Project Seraph

Injection

The taste of saline was in his tongue, that cool injection rippling down the ribs of his mouth's roof and throat, a tingling in his lips. Mutandis, cold climate, cold metal, pierced the surface. Teeth gritting, fist clenching, sharp, cold. He couldn't stand to look at the needles when they were injected. He received the injections, but it wasn't any better. Each dosage pumped in, quicker each time with strengthening veins, and still each time his head hung lower, his eyes duller.

"Stop moving."

"It's cold."

His torso jolted, his arm tensed in place.

"You're going to damage the vein."

"I told you, it's cold. Can't I just get a freaking blanket or something to cover up?"

A technician was on his right, next to the propped up bed. The metal frame and cushion had a slight curve to hold him in place, resembling a dentist's chair. There was more equipment, however. Two of the pods built into the floor were pulled up now, a series of tubes and monitors networked together to track the injection and subject vitals.

"No, Ammond. We told you know on series three, and it's still no. Hold still."

"I said I'm cold."

"Ammond." The technician stopped all together and leaned in. The white lights overhead were eclipsed. "I want to remind you of your contract to this project, and the importance of your cooperation. Your service to Roshoq, the Militari, the Primus...it will be legendary.  However, if you cannot comply with our terms, we will be forced to restrain you. And if then you still are not capable of cooperating we'll have to cut you loose."

Ammond's chest was shifting a bit quicker, and quite suddenly he felt warmer, more alert.

"I understand."

The light beamed back into his eyes.

"Do you want a squeeze block for this series?"

"Yes. Please."

"Ammond, we're counting on you. You've trained for much worse than this, and you've performed with excellence up to this point."

"I didn't train for this."

A snort.

"My brothers are out there dying to some Kanaaji scum and I'm stuck here -"

"Ammond, you'll be with them soon enough. The Commander and I cannot seem to assure you enough. You trained solely for this. Here's your squeeze block. We'll be monitoring as usual. Shout if you need anything. Okay?"

"Ya." His half-hearted smile reflected in the black visor for a second.
Ammond's head followed the technician exiting on his left. "You'll be back to check on me, right?"

The visor was lifted. Red lips answered back, "Of course, Ammond. Please, focus. We're counting on you." A grin, more polite than cute, flashed before she exited.

It was quiet again, save the sharp beeps from the machines.

A voice projected throughout the room: "We're ready to begin the injections. Are you ready, Ammond?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"Good. Remember, we're counting on you."

Ammond nodded. His fists were clenched, ready, eyes sharp and facing forward.

His toes and fingers spread and tensed. At once, the rush hit the walls of his veins pushing their capacity. His head reeled back into the bed, back arching. His teeth were clamped shut, the integrity of the squeeze block pulverized in his hand.  

"Remain still, Ammond."

"Yes, sir!"

Lips parted, his breath was short as he came back down. He fixated on the needles. There was a simultaneous push and pull of fluids. Blood, saline, morphine, and three others were plugged into his arm, the Smart-Tubes holding their position for optimal processing.

Six needles became thirty-six with every adjustment of the pressure cuff. His brain was trembling, eyes begging for REM, as if to kick itself awake. Vibro-glare, rapid contractions around the eyes from hyper-focusing. That's what he thought of it as.

"Would you like some music, Ammond?"

"Yes. Please, " he answered to the glass above, to the left, between deep breaths. Now classic hits from Ammond's recent teens played into the room. The pulses of his optical contracts synchronized with the bass before dissipating completely, leaving a cool, dull gaze.

The numbness of the room or music didn't curve the burning any. His heart was deceived and spread it throughout his body in under a minute. His arm was on fire, the injection sight effectively dead of all sensation. All the rest pulsed now. Each shift in his seat provoked a groaning sort of pain, or at least it was difficult not to vocalize. He settled again, letting out a gruff snarl and shaking his head like a commando ready to air drop into a live zone.

***

"Thank you, doctor."

"Yes, sir."

"He's holding up fairly well."

"He's too stupid to realize what we're doing. It's for the best he doesn't know too much though."

"Everything out here's cold, isn't it?"

"Sir, with all due respect. We're not even a quarter way through the series and I've had seven subjects cut. I have at least three on the verge of mental breakdowns that will render them incapable to continue with. And, on a personal note, I'm fed up with having to send our rejects to Project Thrones."

"You and Dr. Rallo really do hate each other, huh?"

"No...our circumstances here are simply tense. Simply, but it's still difficult to find relief."

