The Things We Do (Under Editing)

Damaged

All I could feel was pain. It drove into every nerve. I wanted it to stop. Why wouldn't it stop? My mind was flooded with heat. Every breath burned. There was only pain... so much pain... make it stop... please... someone... make it stop.

There was crying. I could hear it. It was distant, and faint, but I could hear it. There was something else too... a voice... a familiar voice... deep... quiet... calm... I couldn't focus. The pain was back. It was spreading. The voice was drowned in it. Make it stop... help...

I woke drenched in sweat and lying on my stomach. There was no light. Wait. Yes, there was. It was dim, but if I focused through the blur in my vision, I could make out shapes. Focus hurt. I didn't want to focus. Something moved. Someone spoke. What did they say? Who was is? I couldn't answer. I could barely ask. The movement filled my vision, then it stopped. One thing registered: blue... so very blue.

The fourth time I woke, I think it was the fourth time, everything was a touch more clear. Still on my stomach, I was sprawled across a cot in a small, windowless room. One corner had a desk, covered in odds and ends. One wall had a door, metal and solid. My coat was draped over me like a blanket. The night on the roof was hazy, but I remembered the panic. There was no panic now. Everything was numb. I was empty. I'd fallen. I knew I'd fallen. Then what? How had I gotten here? How long had I been here? Where was here? The questions were easier this time. I could at least think through the pain, so long as I didn't try too hard.

My answers came when the door opened. There was little light behind it, though more than in the room itself, and no fresh air, but steps leading up. I was underground. Someone appeared in the doorway. It took a moment to realize that it was not a silhouette, just a man in black. He noticed immediately that I was watching him and he approached the cot.

"Do you remember anything?" His voice was unnatural. He was altering it, but it was still familiar.

My mouth didn't work, so I tried shaking my head. It was a bad idea.

"Steady." He held out a hand, palm to me, but he didn't try to touch me. For that I was grateful. "You were attacked by an unknown assailant on a rooftop after you blew up a street." He sounded almost amused at that last part. "You were shot and you fell." I'd have winced if I was capable of the movement. "I managed to catch you, after which, I brought you here and stitched you up. You'd gotten a bullet to the shoulder and blunt force to the head." I couldn't see his face. He was using the little light against me.

I wanted to ask who he was, I wanted to run, but the best I could manage was to take a deep breath and turn my face slightly into the pillow. The pain was swelling again.

"It's probably hurting. The drugs should be wearing off. I nearly had to tranquilize you before you would calm down enough for me to treat you." He said this like he was talking about the weather. From the desk he picked up a syringe and a bottle. "I'll give you another dose. Passing out from pain isn't going to help you heal faster than letting me give you something to help you sleep."

I couldn't argue. I couldn't move my mouth even if I'd wanted to. As much as I didn't want him touching me, he made a solid point.

He didn't touch me, though. Not immediately. He stopped, crouching in front of me, right where I could see him. He held both hands up so I could see what he was doing as he measured the dosage. Then he met my gaze, holding it for the first time. His eyes were a crystal blue, holding enough light to shine out of the shadows on his face, a single point of color framed by his black mask and the matching hair that drifted over his forehead. The moment stretched out and he raised his eyebrows. He was waiting. How dumb. The man responsible for so much pain and damage was waiting for me to give him consent for pain meds. 

It took all my strength, but I managed a small nod. The slightest trace of a smile shifted the features on his pale face and I barely felt the needle. 

"You should get some sleep. I'll check on you later."

I didn't wait for him to leave before I closed my eyes.

Again I woke up. That made five, I think, if I was counting correctly. 

I had a throbbing shoulder and a head to match. This time, though, I managed to sit up. On a stool next to me, there was a sandwich, a glass of water, and two pills. I guess he figured if I could eat then I could take pain medication in pill form. 

Careful not to move my right arm, which I now saw was wrapped in clean, white bandages under the thin strap of my shirt, I reached for the meal. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until I took a bite of the sandwich, and I ended up finishing it too quickly. 

There was still no way of knowing how long I'd been in this small room. My best bet was to wait. The man would return. After a while, I got bored of waiting, so I tried standing. It was not my most graceful attempt at movement. My second attempt went much better, and after swaying for a moment, I felt I could stay upright. The next step was walking. Trying for the door was pointless as it was probably locked and I wasn't sure what the odds of me making it up the stairs were. Instead I aimed for the desk. 

Maybe exploring the dark underground room I'd mysteriously woken up in after getting shot wasn't my smartest move, but I'd been on a running streak of "not my smartest move". Also I was curious and bored. I'd like to say I walked over to the desk, but that would be giving me too much credit. It was more of a stumble and a miracle that got me there.

What appeared to be large piles of nothing in particular turned out to be electronics. The table was littered in devices I didn't recognize, computers, and game systems all in various stages of incompleteness. They were either being built or torn apart, but I couldn't tell which. Probably a bit of both. Off to the side was a very different variety of objects: a spool of threat, bandages, and a single bullet, all dyed deep red. They seemed out of place surrounded by tech, like a reminder of life among the wires and circuit boards.

Next to the desk, possibly where the stool my food had been on came from, a stack of black clothes sat neatly folded on the floor. The pants had a collection of pockets, pouches, and holsters, all filled to the brim with who-knows-what. The high-neck jacket actually turned out to be dark grey. Accompanying them were tall black boots. His mask was missing. 

I reached up to touch my own, only just realizing I was still wearing it. Either the man didn't care about my identity or he'd just put it back after removing it. Considering I wasn't in a jail cell, he at least didn't seem to have any intention of turning me in. What kind of person that made him, I was even more confused than before.

As if called by my thoughts, he pushed the door open. When he spoke, the temperature in the room dropped, and suddenly I wasn't sure I wanted an answer as to what kind of man he was.

"What are you doing?"