I am floating through a black vortex of oblivion. I see nothing but blackness, feel nothing, experience sheer nothingness. I look down at my body and nothing is there. I reach out to feel my face and feel nothing. It vaguely occurs to me that this is death. I always thought death would be an utter lack of conscious, but here I am with a vague sense of self awareness floating through the oblivion I have for so long feared. thump thump thump I can hear a faint thumping coming from the blackness, but it's not from any particular place. thump thump thump thump thump thump It radiates throughout my entire essence. I can feel the vibrations of the noise as it steadily gets louder and louder. A heartbeat. My heartbeat? thump thump thump thump Suddenly the black seems to part, receding upward and downward and giving way to a painfully bright, white blob.
I am staring at a ceiling. The light sears my eyeballs, frying them until they feel as dry and rough as sandpaper. The logical thing would be to close them, but I have been in the dark for so long that the thought of going back is more painful than anything my eyes could endure. Instead I try to raise my hand to shield my eyes, but nothing happens. I try to look over at my arm, but I can't move my head. Fear begins to creep through me at the notion that I am entirely paralyzed. With all the strength I have I create a sudden burst of momentum and am able to raise my head about two centimeters.
I am on a white bed in a plain white room and my naked body has a million tubes sticking in and out of it connecting to machinery that is around my bed. I can vaguely see the outline of a door, but before I can get a proper look gravity infringes upon my vision. My head feels as though it is made of molten iron as it slams back down on to the cot sending shockwaves through my entire body. I feel as though each one of my proteins is being slowly denatured, one amino acid at a time. My eyes close again. The blackness resumes.
A metallic sounding click like the mechanism that opens a locked door pulls me from a dark slumber. I am suddenly bathed in freezing air as the harsh slap of footsteps comes toward me accompanied by familiar voices. My eyes shut in fear as the deep rasping voice of Apocalypse scrapes through the silence. "Here we are, Mutation 347, The Methylation Project. I still don't understand the significance of this one, if it were me in charge it would have been put out of commission weeks ago after what it did." Put out of commission? Weeks ago?
"That's why you are not in charge," responds the curt voice of Doomsday. I can almost see her look of disgust through the black veil of my eyelids. "We were given direct orders from Pinnacle 1 to keep this particular project going and I don't intend to let you mess this up like you do everything else. It's your fault that we are babysitting in Level Two instead of..." "Instead of where?!" Apocalypse cuts her off, his voice a crackling snarl. "Getting ourselves killed with the rest of the Titles who make it to the lower continent!?" Lower continent?
The rusty gears in my head begin to turn as I conjure up the image of a far off textbook page. "Present day Earth has two continents, the upper continent and the lower continent. This was caused in part by the rapid movement of plate tectonics caused by the targeting of areas capable of disrupting seismic activity during the nuclear war. However the primary reason was the rising sea levels caused by the melting polar ice caps." This is all we have ever been told about the lower continent; I certainly have never heard of anyone ever going there. My interest piques as Doomsday begins to speak. "Last I recall you weren't fully acquainted with all the intricacies of this project." There is some indistinguishable edge in Doomsday's voice, a wicked evil thing that slices through the room making it even colder. "Come," she exclaims. I hear her brisk footsteps heading left followed by Apocalypse's reluctant heavy feet. Their footsteps echo conjuring the image of a long hallway to mind. Suddenly they stop and Apocalypse now begins to speak in a flustered, breathy, voice. "You don't have to...." Suddenly I hear the swishing sound of heavy plastic being lifted and a most uncharacteristic screech from Apocalypse that sends me recoiling back into the mattress, painfully jerking my many tubes.
