Metronome
Member
[One week prior]
After reporting his information to Murphy, 32 was finally dismissed. He was led off to his own holding room, as he was as much a prisoner here as Campbell was. His, however, was a bit bigger. The door was reinforced, although he could still tear it from its hinges should he ever decide to. The room was filled wall to wall with lab equipment: an exam table, file cabinets, a couple computers, a small shower stall, a large tube shaped tank filled with mysterious, greenish fluid. And the centerpiece was a very frightening looking chair. It looked much like an electric chair, but made of metal. It sported cuffs on the arms and front legs for restrain, and a headpiece that looked like a helmet lined with nails. It had been wiped down many times, but there was the lightest hint of blood lingering here and there.
32 went and sat in the chair without even having to be told. The doctor in charge of his treatment came over with a clip board and sat down in front of him. "Subject: Experiment 32," The doctor said to himself as he wrote on the first form. "Your mission was a success, I've heard. Tell me, were you injured during this mission?"
"Yes."
"How so?"
"I was shot in the face."
"Care to show me where?"
32 lifted a hand to point to his lower right forehead, where the wound had long since healed. The doctors wrote on his paper and checked a few boxes. "Did you experience any effects of reset withdrawal this past week?"
"Yes."
"Explain."
"My head hurts." The doctor wrote and checked.
"Anything else?"
"I've been...having memories." 32 wasn't sure how to explain it. This whole procedure felt familiar; he'd done hundreds of times before. Yet he never remembered any of it. "I think it was my last mission. There was a man; he was important somehow. I had to make it look like an accident, so I forced him to swallow all of the sleeping pills he had on his dresser. He cried." 32 wasn't sure why that last part was significant; most of his targets cried.
The doctor wrote furiously. 'Subject remembering previous mission in vivid detail. Subject has gone past the recommended limit of time between resets. Signs of attitude change have been noted.' The older man looked up from his clipboard.
"Is there anything else?"
32 stared at him blankly.
"Okay then. The evaluation is over." He turned to the other scientists in the room and nodded to them as he stood. One came over and flipped a switch on the chair, making it hum to life. 32 tensed. All emotions had been beaten out of him, except for two: anger and fear. Anger to make him the ruthless killer he was, and fear to keep him under control. 32 remembered this chair, and he was afraid of it. However, he didn't dare budge from it.
The headpiece came on, the screw-like probes inside the helmet whirring. 32 trembled, his chest heaving with panic. Electricity buzzed off of them as they slowly lowered down on his head. The screws slowly drilled into his skull, through the skull, into his brain. The screams of agony that came from his mouth were practically inhuman. Blood trickled down his face as the treatment progressed for three full minutes, and then to electricity stopped. The screwed wound themselves out and the helmet rose off of his head. his short hair was wet with blood, his eyes wide and empty. 32 snapped back to reality when the scientists came back over to remove his restraints. His skull quickly began to heal, but his memory was fogged. Why was he in the chair? Had he defied orders? Had he failed a mission? He couldn't recall. It hurt to try and fight the fog inside his head, so he quickly gave up.
"Clean it up and give it its meal," Said one of the scientists in charge. The lower ranking white coats did so. One came over with a wet rag and wiped the blood off his face and head. Another came over with a bowl of what looked like greyish slop. 'No waste food', they called it. His body would use everything in it, seriously reducing the need to create bodily waste. From the way it tasted, it very much could have been bodily waste. But 32 was hungry, and the food was almost luke warm. He made short work of it, and gulped down the glass of water offered without questioning.
"Get it in the shower, then put it back to sleep." The head scientists said before leaving. The bowl was taken from 32 after he finished, and he was taken from the chair and led over to the shower stall. 32 stripped off his uniform and got in, the water cold. The blood that was missed from the wipe down tinted the water for a few moments before it ran clear again. 32 only stayed in long enough to wash off the sweat and grime from...whatever he had been doing before they reset him. Once he stepped out, he was taken to the tank of greenish fluid. They called it a 'stasis chamber'. It was where he slept.
32, although very capable of sleeping on his own, rarely ever did so. He was kept awake for days on end to complete missions, and then put into a medically induced coma in between activity to keep him from thinking too much outside of work. 32 held out his arm for the needle that held the sleeping agent. The moment it was injected, he could feel the effects starting to hit him. He managed to stay awake while monitors where attached to his chest, and a breathing mask to his face. He was then led up the steps to the top of the tube, where he slipped into the slimy substance. And there he slept: floating in green slime until someone else needed to be killed. His bionic heart glowed through the green substance in an almost surreal way.
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[current]
32 was awoken by the green slime being drained out around him. His eyes opened groggily to peer out of the glass. He was in a different room than before, but this one was also familiar. He couldn't remember why. Scientists in a different uniform came to get him out, and 32 considered fighting them. But then he saw his handler there, watching him being awoken. He then became completely passive, waiting for his next order like the good soldier he was.
Once out of the tank, 32's mask was removed, along with the monitors. He was ushered into yet another small shower stall where he washed off the green slime. When he came out, a scientist handed him his typical black uniform. 32 began to dress as his next mission was explained to him.
"Weapon X has a special recon mission for you tonight," Explained his handler. That jogged some memories. 32 was like the child of two divorced parents: he was shipped back and forth between Weapon-X and FOH whenever he was needed. "You will take your usual gear in case of emergency, but your objective is to observe rather than to attack. There a school in New York that hosts mutant students. I want to go there and gather information. We want to know how many students there are, how many teachers there, if they have weapons, if they are planning anything. If a mutant kid picks his nose, we want to know about it."
"Yes sir," 32 said as he finished pulled on his black field coat. He pulled his mask on over his head, followed by his goggles.
