Seth and the Prometheus Guild

New Humans

Something was wrong.

The air didn't taste like it was supposed to. His mattress was too soft, cushioning his numb limbs. And why did it feel like he was wearing human garments? Fabric scratched across his sensitive skin, clutching his limbs.

Straps were fastened around his upper body, arms and legs, effectively immobilizing him. And he didn't recognize the voices talking in the room.

They were too close, too loud.

Did he wake up during an operation? The thought made his muscles involuntary tense up, even though he tried to stay calm. He didn't want to alert them to the fact that he was awake yet.

What better chance to catch them without protection?

But don't forget the Angry One and how he fared.

The picture of the boy's decapitated head, the teeth still deeply burrowed in human flesh, enabled him to remain unmoving as he ignored his instinct to try and break free. The more he considered it, the more obvious his misconception became. For one, the voices were unfamiliar and the Whitecloaks would always want to personally cut him up. Furthermore, they certainly wouldn't place his unconscious body on a comfortable mattress just so it could be ruined by soaking up his blood.

His thoughts raced, while he kept his eyes closed. He'd woken up with a glaring headache, which was always the first indicator that the Whitecloaks had used their noxious gas to force him into unconsciousness. It made him woozy and confused for a time afterwards. Maybe he had been cut up, and they had simply cleaned his cell and changed the mattress while he was out of commission? Occasionally they felt inclined to do so, probably because they didn't want to watch him live in his own filth.

But it still didn't explain the voices, the smell, the clothes, and most importantly the straps. Why would they bother immobilizing him when he was imprisoned behind glass anyway? He took a deep breath and let the air run through his mouth. It smelled like his skin always did after an operation; Disinfectant, the humans called it. But he didn't recognize the faint human body odors he tasted – they belonged to no Guard or Whitecloak he knew.

Finally his curiosity won out and he warily opened his eyes. His first impression: white. He stared at a white ceiling, lying on a white bed, surrounded by a circular, white curtain that hid the rest of the room.

At least he could now be certain of something: this was not his cell.

A calm, female voice interrupted his thoughts. He didn't recognize it either, same as the smells. "Considering that he inhaled quite a dose of this drug I'm impressed with how well his system is coping. I would guess his body is already used to it."

"So the boy is alright?" a second voice asked, deeper and richer but also female. It had an odd sing-song quality he'd never heard before.

"'Boy' might be the wrong word. He's not human, if his appearance wasn't obvious enough then his blood proved it. But I'll have to check the database to confirm his species."

"That shouldn't be our main concern at the moment! He's an abused child, no matter the species," Sing-Song replied in a heated tone.

A doubtful silence followed, until Sing-Song continued: "Elaine, you know how much I dislike this ... blatant racism of yours! Just because they aren't fully human doesn't mean they don't have empathy or morals -"

The other voice sighed. "What do you mean, 'not fully human'? They're a completely different species that only learned to take our form! You wouldn't expect morals or empathy from a shark about to bite you, so why should they -" Another sigh. "But we've had this argument often enough. Let's just agree to disagree."