Project Perses: Redemption

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

I have my forearm over my eyes, attempting to block out the fluorescent lighting from the ceiling.  For the last two days I've been tested, tested and tested again.  Ellis was being exceptionally thorough.  Whatever they were doping me with he was reducing in strength with every dose, and then he'd run another whole series of tests.  It wasn't until the second day that I realized they were putting something in my food.  My skin was impervious, so I knew they weren't injecting me.  The aerosol hadn't made a reappearance since the morning I'd arrived here. So unless they were pumping it into the room via the air ducts, food was the only constant. 

I also noticed that right after feeding time they would come to collect me, so it pretty much supported the theory.  Hiding the food was out of the question, after all, where the hell would I put it?  I'd tried skipping a meal, only to have a guard placed on watch until I ate every morsel.  I've been babysat every minute of every day, even in the can.  The guards are all armed, and I can only assume it's with something that will stop me.  So far, every precaution, every loop hole has been covered.  None of the food I'm served requires silverware, liquids come in paper cups; I am handcuffed every time I'm transported, and my pants have an elastic-waist.  My eyes scan the halls every time I leave here, looking for an out.  So far, one hasn't presented itself. 

My forehead is damp still, as is my hair.  My favorite guard has just left me after spending some quality time in the shower.  I hadn't been given privacy in there either. 

Yup, I am in prison.

Time means nothing here either, since I lost track of what day it was a while back.  There's a thump on the glass separator, but I'm in no mood to acknowledge the knocker.

There's another thump, and then the speaker overhead turns on, emitting static.  "Aiden?"  Mitchell. He has been avoiding me these last days.  Whether it's because of my positive demeanor or not, I really don't care.  It isn't that I don't understand their viewpoint, I think it's unnecessary.  I haven't yet gone nuclear, even when they electrocuted me and water-boarded me.  I've endured every type of torture imaginable and I've not lost it yet. 

"Aiden?  Are you awake?"

"Are you fucking serious?  Could you sleep with these lights in your eyes?"  I sit up then on the futon mattress, glaring at the one way mirror. 

Mitchell audibly sighs, and then the glass goes clear, giving me the pleasure of looking at his mug.  "Look, I know I'm not your favorite person right now, but we have work to do."

"You know what you can do with your work."

"You can shelve the tone.  You have a guest coming; I need you to get ready."

Finding my feet, I stand and walk over to the window, looking him in the eye.  My walk is slow and deliberately menacing.  "What guest?"

Mitchell shifts his stance and, for the first time ever, looks uncomfortable.  "I'm putting a team together, a team to support you."

My arm rises and my hand touches the glass, my fingers splayed.  "Why would I need a team?  If you haven't noticed, I'm kind of preoccupied being a lab rat."

His back straightens as he gives me his best 'General' glare.  "Now you listen here-"

"No, you listen!"  I interrupt, fury bubbling to the surface.  "You've lied to me from the beginning!  I have been manipulated, toyed with and tortured.  I am little more than some lab monkey to you people. All this time I thought you were helping me, but you weren't, were you?  More like you were keeping tabs on your pet.   Jesus Mitchell, I thought you were my friend."  The word 'friend' came out as a hiss.  I take a deep breath as I calm my fury.   "If you're so concerned about whether I can control my temper enough to not go ballistic, why don't you come in here yourself?  That's unless you have more electroshock therapy planned for me later today?"