shiver (FEATURED) | ✓

o48

We've been expecting you.

"Who the hell are you?" Julian quips unhelpfully over my shoulder. They stand directly behind me; I can feel their warm breath trickling over my nape. The slide of the gun Julian holds presses against my hip, cocked and ready to fire. I say nothing, instead drinking in the people in front of us. Hm. They look like an awfully easy obstacle to overcome. Two guards stand on either side of an old man who sits in a wheelchair, clad in a pristine white lab coat. He looks like a gnarled old tree, thick knotted callouses on his knobbly fingers. His cheeks sag, dragging down the corners of his eyes, which are crinkled like thick brown paper. I look him in the eyes. They're the deepest eyes I've ever seen; deeper than Julian's dark brown eyes, more steeled than mine, less troubled than Vance's pale ones. They say the eyes are like a window to the soul; but I don't see it in this man. In Julian's, yes. In Julian's eyes, I read their cockiness, confidence, humour. In Vance's eyes; they're pale blue, like the colour of running water that's been iced over, like the colour of the clear ice that was laid down, thick and unbreakable, over the world. But in Vance, the eyes are not so strong. The blue flickers to pale grey and then back to blue, but in them there's only warmth, and fear. His eyes are human.

The eyes I stare in now are bottomless. In the dim white light surrounding us, the man's dilated pupil fuses with the dark iris. He stares back at me with an expression of wonder, of awe. There's a little light flaring up right underneath his stringy upper lashes, a spot of white in the upper corner of the pupil, not there due to reflection of the overhead lamps. It's a sudden brightness in his face that seems to lift up his entire expression. And suddenly, he smiles. His cheeks lift and tighten, the skin around his eyes crinkles up in a vision of joy. It's not manic, but pure. Pure, simple joy. The smile drops as suddenly as it came on.

"Dispose of the spare."

The soldiers that flank him are on us within a half-second; but my reaction time is just as quick. I wrap my hand around the woman's ponytail and yank it back as she lunges for Julian. I break her neck just as quickly. The other soldier is on Julian in two strides. A shot fires, and the bullet ricochets off the bulletproof glass on the other side of the corridor. It narrowly misses my temple before burying itself in the wall behind me. I grab the soldier's arm and pull it so hard I feel the elbow dislocate. His hand slips from Julian's throat, and I give my companion a push the other way right as a hand clasps around my ankle, tugging me back. I land face-down and kick backwards. "Run- run! Go! Leave!" Pitter-pattering footsteps.

The grip on my ankle loosens as I kick again. And then they're on me, smothering me. The soldier I supposedly killed, knees on either side of me, a hand crushing my throat. My hand grasps thin air; thumping footsteps, fast and dutiful. He's gone after Julian.

"At ease." The soldier releases me and I scramble to my feet, cheeks burning with humiliation at a defeat. The soldier moves back to her commander's side, sliding her hands behind her back and staring right ahead at nothing. I stare at her for a bit more, my chest heaving, and realise she appears unperturbed by the scuffle. I can't even spot a hint of her breathing.

A cough sounds, and I look back at the man in the wheelchair. "Follow me, Evanna. I have something in store for you."

"What if I refuse?" I ask snappishly, and he raises an eyebrow before laughing.

"I never thought you'd end up this defiant." He leaned forward in his wheelchair, eyes trained on mine. "You were so scared, but look at you. Now, come on. Erza is good at taking orders, don't you agree, Evanna?"

"How do you know my name?" He doesn't answer, and I follow him in silence, fists clenched by my side. I could run, but she's probably faster. Pah! Faster! Faster than me? Better than me? It isn't possible. Don't get cocky, Evanna. Don't get overconfident.

He leads me into what looks like an operating theatre. Gleaming instruments litter every surface. There are bottles of disinfectant, machinery like nothing I've ever seen before. It's old, I realise. From the ancient world, not nearly as sophisticated as the drones that surveil every sector of the city. The door to the theatre locks behind us.

The man gestures to the operation bed as he clips a badge to his breast pocket. H. J. Wilson, MD. It seems familiar, but I can't place it. "Sit down, please." His shadow slinks backwards and guards the door, but our doctor seems perfectly relaxed, as though he knows I won't try anything stupid. I find myself staring at her again and grit my teeth.

"Good, isn't she?" He says, and grins. "But not good enough." A sigh whistles through his teeth, and he rolls himself forwards, before leaning down and pulling his trousers up to his knees. He taps his knee several times, and, as though miraculously, he rises to stand. A whirring noise accompanies his movement, as though there are- what- gears running in his legs. Noticing my curious expression, he chuckles. "I implemented the technology I invented into my legs to help me walk again. It works, but not well enough. Just like you. Look at you," he says, the same genuine smile radiating from him again. He reaches over to cup my face. His hands are warm and dry. "You were perfect," he murmurs. "Absolutely perfect. You were my creation, Evanna. I made you. I made you strong, I made you fearless, I made you bold, I made you perfect. Except for one flaw, of course."

"I have no flaws."

"Of course you do," he says, and lets his hands fall from my cheeks. "It's what makes you human. It's also what makes you both perfect and imperfect, my dear. You were supposed to protect, and now I see you do. You just don't protect what matters- well. You protect what matters to you. It's a selfishness that I either instilled in you or couldn't eradicate." His smile withers slightly, and he looks back at Erza. "She is flawless, however. I made her strong and loyal, but at the cost of her humanity. It's the only way to make you perfect," he says, and with a soft groan, seats himself back into his wheelchair, rolling to a metal laboratory cart, pulling blue latex gloves on. "Lie down. Make yourself comfortable." He turns back to face me. "They teach you to to ask for consent from your patients in medical school, but yours doesn't really matter right now. You're not a patient. You're mine, Evanna. And I will make you perfect. You will become the ultimate specimen."

He clicks his fingers, and steel cuffs rise from the bed, strapping me to it by the wrists and ankles, and for the first time- for the first time in a long time, I feel fear. I feel what it's like to be afraid. He was wrong. He didn't make me fearless. There's a crushing feeling that makes my chest constrict, and it suddenly becomes difficult to breathe. My palms turn sweaty. There's a prickling at the back of my neck.

"What- what are you going to do to me?" The frightened little girl seems to resurface for a moment, and it makes me want to scream in rage, it makes me want to tear my hair out, rip his hateful face off.

"Shh. Relax, Evanna, relax. This won't hurt a bit."

Darkness closes in, and a searing pain bolts down the midline of my body. I give a jerk on the bed and go still. My eyes close, and I fall. I fall into a chasm as deep and as black as his eyes.