There was no pain when Nik awoke, only a sluggishness to his thoughts that gave way to bewilderment, panic, when his eyes opened to a magnolia tiled roof with painfully bright fluorescent lights shining down upon him. He raised a hand to ward off the unwelcome illumination and as his eyes began to focus he sat up with a start, casting aside the pure white cotton bed sheet in his haste.
The skin was scabbed and flaky but there was no mistaking the black bars etched into the back of his hand. Panic flowed through him, his other hand rubbed furiously at the tattoo, hoping against hope that it would come off.
He fought the fog in his mind, tried desperately to figure out where he was, what was going on, how had he got here- WHY he had been bar coded. The thundering terror of his heart gave way to a slow, calming conclusion; They had found him, after all this time.
"You're awake." The voice was bodiless, female, with a metallic tint as it was transformed into sound by the intercom set beside the slate grey, and solid looking, metal door.
Nik didn't answer. Panic had given way to numbness which was now giving way to anger. Anger that after ten years under the radar, ten years of keeping his head down, he had destroyed it all with one semi-heroic act.
You fucking idiot...
"I know you can hear me Nikolas..." Was that mockery in her tone? Humour? He couldn't tell, he didn't care.
He slid his bear feet onto the cold aqua tiles and sat on the edge of what he now knew to be a hospital style bed. Brown eyes took in his surroundings- A machine, a monitor of some kind by the head of the bed, its sensors hanging limp. A door, the only entrance or exit, a camera, one of those small half-sphere affairs, recessed into the centre of the tiled ceiling. At an estimate he would say the space was six by eight, aside from that there was nothing he could use to his advantage no conveniently placed scalpel or hypodermic needles with which to skewer a guard. He was boned, in short.
"Nikolas~" She almost sang.
"Where am I?..." He responded finally, biting down on every syllable until he could hear his teeth grind together.
"You're home."
Home. What did this smarmy cliché spewing bitch know about home? More than Nik did at any rate, what home had he had? It was either a soulless orphanage or a boot camp for kids. He had no home, he'd never had a home. It was typical of the Agency to think they'd instilled anything other than pure fear in their trainees.
The skin was scabbed and flaky but there was no mistaking the black bars etched into the back of his hand. Panic flowed through him, his other hand rubbed furiously at the tattoo, hoping against hope that it would come off.
He fought the fog in his mind, tried desperately to figure out where he was, what was going on, how had he got here- WHY he had been bar coded. The thundering terror of his heart gave way to a slow, calming conclusion; They had found him, after all this time.
"You're awake." The voice was bodiless, female, with a metallic tint as it was transformed into sound by the intercom set beside the slate grey, and solid looking, metal door.
Nik didn't answer. Panic had given way to numbness which was now giving way to anger. Anger that after ten years under the radar, ten years of keeping his head down, he had destroyed it all with one semi-heroic act.
You fucking idiot...
"I know you can hear me Nikolas..." Was that mockery in her tone? Humour? He couldn't tell, he didn't care.
He slid his bear feet onto the cold aqua tiles and sat on the edge of what he now knew to be a hospital style bed. Brown eyes took in his surroundings- A machine, a monitor of some kind by the head of the bed, its sensors hanging limp. A door, the only entrance or exit, a camera, one of those small half-sphere affairs, recessed into the centre of the tiled ceiling. At an estimate he would say the space was six by eight, aside from that there was nothing he could use to his advantage no conveniently placed scalpel or hypodermic needles with which to skewer a guard. He was boned, in short.
"Nikolas~" She almost sang.
"Where am I?..." He responded finally, biting down on every syllable until he could hear his teeth grind together.
"You're home."
Home. What did this smarmy cliché spewing bitch know about home? More than Nik did at any rate, what home had he had? It was either a soulless orphanage or a boot camp for kids. He had no home, he'd never had a home. It was typical of the Agency to think they'd instilled anything other than pure fear in their trainees.
