Revolution

- 28 -

I wake up in a haze. A painful one, with my hands wrenched awkwardly behind my back, locked together. Something covers my ears. It's disorienting and confusing and I shut my eyes, wanting to block it all out for a few more minutes.

"Number 16, we request your cooperation and collaboration as we work through Emergency Procedure 12.3.8."

The automated voice startles me out of my thoughts. I blink groggily, staring around at what I half expect to be a cell and what I half expect to be a car. It's neither; glass walls imprison me closely, small holes drilled into the thick material so I can breathe. Blinding white lights reflect off my metal cuffs. I can only stretch my legs, clad in a loose white jumpsuit and landing limply over the bench I'm sitting on. It's a small space and if I was claustrophobic, it would be a problem, but for now, I'm just focused on escape.

Other cells identical to mine line the opposite wall, numbers up to 10 printed on the top. Most of the ones down the hall are empty, although I can't see very far in either direction. The two right across from me are filled. My stomach drops when I see who's in it.

Sarah leans weakly against the far wall of her cell, arms wrapped in bandages that have stained through with blood. Her fingertips are red, the skin torn back, but she doesn't seem to notice their raw appearance. Her smallest finger has a small, dull bone poking through the top, and I know it's not broken, but her ability must be so weak there's nothing she can do about it. Her eyes are staring down at the ground, unfocused. She looks horrible, but instead of that angry fire, she just seems tired. I understand. She's barely moving, barely breathing, and I wonder what happened to her.

Next to her is Noah, and the quiet omni-linguist seems to have stolen Sarah's passionate energy. He's pounding against the glass, fingers curling through the holes, screaming about freedom and rights. His voice changes into a guttural language I can't understand, and I give up trying. It all follows the same idea; we don't deserve this. We've had a taste of the outside world, and you can't take it from us. But they can. And they did. And no matter how much he yells, it doesn't seem as though there's anyone around to listen.

There's an empty cage opposite me, and on the other side sits Clarissa. She has an IV drip taped to the back of her hand. Her shirt is half pulled up, exposing a thick wrap of bandages across her stomach. Emma, condemned as she is, seems to have been honest about Clarissa's condition. It makes me sick to see them like this. Noah launches himself against the glass, his voice changing to a more rolling tongue but furious nonetheless. He ignores me. They all ignore me.

I shift my shoulders into a more comfortable position, taking the strain off temporarily. I pull my feet onto the bench beside me. Brandon has got to be worried sick, if he's not captured with us altogether. I don't know where he is; he could be safe or in a ditch somewhere. For all I know, he has no one left to remember him. That's my fault, too, just like the rest of this.

Noah's screams rise an octave and he falls backward against the bench, clutching at his neck. It's suddenly silent. His fingers brush over a new metal collar, thicker than before, and all that fills the space is the sound of his heavy breathing. He coughs. I've seen this before, dozens of times with mutants that didn't behave how the facility wanted them to; they just made sure to enforce it constantly this time. I reach up to touch my own collar. Days ago, the wires had fallen out, leaving nothing more than a harmless metal ring that could be misidentified as a choker if you didn't look close, but now, it felt as though I had on an identical one to Noah and the other mutants. It hung thick and heavy, pressing against my jugular. A silent reminder.

"Noah?" Clarissa asks weakly, unable to see him but smart enough to know something is wrong. He doesn't answer. His eyes are bloodshot and I divert my gaze to the solid wall to my left out of pity. His breathing slows as he gets it under control, but he doesn't start screaming again. He whispers something that sounds like a curse in a language I don't understand. He doesn't get back up.