Also Featuring

doc_icon.gif edward2_icon.gif gregor_icon.gif luis_icon.gif zimmerman_icon.gif

Scene Title PR.1NC3-55
Synopsis Do Eve's dream of electric sheep?
Date January 26, 2010


It's not the blood but the scream that wakes her up.

Bolting upright on the metal examination table, Eve Mas feels the stinging ache of smoke filling her lungs. Sooty clouds fill her vision and blurry eyes refuse to focus. Expelling the smoke from her lungs in a painful cough, Eve practically falls from the table, landing on her side on the concrete floor below. As she falls, her hand grasps out for support on a metal tray, sending bloodied surgical tools clattering to the ground. Somewhere nearby, she can hear a scream— not a human scream, but the shrieking wail of an animal in pain.

Pale fingers splay on the floor, and Eve pushes herself up, wide eyes taking in the smoke filled laboratory. Metal grating is slick with something wet and rust colored near the door. Eve's body aches, the surgical gown she wears clings to her with ashen hand prints all over the white cloth. There's tiny blue fairies decorating it.

Struggling to move up, Eve's attempt at standing is met by a sharp pain on her side. Her hand comes away bloody from the spot, where someone has carved a barcode into her skin with a surgical scalpel. Limping, one hand pressing to the wound, Eve makes her way out of the smoke filled room towards the sounds of fire. Most people would go in the opposite direction, Eve knows to go towards danger in these visions, in these echoes of the future.

Bare feet pad down the concrete halls, where she sees a man in a white labcoat slouched up against the concrete wall, having left a blood trail in his slide to the floor. Shoulder-length gray hair rests in curls at his chin, his eyes are glazed over, mouth open ever so slightly with a trickle of blood running from his mouth. He holds a bouquet of flowers in his hand, all of them blue, none of them the same. Eve's brows tense as she looks at the man, then down to the name tag on the front of his jacket: Zimmerman.

Turning away, continuing down the hall, she passes by an open door where another man in a lab coat stands with his arms out and cradling a bloodied infant in his latex gloved hands. The baby is lifeless, motionless in his grasp. A surgical mask covers his mouth, and the surgery light like a halo behind his head makes him hard to see, but blonde hair is swept into a neat coif, glasses shielding his eyes. She can barely make out his name tag: Gregor.

Eve stares at his stillness in holding the child, curling her fingers into the front of her hospital gown anxiously as she backs up into the wall, then turns down the hall and begins to move at a more hastened pace, covering her mouth with one hand, choking from the smoke. Ducking her head down, she pulls up some of the cloth from her gown, breathing through the fabric— it smells like oranges.

At the end of the hall, she finds a set of metal stairs descending into a laboratory on fire. Lab test equipment, something that resembles an MRI machine and loose piles of documents and paperwork are all burning, sending choking smoke up into the air, while racks of chemical vials burst from the heat, pop and shatter. A warbling cry for help comes from the large MRI-like machine, and Eve's bare feet quickly tread across the concrete at the bottom of the stairs, even as her eyes water from the smoke.

There, laying on the examination table, a strange little man with electrodes strapped to his head stares blankly up at the inside of the flashing interior of the MRI. Standing by the side, an old man in a lab coat, conspicuously wearing a fedora and holding a severed head in a jar looks up to Eve. His head quirks to the side, brows furrowed, "You're in the wrong place…" he murmurs, "you're looking for the princess, but she's in another castle."

Bubbles come out of the mouth of the head in the jar, large blue eyes open wide, and the muffled sound of the severed head screaming for help is a confusing one. She's seen him before, this man, in so many of her dreams— most recently where she had heard Peter speaking as Kazimir and executing the Vanguard— he warned Eve then that everything comes with a price. Confusingly, the man laying in the MRI machine is the same man, but he is not missing a head at all.

Eyes darting about the smoke and flames, Eve struggles to make sense of the jumbled chaos of the dream. It is only when she sees the glowing screen of a computer that she moves from the fedora wearing man's side. She pushes through a haze of choking black smoke, hunches forward and squints to try and see the screen, nose and mouth still covered by her hospital gown.

The screen is scrolling with series of numbers, and all the keys are question marks on the keyboard. Eve's brows furrow, her fingers searching, considering, the information keeps scrolling. With a noise in the back of her throat, Eve slams her finger down on one of the keys, and the scrolling information stops, showing a sequential alpha-numeric and a declarative.

PR.1NC1-55 Aborted
PR.1NC2-55 Aborted
PR.1NC3-55 Charged
PR.1NC4-55 Aborted
PR.1NC5-55 Aborted
PR.1NC6-55 Aborted
PR.1NC7-55 Aborted
PR.1NC8-55 Aborted

Eve's brows crease together again, her mouth opens as if to try and speak some confused noise, but instead only a choking cough comes out. "Eve," comes the grumbling man's voice from behind her. Turning sharply, pressing her back up against the table the computer is on and curling her fingers around it to brace her weight, Eve comes face to face with a tall, gray-haired old man with a sagging face and sullen looking eyes.

This isn't the first time she's been staring down the barrel of a gun in a dream. Her eyes aren't focus on the gun, though, she's looking for details, and finds it in his nametag that reads Luis. "Eve, look what they made me do." Her eyes only focus on the gun again when she sees it move, as the barrel is pressed to his temple, his eyes fall shut.

"No!" Eve screams in the exact same moment the gun goes off, sending her jolting up in her bed, sweat clinging to her forehead, blankets tangled around bare legs. Milky white yes begin to clear to their normal shade, and Eve's breathing is still tight, as if she can feel the smoke in her lungs.

As if she can still hear the gunshot.

As if this wasn't bad enough already.

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