H-1 UMAN-1

Chapter 14

People have told me what happened when that woman- honestly, I'm not even sure what I should be calling her anymore- shot me, point blank in the chest. They say that afterwards, Mrs. Scialdone stood screaming for help, then when no one came to my aid, ran to the door of the courtroom. It was only then that the bystanders realized that she wasn't kidding, and I wasn't acting, and ran to help, but by then, it would have been too late to save me, even with the advances to conventional medicine that had happened in the preceding decades.

So what did they do? They did what they could, which was to put me into cryogenic storage until they could find a suitable solution to the massive hemorrhaging in my chest due to the fact that her bullet him my carotid artery and went straight through my chest before I had even fallen to the floor.

So what did they do?

Well, what doctors these days always seem to do with problems that they can't solve- ignore them. A hovercopter was called, and when I reached the hospital, I've been told that the doctors and nurses didn't even bother to try, they just said "Freeze time," and with that, the order was given to send me into cryogenic stasis. I woke up only a week ago, with the hole in my chest healed. I don't know how that happened, whether or not it was my own system, fighting the freezing or if it was the doctors, because they had discovered a new technology- microbots- which I'm honestly surprised that no one had thought of earlier. I'm willing to bet the case was the same for me. Whatever it was, I feel freezing even now, nearly a week later. I hear that they put some sort of chemical in your veins along with your usual blood. Whatever it was, it's been making me feel like I have frostbite on the inside for these last several days.

Whatever the case, I don't have any idea where I am right now, or even what year it is. It feels like it's been a few, but honestly, I couldn't tell you.

Well, whatever the case, I have to get out of here. The doctors and nurses haven't even come in, not a single damn time. I guess they don't want to show their faces in case they give me ideas, and in a way, I guess they're right. I'm more than angry enough to rip these tubes out of myself, and I don't give a damn how much it'll hurt me, I just want to get out of here. Well, I can take small comfort in the fact that at least I'm not laser-cuffed to the bed. I've heard that cops would use those on people they wanted to restrain, and I guess that I'm no different. But one question still floats in the back of my mind, and I can't figure it out. The more time that passes and I don't have an answer, the more agitated that I feel.

I already feel like a caged dog, except the difference here is that the doctors aren't sticking thing where I don't want them. Well, at least as far as I know. Like I was saying earlier, I get the feeling that I've been here a while. That thought scares me, now that I really have the chance to wrap my still-cold mind around it. Well, the frost is fading at least, but I'm still scared.

I think all the people involved in this whole mess, and on both sides, are scared. Well, at least I can take pleasure in that, if nothing else. These people have given me nothing except for the bare rations that I would need to survive.

It's then that I hear voices seeping into the room through the slight gap between the door and wooden floor: "Happy New Year's, Doctor."

""Yes, to you too, Doctor Anderson. Happy New Year 2101."

Wait just a cotton-pickin' minute. 2101? But that's not what really scares me. Doctor Anderson, wasn't he the one who took care of me at urgent care what must have been five years ago? Then something else comes down on me: 2101? That means I'm...holy shit, I'm twenty-one. I've been out for five years! Damn it, what happened while I was out?

But I don't get my chance to finish that express train of thought. The door clicks open, and a voice I've come to fear speaks. "Ah, Miss Stehlen. It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

--

These people look miserable. I mean, they were just sailing for their lives through a Category Four. I bet they didn't even know where they were going.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," one of them says, a middle-aged woman, stumbling down the stairs. "Where are we?"

"I get the feeling, Ma'am, that it's not where you wanted to be," I say.

"And remind me yourself, ma'am, where would I want to be? This world's gone to shit."

--

Damn, it's freezing up here. Of course, if this is supposed to be a hospital, you could have fooled me. It feels like it's a prison, and in its own way, it is. Of course, that imprisonment isn't all literal, either. I've been up here for two weeks that I can remember- I know because I've been scratching marks into the paint of the wall beside me.

God, I wish I could see outside, but I figure that if they let me do that, it'll inspire me to jump out, especially now that I see a face that I haven't seen in I don't know how long, and in place of the kindness that gave his eyes a bright sparkle the last time I saw him, this Doctor Anderson's eyes bely no kindness. When I look into them, I see nothing but red-hot anger and hate, and I can't help but wonder what in the hell happened to him. Can people really change so much?

Then again, it has been more than five years since I saw him last. A lot could have changed since then. Well, it obviously has, 'cause this guy isn't the same as the Doctor Anderson that I know- knew.

"Well, well, Vincent. Isn't this the most wonderful coincidence?" he asked, clamping his hands over my mouth and pinching my nose shut.

Well, I guess this is it...Sorry, world...I thought as I faded out again.