Regnum: Children of War

Chapter Two: The One Who Wouldn't Last

Chapter 2:
12:48 AM
Claustrum Institutes
85 feet beneath the Regnum castle

Subject M never knew how long he was going to be someplace when he was told to "await." Once, when he was four or five, McGee had "forgotten" to come get him until the following morning. Mikey had been so afraid of disobeying that he didn't move a muscle the whole time—not even for food or the restroom. When Dr. McGee eventually came back and saw him standing there—fist in watery eye, nose running and shorts soiled—he had taken it upon himself to severely punish Michael.

Of course, it helped that McGee had, in turn, been harshly reprimanded by the king himself.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed only that by the time the door squealed open his medicine had kicked in, leaving him mercifully numb. M understood though that had it not been January 1st his injuries would have been neglected as they healed improperly. His oddly shaped ankle and slight limp from the time Doctors McGee and Gifford had taken turns releasing the brunt of their frustrations out on his (roughly) eight year old self attested to that. In fact, with that particular incident, they'd simply left him in his cell for months until the bone had awkwardly healed itself. The two pitiful meals Subject received a day were the only things assuring him that they hadn't forgotten or left him to die.

So he relished in his freedom. For the first time in many years Michael felt completely pain-free.

"Are you ready?" St. James asked mechanically from the doorway.

"Yessir." Subject rose to his feet obediently as the doctor spun on his heels and disappeared from sight.

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In grievous silence they finally came to a stop outside The Room—the one place Mikey hated more than the surgeries or punishments or experiments. More than the pain or E and H or Cuffs. The room where he said hello and, sometimes, if the doctors where feeling generous, goodbye.

Michael watched as Barnaby gripped the knob, twisted at a speed of agonizing slowness and eventually managed to push the door open. He wondered how the doctor's hands remained so steady when M's shook violently at his side. Subject trailed behind St. James as they entered the room.

It was oddly formed with eight sides, which was just about the only thing Mikey liked about it. Once he had asked Dr. Bayliss what shape it was but the only explanation offered was the pursing of his lips as he said, "That is irrelevant to your purpose, M, so you don't need to know."

It was pretty empty, with only a threadbare couch that sagged in on its peg legs and the secret shoe box Michael had stashed under a loose floorboard.

A girl—about his age but, considering he didn't know what that was, he couldn't be certain— was pacing one of the walls; her fingertips skimming the brick and making Michael's own tingle with the memory of having done the same when Barnaby had dumped him here on his first day. Her chestnut hair tumbled down her shoulders in natural curls and freckles were strewn almost randomly across her nose and cheeks.

Mikey had met enough boys and girls during his time at the Institute and most of them had been afraid and trembling as he came in to explain the situation to them. Except maybe Johnny who had looked half anxious, half angry. Michael felt something—he didn't know what—contract in his chest, dropping down to lodge itself in his feet. Best not think about Little John.

He studied the girl. She certainly didn't look frightened. In fact she was muttering under her breath, cursing the "idiotic, no-good man" who brought her here. No. She wasn't afraid at all.