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The orange glow of the sunrise filtered through the curtains of Yancys room. He was already awake, staring at the ceiling. Illinois had said he could walk today, or tomorrow. Yancy would push for today, though. He didn't like the idea of not being able to run.
Back in prison, he was fine with staying. He didn't care that running wasn't allowed. He was fine with the bars, high fences and thick stone walls, because everything was predictable. At exactly 6 AM he would wake up. At 12:15 PM he would go get lunch. At precisely 3:15 PM they would go into the courtyard for exactly two hours.
He never saw a reason to go. He knew the schedule, and was fine with it, but there was no predictability here. He wanted to be able to go if things went too sour too fast.
After a brief moment of compilation, he got up and rose to his feet.
He had expected a jolt of pain. He was using no wall, no bedside table, no helping hands. Yet it only felt tender. Like a mostly healed bruise. Although Yancy the hated the thought of steroids not available to the public pumping though his veins, forcing his body to heal faster than natural, he felt a sense of relief and joy fill him.
The feeling, which was close to giddiness, only grew after a few steps. It was a pain that was extremely manageable. The only real issue was the learning curve now. He couldn't know for sure where it was without seeing. The hope and joy didn't die down. He would just have to practice. He was already getting better with his arm and hand.
He went to the door, basking in how little pain he felt. It felt odd, that this was something he celebrated. He never would have thought that last, normal day at the prison would be the last with his legs.
It was something he took for granted, because he would have never guessed he would lose it. He would never have it like before. He would never have two legs of flesh and blood ever again. Despite the heaviness of that, Illinois was right.
People adapted fast. Even though it had been less than a week, Yancy was having a hard time imagining a time when he had a fully normal, human body. So much had happened that it felt like a different existence.
That wasn't to say he didn't miss his limbs or that he was okay with how things were, but he was adapting, and improving.
Yancy opened the door, and made his way down the hall. He was careful with every footstep. Careful not to trip over or with his unfeeling metal foot. The absence of most pain was heaven to him. It was one less thing to worry about, and more attention he could use on getting better.
Thinking back, he was shocked that he made it though the night he escaped. How he didn't trip. He was able to shove though the pain.
Illinois had talked about survival instincts. Yancy had no doubt he was right, but that same instinct led to Benjamin's death. Survival.
He didn't want that to be a core of his ability to function, and that want was becoming more of a reality.
As he neared the kitchen, he could hear Illinois moving about, and smell eggs and bacon.
Prison typically had quick, mass-produced food, much like school lunches. He had actually learned after a few weeks in there that the prison got food from the same place that provided lunches to many schools.
Illinois' home cooked meals were amazing. Yancy had almost forgotten eggs weren't meant to be neon yellow and rubbery, and waffles came in more forms than a whole grain rip-off eggo waffles.
When he entered the kitchen, Illinois looked up from the stove and smiled, "How are you holdin up, bud?"
"It don't hurt too much. Just feels bruised" Yancy responded honestly.
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Artificial Willpower
कल्पित विज्ञानAfter ten years in prison, Yancy is suddenly taken from the closest thing to a home he had for a top-secret government experiment. For years now, higher-ups had been justifying human experimentation by using inmates in prisons as the subjects. Thoug...
