Falling Skies

Six

There's nothing in here, December notes, eyeing the sparse details of the room as he makes his way to the silver metal table sat in the middle. Just white linoleum floors and white walls with too many lights hung overhead. Some a part of the ceiling while others hang down above the two of them.

The silver table is small, just two gray chairs on either side and a small chain that holds down Subject A1. His wrists red where the chain lays as if he had already attempted to pull away and escape multiple times.

With the sound of December's boots his head slowly lifts up, bags forming under his light eyes as he blinks them a few times. He waits for his pupils to adjust to the light and for the man ahead of him to take a seat, December's hazmat suit gifting him with a soulless, almost demonic, appearance.

December scoots back the chair with a grating sound before taking a seat, glancing to his left at the large one-way mirror that takes up the entirety of the wall. At least eight men stand behind it taking numerous notes in accordance with his own. He lifts up his clipboard on that note, the flipping whoosh of the paper the only sound that fills the void.

"Would you like to start or should I?" He amuses, tapping the backside of his pen three times against the clipboard before scribbling the year and time at the top. His chicken scratch is barely legible as he awaits the answer, tapping his pen all the while to the beat of his own absentminded foot taps.

"Well you're the one with the board." December's eyes shoot up at the sound, the boy's voice high pitched and soft, almost a whisper compared to his own roughened and baritone speech.

Its lavender tinted eye's glance up at December and a chill runs the length of his spine, a dry swallow stuck in his throat as he composes himself, thankful for the guard of the hazmat suit to protect him from the full effect of the stare.

It's probably magic. December informs himself with a physical shake of the head. He draws into himself as he pulls at the inside material of his suit, casually checking his oxygen to assure that no more magical defenses can topple him.

He shakes the thought away once more, hair rustling against his forehead and sticking to the damp skin as sweat beads against him. With the heat of his own breath trapped within the suit finally becoming known, he fights himself to regain control of the situation. Hastily, he scrambles down a few more notes before steadying himself, ready for the first round of questions.

"You're right," He breathes, the sound heavy yet hollow as it makes its way into his tank and back out. "I'm just going to ask a few questions, you help me and I can surely help you." December smiles but the gesture falters as the red-blonde stares at him with blank eyes, his suit hiding any expression from those around him. Just a deep voice masked by the ominous metal and shining plastic of his uniform.

Subject A1 remains uninterested, his entire demeanor one of fatigue and disappointment. His eyes are hollow and sunken, dark patches rising to his skin underneath them as his body slumps forward.

The reddened lines of his wrists get a much needed break as the chains slack away from his muddled flesh. His small back is arched, shoulders slumped while he lays his head low in defeat, waiting for his eventual death in this whitened coffin.

Yet December ignores all the signs, carrying on with his lists, his procedures and protocols that landed him as Head of Lab in the first place. He didn't earn his spot because of birth, nor did he earn it through mercy.

Rather through an immense dedication to Haven unseen from anyone else in the facility. Even by his assistant and best friend, Abrahm, who many had seen as the predecessor to Haven if anything were to happen to Decemeber.