Derek's body swayed, his mind fighting a losing battle against the crushing weight of exhaustion. My bones fell like stone. The heavy thump of his heart move in patterns unknown to his mind.
My throat is on fire. "What is going to happen to me?"
The dark skinned man turned around giving him a sly glance.
"Nothing too crazy of the sorts," the man replied his voice almost reassuring. "Slowing down is hard to do especially with the change your going though. Each person is different so that's where we are going." The man put his hand at the small of Derek's back giving him a nudge towards the door at the end of the hall. "Soon you will have something to show for all of this pain."
This man speaks in riddles. Derek cheeks flushed his thoughts in disarray. Pushing open the door it was similar in feeling to the last room. It held a eerie tone that was almost tangible.
In the middle of the room was a chair crimson in color. It sat underneath a light that swayed as if blown by a gentle wind.
They love chairs here. Maybe it's something that Chantelle likes. Chairs of different colors underneath small lights in dark rooms. It's kind of weird. "I'm guessing that chair is for me."
Two men in twisted masks emerged from the darkness. They both stood there looking forward drawing the gaze only to nod at Dereks guide.
"We have to keep this place private, far away from the community," the man explained, his tone matter of fact. "You don't know what's happening to you yet, and we don't either. Helping you focus and unlocking the truth is the goal."
Derek felt his feet sway underneath him, his body tensing staring at the two men in front of him. "You have no idea what will happen to me?" he asked, his voice above a whisper. Everything within me is telling me to run. There I go again changing my mind. My indecision is my downfall. There is a tray with needles on it. This isn't good. These guys are rejects…reject doctors or something worse. His ears felt the pulse of fear as his gaze shifted exits feeling further away. This is bad. Really bad.
The dark-skinned man's hands fell to Derek's shoulders. His grip was strong, pinning him in place. "I told you it's easier if you just go with the process. This is for your own good."
Derek flinched at the touch, his body lurching backward instinctively. No.I can't do this! I felt like I'm being put into an interrogation room. I rather face the police. At least I know what will happen to me.
"I don't trust you," Derek bellowed, his voice rising as adrenaline surged in his veins. A sudden burst of energy led him to move on instinct, he pulled himself free from his guides grip and darted for the door. There wasn't a shred of thought in Derek's mind. All he wanted was freedom. The feeling from earlier when I fought Deshawn in the subway. I feel that same lightness.
"I have to get to Ken," he whispered, his voice ragged as he reached for the doorknob. His fingers gripped it, twisting hard just as a sharp sting erupted in the back of his neck.
What the
The world tilted violently. Derek felt his feet stumble forward, as faintness washed over him. Trembling he lifted his hand towards his neck, his thumb brushed something deep in his neck. That's a dart!
"No..." Derek murmured as his knees giving way. He tried to fight it, tried to will himself to keep moving, but his body ignored him. His vision blurred, the edges of the room smearing together into a dizzying whirl of crimson and shadows. "I... I need to get to... Ken..."
The door creaked open as Derek slumped forward, collapsing into the hallway. Hitting the cold floor with a thud a stream of drool pooled at the corner of his mouth.
Putting up his index finger the dark-skinned man waved his index finger and shook it twice. "That was not a wise decision my friend," his voice a mix of pity and disappointment. Bending down he put two fingers on Derek's neck checking his pulse. He's still alive and prepped for his awakening.
Shifting his neck back he stood up, and pointed to the two masked figures, who stood by watching. "Take him."
The masked figures moved with quickness, grabbing Derek by his arms and dragging his limp body. Derek's head tilted to the left to the side, blood smearing against the shoulder of one of the men's coats as they dragged him toward the crimson chair.
The chair loomed large under the flickering light, its shadow stretching across the room like an open maw. The silent men worked quickly strapping Derek in the chair ensuring his writs were tied down with thick leather restraints.
Watching silently the dark skinned man stood his lips unmoving keeping a keen eye on Derek. His arms sat folded across his chest. "Chantelle thinks your important so I hope this is worth," he said softly, his voice hitting the cold walls. "There is no turning back now. ."
