Participants:
| Scene Title | Formless Creature |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Lynette undergoes a new kind of test, but it's an old practice for Dr. Sheridan. |
| Date | June 25, 2010 |
Project Icarus facilities.
Lynette has been left to the tender mercies of Doctors Cong and Mitchell for some time now. Day in and day out, Lynette's been poked and prodded, injected and drained, used and abused. And whenever they are done with her, they send her back to rot alone in her room, with whatever books she got the chance, there at the beginning, to request.
But this is Lynette's lucky day! Well, comparatively speaking. She's escorted, just like routine, to one of the O.R.'s in which these tests often take place. When she arrives, though, she is not met by Cong or Mitchell. Instead there is a towering man with broad shoulders and deep set blue eyes, wearing an orderly's outfit, preparing a set of needles. Not unusual, though she's never seen this man before. Nearby she can see what looks like an industrial strength volt-meter. Also not unusual, considering her ability.
And then the speakers on the walls sound up. That distorted voice echoes out from around the two way mirror - the person who first welcomed Lynette to this place. «Lynette, so nice to see you» the voice says, words pleasant even if the sound is not, «We've got one brief test to run, and then I've got some good news for you.»
Lynette lets out a sigh at the sight of the volt-meter and the needles, tired already. Ugh. But, she puts her hands on her hips as she looks to the man. "Who are you then, Tiny? Was this a promotion or a demotion, out of curiosity?" Oh, but then the speakers. She looks over at the mirror, frowning as usual at the sight of her shorn hair, just growing back in an inch or so. "Good news? Does that mean I'm going home or what that fall under great news?"
The large man observes Lynette with no detectible opinion or emotion, besides perhaps some weariness. He has three syringes ready. One filled with clear liquid, one with a murky substance Lynette knows is the amplification drug, and one that glows blue - Refrain.
«Only good, I'm sorry,» the voice says, apologetic, «But I don't want to distract you. This is the first test of its kind, and I'll need your help. Can you please tell me when you first manifested your ability?»
"Figures." Lynette sighs at the question and looks at the mirror with that same tired expression. "I was fourteen. It was slow. Flickering lights, jolts of energy. Nothing flashy. Hell, I didn't even lose it and kill anyone, imagine that. What does this have to do with anything?"
"Please lie back on the table," the man says, his voice thickened by a very clear Russian accent. He has bottle of disinfectant in one hand, and a cotton swab in the other. His motions are almost automatic. Well practiced.
«I'd like you to concentrate very hard on that memory,» the speakers state, «Imagine it as clearly as you can. Just put yourself in that moment.»
Lynette looks over at him at that order, and she smirks a little. "You know, usually a guy'll at least romance me a /little/ before saying something like that. A little effort. Crack a smile maybe." But, she does go all the same, laying back, but still eyeing that mirror. "Alright… Can I ask a question? Are you evolved, too?" It seems to be a matter of some importance, finding out which way the voice behind the mirror fell on fate's little roulette wheel.
The russian orderly doesn't respond to Lynette's witticism. Maybe he's chattier when his boss isn't watching, who knows? For now, though, he just cleans a patch on Lynette's arm, and primes the glowing blue needle. His eyes lift to the mirror as well. Apparently he needs to wait for a say-so.
There is a moment's pause behind that glass, then a crackling reply, «May I ask why that question is relevant?» a question for a question, «Any more than, say, my race? Or my sex? My religion, or lack thereof?»>
"We're supposed to all be blind to race and gender and religion by now, aren't we? After all, there's a new label to focus all that hate on," Lynette says, gesturing to the room she's currently in. Or perhaps the hospital at large. "Isn't there?" It's a rhetorical question. "Do you ever think about how they'll see your work in a hundred years? Picking people apart to see how they tick because they're different… Do you think it'll be seen as groundbreaking or heinous?" Honestly, it seems like she is just genuinely curious.
«I consider that a very rosy outlook,» the voice replies, «Thinking new hates will overtake the old. I only see more hate. And it's not hate that brought me here.» The voice says nothing of what brought Lynette here. «In a hundred years, we'll see who's writing the history. I imagine some Evolved will be around to see the day.»
"Oh, well, thank you. I think it's about as rosy as it gets. I think history has pretty much proven we're incapable of simply given up hate altogether." Lynette turns away from the mirror, looking up toward the ceiling. "I imagine plenty will. Remember, there are some of us you just can't see."
«Of course,» the voice replies, with a diction that might be crispness if it were untransformed, «But only because I don't see an 'us' at all. Now, if you wouldn't mind… that memory?»
"Of course you don't. You're not the one on the table." Lynette closes her eyes, presumably to think on the day her ability first showed up. Mostly, though, she's thinking about how it felt, that first jolt from absorbed electricity, that first zap she ever accidentally discharged, rather than any of the actual events surrounding it.
