The 6

3

The corridor's white and clean, the lights blinding my eyes. Everything sterile and new. There are 4 men flanking me and Winston by my side. No one talks. All the doors are locked, I notice. And there are many guards. A lot of guards. Stood to attention, their rifles by their side, carbon copies of each other. I concentrate on the guard in front of me, Sargent Roberts. He was right handed, had weak arches and was new to the Army from what I can tell.

Winston stood next to me, his back straighter, head higher. A layer of stubble covers his cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes looked permanent. I guess coming back from the dead wasn't as easy as he made it seem. My eyes catch onto his wrist and I smile. "I like your tattoo."
He glances over at me and smiles warily. "I got it last year. What do you think." he pulls up the rest of his sleeve to reveal the lines of ink circling his forearm. "Ivy. Nice."
In the middle of the twirling plant were two hearts interlocked.

Without thinking, I grab his hand in mine. It was familiar, if not a little calloused. I run my finger along the scar and exhale softly. "Does it hurt sometime?" I ask quietly, so only he could hear. Slowly he nods, his jaw clenching. I rest my head against his shoulder and his arm circles my shoulders. "What's going on?" I wonder out loud, my head spinning in circles.
"You'll find out soon enough."

He wasn't wrong. The next corridor we reach, we stop at a door. Unlike the others, this one was made of dull steel and looked impenetrable. Much to my dismay, Winston then let go of my hand. "I'm not allowed to go in Rory." he tells me, his nickname for me making my throat close up. "No." I shake my head, reaching for him. he takes a step back. "Winston. Please Winston.". A guard pulls on me and I imagine slapping him, but inside I know that would just anger him more.

"I'm not going in without him." I cry, all 4 guards pulling at me now. "Aurora." His voice is serious and somewhere in my mind, I realise that he is the only person calling me my real name. "I promise. You'll be safe. It won't be long and then I'll see you again. You just have a medical examination and then I will see you. I promise." We stare into each others eyes for a long moment and I realise he was telling the truth. "I'll be the first person you see when you get out of there, ok."

With one last look I let the guards guide me into the room.

Carefully, I scan the room for exit points. Theres a big window, two doors including the one I'd just walked through and another air vent. This was clearly a medical examination room and I'm filled with a sense of dread. I've spent too much time in places like these. With heavy feet I walk over to the bed and sit lightly. The men line the walls. I was only waiting for a minute before a doctor walks in, his nose in a clipboard. "Out." he says, flicking his hand at the guards. They all obey except Roberts. "You shouldn't be left alone with her Doc. She's dangerous."
The doctor glances up at the man and raises an eyebrow. "Get. Out."

With one last look at me he marches out, slamming the door on the way out. "Men and guns. They think they are so highly important when they have guns and uniforms. Bunch of cotton brained nitwits." The older man looks up and gives a small smile. "You're much more entertaining.

His curly black hair was greying and lines had formed at the side of his eyes and mouth but his dark eyes twinkle. "My names Dr Franklin."
"I'm 6." I say quietly, my eyes not meeting his. "I know." His eyes catch mine and his smile was small but genuine. "I've been studying you blood 6 an I have to say, I'm most impressed. You were exposed to 6 grams of LOG, yet your brain function, muscle strength and lung capacity have all increased instead of failing completely. That very interesting."

"What's LOG?" I wonder aloud, trying to read his notes upside down. He glances up, puzzlement on his brow. "You don't know?!" I shake my head and wrinkle my nose. "Tell me." I ask, curious as to my condition. "LOG is a drug that was made in 2003 by MOD scientists. It was supposed to create better soldiers. Faster, stronger, smarter. Everything you wanted a soldier to be. But it didn't work like we thought. It made them violent. Like animals. We tested with a group of 50 men and women. The results were staggering. The part of the brain that encourages violence and aggression was on red alert if you will. Their prime objective was to find an destroy. To kill." He sighs sadly. "It was shut down in May of 2003. But we had a leak. One of the cleaners had a friend who was in the drug scene. He thought it might be useful. He stole some. A gram or two. Within a week, it was being spread around London like the plague. Everyone an their brother was using. And the results weren't good. Fights, riots, looting. It was all out pandemonium. And people began to die. Dropped like flies. There isn't any on the streets now. All the suppliers were wiped. But the damage was done by the time we intervened."
"So where do I come into it?" I ask, even though I think I know.

"You brother. When your parents dies he ran into money problems. He was 17. He couldn't afford the flat and to feed you on his income. He got into dealing when you were 12. It turned messy and he pulled out, joined the Navy. You went into care for a while. Blah, blah, blah." A sickened feeling begins to form in the pit of my stomach. "When you were 14 he came back from sea. You went to stay with him. It turns out that you can't get out of the drugs business when your in. They found him. You were home alone while he went shopping. They tied you up and waited for him to get home." I feel the colour drain out of my face. "Stop." I say quietly but Doctor Franklin doesn't realise. "When he got home, they tied him up too. He was asked to choose." I think back to that day, tears running down my face, Winston screaming at them to kill him. To leave me. "He had to choose between a knife and a syringe. Obviously, he went for the syringe, not knowing what was inside."

I glance up at him. His eyes are sad. "You were injected with LOG 6 times. A gram each time. You were lucky to survive. Your brother called an ambulance and you were taken to hospital. Whilst they were trying to pump your stomach, Winston went after his supplier. He was stabbed, or so you thought. After the funeral, you were taken by MOD scientists as held in one of our facilities. We were waiting to see what you could do. The results," he flicks through his clipboard and raises his eyebrows. "The results were staggering. Your amazing." I lower my eyes and fiddle with a strand of cotton that had come loose on the bottom of my plain white trousers. "Thanks?"

He puts down the clipboard and puts both his hands on my shoulders. "Come on 6. This shouldn't take too long." And with my story over, he begins the examination.