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Bionic

By @aaron_stiefel

What Am I?

I have no idea what is going on, but once we are safe, I will get the information I seek, even if I have to torture her for it.

We turn a corner, and there is a barrage of people with guns in white uniforms blocking our way. A woman who looks to be the leader steps forward.

She smiles.

“Hello Elaina,” she says, “may I ask what you are doing with #228?”

Elaina looks flustered, and it’s as if I can see the worry begin to swirl around in her head as she tries to come up with an excuse. She opens her mouth to speak, but I interrupt her.

“I came to her,” I say, causing the woman’s eyebrows to furrow and Elaina to stare at me in disbelief. Ignoring them, I continue, letting the lie roll off my tongue. “I’d just woken up and saw her outside of my room, when she turned to leave I chased after her.”

God, I hope this is something Nadia would do, I think to myself.

“Oh really?” The women blocking us doesn’t believe my white lie, “Well, you’ve certainly recovered more quickly than most of our patients, can you tell me your name?”

“Nadia,” I say with as much fake confidence as I can.

“Nadia…” she trails off, waiting for a last name.

“Nadia,” I trail off, and look at Elaina, though what for, I have no idea. The only way she could help me is through telepathy. The look in her eyes expresses so much deep love and care for this Nadia that I have to do something.

“Nadia Jones,” I close my eyes for a moment and hope to god that I’m right.

The woman looks sceptically between Elaina and I, silent. Then, in an indifferent voice, she addresses Elaina.

“It was brave of you to come here, Miss Kensington. Brave, and foolish. You have already been warned not to interfere with the dreaming centre. As it is not your first attempt at interception, you will not be let off so easily as the first.”

Elaina’s eyes water with tears, fear evident on her face. “P-please, don’t do this. Not again. I can’t live without her.”

The woman shakes her head and turns to the white-clothed standing either side of her. “Bring 228 with me to the slate room. As for Ms Kensington, take her to voltage. I will be there shortly after the patient is dreaming again.”

Elaina clutches at my hand, and I feel a wave of familiarity rush through me at the touch of her skin, but before I can grasp at any of the memories that are spinning through my mind, I am grabbed by the guards and ripped from her grip.

She begins to sob, and I frantically try to turn in the guard’s grasp to look back at her as she is grabbed by two others.

I can’t help the tears running down my face. I don’t know what’s going on, or who she is, but I can feel my heart yearning to leave her. My chest heaving with sadness.

I want to call out to her, I want to fight the guards to let me stay with her, but my strength is no match for the large men. Just as she is slipping out of my teary view, she calls to me, a single word that echoes through my mind.

“Ariel!”

My vision blurs, and the next thing I know, I’m back on my ‘hospital’ bed, my vision shaky from drugs they injected me with.

I yelp, “Ariel!”

No answer.

I blink, my voice coming as a whisper,

“Elaina?”

Nothing, the large room is quiet except for the sounds of machines keeping other patients alive in their coma state.

I lift myself up, only to find that I’ve been banded down, one on each wrist, my chest, and my legs. Keeping me safely and firmly down. I grunt, a scream rising through my body, but I refuse to let it out.

And just with a thought, I break through the bands, no force needed.

My eyes widened, am I that strong? It can’t be, I’m an artist, not a bodybuilder.

I sit up, breaking the bands and disconnecting a sticker that was against my forehead, setting off an alarm in the large monitor, and it takes me a second to realize that it’s not on the ground, it was floating mid air, a transparent monitor. I blinked, realization coming to me, people would hear this, and they’d band me down again.

I have to get out of here.

I jumped up, off of my bed, looking around the room, trying to avoid looking at the beds around me, but then I realize, I need to know what I am, I need answers, and now.

I lift up a sheet of a bed close to me, and jump back immediately. Half of the person’s face is completely metal, half of their left leg, and their hand. Nausea begins to take its toll, and I immediately jump forwards and put the sheet back in its place, then slither out of the room, checking both ways of the hallway, finding it empty, the only sound being whispers from a room on the right.

I hurry to the left, trying not to make a sound, but soon I realize I’m as loud as a monkey in a zoo, then look down, realizing my right leg is completely metal.

I scream.

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