«Proceed,» the voice commands. The need stings at first, but as the blue liquid courses through Lynette's veins, the pain vanishes, replaced by an experience of warmth and pleasure and… memory. Lynette begins to sink into recollection. Some happy moment, some bloom-filled white washing of a perfect past. She doesn't even feel the next needle enter her, though when it does, everything changes. She feels sharper, her heart speeds up. She doesn't know it, but she's just been injected with dextroamphetamine. Part of Lynette remains deep in memory, but another rises to awareness of her surroundings. And to the voice that is growling from the speakers. «Recall your manifestation» the voice commands, «And describe it in detail. Relive it, and relate it.»
It all started with burnt sheets. One wouldn't exactly call it a happy memory, but it is a strong one. The young teen bolting upright after a nightmare of some kind, the fleeting feeling of burning running through her mind in that split second between asleep and awake. She looks down, though, to see the charred edges of her sheets in the exact outline of the position she was sleeping in. And when she moves a little, there's a similar situation on the mattress below. She calls out for her father, her panicked voice summoning the man rather quickly. When he comes over to hug her, seeing her state before the state of the bed, a bright white arc of electricity jumps from her skin to his. He jumps, a hand rubbing his arm. Nothing serious. But he looks at her, and she at him, and he says, "Well. Life just got a lot more complicated." He doesn't seem /too/ surprised, but comes to usher her into the living room to sit down while he fixing her a glass of milk and him a cup of coffee. "Why don't we skip school today?" And like any kid, that sends a spark of excitement through the girl. Really? You mean it?
And the woman reliving the moment just… talks. Every detail is explained. The dim morning light. The smell in the room. Her father's grey hairs. Of course, she explains the important stuff, too, she's just very detailed. Almost annoyingly so.
«A nightmare,» the nightmarish voice says, almost contemplatively, «Lynette, stay in that memory. Just… hold on to it. This is the last part of test, I promise. Dema, proceed.» Dema. Lynette now knows the russian giant's name. She feels a presence leave her dream-state, a presence she only barely felt before, and clearly only in its absence. Lynette can fell what's going on around her as she lies on the table. She can feel gel applied to her skin, and feels the cold metal of the voltmeter follow. «Lynette,» the voice instructs, «I want you to try and remember that nightmare.»
"What? No…" But, alas, like trying not to think about anything, it becomes the very thing that your mind can't stop focusing on. And there's a little whimper from the woman as she starts to relive that particular nightmare.
Running through the forest, with some sort of formless creature chasing her… It's impossible to say what it is, although there's the firm sense that it's gigantic and menacing. One can imagine, that to a young girl, the faceless evil was a bit overwhelming. And as the grown women feels that same fear and adrenalin as she did back then, her body starts to shake. It seems like a perfectly normal nightmare. She's running, it's running, she starts to flag… it catches up, she gets another burst of speed… but eventually, she runs into a deadend, the side of cliff too smooth to climb. And she turns around just in time to see something like a scorpion's stinger rushing toward her. And when it hits, it starts to pump electricity into her.
In the dream, she screams.
In reality, she screams.
It's ear piercing and filled with both pain and terror. When the discharge starts, her white bolts don't actually lash out at anything, they just pump out of her skin and right back into it again. If Dema stays close, though, he's liable to catch a stray bolt here and there. But for Lynette, it seems like an endless loop of discharge, absorb, discharge, absorb as the dream carries on. She's definitely going to need new clothes.
Dema is lucky enough to be on other side of the voltmeter when Lynette begins to discharge so violently. He's not so lucky as to know the danger he's narrowly avoided, the volts and amps rerouted through the device, as he's in the nightmare with her, his consciousness coasting through the leaves overhead, watching Lynette's formative terror. Even then, it's too much, and a stray bolt hits Dema in the shoulder, sending him reeling out of Lynette's dream and causing him to shake uncontrollably, his knees giving out beneath him.
Behind two way glass, Dr. Sheridan is left wordless the subject convulses on the table. She's not sure she can stop this. She can only try.
«Come back, Lynette!» the voice barks from the speakers, «Step out of the memory! Come back!»
The bad news is… she doesn't seem to be responding to Bella's words, focused as she is on that particular memory. The good news is, it only lasts about five minutes. Her voice gives out long before her power, though, turning her screams gravely and staccatoed until they just fall into silence. Although, she is still clearly trying to scream. But when she seems to run out of stamina, the woman slumps against the table, electricity shorting out.
«Dema, are you alright?» the speakers ask, «Can you check the subject's vitals?»
Dema rises slowly to his feet. Alright? He supposes. He's still alive, and what does not kill you only has so high of a chance of doing permanent damage. His muscles are still hurting and weak in the wake of their spasming, and he limps over to Lynette's side. Tentatively he sets his fingers to her wrist, checking for a pulse. He finds one. He nods to the mirror, and then promptly steps away from the table.
Lynette doesn't move or spark when he comes over. She's out for the time being, just too much juice for her body to handle. Alive, yes! But unconscious. At least she looks peaceful?
Dr. Sheridan depresses the button by the microphone, delivering a last command. «Get some rest, Dema,» she says, «I'll have Ms. Rowan collected.»
Her finger leaves the button, and she smiles, very slightly.
Good news must wait, it seems.