ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ / ʀᴘᴍ

1. ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏʀɪɴᴛʜ

NOW PLAYING: PARALYZED // the cardigans

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CAMERON'S POV!

"RANGER OPERATOR SERIES PINK," DOCTOR K. GREETS, as i stroll into the spacious laboratory. it was pretty quiet, empty, with the harsh lighting of the rectangular ceiling lights creating an eerie atmosphere. almost like an american sci-fi series with bad cgi effects.

i stop in front of a flatscreen tv with the dr. k. symbol on it. "good morning to you too," i mumble.

"i have a task for you to complete." that can't be a good sign. the last time i completed a task for the scientist, i ended up on hospice care in the icu. i don't want a repeat of that again.

i suck in a deep breath, before responding. "this doesn't involve me breaking my bones again, right?"

the computer sighs. "it requires minimal to no effort. can you withstand that?"

"you're making it sound like i'm a child," i respond half-heartedly.

"from my experience, you tended to behave that way."

i huff out loud. even if the scientist was telling the truth, hearing it from somebody, or something, else can still sting. i shouldn't be worried about being insulted from time to time, considering the circumstances, but it can hurt. a lot.

it probably won't matter in the end, anyways. i'll grow thick skin eventually.

"okay," i say, flailing my arms in fake defeat, "what do you want me to do? ohemgee, that sounded so—"

"i had ranger operators yellow and blue organize, then discard, a section of inventory that wasn't of use," doctor k. interrupts.

i amusedly raise a brow at this. "what about ranger operator series red?"

"and i would greatly appreciate it, in the very least, if you could deliver it to the control room."

i freeze. i think she's referring to that dorito-looking structure that's connected by a transparent elevator. that talking computer doesn't expect me to go up in that!?

"well, i believe—" i start, but i get cut off, once again.

"i need you back here on testing with your weapon for battle. be swift." i slump my head at the mention of 'testing.'

"dammit," i mutter, "i probably should've seen that coming."

i look around the lab for a minute, before my eyes land on a long, steel table. it was situated in front of another table with a desktop computer, and other equipment. why it is there? i don't know, but i never bothered to tamper with it.

the long steel table had an array of tested/untested weapons, including one i needed more practice with — the vortex spear.

despite this, i notice a small, black crate, holding a fair amount of digital documents and compact disks. i think this was what the doctor was talking about.

i walk close enough to the table, and reach out to pick up the crate. immediately, i almost drop the thing, because i underestimated its given weight. i had to use my knee for support, so i could properly lift it up with both hands, and carry it from the bottom.

so, with a feat of strength, i lift up the crate at once, hold it close to my chest for support, and shuffle my hands under the bottom to firmly grasp it.

already feeling worn out, i lean against the table in a panting fit, and side-eye the lowly flat tv screen that's embedded onto the empty wall. 

i feel like me doing these daily tasks were an extension to my training. though, i won't complain much, since it was better than damaging or blowing stuff up by accident - not speaking from personal experience.