Mindless

Bandages

I don't know how long I lay there. It was the least of my worries. My thoughts were consumed by pain and puzzlement. I couldn't remember anything. How I had gotten here, what had caused me to go psycho and attack the computers, and why I hadn't been stopped. 

After a while I start to drift, my mind entering a haze. In the haze, I feel something brushing my subconscious. It's cold and harsh. Just out of reach. Almost as if it weren't actually there.

The soft hiss of the door brings me back to reality. Footsteps approach and Dr. von Wen's face fills my vision. He looks sadly down at me.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, "I'm so sorry."

More footsteps enter the room. I shift my vision to the door. It's the other doctor and a whole new crew of white-clad doctors.

With their prompting, I rise from the floor and sit on the table. I remain still, staring at one of the white walls of my prison while they cleaned and dressed the gashes on my arms. 

I can here Von Wen and the other Doctor whispering by the monitors. I can't hear what the one doc is saying but I catch snippets of von Wen's speech.

"...stop now...gone..........end result........be fatal............don't know..............hazardous..........all of us...............stupid........."

I don't know what they're discussing but its clearly bad. And it's probably me. It's clear that though Dr. von Wen does more hands-on work, the other doctor is the boss.

Kill him, the voice demands. He did this to us. 

My eyes wander to the glass shards and metal bits strew about in front of the dead monitors. 

"The point is that the situation is quickly spiraling out of control!" Dr. von Wen snaps.

I look back in time to see him storm out of the room, his boss glaring daggers. Dr. Von Wen is a potential ally for me. 

Boss man glances at the medics and me. The medics, done with their jobs quickly grab their gear and leave.

Now it's just me and the doctor in the room. We look at each other saying nothing. He doesn't do anything. He just stands there. 

We remain in our positions, looking at one another not saying a word. 

It's a silent standoff. The doctor waiting for me to act, me waiting for him to act.

Now, the voice whispers, Kill him now.

As if hearing the voice himself, he glances at the mess in front of the monitors. I feel my panic rising. He knows. He knows and he's going to do something. Something bad. Horrible.

He knows.

Of course, he knows, the voice whispers, cool and calm. Soothing, almost. After all, he did this to us. Kill him. It's what he deserves.

I'm on my back. I can't lift my arms or legs. I'm strapped to the table again. 

What? How? When?

My mind races a thousand miles an hour trying to fill in the blanks.

I look around. The room is empty. A metal shard now lays closer to the door than the rest.

A glance at my hands produces a new bandage on my right hand.