Host

Healing : Joanna

"Everything heals with time; it's the interlude that decides how the scar will form."

That night I had spoken with the plump doctor, his name was Dr. Allen, and was very impressed with my speech patterns considering how long I had been unable to utilize them. Though low mumbles and whispering was my only way of communication for now, I was aware that it should not have been as easy as it was to speak again. The medicines or mutating agents that were swimming around in that serum were quickly making me feel stronger, think with increased efficiency. I explained to my doctor that though the words I felt while I was restrained in that tube had never left my mouth, I still thought them quite loudly to assure myself that I was really still alive. Instead of worrying about my mental health after that statement like a normal doctor would, he seemed to only understand my plight.

It was safe to say that I was becoming more used to having him as a doctor, he was kind and though he never verbally acknowledged that he enjoyed working with me, it was his sympathetic smiling that had been the only real kindness I had seen over the past few years. The others were in this facility for a paycheck and a bit of credit; this man seemed to be personally devoted to this serum and what it stood for.

It made me wonder who he wanted dead.

For such a kind man to wish for something like the W.A.S.P. project to go as planned, he must have some sort of inner demon, or have a colossal score to settle.

In the previous weeks, the doctors on site were tasked with helping me move my arms. They took measurements after every set, which was just about every time I successfully raised my arms above my waist. Though the initial exercising wore me out, I couldn't help but feel like I would be able to lift them again, and again. The little instruments that they used to measure my muscles soon had to be adjusted and readjusted. The only thing I was truly worried about was how slow the process was. I knew that rehabilitating this weak shriveled body would take time, but... having read comic books and the like when I was a kid, I had expected faster results. Though I was tottering around and walking about the laboratory, I still felt like I had the motor skills of a small child instead of an assassin, or whatever the hell they were making my body into. Instead of growing larger, I seemed to only return to my original state, and not as heavy as I had been when I first arrived.

It was my mind that worried me most.

My mental skills were growing at an alarming rate, and faster than my muscles; I sometimes found that when Dr. Allen would ask me a question in our daily meetings, I would respond almost faster than I could think it through and still have the answer correct. Like some sort of animal instinct had changed the way my mind worked and simply let my brain do the talking. My verbal filter was no longer controlled by me, sometimes I said things I thought of and sometimes I didn't. There was no mental deliberation during our conversations. But then again, that was only when I was talking to Dr. Allen. It was like the honest and steadfast child inside me was completely dedicated to listening to the doctor, to obeying him.

---

"Are you ready to go into the yard?"

Today was the four-week marker for my therapy sessions and the start of the K-80Y injections. One of my physical therapists, Thomas stood beside my bed, taking note of the machines beside me and removing my single I.V. He was a good doctor, if a little too formal at all times of day. His deep mocha colored skin was always a welcome contrast against the bright, clean white that the lab and the therapy rooms shared. Other than his name, he wasn't very open about himself or his opinion about the study. But something told me that he didn't like what he was doing or where he was. Just the way he stayed his hand before giving me another injection, the look in his eyes when he wrote his reports when he thought I wasn't looking. As much as he seemed to hate his job, I felt internally that he was a good man. Time would tell if I was correct in my assumptions.