coat. Clenching my jaw to keep from crying out in pain, I slowly lift myself onto the table and lie down. I hate myself for submitting. It's not supposed to happen like this! Not without any goodbyes or kind words or familiar faces. Fake Enna leans over me, averting her eyes from my own. I can't blame her for not wanting to look at the damned, the doomed ... After all, I'm about to face a fate worse than death itself. I stare straight at the ceiling and try to remember the things I most love about the world while I still can. Sunny days, my mother's whispered birthday stories, smooth sand beneath my feet, Enna... The man inserts the needle into my neck and I flinch, surprised.
    Oh God, how I don't want to die, to forget the world and become a hopeless shell! I feel it now, the all-consuming fear of death, even when I promised myself I never would. My lungs desperately gulp for air, my heart wildly pumps the blood round and round my body, my mind whirs to hang onto something, anything.
    And then, everything starts to melt. To slow down. I feel as though I'm sinking into a gray place, where awareness is forbidden. The air is neither warm nor cool. Just air. My eyelids grow heavy and Fake Enna's face grows dull. I suddenly don't care or worry or think. A wet circle falls onto my face from above.
    "Goodbye, Matthew." Her words are sounds in my ears.
    That is all.