Darkness [Midnightverse]


                                            >...I fell asleep.

                                            >When did I fall asleep?

                                            >Not that I should necessarily be complaining, considering how hard it is for me to get shuteye nowadays.

                                            >It's so damn hard to let my thoughts clear away and let my mind sit idle.

                                            >Ever since they did... whatever it was to my head.

                                            >Some sort of an implant.

                                            >I'm not really sure what it is.

                                            >All I know is sleep is difficult to achieve for more than a couple of hours at a time, and I feel an endless drive to keep occupied.

                                            >Read.

                                            >Observe.

                                            >Learn.

                                            >Whatever, I'm up now.

                                            >Obviously I didn't rest well, considering I have a mild throbbing pain in my head...

                                            >I open my eyes, preparing for the fluorescent assault of light from above.

                                            >Nothing.

                                            >...Did I open my eyes?

                                            >I pay more attention as I feel my eyelids squeeze shut, then slowly pry them open.

                                            >Black emptiness again.

                                            >...maybe they turned the lights off?

                                            >No.

                                            >I specifically asked them to keep my room lit at all times so I could read at night, when my mind won't let me rest.

                                            >And even when the lights were out, I could make out objects and shapes in the darkness.

                                            >So why can't I see?

                                            >My heart begins to race as I struggle for some sort of explanation.

                                            >Maybe a blindfold?

                                            >I don't feel anything on my head...

                                            >I raise my head slowly, then turn to the left...

                                            >Nothing.

                                            >The right...

                                            >No change.

                                            >Am...

                                            >Am I blind?

                                            >How?

                                            >What is happe-

                                            >"Sir, she's awake n-"

                                            >"I am standing right here, you think I don't notice the subject's fucking head moving around?"

                                            >Of course, it's *that* asshole.

                                            >The head of this whole project.

                                            >I don't need eyesight to know that beady-eyed, bald-headed jerk is right outside the viewing window of my room.

                                            >I don't know his real name.

                                            >He doesn't deserve one, other than insults.

                                            >The same that he offers to basically any of the scientists on the project under his direction.

                                            >He has to be the reason why I can't see right now.

                                            >The other voice...

                                            >I don't recognize it.

                                            >Probably another new assistant for dickhead extraordinaire to abuse until the fellow either transfers or quits.

                                            >But my emotions quickly seize control from the observant and calculating part of my mind.

                                            "What is going on?"

                                            >I try to sound calm and firm, but my voice is a bit... shaky.

                                            >"According to our newest and most brilliant scientist, you're awake," you hear, doubling as both a sarcastic response to you and a backhand of sarcasm for the new guy.

                                            "Why can I not see?"

                                            >"Probably aftereffects of the surgery - I'm sure the optic nerves need some time-"

                                            "What did you do to me?!" I shout, angry and fearful as any attempt at remaining calm evaporates.

                                            >"I was going to tell you until you interrupted me," he responds, calmly and overly polite.

                                            >I give him an ugly scowl but hold my tongue from lashing out any further.

                                            >"Better. Now as I was saying, it's probably going to take some time for your optic nerves to heal, the swelling to subside - I'm not exactly shocked to hear that your sight hasn't returned yet, but I'm sure it will in time."

                                            "That doesn't explain what you fucked with."

                                            >"Language, Princess."

                                            >He knows I've come to hate that fucking name.

                                            > It's become a running joke.

                                            >The way he says it- that drawn-out, sarcastic tone.

                                            >Trying to pretend like he actually sees you as something other than a test dummy.

                                            >No princess would be subjected to this kind of life.

                                            >A lab rat in a hundred-foot by hundred-foot steel and glass habitat.

                                            >"We replaced your eyes."

                                            >That simple statement sends chills through my whole body.

                                            >What the fuck?!

                                            "There was nothing wrong with my eyes, you fucking asshole!"

                                            >I hear his hand slap the glass window of the door, the loud, sharp sound making me jump.

                                            >"You keep speaking to me like that and I'll find something else to fuck with on you, you ungrateful shit!" head asshole extraordinaire shouts in anger.

                                            "Oh, crude language is only allowable when it's used by you toward your little fuckboy labcoats underneath you as well as me, huh?! And what do I have to be grateful for?!"

                                            >I'm done with this.

                                            >I can't just let this go.

                                            >This is too much.

                                            >My mind races with the consequences of what this newest surgery might present.

                                            >At least the second one didn't have any effects.

                                            >It didn't work at all.

                                            >'Needs further fine-tuning for the brain to manipulate it,' apparently.

                                            >But this is...

                                            >What if I never get my vision back?

                                            >The only thing that I feel like keeps me sane is reading and learning.

                                            >Without that...

                                            >What do I do?

                                            >What use do I have anymore to-

                                            >No.

                                            >Use to them is not a life worth living.

                                            >Maybe that would be the end of all of this.

                                            >Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

                                            >"Sir, maybe we should just let her be. She's upset, and the stress is only going to-"

                                            >"Shut the hell up, newbie. You only work for me because the last dumbass assisting me quit. Keep your opinions to yourself, I don't want them."

                                            >"...Right. Sorry."

                                            >All I can do is listen.

                                            >And try to calm down.

                                            >Getting upset isn't going to help me.

                                            >"You are writing everything down in regards to the initial outcomes, yes?"

                                            >"Of course."

                                            >You hear Sergeant Dickhead clear his throat.

                                            >"I'm stuck on this stupid experimental project because the suits were more intrigued by what else I could do to you rather than the outcome of enhancing your intellect - I would love to be moving on and up to more important shit, but here I still am. So you should be grateful because you still have a purpose to be alive."

                                            "It's not a good one."

                                            >"No, probably not."

                                            >I don't know why I was expecting anything else, but his agreement with my bitter comment only makes my stomach sour further.

                                            >"Do you have any pain? Any sorts of shapes you can make out, or is it all just... black?"

                                            > It's the new puppet asking questions now.

                                            "No pain. No vision at all."

                                            >"And now we play the waiting game," you hear the head honcho sigh impatiently. "I'm sure I have more goddamn paperwork to waste my time with in the meantime. I love my fucking job."

                                            >You hear footsteps on the tile floor slowly fade off down the hall.

                                            >But it only sounds like one set...

                                            >"Are you all right?"

                                            >It's the new guy's voice, just outside the door.

                                            >Quiet, almost caring.

                                            >Sympathetic.

                                            >It happens from time to time with the new people.

                                            >Those ones usually don't last long.

                                            >Giving a damn about the subjects is sort of frowned upon.

                                            "I'm fucking wonderful. What would possibly be bothering me on a beautiful day like today?"

                                            >I don't skimp on the sarcasm.

                                            >I don't even really need to try to force it into my voice nowadays.

                                            >"Sorry."

                                            "Of course you are. Everyone is. Now leave me alone, I have important things to do, like lay here and stare into darkness with my lovely new prosthetics."

                                            >Nothing.

                                            >Theres no response.

                                            >But no footsteps, either.

                                            >You wait a few moments - but still, silence.

                                            >Is he just going to stand there, ogling you?

                                            >You aren't an exhibit.

                                            >"Hey, you aren't down here to play with yourself while staring at the test subjects, move your ass, rookie!"

                                            >Before you spit more poison into the interaction, Dickhead hollers from down the hall.

                                            >"You should improve in a day or two, things just need to heal and the inflammation has to subside. But I gotta go," the new hire quickly spouts.

                                            >"Have fun. I'll be here."

                                            >More bitter sarcasm for his trouble as his footsteps briskly echo down the hall.

                                            >He isn't going to last long down here in this pit of shit.