this!
I release a strangled
scream, but it’s almost instantly silenced by the rapid change in my
surroundings. Without warning, I’m ripped away from the laboratory and into the
depths of my own mind, where I find myself back amidst the scene of destruction
from before.
It’s exactly the same. The
harsh wind. The murky air. The debris. I turn in place, astounded by the
realistic nature of what I now know is actually a vision.
I immediately realize,
although begrudgingly, that Dr. Richter’s experiments seem to have worked. He
wanted me to relive my episode, and here I am.
But what now? What can he
possibly take away from all of this?
My eyes scan the length of
the horizon, but something feels off compared to the last time I was here. Different .
I can feel the variation in the air around me, almost as if—
My body goes rigid, frozen
with apprehension when I become conscious of the fact that I’m not alone.
Slowly, I turn around, reluctant to see what this vision has in store for me
and what it’s undoubtedly been leading me to.
A stranger stares back at
me. A man in his mid-twenties, if I had to venture a guess. He has blond hair
and hazel eyes. However, the warmth of his gaze is tinged with sadness. Dirt is
streaked across his cheeks, and his clothes are just as filthy.
I stare back at him,
alarmed by his presence, and even more so by the weapon enclosed in his right
hand. But he’s not pointing the gun at me. Suddenly, his eyes fill with tears,
confusing me further. His lips begin to move, but I can’t hear what he’s
saying.
“We can’t get a clear
picture, Doctor.”
“You have my authorization
to use the alternative method we spoke of earlier. Do whatever you feel is
necessary. I want that picture.”
Despite the continuing
vision around me, I can still hear what’s happening back at the DSD. Just like
I can feel what they’re doing to my body.
I shriek when the hot
needles pierce my eyes, inserting straight into my pupils at a slow and hellish
pace. For a few seconds, the scene around me is skewed, as if the entire world
is covered in static.
“There! Stop! We have a
clear image now!”
Everything goes still. The
agony cuts off, replaced instead with an insane level of clarity. If the vision
was distinct before, what I see now is the epitome of detail. But none of that
matters. Not once I hear his voice.
“I’m sorry, Wynter,” the
man whispers. Tears begin to roll down his cheeks.
“End the session.” Dr.
Richter’s voice booms around me, echoing through the vision with an unexpected
anger behind it.
Strangely, I don’t care.
How can I with what I’ve just seen?
My eyes water excessively
when the needles are abruptly removed. The excruciating nature of it all is
enough to make me black out. For many long moments, I’m encompassed by darkness
and aware of little else other than the pain. I only come to when I feel a
sharp sting across the surface of my cheek.
“How do you know him?” Dr.
Richter barks at me. His voice is muted but harsh. Hostile even.
I wince. My eyes open fully
as the force of his slap pulls me back into consciousness.
A weary breath passes
through my lips. “What?” I ask.
“The facial recognition
server has brought up a match.” A female voice enters my ears from across the
room. “The man in question is Ezra Laramie, age twenty-six. Blood type: A
positive. Suspected member of PHOENIX.”
PHOENIX?
I have trouble processing
this information, finding it hard to believe I could ever be associated with
one of them . After all, I’ve always played by the rules. I’ve always
followed the letter of the law.
Dr. Richter lunges forward
and grabs me by the collar of my gown, pulling me upright with an aggressive
tug.
“How do you know him?” he
asks again, yelling this time.
“I don’t!” I snap back. My
voice sounds weak and raspy.
He seems to consider me for
a moment, staring at me with those cold and penetrating eyes. Eventually, he
lets go
I release a strangled
scream, but it’s almost instantly silenced by the rapid change in my
surroundings. Without warning, I’m ripped away from the laboratory and into the
depths of my own mind, where I find myself back amidst the scene of destruction
from before.
It’s exactly the same. The
harsh wind. The murky air. The debris. I turn in place, astounded by the
realistic nature of what I now know is actually a vision.
I immediately realize,
although begrudgingly, that Dr. Richter’s experiments seem to have worked. He
wanted me to relive my episode, and here I am.
But what now? What can he
possibly take away from all of this?
My eyes scan the length of
the horizon, but something feels off compared to the last time I was here. Different .
I can feel the variation in the air around me, almost as if—
My body goes rigid, frozen
with apprehension when I become conscious of the fact that I’m not alone.
Slowly, I turn around, reluctant to see what this vision has in store for me
and what it’s undoubtedly been leading me to.
A stranger stares back at
me. A man in his mid-twenties, if I had to venture a guess. He has blond hair
and hazel eyes. However, the warmth of his gaze is tinged with sadness. Dirt is
streaked across his cheeks, and his clothes are just as filthy.
I stare back at him,
alarmed by his presence, and even more so by the weapon enclosed in his right
hand. But he’s not pointing the gun at me. Suddenly, his eyes fill with tears,
confusing me further. His lips begin to move, but I can’t hear what he’s
saying.
“We can’t get a clear
picture, Doctor.”
“You have my authorization
to use the alternative method we spoke of earlier. Do whatever you feel is
necessary. I want that picture.”
Despite the continuing
vision around me, I can still hear what’s happening back at the DSD. Just like
I can feel what they’re doing to my body.
I shriek when the hot
needles pierce my eyes, inserting straight into my pupils at a slow and hellish
pace. For a few seconds, the scene around me is skewed, as if the entire world
is covered in static.
“There! Stop! We have a
clear image now!”
Everything goes still. The
agony cuts off, replaced instead with an insane level of clarity. If the vision
was distinct before, what I see now is the epitome of detail. But none of that
matters. Not once I hear his voice.
“I’m sorry, Wynter,” the
man whispers. Tears begin to roll down his cheeks.
“End the session.” Dr.
Richter’s voice booms around me, echoing through the vision with an unexpected
anger behind it.
Strangely, I don’t care.
How can I with what I’ve just seen?
My eyes water excessively
when the needles are abruptly removed. The excruciating nature of it all is
enough to make me black out. For many long moments, I’m encompassed by darkness
and aware of little else other than the pain. I only come to when I feel a
sharp sting across the surface of my cheek.
“How do you know him?” Dr.
Richter barks at me. His voice is muted but harsh. Hostile even.
I wince. My eyes open fully
as the force of his slap pulls me back into consciousness.
A weary breath passes
through my lips. “What?” I ask.
“The facial recognition
server has brought up a match.” A female voice enters my ears from across the
room. “The man in question is Ezra Laramie, age twenty-six. Blood type: A
positive. Suspected member of PHOENIX.”
PHOENIX?
I have trouble processing
this information, finding it hard to believe I could ever be associated with
one of them . After all, I’ve always played by the rules. I’ve always
followed the letter of the law.
Dr. Richter lunges forward
and grabs me by the collar of my gown, pulling me upright with an aggressive
tug.
“How do you know him?” he
asks again, yelling this time.
“I don’t!” I snap back. My
voice sounds weak and raspy.
He seems to consider me for
a moment, staring at me with those cold and penetrating eyes. Eventually, he
lets go
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