After reporting his information to Murphy, 32 was finally dismissed. He was led off to his own holding room, as he was as much a prisoner here as Campbell was. His, however, was a bit bigger. The door was reinforced, although he could still tear it from its hinges should he ever decide to. The room was filled wall to wall with lab equipment: an exam table, file cabinets, a couple computers, a small shower stall, a large tube shaped tank filled with mysterious, greenish fluid. And the centerpiece was a very frightening looking chair. It looked much like an electric chair, but made of metal. It sported cuffs on the arms and front legs for restrain, and a headpiece that looked like a helmet lined with nails. It had been wiped down many times, but there was the lightest hint of blood lingering here and there.
32 went and sat in the chair without even having to be told. The doctor in charge of his treatment came over with a clip board and sat down in front of him. "Subject: Experiment 32," The doctor said to himself as he wrote on the first form. "Your mission was a success, I've heard. Tell me, were you injured during this mission?"
"Yes."
"How so?"
"I was shot in the face."
"Care to show me where?"
32 lifted a hand to point to his lower right forehead, where the wound had long since healed. The doctors wrote on his paper and checked a few boxes. "Did you experience any effects of reset withdrawal this past week?"
"Yes."
"Explain."
"My head hurts." The doctor wrote and checked.
"Anything else?"
"I've been...having memories." 32 wasn't sure how to explain it. This whole procedure felt familiar; he'd done hundreds of times before. Yet he never remembered any of it. "I think it was my last mission. There was a man; he was important somehow. I had to make it look like an accident, so I forced him to swallow all of the sleeping pills he had on his dresser. He cried." 32 wasn't sure why that last part was significant; most of his targets cried.
The doctor wrote furiously. 'Subject remembering previous mission in vivid detail. Subject has gone past the recommended limit of time between resets. Signs of attitude change have been noted.' The older man looked up from his clipboard.
"Is there anything else?"
32 stared at him blankly.
"Okay then. The evaluation is over." He turned to the other scientists in the room and nodded to them as he stood. One came over and flipped a switch on the chair, making it hum to life. 32 tensed. All emotions had been beaten out of him, except for two: anger and fear. Anger to make him the ruthless killer he was, and fear to keep him under control. 32 remembered this chair, and he was afraid of it. However, he didn't dare budge from it.
The headpiece came on, the screw-like probes inside the helmet whirring. 32 trembled, his chest heaving with panic. Electricity buzzed off of them as they slowly lowered down on his head. The screws slowly drilled into his skull, through the skull, into his brain. The screams of agony that came from his mouth were practically inhuman. Blood trickled down his face as the treatment progressed for three full minutes, and then to electricity stopped. The screwed wound themselves out and the helmet rose off of his head. his short hair was wet with blood, his eyes wide and empty. 32 snapped back to reality when the scientists came back over to remove his restraints. His skull quickly began to heal, but his memory was fogged. Why was he in the chair? Had he defied orders? Had he failed a mission? He couldn't recall. It hurt to try and fight the fog inside his head, so he quickly gave up.
"Clean it up and give it its meal," Said one of the scientists in charge. The lower ranking white coats did so. One came over with a wet rag and wiped the blood off his face and head. Another came over with a bowl of what looked like greyish slop. 'No waste food', they called it. His body would use everything in it, seriously reducing the need to create bodily waste. From the way it tasted, it very much could have been bodily waste. But 32 was hungry, and the food was almost luke warm. He made short work of it, and gulped down the glass of water offered without questioning.
"Get it in the shower, then put it back to sleep." The head scientists said before leaving. The bowl was taken from 32 after he finished, and he was taken from the chair and led over to the shower stall. 32 stripped off his uniform and got in, the water cold. The blood that was missed from the wipe down tinted the water for a few moments before it ran clear again. 32 only stayed in long enough to wash off the sweat and grime from...whatever he had been doing before they reset him. Once he stepped out, he was taken to the tank of greenish fluid. They called it a 'stasis chamber'. It was where he slept.
32, although very capable of sleeping on his own, rarely ever did so. He was kept awake for days on end to complete missions, and then put into a medically induced coma in between activity to keep him from thinking too much outside of work. 32 held out his arm for the needle that held the sleeping agent. The moment it was injected, he could feel the effects starting to hit him. He managed to stay awake while monitors where attached to his chest, and a breathing mask to his face. He was then led up the steps to the top of the tube, where he slipped into the slimy substance. And there he slept: floating in green slime until someone else needed to be killed. His bionic heart glowed through the green substance in an almost surreal way.
=================================================
[current]
32 was awoken by the green slime being drained out around him. His eyes opened groggily to peer out of the glass. He was in a different room than before, but this one was also familiar. He couldn't remember why. Scientists in a different uniform came to get him out, and 32 considered fighting them. But then he saw his handler there, watching him being awoken. He then became completely passive, waiting for his next order like the good soldier he was.
Once out of the tank, 32's mask was removed, along with the monitors. He was ushered into yet another small shower stall where he washed off the green slime. When he came out, a scientist handed him his typical black uniform. 32 began to dress as his next mission was explained to him.
"Weapon X has a special recon mission for you tonight," Explained his handler. That jogged some memories. 32 was like the child of two divorced parents: he was shipped back and forth between Weapon-X and FOH whenever he was needed. "You will take your usual gear in case of emergency, but your objective is to observe rather than to attack. There a school in New York that hosts mutant students. I want to go there and gather information. We want to know how many students there are, how many teachers there, if they have weapons, if they are planning anything. If a mutant kid picks his nose, we want to know about it."
"Yes sir," 32 said as he finished pulled on his black field coat. He pulled his mask on over his head, followed by his goggles.