Derek's unconscious form slumped over the restraints keeping him in place. The two masked figures stepped back, their shadows shifting unnaturally against the walls. The room grew quiet again, save for the faint hum of an unseen machine and the rhythmic sound of Derek's ragged breaths.
The two masked men worked swiftly, their movements precise and devoid of hesitation. One pulled Derek's hoodie over his head tossing it to the left on the floor. The other unbuttoned his shirt at a furious pace. Derek's unconscious state provided no resistance leaving him at the mercy of his captors.
With silent looks the men started their procedure. They each connected long needs to a web up tubes that hung from the ceiling. Behind the chair laid a machine with knobs and buttons that creaked when touched. With delicate precision one of the men inserted a long needles into Derek's veins. With a push of the button blood began to seep through the tubes. The blood coursed through the machine as it mixed and swirled as a substance purple in color pumped into Derek's body.
The dark skinned man's eyes danced with delight and his mouth matched with a twisted grin. He stepped closer, circling Derek like a predator sizing up its prey. His gaze lingered on the young man's slack form, ensuring he remained unconscious.
One of the masked men glanced back at him and gave a brief nod. Together, they moved behind the chair and pressed a large button on the machine.
A low rumble filled the room as the chair began to shake violently. Derek's body convulsed in response, his muscles spasming uncontrollably under the strain. Blood trickled from the tubes, dripping onto the floor in thin rivulets. The machine hissed and beeped, its glowing panels reflecting the eerie light of the room.
"Yes," the dark-skinned man hissed, stepping closer to the chair. His grin widened as he leaned down to pry open one of Derek's eyelids. Derek's pupils were shifting, their color darkening to an unnatural shade. "This is very good," he murmured to himself.
Without notice Derke's body violently arched, his neck snapping back as a gut wrenching scream tore through the darkness. "Aghhh!" His voice was filled with fury and pain. Pushing up against the restraints his muscle pulsated with power.
"Let me the hell out of here!" Derek bellowed, thrashing against the chair. His eyes were wild, his pupils now glowing faintly. "What the fuck are you doing to me? Let me go!" His voice broke as desperation crept in. "Ken! Ken!"
The dark-skinned man surged forward, silencing Derek with a brutal punch to the stomach. The air rushed from Derek's lungs in a sickening gasp, and he doubled over, bile rising in his throat as he coughed and retched.
"Evolve and suffer," the dark-skinned man whispered into Derek's ear, his voice venomous and low. "Pain is the gateway to becoming what you want to be."
Derek went limp, the energy draining as he leaned over. His breathing ragged he stared at the with tear filled eyes.
Stepping to the side one of the masked men adjusted the machine. Above Derek's head the tubs shuddered, as the flow of blood quickened. "The reprogramming phase can be completed in mere minutes," the masked man spoke, his voice muffled but serene. He lifted his eyes to the dark-skinned man, "The patient is prime for the next step."
Nodding the dark-skinned man bend down towards Derek here. He perched his leg near the back of the machine and put his right arm over Derek's shoulders. Leaning in his mouth was but an inch from Derek's ear.
The words were dripping with despair, violence, and destruction focusing on hatred and malice. Each word like a knife, cut into Derek's brittle psyche.
The next fifteen minutes was hell in Derek's mind. The dark-skinned man voice was monotone and consistent. He repeated the same phrases over and over, his words seeping into Derek's mind like poison.
Derek's body twitched with each whispered word, his face contorted in a mix of rage and agony. Though he was barely conscious, the whispers burrowed into his mind, twisting his thoughts like dark tendrils.
Derek's captor stood up and stepped back, his work was done. Straightening his coat, he gestured toward the two mask men to leave. "Time is moving," he said gingerly, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "Perfection takes time."
Derek's ragged breathing matched the hum of the machine. In the shadows, the masked men retreated, exchanging a glance. Was there more that could be done?