"We could talk about-"

"Commander, thank you, but you misunderstand. By the conclusion of Project Seraph the proper channels for the merge with Project Thrones will be complete. If we can't get past phase four, we'll most certainly be terminated. Unfortunately for you, you'll stay with your squad."

They'd been at it in the control room. The white light was unhindered here. Technicians came in and out or manned several monitors in the nonagon facing out into identical labs, each host to a Militari loyalty. Only the Commander shuffled in place at a loss.

"Let me know if I could be of assistance then."

"You can go on a coffee run. Black. Just refill the thermals on the table over there."

There was a sigh before the Commander passed into background. Dr. Loretz finally let her eyes rest a little. She approached the viewing deck of Ammond's comb, a hand reaching up to to her neck. From the viewing deck he looked as if he might be brain dead all ready. Vitals, while stable, weren't promising. With a sigh, she turned for the next comb-deck.

***

Ammond was still. The most movement at this point was a twitching eye lid or finger. The jolting had ceased ten minutes, thirty seven seconds into the injection series. He couldn't feel his body any more, only pain, as if he had become a giant burn. There was a raw throbbing sensation that consumed him and made him numb. The white light felt cold on his eyes.

For a moment he forgot how to breathe.

Just for a moment.

A shock of electricity flooded through him. It was cold and stinging like the first wave of injections. Such a sensation would be a relief if it came as a glass of ice water, but his heart jumped, pounding faster than before. As if just woken from a nightmare he was completely paralyzed. The cold shock wore off and once more he was reminded of the hellish chemical burning over his entire body.

"Ammond, do you hear me?" It was the technician's voice now. "Ammond, I need you to remain perfectly still. We haven't completed this series yet. Do you hear me?"

"Yes! It fucking burns..."

He started sweating, panting, face and chest starting to flush.

"Ammond, I need you to calm down. Just listen to the music. Are you experiencing any chest pain?"

"I can't hear any music!"

"Okay, Ammond, just listen to me. Okay? Just listen to me. Remember how much we're counting on you. Okay? Ammond, listen to me."

"Please, it burns."

"Ammond, we're almost done. Okay? Ammond, you must hold on. I know it hurts, but you absolutely must endure it."

His eyes shut tight, tears starting to form and trail down his cheeks. The photo-negative image of the lights flashed on the inside of his skull, skipping across his vision with the oscillation of his head.

"Ammond, we're almost done. Do you hear me? Listen to me, Ammond, just listen to me. Do you feel well?"

"I told you, it burns. Please..."

"It hurts, Ammond. I know, and it hurts me to see you like this. Is there anything else, Ammond? Can you still hear me?"

"No, and I hear you."

"Okay, Ammond. Just listen to me. We're almost done. Just listen to me..."

They'd be "almost done" for another forty-three minutes, twenty-nine seconds.

Impulse

The sterile scent somehow tasted stale or even gone bad, trickling off his tongue between his teeth. He felt rotten because of it, sickly and wounded.

"Good morning, Ammond." It came from overhead, his Commander. "We're ready to bring trials when you are. Are you ready?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

"The Doctor would like me to remind you of your results from the last series. Despite difficulties, we noticed a spike in your readings as well. You are a channeler now...in theory. We're going to begin with something basic: telekenesis."

"Yes, sir. I'm ready, sir."

"Your brothers in arms would be proud to see you now. Fire at will."

A hiss of air accompanied the parting of floor panels. A table rose up with a small green ball set in a dip.

"Commander, sir, is this a joke?"

"Soldier, I will remind you how important it is that you cooperate with us. Now, try to move it - using your mind."

The drop of his chin stole Ammond's attention from the viewing deck as the stark green popped from the white lab. His gaze settled, and he lifted his arm, a slight twitch present in a finger.

Bar code and serial numbers flashed by his nose with the snort and wipe of his nose. There was a skip in his step as he moved closer and dropped down ready to spar. He shot out a jab at the ball.

No effect.

"Commander," he protested, his stance falling apart, arms slapping at his sides and up again pleading. "This isn't working."

"Soldier, return to your position and try again." The Doctor answered after a pause. Ammond's arms were at his sides again and he continued staring up.

"What's the point?"

"This project is saving lives, soldier. You are saving lives, but only if you cooperate with us. You recall the terms of your contract, now go again."

"What if I don't?"

"Then you'll be discharged, as per your contract. This is your final warning."

Ammond's eyes ripped open. "What do you mean discharged? I thought we'd just be taken out of the project? Commander?"

"No, soldier. Now do as the Doctor says, and go again."

"It doesn't work."

