Captured, poked, and prodded

All eyes were focused on Tim and the girls as they were brought in; the glare of the lights couldn't conceal the attention. The would-be hero watched figures in biosuits wheel his friends away, and he couldn't evade the feeling that he may never see them again. His own path seemed no less bleak, ending in a room decorated with medical equipment and dominated by an ominous padded chair. The straps thereon did little for his state of mind.

"Here you go, Plissken. Change into these, and put your shit on the table there." One of the armed guards tossed a cheap set of clothes at his feet, and indicated the sterile metal table nearby.

"What are you people doing here? What's all this for?" Tim asked while complying with the guard's demands. It wasn't as if he had many tools for evading gun-toting goons; not this many, at least.

"Shut up! Just get dressed." The guard was unreadable behind the gas mask he wore, but his bored, frustrated tone revealed his feelings well enough. Soon, Tim was dressed in a thin, light green shirt and pants, reminiscent of a long hospital visit. The defeated survivor's attention snapped to the lone door as it opened. A man, tall and thin with a mostly bald head, entered with a curvy, tired-looking woman. She was dressed the same as him: typical blue jumpsuit, latex gloves, and a medical mask.

"Lisa, take the man's belongings, sanitize them, and have them catalogued for the report. Then get some damn rest. Consider that an order." The balding man told the woman while cleaning the fog from his glasses.

"Of course, Dr. Ward." She heaved the bundle of Tim's gear with an exhausted sigh. "Thanks, Reis. I'll see you later."

The doctor watched while the lady walked back through the doorway. Tim thought he heard him mutter something, something about envying her bed.

"Sorry for the wait. Hello, I'm Dr. Reis Ward. I'm also sorry for the rough welcome earlier. There's no need to be afraid. You'll get everything back and be set free soon, I'm sure. We just need to run a few tests to make sure you're healthy. Would that be alright?" The doctor shook Tim's hand, a gesture the young man took a moment to recognize, and set about preparing several machines around the room.

"Wait! I want to know what's going on. What are you doing here? Where did you take my friends?" Tim demanded answers while glancing nervously at the armed men at the back.

"There's no need to worry. We're here to research and monitor the outbreak here. The company I work for, Aster Biotechnology, is doing its part to find a cure for this bizarre disease. You've already seen some of our discoveries in action. We've developed a...well, let's call it a gas, that renders the Infected **** for several minutes." The doctor explained, plainly excited to reveal some of the fruits of his labors.

"And what about my friends? What's going to happen to them?" The survivor cast a suspicious expression at the older man. Various unsavory scenarios were running through his mind, none he hoped were true.

"Yes, your friends...You do realize that they were infected, correct?" Dr. Ward delicately questioned his guest, receiving a bemused nod in reply. "I know this maybe difficult to accept, but regardless of how trustworthy they appear to be, they would inevitably infect you. I've witnessed it myself, and read countless reports on the matter. I'm sorry to tell you that whatever they were to you before they contracted the disease, they're meant only to spread it now." He spoke gravely, looking Tim straight in the eyes.

"You don't...just, what are you going to do to them?" The prisoner was growing visibly frustrated, prompting a guard to tighten his grip on the weapon in his hands.

"Please, I'm sure that...hmm. I think, maybe, if your...um...friends are as restrained as you seem to think they are, then I could try to have them put in observation. If they don't seem overly dangerous, then maybe they could be released at some point. Maybe. I can't promise you anything, but I'll try if you're willing to cooperate." The doctor let his bedside manner slide as he dealt frankly with the man in front of him.

"I guess I don't have much choice. They...let them know that'll be waiting." Tim gave a defeated sigh.

"Of course. Please take a seat. Don't worry about the restraints; they aren't meant for you." Dr. Ward began a series of medical tests. There was a kind of relaxing familiarity to it; Tim was reminded of a hospital stay from when he was a boy. He never saw anyone carrying guns when he had appendicitis, but no one was **** anyone out in the streets then, either. Those were certainly better times, even considering the scars.

As the doctor was wrapping up, another man dressed in a similar medical outfit entered the room to hand over a clipboard with a notable measure of excitement.

"Doctor! I'm sorry I'm late. I had to triple-check the results. It's amazing! One of the highest I've seen outside of..." The man suddenly seemed to notice they weren't alone in the room, taking the time to look at Tim and the guards for the first time. "Uh...You're the one in charge, doctor. It's your call what to do about it. We can talk later; I should get back to the lab."

