To Be Free Read Free Page B

outside Twenty-One
Question's cell, unlocking it. Like an animal who knows he's going
to witness something horrible, he presses himself to the far back
of the cell.
    "It hurts less if you just go
with them," I announce from my seat against the western bars,
watching carefully as the man looks at me briefly. The Vigils enter
his cell and walk towards him, holding him by the arms, and he
doesn't fight them.
    He does, however, hold my gaze
until they're outside my cell and the scientist injects him with
the liquid trapped in the syringe. It's enough to rend compliant,
not enough to numb.
    "For what it's worth," I begin,
our gazes locked. He's scared, that much I can tell, "I hope you
die."
    The man's confusion is palpable
as they pull him away, and I lean back against the bars and shut my
eyes, escaping to the world where I can continue to plan my
eventual escape, and leave the thought that that man might just be
Eleven, if what I saw is true.
    If he is, I've less time than I
thought I did.

 
I Now
Pronounce You...
    QUINN
     
    "For what it's worth, I hope
you die."
    What kind of
encouraging words are those ? Who in their right mind would
tell that to someone who's already practically shaking in their
pants?
    Though... I suppose the man had
a good reason for telling me this.
    The men lead me along through a
pair of hydraulic doors that spit us out into the large,
sectioned-off room that I could see through the window, the
hysteria I've felt bubbling in my body trying to claw its way up my
throat. Somehow I manage to swallow it down.
    I follow their insisting steps
to a walled-off section where the only way to peer in is through
the two-way window or through the door they lock securely behind
us. There are a few other windows scattered to allow in some light,
the fluorescent lights overhead offering further assistance in that
department. They lead me to a metal operating table and lower me
onto it, and though I want to fight and I try to will my body to
move, it doesn't listen to me. The drug the man injected me with is
making my limbs weigh fifty pounds each, leaden and immobile at my
sides.
    They tie me down to the cold
metal table, the man with the mask rifling through a folder while
standing to my right. There's a small control pad near where he
stands, and as he reads the folder he taps his fingers rhythmically
on the surface. I turn my head away from the men tying me down,
rooting my eyes to the ceiling and trying to breathe evenly.
    This isn't
happening, I whisper to myself while I see
the Vigils start to leer. Their blood lust is practically palpable,
hands shaking with excitement at the manslaughter. It's then that I
realize that they enjoy what they do, that they do this by choice . This can't be happening!
    "Quinn Terry,
age twenty-two," the scientist starts offhandedly. I snap my eyes,
already wide, to his position and see him press down on one of the
controls. A machine starts to whirr almost silently over our heads,
and the lights dim. "It's quite unusual to have someone this old,
and the few specimens I've had have always harboured... interesting results."
    They experiment on humans... do
they feel no shame?
    I look up just as hydraulics
begin to hiss, and witness the ceiling over me pull back and allow
a set of surgical needles the size of my wrists start lowering down
at around my shoulders. I blanch.
    The man puts down the file and
picks up a cylindrical stainless steel pipe and thumbs the button,
activating the laser blade that's about the length of my pinkie.
The needles hover over my shoulders, their razor sharp points
kissing my skin only just as I start hyperventilating.
    "For what it's worth... I hope
you die."
    Then they press into my skin
and I howl. Wherever the metal touches my skin it burns, and I
throw my head back so fast I feel my neck crack with the sudden
movement. My muscles tighten with the jolt of pain and the
scientist presses the heat of the blade right over my heart,
speaking. His words