"Ammond, we assure you our equipment is working functionally and we have strong reason to believe it will work if you perform adequately. Focus, and act as if your will is an extension of your arm. Imagine you are really reaching for the ball, lifting it. Is that clear?"



"Yes." Images of the lower Fringe zipped through his mind, the room's supports passing in the background like the deep level pipes. He took his stance again and reached out for the ball.

Focus.

Ammond's hand constricted as if to hold the ball, his tendons and veins forming through the skin. A stern look took over his face, one that was empty and cruel. His grip tensed, arm rising with no effect to show for it. It wasn't long before he was seeing through a vibro-gaze again. It was impossible to visually focus, but the ball started to shift in its bowl.

"Focus, Ammond. You're doing it."

"Nothing's...happening," he growled.

"Ammond, just focus. You're moving it."

Pulses in his vision began to blend with a growing sensation of - the shock of an axe split his skill and continued down his body. Ammond dropped to a fetal position, his fingers clawing for his brain. The ball fell back into its dish, swishing a bit before it settled again. There was no sound, just an impossible silence as if his hearing had gone.

Audio monitors in the control room quaked from his screams, a bass in his howl ached the heart of those listening. The Doctor was at the mic at once calling for Ammond to maintain control and gather himself for another run. They were so close, she said, if he could just push through.

A shell-shock whining coursed through Ammond's mind as he came to, his vibro-glare in full synch on the border of a seizure but dissipated. He reached out for the table, the ball out of sight, struggling to focus through his blurred vision.

"We're counting on you, Ammond."

"I know," he whispered, and began to rise. Each painful shift brought him to his knees and then feet once more. Still, he felt an emptiness in his head, and odd distribution of weight to either side.

Ammond's stance was sloppy. His right arm twitched trying to keep its guard by his ear, and not instinctively reach for the pain. There was an unprecedented urge in Ammond to touch himself, as if to push his head back together.

His bodywobbled, eyes focused on the ball, only oscillating on rare occasion. The tension of his hand gripped the room, the entire viewing deck fixed on the ball scanning for any signs of movement.

Pop!

You did it, Ammond.

Ammond's stance dropped before he went parading around the room, arms waving high like victory flags. He sang his own praises with no response from the viewing deck.

"Play back the tapes, now." The steel in the Doctor's voice wasn't hindered, but have a light hum to it, something like excitement.

The technician crewed watched the recording playback. Even at high definition it was difficult to determine. They watched Ammond throw a cross punch followed by the disappearance of the ball and two popping noises, just blips in the audio. The Doctor peeked up from one monitor to another and refocused the camera on the destroyed remains of the ball.

"Where's the data?"

"We don't see anything."

"Reset the bounds, there, zoom. Pull the data points on the impulse."

"Doctor, we're detecting a change in the cell's integrity."

"What is it?"

"There's a dent in the door. Nothing I can see on video, but sensors are picking it up on every check."

"Is the room leaking?"

"No, but - "

"Re-calibrate the setting on that sensor panel to accommodate the dent. A scratch isn't going to set us back." She turned around to the Commander. He was posted one level up looking down through the glass at the parading soldier.

"Quite the arm your soldier has, Commander." The Commander flinched before turning to Doctor Loretz. There was a sigh and light chuckle before he spoke.

"Ya, I guess so. Does this mean your project is still good to go?"

"Not quite, though that'd be nice. We haven't had much success up to this point even. A few subjects have made it past this point though. It's a promising benchmark."

"That's good news. I'm glad, honestly. He'd seemed pretty frustrated up until now. Damn tough; they've all been tough."


"They have, I'm just surprised we got results this early in the series. We're ahead of schedule, actually. Ammond's doing fairly well considering. I'm looking forward to seeing the remainder of your troop at it."

"I've sought to teach them the best practices I know. You know... I could - "

"Doctor, Ammond's collapsed."

"Vitals, now," she commanded, slipping back down the steps to the lower level. Ammond lay at the far end of the room from the viewing deck, face down in a puddle of blood. He was staring forward, a light tremble in his lip being the only sign of movement.

"Stable across the board, but he's st-"

"Yes, I see that, but how?"

"Nervous system is firing. He still thinks he's still celebrating, as far as we can tell. We're not seeing any electrical impulses taking effect though, no contractions. His heart's still beating, no influx in urine or methane particles..."

"Get him back on the bed." She turned back to the Commander. "He's fine. We're done for today. We'll pick up with Carmen tomorrow." Turn turned back to the monitors. "This is expected."

The Doctor heard the elevator doors seal before she finished speaking.