The Fae Runaways

Chapter 1 - Ee12-A13

It was far too bright in the operating room.

He faced away from the buzzing, blinding lights above him, as much as he could whilst strapped to an operating table. He kept his left eye tightly shut, his right one already covered with a patch.

It was a jarring difference from the eternal cold darkness of his cell stories below in the depths of the building's basement.

Yet even whilst down there left to shiver and freeze, there was always a confusing warmth coursing through him.

Warmth beneath his fingertips, warmth in his chest, warmth in his head. Even through the ever-present fog of the sedatives, he could feel it pulsing in his veins.

It confused him to no end. He wasn't a fire creature, so why this constant, internalized heat?

    The creaking sound of the heavy metal door to his room swinging open jolted him from his fuzzy thoughts.

He swallowed hard and kept his eyes shut, vaguely wondering if he should try playing dead again.

It had never worked before, of course, but in his haze he figured it wouldn't hurt to try one more time.

    Footsteps echoed through the small room like cannon shots as the shadow of a figure crossed over his gaze. He risked a peek at the unwelcome visitor, his eye had only semi-adjusted to the light as the figure halted beside his reclined form, followed by the click of a recording device being turned on.

"Subject Ee12-A13 appears to be healing well," a voice said suddenly, making the elf flinch.

So much for playing dead.

The voice chuckled at his movement, and a hand touched the manacles that bound his own to the cold metal below him. The rubbing of the cuffs against his bruised and battered wrists sent a wave of blinding pain down his arms in addition to the burning pain the iron caused him. He hissed quietly at the sensation, refusing to give in and scream in pain.

He knew better than to cry out; the scar on his cheek was evidence of his negligence during previous encounters with his captors.

    The hand moved from his wrists, taking the searing pain with it, but leaving them throbbing. His small moment of relief was quickly interrupted by the hand at his chin. It jerked his head up into the  gaze of his tormentor. Squinting in the light, he ground his teeth together to stop himself from yelling.

    Dr. Hanson, his groggy mind finally supplied him.

The doctor frowned, dissatisfied, having anticipated an excuse to torture the elf further. His soulless grey stare trailed over the face in his hands before settling on the bandage over the trembling creature's right eye. Dr. Hanson prodded at it with his thumb before peeling it back, eliciting another burst of pain that rattled throughout the elf's skull.

"Right eye transplant seems to be taking nicely," the doctor continued; "No discolored veining or severe bruising like Subject Ee2-A2. These elves aren't as similar as we thought."

  His ears twitched at the mention of another subject.

Ee2-A2. An elf.

That had to be part of his clan. His family. He squeezed his eyes shut as his ears rang with the echoes of screams and the dull thud of sedative filled darts striking down his loved ones. He remembered their unconscious bodies hitting the ground. A familiar wave of fear and anxiety gripped him as his mind subjected him to those horrid memories.

What happened to all of them?

What's going to happen to me?

Questions he'd asked himself a million times before.