Saving the World - Awakening

Full Circle

"Wow, you sure know how to treat a-uh-pharaoh," Eliot remarked.

Jessica turned to him and smiled.  Her teeth were sparkly white, like a movie star's.

"When it comes to our worker's comfort, we know no limits.  Anything you want, we provide."

Eliot peeked into the rooms as they walked, marveling at the modern workmanship. The weight room was only the first of many rooms.  A kitchen, several bedrooms connected to individual bathrooms, a kitchen, a living room, and probably more; all for Pharaoh. At least, that's what it seemed to be at first.

"When you say 'you,' do you mean 'anyone living here' or do you mean me?" Eliot inquired, "Because, frankly, I don't plan to stay."

"Let's take it one step at a time," Jessica replied.

Pharaoh was shuffling behind them; at least, that's what it seemed like.  Its feet were dragging across the floor, making an ugly clacking sound.  The hardened skin coming in contact with the hard marble floor was a noisy combination.  It was hard to focus on the tour with Pharaoh accompanying them. Looking back, Eliot almost felt sorry for it. Everything about it looked deformed; the sweatpants it wore didn't cover up the fact that it was an abomination of science.

Jessica saw Eliot staring, quickly picking up the hint.

"Pharaoh, could you give us a minute? I want a word with Eliot, in private."

Pharaoh looked up from his shuffling, nodded his head, and turned around, the clacking of his feet still present.

"Are you crazy?" Eliot exclaimed, "That thing is terrifying!"

"I'm glad you brought that up-" Jessica started.

"I'm surprised you didn't notice.  News flash: you've created a monster!"

Jessica took a deep breath before replying.  Eliot could tell he had hit a nerve.

"We here at Czar are doing the best we can in defending everyone.  Since 'weapons of mass destruction' are banned, along with most every effective weapon, we had to improvise.  Imagine the pressure I have to replace bombs and guns!"

Jessica waited for Eliot to come up with a retort.  Eliot shrugged, and she continued.

"I need your blood. The serum Brachs injected into you is the key to giving Pharaoh a chance at a life.  Not everyone is as lucky as you are."

"It wasn't luck," Eliot muttered.

"Then what was it?" Jessica prodded, "Did God come down to touch you with a gift?  Or was it the Great Vincent Brachs who stooped to your level?"

Eliot glared at her.  Brachs had saved his life, and in his mind there was no greater debt.  Even Brachs, who hid everything from everyone, earned some amount of loyalty.

"I owe him my life."

"And he owes me my mothers!" Jessica yelled.

Eliot backed away.  Jessica was angry, obviously not something he wanted from someone who held the key to his freedom.  She reached into her back pocket and withdrew a needle.  Eliot reached to his wrapped ankle, where he had hidden his knife.

"I'm taking your blood," she stated.

Eliot's hands closed around the hilt of his favorite knife. Johnta, it was named, after the first and second lives it had ever taken. Unfortunately for him and Johnta, Jessica was quicker than he. Her loose fist struck his neck, right at his Adam's apple, causing him to gasp in pain. Somehow, Pharaoh had soundlessly snuck behind him, grabbing his arms and holding him there. Jessica stood on his foot with the bad ankle, daring him to struggle.

Johnta fell from Eliot's fingers. He looked at the knife, his companion through the years. Its hilt was worn after years of use, once covered by leather and now just smooth wood. The wood was stained with blood. Its dark red color was a stark contrast to the razor sharp blade above it. Meticulously kept, Eliot made sure the blade never dulled, the steel always shining and flawless. Now it lay on the ground, useless to the beast behind him, and out of his reach.

Jessica plunged the needle into his arm. Sure, it hurt, but the worst part was the tight, steely grip from Pharaoh. Being helpless. Eliot's mind clouded with anger, but for some reason he couldn't do anything. His legs felt limp, his eyes darkening, his stomach dropping. Around him, the room blurred, and he passed out.

* * *

With a gasp, Eliot woke.

He was sleeping in a bed, he didn't know whose. Around him, there were wooden walls, but not like the decrepit walls in Islington. These walls were polished, well kept. His hand grabbed for where he had been stabbed by the needle. A bandage was wrapped around it, clean, ragged cloth securing a gauze pad.

The room was small, like his living room at home. A smell filled the air, unfamiliar to him. He was covered with a plaid blanket, the chilly room no match for the warmth of the bed. This was a foreign place for him. He had no idea what he was doing here.

The room shook as someone entered a room outside his door. He sat up, alert for any trouble. He swung his legs off the bed, and tried to stand. Pain shot up his leg as he attempted to put weight on his ankle, and he switched his weight to the other. Footsteps neared the door, and he balled his hands in fists, ready for whatever came his way.

The door opened.

Ciara stepped through the door. A bruise covered the left side of her face, and a long gash the right. Her right hand was bandaged in a ball, barely protruding from her heavy jacket. Fresh snow was in her blond hair, melting as she stood there. A frown creased her beaten face.

"You look worse than I do," Eliot observed.

Distracted, she responded "You have no idea."