Scars And Stories

Chapter 9

Patrick was struggling in his bed, his breathing getting heavier each time his body moved under the piece of tissue that served him as a cover and slowly slid off him. The thin mattress became damp as drops of sweat rolled down Patrick's forehead, neck and all of his upper body, making his t-shirt a tone darker than its original white color. He was having another nightmare that he couldn't escape from.

Flashes of the night of torture and many memories of the time he was kept by the girls that originally formed the Syndicate appeared in his head. He dreamt a few things that he didn't remember seeing before, but for sure did happen - like the moments when he was controlled by the Novocaine. Those memories were the ones that mostly formed his nightmares. He was haunted by the times he attacked guards, but also his friends who he almost killed.

Suddenly, the flashes stopped and were replaced by complete darkness. Patrick was awake but kept his eyes closed as he heard voices and steps in the corridor.

"What did he say?" One deep voice started.

Patrick opened his eyes and faced the wall, hiding his face as much as he could to make the people the voices belonged to believe he was still asleep.

"He said to take him out of his cell and bring him to the room," The other guard responded.

The room? Patrick thought. He's never heard any guards talk about a specific room. And why would they need to take one of them there? All of these thoughts were rushing through Patrick's mind, but his questions weren't left without answers for too long.

"They have some new thing to test. This new version is apparently really strong," The same guard added.

"And they're testing it on 2704? This guy is probably the weakest of all the prisoners."

2704.

Patrick's eyes widened as he heard this number. It was the number sewn onto his orange jumpsuit. His breathing sped up all of a sudden in fear of what was going to happen. He couldn't escape - he was stuck.

"Well looks like they think otherwise," The deepest voice of the two guards said as they finally reached Patrick's cell.

"Should we wake him up?" The other guard inquired, looking up at his colleague.

"Oh, look, Stumpy's already awake," He told him, sliding the metal door to the side and stepping in.

Patrick turned his head a bit, but was still facing the gray brick wall. "What are you going to do to me?" The blonde asked, his voice shaky and just above a whisper.

"You'll see when you'll wake up," He replied without an ounce of emotion in his voice.

"Wh-What?" He spun around to face the two guards standing in front of him.

The tallest of the two grabbed Patrick's upper arms as the other one approached him with a syringe filled with a translucent liquid.

"No, no, don't, please," Patrick stammered as he tried to wiggle his way out of the grip of the tall man. He kicked the air a few times in the hopes of hitting one of them and getting a chance to escape, but he was unsuccessful.

The tall guard gripped Patrick's arms tighter and held him still while his teammate approached the dirty blonde with the syringe, inserting the sharp needle into his neck.

Patrick kept struggling in the arms of the guard for a few seconds, though his moves became weaker and weaker with each second that passed. His eyelids grew heavy and he quickly lost consciousness.

When Patrick opened his eyes again, about an hour later, he could barely see a thing. His vision was blurry and everything was...purple?

His gaze wandered around the empty room until it stopped on an IV drip attached to his right arm. The transparent bag was filled with a dark, almost black, liquid that was now running through his veins.

He could feel something sticking to his temples and forehead - electrodes. He saw the wires that were connected to them from the corner of his eyes and followed them until his gaze landed on a weird machine, with the Syndicate's symbol stuck to it. A briefcase was placed beside it on the table.

Patrick could barely process what was happening. He didn't feel good, almost like he couldn't control his body. He couldn't think straight or even just think normally either. Voices kept mumbling and whispering incomprehensible things in his head.

"Stop," He murmured weakly, his voice really deep, deeper than it was when the Novocaine had its effect on him. However this time, his normal voice was mixed in. With his eyes rolling back in his head, the new substance slowly starting to take effect, the blonde dozed off again.

Patrick woke up lying on the hard and cold ground of his cell in the morning. He groaned as he lifted himself off the ground and dragged himself to his bed, pulling himself onto the edge and sitting down. He sat there for a moment, his elbows on his knees and his head resting in the palms of his hands.

He didn't understand what happened during the night. The guard said that he'd know when he woke up, but he didn't feel any different.

The only difference he felt was when he was in the room, hooked up to the IV and the machine. The feeling he had there was weird, almost numbing. And his sight, everything was purple then, but not anymore.

Patrick couldn't take this thought out of his head, what did they do to me?