"Sure, sure...hmm." Dr. Ward turned his attention to the documents that had his colleague so thrilled. He went over them twice, his brow knit the entire time.

"What? What is it? I'm not infected, am I?" Tim asked, afraid that the answer might be fatal to him.

"No, no. Not at all. In fact, this could be a tremendous opportunity for you. This shows that you may have a talent we're looking for. Please wait while I check up on this." The doctor gave a reassuring smile, and walked out the door. Tim could hear him speaking to himself as he walked through the flexible plastic corridors, though it wasn't clear what he was ruminating on. Tim anxiously cast his eyes to the floor, trying to avoid agitating the restless guards while listening in on what he could. Eventually, the doctor found whom he was looking for surprisingly close by, as the captive survivor could make out snatches of conversation.

"...could be an incredible candidate for Project: Trident. You need to call...protected zone immediately...can't even imagine the potential, you gun-fucking thug!" Dr. Ward certainly seemed to have little respect for whomever they were speaking to, and it seemed the feeling was mutual.

"I'm the one in control of this base...shitting on my schedule for some freak...he can wait a few days...completely secure...try your bullshit research out to the red zone...back to weapons development..." The other guy didn't sound as excited about the results. It took the doctor a few minutes to return. He seemed to have taken the exchange in stride, however, as he seemed fairly happy as he entered.

"I have great news, Mr. Lane. It seems that you possess an unusual genetic trait, one that makes you of great interest to a sister project to ours." Reis began his pitch, but Tim interrupted.

"That would be that Project: Trident that you mentioned. What is it?" Tired of being jerked around by now, the survivor tried to dig straight to the point.

"Y-yes. That's right. When...when was it that I mentioned it?"

"I overheard you talking outside. It didn't sound like that other guy was thrilled about it. What's this all about?"

"You overheard that? Did you hear...?" The doctor looked to one of the guards, who shook his head and shrugged, before addressing the survivor again. "Yes, well...Regarding this project, have you ever wondered how the afflicted communicate?"

"Uh, sex, I guess."

"Ha! I suppose so, but I mean over long distances, en masse. We don't have all the details yet, but what we do know is that, regardless of the exact method of action, it isn't exclusive to the pathogen. There exists a genetic basis for it within humanity, and your genome hits many of the right notes!"

"I don't get it. You want me to talk to the frea...to the Infected?"

"No, no! It's not like talking, it's deeper than that. Some preliminary reports show subjects repelling the infected, reading the collective intentions of group of them, even projecting thoughts and images to other subjects! I suspect that it's only a glimpse of what's beyond the horizon."

"That's...incredible. And the Infected can all do this?"

"Not to that degree, no. If what some interrogations have revealed is true, very few are able to use this capacity actively. They are merely hypersensitive to its use. The few that do use it are...well, I can't say too much. The important thing concerning you is that subjects in the project are extremely well cared for. You'd be in one of the most secure facilities on the planet if you accept."

"It's a very tempting offer. I have a demand, though. I need to know my friends will be released, along with another Infected. His name is Nathan Miller. I'm sure he's here somewhere. Can you make that happen?"

"I know the one you're talking about. That...is a very big demand. I would have to make some calls, and some people will be very upset about it. I can't make any guarantees, but I can try." Dr. Ward adopted a thoughtful expression as he built a plan. The security team that captured Nathan had lost a man securing him; they would be very unhappy to learn that he was simply released, especially for the benefit of a man being sent to a safe haven. Still, it could all be for a greater good, so the fallout may be worth enduring.

"I had another question. The guy you were talking to, he mentioned sending your research to a red zone. What did he mean by that? What's a red zone?" Tim asked, provoking a look of surprise from the doctor.

"You heard him say that? Are you sure?"

"I don't know. I think that's what he said. Why? Didn't you hear him?"

"I need to...deal with this. Please be patient, and someone will be by to show you where you'll be staying for now." The doctor rushed from the room, decorum nearly forgotten. The guard that had tossed Tim the clothes gave a sigh of frustration, glanced at the other guard, then spoke into the mic pinned to his shoulder.

"This is Davis. I've got our guest in D. Time on pick up?" Tim couldn't hear the response to the man's weary question due to the earpiece, and he didn't seem inclined to share. The only break in the tension came from the faint, muffled voice of Dr. Ward. The eavesdropping prisoner had no idea why that man had rushed out the room, only to walk the nearby halls repeating chemical names. The droning, uncomfortable chant had a kind of tense character to it, and the survivor was relieved to lose it in the faint background chatter. After several minutes had passed, Tim once again heard the doctor and the other man speaking, thought they sounded farther and less distinct. They were plainly furious with each other, but through the shouting Tim could only make out the unknown man saying one thing.

