MidKnight: The Asylum [FINISHED]

Chapter 4: Experiment

When it was time for lunch at the hall, Harold and Brian met up. "Dude," Brian began, "why didn't you let me out? I thought we were getting out to get you answers."
"We are, not yet, though."
"Ohh, you changed your mind didn't you?"
"Why would I change my mind?"
"That shrink."
"What?"
"Come on, man. I saw that hug."
"No, she has nothing to do with it. If we ran at that time, the story would've gotten twisted and it would've looked like we killed the security guard. Things would've gotten bad."
"Fine. But admit it."
"Admit what?"
"You totally want to bang that shrink!"
"No, that's not it at all."
"What is it, then?"
Harold shook his head and walked up to the back of the line that formed by the entrance of the mess hall. Brian followed, "Alright, fine, don't tell me. But you do have to tell me our next move." The line moved forward. "I'll tell you when I figure it out. Kay?" Harold told him. Brian rolled his eyes.
"Look," Harold began, "I want to get out of here just as much as you, but we have to play our cards absolutely perfectly."
"No, I get it. I'll try being more patient." Brian agreed.
"Okay."
They moved along in the line, got lunch and sat down at their previous table. Brian ate like a hog, one that hasn't eaten in days. He wasn't just chowing down, he was mowing it down. "Jesus, dude." Harold said, staring at him uncomfortably.
"What?"
Harold responded with an eye roll.
    Dr. Jeanette entered the hall and stopped when her eyes laid on Harold. He caught her gaze and they stared into each other's eyes. Brian looked up at Harold, then turned to see the shrink. "Oh, my God, dude. Just go talk to her already." Then returned to inhaling his lunch. Harold got up and went to talk to her.
"Hey. What's up?" he asked.
"Um, can I talk to you in my quarters?" she asked, kind of awkwardly.
"Your quarters?"
She raised a brow.
"C'mon, Dr. Jeanette, don't you think that's a little unprofessional?"
She giggled. "Stop. Not what I meant."
"Alright. Let's go." Harold agreed. He followed her out. He didn't even know the staff had 'quarters'.
    When they reached her room, she turned the lights on and told him to have a seat. As she went to close the door, he sat in a red velvet chair that was positioned in front of an identical one a few feet away.
    "So, what did you need, Doc?" he asked. She made her way into the sitting area and placed herself in the chair across from him.
    "Call me Danielle from now on. After you saved my life, I think that calls for things to not be so formal all the time." she proposed. Harold shrugged. "I mean, I guess. I just think that's kind of odd, you are still my shrink." She nodded. She looked down. "I think," she hesitated, "I think we're both very aware that I'm not the best at keeping professional. Letting you take on an armed patient who was after me, hugging you the way I did, even falling in--" she stopped herself. Her head shot up and she placed a hand over her mouth. Harold grinned. "I think..." he began.
"What?"
"I may feel the same."
"May?"
"I've known you over a day. I like you and everything but I just met you."
"I guess you're right. When you work here as long as I have an don't have any normal interactions with the opposite gender you...-- Anyway, there's something I needed to ask about." she said, obviously trying to change the subject. He nodded. "Fire away, Danielle." he said, definitely able to get used to it. She giggled again. God, that thing was adorable, he was obsessed. "Well," she started, "when you knocked Travis out, I could hear your friend in the other cell. You know, that one you were eating with. I heard you two talking. He was yelling about escaping, you told him: not yet. Something you want to tell me about?"    Harold's mind started going crazy. Shit, shit, shit. "It's not what you think." he told her.
"I sure hope not." her tone was cold and serious.
"I have to tell you the truth. From the beginning." he said. She nodded, allowing him to proceed. "I'm not an arsonist and my name isn't Harold Marcus. I'm not even supposed to be here. None of what I told you about myself in my cell is true. I lied. I'm from Blackstone City, and I shouldn't even be alive. Literally, I've already died."
She looked down and blinked rapidly, she was processing it all. "Um," she began, "why are you here, then?"
He sighed. "I don't know. I was killed in a field. The middle of nowhere, I died. Then, I wake up in this cell."
"But died?"
"I know it's...'insane', no pun intended, but it's the truth." he told her.
