For the Love of Money

Chapter 7

We were transported to a new facility that was almost identical to the last only this was three thousand miles away. I hadn't even stepped foot of of the teleporters before a traveling nurse caught sight of the knife in my chest, called attention towards me, and caused a group of labcoated, masked men and women to swarm around me. I blinked and I was in yet another hospital bed, being wheeled to yet another operation room.

Someone injected a vial of something in my arm, and before I had the sense to ask what was going to happen, I was knocked out.

What felt like five minutes later, I managed to open my eyes and wake up. Same as the last time - lights too bright, sounds muted and muffled, body numb. I struggled to sit up and realized that at the very least, the knife was out of my chest. And my body overall seemed fine.

It took me a moment to realize that I wasn't alone in my sanctuary. Near the EKG was a beautiful dark-skinned lady, hair tied behind her, checking off things on a clipboard as she studied the machine. Don't get any ideas, though. There was no intentions from me, even though she was beautiful. The last women I had contact with just happened to be a T-1ooo from the future. I nervously cleared my throat.

She looked from the clipboard and glanced at me apologetically. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry."

I shook my head. "No, it's fine." I decided to find out what happened to me in the past few minutes. "What's going on? What's happened?"

"You've been out for about eight hours," she explained, continuing her work.

Well, damn.

"As soon as the teleporters transported you here, someone noticed that you had a knife in your chest. Protocol demanded that we treated severe cases as soon as possible, so we took you in immediately. We put anesthetic in you, knocked you out, and removed the knife from you."

"Just like that?"

She laughed. "Well, you definitely didn't make it easy, but at the very least you were smart to keep the knife in there. I mean, pulling that out would have caused you to bleed to death. At the same time, you risked infection."

"Did I need stitches?" I asked.

"Yes, but," she looked up, as if debating to share the information with me, "that's not really the issue."

"Issue? What issue?"

"We used stitches, and usually stitches stay in the wound for a day to two days, and no longer to avoid the risk of infection. We had to take yours out in a matter of hours. By that time, the gash wound had healed."

"Well, that weird nanotechnology must still be in me," I reasoned. "We were attacked right before they could remove them."

"That's what we thought," she said, "but we ran tests to see the amount of the technology in you and...well, they came back negative for any."

"What? That's impossible."

"We have no idea and frankly, we don't have time to investigate right now. You're scheduled for your first public appearance in two days, meaning you have two days to prepare physically, mentally, and emotionally."

"Where's the doctor?"

"He's too busy trying to organize the event. He left me in charge for now. What I want to do is let you rest for the next four or five hours."

I scratched my head. So much had been happening in the past few days that I didn't even register what this 'rest' was. I glanced at her and rose my eyebrows. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Do whatever you want," she said dismissively, writing some final things on the clipboard before tucking it under her arm. "Eat. Sleep. Eat some more. Since we don't have to worry about that gash anymore, you have a lot of time to kill. At around seven tonight, you're going to go to a speech coach that'll help you build a speaking technique. Learn some tricks there. Tomorrow we'll rebuild you physically to fit the image of a speaker. You'll also receive your speech. And then on Wednesday, you'll be teleported to the National Mall to make your speech.

"The National Mall?" I said in aghast. "Isn't that risky? Super risky? Think of all the Secrets Service there, the experts, the snipers. What if someone decides to cap me?"

She looked confused. "Cap you? Like, put a hat on you?"

I had the urge to roll my eyes. "To kill me. They'll want to kill me. I may have super healing powers all of a sudden, but a bullet to the head isn't in my body's resume."

"That risk will be taken care of. You needn't worry about that. What you should worry about how you're going to convey your message to the people."

"You mean the rich pigs," I muttered darkly. "I don't know how I'll make them understand. What do they talk like? What do they think about?"

The lady gave a sad smile. "You know, you should stop hating them so much. You've had it rough, but they're people too."

"I can't just stop hating them now," I said, shrugging. "This is a lifetime of abuse. It's hard to just rebound from that."

"They're people too."

"Hitler was a person," I almost spat.

"These people aren't Hitler."

"You're right. They're worse."

"And how is that true?"

"Hitler did the evil things, but he did it under the jurisdiction of the people. Isn't it weird how one man could control a million? They condoned what he did, and that's even worse than the atrocities that Hitler. Similar to how your people are doing right now."

"They aren't fully aware of what's going on. They don't know that they're being brainwashed."

"That's not an excuse."

"It sort of is since you can't change what you don't know. And you can't know what you don't acknowledge. Do you think if the 'rich pigs' knew the full story that they would allow it to happen?"

"Nothing you say will make me like them," I muttered darkly, pulling at a seam on the bed.

"I'm not saying you should like them," she whispered, averting her attention back to the clipboard. "I'm just saying you should cut them some slack. They're clueless." She checked something, glanced at the EKG, and checked another thing. Tucking the clipboard under her arm once more, she started towards the door.

"Being ignorant doesn't change anything," I scathed under my breath. "I will always hate them." But she was out the place before I could finish my comment, and I had said it too quietly for her to hear anyway. I leaned back against the rigid bed and placed my hands behind my neck, suddenly tired again. I knew with utmost certainty that this wasn't going to work. This place, these people, they just didn't work with me. They didn't understand me. They were so intent on using me to get what they wanted that they didn't think I mattered. I was a tool, a piece of equipment. And as soon as I was used for my purpose, I'd be discarded back into the rusty junkyard known to me as the bloody streets. I had no doubt that this was true.

But if I did know that, and I knew what was to come, why was I still here?

I couldn't find an answer to that question, and honestly, I didn't have the energy to. I hadn't had proper rest in a while. I'd been almost killed twice in the past week, which I guess wasn't too unusual, but still exhausting. And I hadn't eaten for the past two days. It was almost like the thought spurred my starved body into action. My stomach cramped, and the thought of food made me salivate. I pulled myself of the the bed and decided to go find something to eat.