"...I'm in charge of security...it's compromising that security...my call..."

Not long after, the first guard called back into his radio, responding to a message unheard by the hapless prisoner.

"Confirmed. Lunch incoming for guest. Standing by." He looked to his fellow, who nodded slightly. Tim had never felt as disquieted by the prospect of a meal as he had just then. He bolted up on reflex, the hairs on the back of his arms and neck standing up with him.

"Sit the fuck down before I sit you down!" The guard barked while leveling his weapon at the captive.

"Whoa! Hold on! What were you just saying abou-" Tim raised his hands defensively. The other guard, now with his own gun ready, slowly circled around the side, following the wall. The first one, however, was anything but slow as he slammed the butt of his rifle into the bridge of the survivor's nose. Tim stumbled back into the chair, crying out from the explosion of pain.

"I said sit the fuck down! I'm not going to tell you again!" The first guard backed off carefully, still ready to fire. Tim didn't need any more persuasion, though. Through the tears in his eyes, he saw the arrival of three more people. Two wore the bulky biosuits, the third held a syringe and a small bottle. The captive briefly considered resisting, but the electric bolts of pain running from his nose and past his eyes convinced him otherwise. It didn't take long for whatever juice was in the bottle to find its way into his arm.

"Dis lunch sucks." Tim's petty defiance was undercut by his damaged face, now certainly trickling more than a little blood. "At least do sometig aboud by doze."

"Don't worry. It won't matter in a little while." The man that injected him held a wry smile. That same smile soon began wandering the face it sat on once the **** took hold. Vision swimming, Tim reached out feebly, his strength sapped and his bones like lead. The small consolation of the pain subsiding shrank next to his looming panic. His body betrayed him, slumping limply in his seat, resisting all efforts to escape whatever grim end these iniquitous characters intended for him. His gainless struggles earned him nothing against the biosuited men carrying him off. His senses wavered in the prison of his body, but more than anything, the noise grew and grew. Every word echoed in his head, spoken over and over, different inflections and subtleties with each iteration, different meanings and context. Every sound held a deeper meaning, insight and connections radiating out like a web of cognizance that drew the overwhelmed young man in. The more he tried to run, the more his body refused him, the farther down he seemed to go. The dendritic cacophony had names and identity, and hiding deep inside, language. Yet behind the screeching, bellowing, howling dissonance, there was a singular constant. A deep, measured, unwavering drumming.

The faint glimmer of comfortable normalcy in the names and words contrasted so hard with that unceasing, bass-laden drumming, Tim couldn't help but be drawn to that sense of safety. He willed himself to move behind it, under it, inside it. Anywhere to avoid the shuddering footsteps that seemed to only draw nearer and nearer. Nestled in the synesthetic space, hidden away, words wound themselves through his fingers like snakes, flexing and pressing their letters against his skin.

"It's tremendous. The power, the potential." "I can't believe what passes for breakfast around here." "If we incorporate the LIB sequence isolated from one of the recently infected..." "Soooo booooored!" "The modified bacterial shield can work, I know it! I just need samples. I just need more."

"YOU!" Tim would have leaped had he legs to leap with. He was so consumed by the chorus of whispers and voices, he hadn't noticed it, but the unending, shuddering drumming had found him, surrounded him. It brought a voice like a rushing river, simultaneously commanding and seductive.

"You can't run anymore. Give in. Become what you were always meant to be. Become what you truly are." The voice rolled over him like thunder while it whispered in his ear like a hot breeze.

"What are you? What do you want from me?" Tim shouted at the looming presence. It seemed to recoil a moment at his response, as if it hadn't expected a reply. In that instant, he thought he heard a few stray, harmonious notes before the drumming bore down on him again.

"We want to give you everything. We want to fill you with joy and pleasure. Let us in and taste freedom. Let us in and we'll spread joy. LET US IN!" The voice rose to become waves of heat like from a bonfire and a frantic, lusty need that licked at his ears.

"Stop! I won't become a monster for you! I know what you are now. I know what you do. I won't give in to you!" The thing that closed in around the lone man seemed to falter at his words. It retreated from the rebuking it received, stalking back to the periphery of his perception once again. It left behind a faint melody, that familiar tune that Tim couldn't quite place. It held some kind of meaning for him, a warm yet exciting feeling that filled him with the energy to go on, to take the next step.

"I won't give in to you," he repeated quietly to himself, "but..."