Truth Stealers (Thief's Signal: Book 1)

10

"Day," Lucy began.
"Night."

"Sun."
"Moon."

"Leaf."
"New."

"Road."
"Turn."

"Drive."
"Path."

"Clown."
"Slippers."

"Apple."
"Pear."

"Banana."
"Milkshake."

"Plant."
"Sow."

"Field."
"Reap."

"Bear."
"Fight."

"Pet."
"Lead."

"Well, usually I would go on, but this does seem sufficient. You are free to go now, Jag."

Jag practically leapt for the doorway, before realising he had no idea which way he was supposed to go.

"Oh," Lucy got up, "the dormitories are the last room at the left of that corridor."

And then Jag was gone, going from run, to walk, and then nearly to a crawl, as he felt himself losing his body to weariness. And before he realised what had happened, he was asleep again.

Four white walls, a floor, a ceiling. All identical, all white and unforgiving.

How am I back here again?

Everything had seemed so real. There was no way...he was dreaming of the box, whilst in the box, whilst who knows what. This was inception. Jag's mind wouldn't work. It just shouldn't be possible. But it was happening. He was back. Trapped. Stuck.

"Keep the drip on a steady increase," a voice said in the darkness. Darkness?

Jag slowly lifted his weighted eyelids to witness a whole host of hospital workers milling about in his room. He was in bed, and there were several needles stuck into his body.

"His stomach needs time to expand to his normal capacity again," the voice said, and Jag turned his head to see a male doctor standing beside his bed with a large machine placed on a wheeled tray. He appeared to be telling the nurse what to do.

"What's going on?" Jag began rising wearily and sat up in his bed sheets.

A man with a blue trench coat looked down at Jag. "I am Doctor Gregariza," the man said dispassionately. "How are you doing, Mr. Blakeman?"

Blakeman? Who was that? Oh, that must be my surname. Or my fake surname? Do I even have a fake surname?

"Uhh..." Jag struggled to process too many variables at once.

"Well, don't worry, you needn't put strain on your mind this early in the morning. I can provide you with all the information that you need." Gregariza adjusted his glasses.

"You signed up to take part in the human experimental phase of the meta mechanical development treating plan, as you already know."

As I seem to have forgotten, thanks to a rather dysfunctional relationship of mine.

"You have recently taken a psychological assessment, for us to evaluate your mental health, and we are at this very moment conducting a review to see how you may physically cope with the operation."

"...shit..." Jag looked shell shocked, suddenly contemplating his whole existence.

"Hmm," Gregariza peered down at Jag, "it seems the retraction of the memory suspender has been slightly delayed. You're recovery may take longer than anticipated."

Another scientist also wearing a lab coat came around the bed to stand next to Doctor Gregariza.

"Jag Blakeman," he said, "everything appears to be running on track with your body. The operation shall take place on Friday at 4pm."

Gregariza whispered something to the scientist, whom raised his eyebrows at first, but then promptly lowered them back down again, regaining his sense of purpose swiftly.

"So I hear Doctor Gregariza here has been telling you about the assessments?" The scientist addressed Jag as a teacher would a misguided student.

"Worry not, my friend, for I am sure that you fit and healthy both mentally and physically. The plan shall carry on as intended."

The plan. All part of the plan.

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