Lab Rat part 59

Posted: March 24, 2011 in Fiction, Test Subject

I start awake at the soft beep of the heart monitor. The twitching sets me gasping. My right thigh feels like someone is sawing their way out from inside. There’s a soft hiss and a click, and the pain fades. My eyes open but everything is a bright blur. I can hear voices, but they’re muffled to the point of being unintelligible. I close my eyes again.

The beep of the heart monitor startles me again. I must have dozed off. What happened? How is it that I’m alive? I open my eyes and the picture eventually resolves from a blur to a white ceiling with fluorescent light panes set into it. My leg still hurts, but not as bad as it did last night. Or whenever it was that I was awake. I look around. The room is a dingy white, with a purple door in one wall and a tacky ornate mirror on another. “Hello?” I croak. It looks like I’m in a shitty motel room. It makes no sense. I should be in a pine box. Or a government facility. I struggle upright. Assorted pains blur my vision, and I gasp involuntarily. The left shoulder and right thigh I knew about. Breathing hurts so bad, I must have broken a few ribs. No way to tell what else is wrong.

The room is a single bed dive. The comforter is splotched with blood, but that might be an improvement over the garish browns, greens, and purples that make up an awful floral pattern. There’s a table and chair buried in a bunch of medical equipment next to my bed. There’s a crappy vid screen set up on a chest of drawers that has no matching wood textures. There’s a bathroom opposite the purple door. The place reeks of stale cigarette smoke. I check my injector. Still there, and six full cartridges. The veins on my left arm show black through my skin. I touch one. My skin flakes off. Charred. Never more than one, and now I have an inkling as to why. I shudder, which sets the aches off all over again. I check the medical crap sitting next to my bed. There’s the heart monitor, an IV stand with a pair of bags. One looks like food. The other one is labeled “MSIR.” Morphine. I love that stuff. There’s a couple of boxes of gauze and a tray of tools. They look used, probably on me. Best health plan in the world. I don’t even know how Taryn got to me, but I’m glad she did.

I look down at my leg. It’s splinted and wrapped. The white bandage is spotty with blood. Guess I won’t be making a break for it just yet. I look at my injector and spin the cartridges. No regeneration. I know I had a bunch taped to the inside of my vest, but that’s on a rooftop somewhere. I need to find out where I am. My pants are wadded up on the floor next to my boots. Both have blood. The pants look charred in spots. This gig is hard on my wardrobe. The remote for the vid screen is in arm’s reach, and I can’t go anywhere. I click on the screen and wait for Taryn to come back.

Sorry I was a wee bit late. I went to the Wednesday practice, but found mostly disappointment. No other heavy weapons fighters showed. I would have fenced, but I was not at all in the right mindset. Fencing is not a sport to be approached with my usual reckless abandon. Afterward, we went to a Village Inn. They let the newest waitress handle our group of 14 solo. Talk about a rough night! It meant a somewhat agonizing wait for everything for us, and a lot of frazzled running around for her. I made sure to tip her well.

 

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