Automata

Chapter 6

Before Oliver even fully awoke, he could feel a dull, aching pain in his leg. As he slowly became more aware, he also began to feel sharper, stabbing pinpricks. He painfully pried his eyes open, and the light of the room seemed to wash over them like acid. He closed them again and groaned.

"Oh, you're awake. Good."

Oliver then registered that he was lying on his back on some hard surface, his head spinning. He slowly forced his eyes open again to see Lester standing bent over his leg.

His leg! Had the operation been successful? What had everyone thought?

Eventually, the fog in Oliver's mind started to disperse. He remembered.

Oliver groaned again, more pained this time, though it wasn't from anything physical.

"How could I let that happen?" He murmured, breathlessly.

Lester didn't turn to look at Oliver, he just kept threading his needle in and out of the skin in his leg. "Some things are not meant to be, I s'pose."

"But did you understand my project, Lester? Did you see how revolutionary it could be? At least you saw through it, right?"

Lester put down his surgical needle for a moment. "I saw something in you that I recognized."

"At least you understand how great it could be..." Oliver's voice trailed off happily, as he seemingly became not fully conscious once again, though his eyes were still open. Lester looked upon Oliver, thinking about something. He nodded to himself, then he picked up the needle and finished sewing the hole in Oliver's leg shut with long, thick thread.

***

Oliver finally woke up and held on to consciousness a few hours later. He opened his eyes slowly and gazed peacefully at the ceiling for a moment tracing the outlines of the wooden framing calmly with his eyes. Slowly, he began to gain clarity, and he realized that he recognized his surroundings. He pushed himself up on his elbows. He was in his automaton shop. The same dusty windows, the same clocks lining the walls, and Camille posed in the corner all greeted him. It was odd being in a familiar setting after such an alien-feeling experience. Oliver sat up with some effort and realized that he had been laid down on a makeshift cot made from spare cloth. He felt a dull ache in his lower leg, and eyed the stitching job that... Lester? Had done. It was Lester, right? He was having a hard time remembering. His mind had been spinning so much, and all he could recall was the sight of an abundance of blood leaking from his leg. Too much.

The stitching was fairly neat, with the thick black thread holding the flesh together well. He could see the mass of blood and muscle peeking through from underneath, but for the most part, the skin was sealed over the wound. Oliver touched it lightly and pulled his hand back quickly as a searing pain shot through his leg. There was something odd about the pain, too. He realized that it felt odd because he was feeling the pain. It wasn't just discomfort that he supposed someone else was feeling because of surgery. This pain was his, and it felt all too intimate.

Oliver looked up as Lester entered the room from the workshop.

"Ah, you're awake," he said, going to get water for Oliver. "That was a right tough night you had, mate." He gave Oliver some water, and he drank it readily. His throat felt raw and scratchy. Once he was finished, Oliver wiped his mouth and began to stand up.

"Woah, what do you think you're doing, Moreau? There's no way you're going to be able to put pressure on that leg for at least a fortnight."

"I'll be f—" And indeed, when Oliver tried to lean onto his right leg, a burning, acid like pain shot up from the wound and throughout his body, making him crumple back to the floor. Lester sighed.