"Um, assuming I did believe that, what's your real name if it isn't Harold?"
He looked her in the eyes. "I need to know I can 100% trust and count on you if I tell you that."
She nodded fast. "Of course! I promise."
"Really?"
"I swear! Hand to God."
"Okay. My name in Blackstone City was Jeremiah Carson. I dressed up in a robe and hood and took down criminals at and after 12 AM. That's why the public called me "MidKnight"."
"Really?"
"Yes, I know. I read too many comic books."
"Well, that explains your lying capabilities."
"I'm sorry I had to lie to you. I hope you can understand my reasons for doing so."
"Definitely. But, I want to know, what kind of criminals?"
"The worst. They're not how I got killed, though."
"Okay?" she said, signaling that he needs to keep talking.
"The mayor of my old city shot me in that field." A lightbulb went off in his brain. "Oh, shit. That's it..."
"What is?"
"Mayor Thompson of my city. He put me here to get rid of me. It makes sense now."
"For you, maybe."
"Sorry. The mayor never approved of me. He must've gotten tired of sending SWAT after me and took matters in his own hands to end me."
"No, but," she contradicted, "that doesn't explain how you're alive in here, perfectly healthy."
He stared off. "Oh, you're right." She grabbed his hand. "Hey," she said, voice quiet and soft, "I'll help you figure this all out. I promise. I trust you and I'd want you to do the same for me."
"Definitely." he nodded. He was so lucky to keep making the right decisions. He'd be home in no time. He felt safe with her. He had her and Brian looking after him. And once this was all sorted out, he was taking them to Blackstone with him. They were his friends, and he was going to give them good futures. They both needed and deserved it.
He soon headed back to his cell and took yet another nap. Things were getting done.
Harold woke up tied to a freezing, metal table. He looked around the area, he was in some sort of laboratory. But he was alone, what had happened while he was asleep? What was going to happen?
    He struggled to escape, making sure not to shout, though, like people do in movies. It's foolish, it lets your enemies know you're angry or scared. Although, struggling might not help, either. He needed to escape wherever he was, though. This environment only meant danger, or, more specifically, torture of some kind.
    A man in a lab coat entered the room with a tray of surgical tools and set it aside the bed. "Ahh, hello, Mr. Marcus."
"Who the hell're you? Where am I?" Harold asked, his voice shuddering from the temperature of the room. He could tell the man had turned it down to a freezing number by the spots under the coat that made it clear he had many layers underneath--bundling up.
    "My name is irrelevant, my intentions, meanwhile, are quite interesting." the man said, gesturing a hand to the tray of surgical tools he'd brought in.
    "How did I get here? And where is here?" Harold demanded.
"My fellow scientists brought you down from your cell as you slept. And we're in the lab that my fellow scientists and I share to test the patients. Enhancing their abilities, their way of thinking, their intelligence."
"You experiment on the other patients?"
"'Experimenting' sounds so negative as a word to describe what we do here. We truly want to help each and every one of you."
"Except I don't need help."
"That's what everyone says before, now they all feel so much better!" the scientist exclaimed in a gleeful squeal.
"Nobody here feels good. Well, except maybe you. You're here, happy as a kid on Christmas morning. Torturing resistant, helpless people gives you satisfaction. That's disgusting."
"Now, we don't torture our patients. But you are most definitely testing my patience. Let's begin shall we?"
"No, we shall not. I'm not a patient here. I'm not supposed to be here!" Harold screamed.
The scientist yawned. "I'm all too familiar with your current predicament."
"You brought me here?"
"No, not me. But, I will tell you, it was a group of 4 individuals." The scientist said, picking up a syringe with a green liquid inside. He did that process you see in movies. Flicking the syringe, pushing the plunger a tiny bit so the liquid shoots out and then got ready to inject the rest of it into Harold.
    He swabbed the side of Harold's neck and aimed the needle at the right spot. Harold struggled, pulling on the leathers around his wrists, tying him to the table. What was going to happen? He was terrified. The scientist injected him with the liquid. He could feel whatever it was flooding through his veins. It didn't hurt like he'd expected, it felt nice. Relieving, even. He felt sleepy, eyes becoming very heavy. He gave in and allowed himself to drift off. He was screwed, he knew he couldn't do anything about it now.