Lab Rat part 9

Posted: January 19, 2011 in Fiction, Mental health, Test Subject

Today was mind-numbingly slow. The drive to work was bright and sunny, but by the time I went to lunch the sky was shedding snow. It was beautiful, but it would have been better shared with Megan.

The usual fire burns its way through my veins. I’m pretty used to it, but that doesn’t make it more enjoyable. Ally pulls the syringe out, but no drop of blood forms at the site of the injection. My left shoulder keeps burning after it should have abated. My forearms itch like mad. I sit the rest of the way up, but the movement doesn’t make me scream the way I thought it would. I rub my arms, and the scabs come off like a spilled bowl of corn flakes. My arms are left with white blotches of brand new skin. I look down, and the mass of purple that was my shoulder fades from the outer edges in until the massive bruise is only a memory. I rotate my shoulder, and feel no pain.

“Uh, thanks,” I say lamely. It occurs to me that I’m still naked. Where are my pants?

“Don’t thank me yet,” she says. She picks up the black case and unzips it. There’s a handgun in there. I know what’s coming.

“You’re gonna get the cops called in here, you know.”

“Way ahead of you. As usual,” she says, and takes a suppressor out of the case. She screws the device onto the end of the pistol. I don’t know enough about guns to know what kind of gun it is, but I do know enough to know that this isn’t going to be fun. She puts the gun down on the case and goes back to the backpack by the door. Am I fast enough to get to my pants while her back is turned? I decide I’m not. She pulls out a bulky black vest. “Sit on this.” She throws it at me. It’s heavy. Some sort of bullet proof vest. She is way ahead of me. I hadn’t thought of that.

“Can I put some clothes on?” I ask.

“Why? You want to ruin another pair of pants? You’re still going to bleed, even if the regeneration works as fast as I’m hoping,” she says.

“Right. We really have to do this, don’t we?” I ask. It’s more of a statement. This will be a more thorough test than if I were on my own. She’s not as squeamish when it comes to hurting me as I would be. “I want a raise,” I say as I sit on the vest. I watch her pick up the handgun and click the safety off. It’s the most menacing click I’ve ever heard. “A big raise.”

“Done,” she says and shoots me in the thigh. I have no idea how well the suppressor works, because my pain response overloads and I lose consciousness.

My drive home was positively awful. I kept rehashing nightmare scenarios in my head. By the time I made it home, I was panic-stricken. I calmed down a bit, but I’m still all frowny about goings on. Still, I will endure.

  1. Jenna says:

    I like this scientist a lot. Also, I now have something of a graphic novel going along with you in my head.

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