A Slow Death

 This time, Sylvie had performed the surgery without applying any anesthetic.

The ordeal had gone on for the entire day. Interestingly, the reasons Doctor Rosette had deprived them of the anesthesia was twofold, being that one, she wanted them to decide which limb they’d like to receive from Powers, and second, she thought Hunter and the others would be curios to see how the procedure went.

Naturally, they had all called her a crazy bitch and various other names that weren’t appropriate for her daughter to be present for.

For his trouble, Hunter had had his left leg chopped off before his very eyes and bore witness to the faux-elf grafting on Lawrence Powers’ limb in place of his own. He had lost consciousness during that part. But the screams they all made followed him into the privacy of his mind. Echoing and continuing without end. Doctor Rosette was right, he begrudgingly conceded, it was like a little bit of his teammates now lived on with him.

He might even be hallucinating, and could have sworn he saw Powers play with his grafted leg, a disgusted expression on his face. “Could be worse,” He said sympathetically. “They could have given you my bad leg!”

Outside the operating theatre, Hunter heard a commotion. Doctor Rosette sighed in irritation as the noises interrupted what was occupying her attention at the terminal, recording information concerning the green vials attached to a centrifuge. Sylvia herself turned towards the door in confusion, leaving alone the comatose Mareel. Muffled yells and swearing, followed by undefined entreaties and a furious stomping of boots began to grow even closer. Moments later, the doors itself were blown clean off their hinges, and the barrel of an Unimus gamma gun greeted the barely lucid Hunter.

“WHERE IS SHE?!” Ascee bellowed, spittle flying from his lips. The yell reverberated through the room, causing Mareel and Sloane to wince in their beds. His eyes were bloodshot, crazed and predatory as he examined the area, singling out Hunter. Striding over, the overseer yanked Hunter out of the bed, snapping his restraints and holding him aloft by his neck. The gamma gun hummed ominously, primed to fire. “ANSWER ME, MAGGOT!!!”

“What in the name of science are you doing?” Sylvie demanded, rising from the terminal. “You’re disturbing the control!”

“Damn the control!” Ascee snarled, throwing Hunter to the ground. He barely had a moment to groan in pain as the overseer picked him up again and pinned him up against the wall. “How did you do it, fleshy?”

Behind Overseer Ascee, the hallucination of Powers gave Hunter two thumbs up, mouthing encouragingly.

“I’m sorry, but the number you dialed is temporarily out of service,” A confused Hunter recited. His tongue felt fat and unwieldy in his mouth, and yet the words somehow managed to come out coherently. “Please hang up and try again later.” Meanwhile Powers howled with laughter.

Ascee’s nostrils flared, and he began to wind up his free arm to attack, only for Doctor Rosette to intervene.

“Get a grip on yourself!” She yelled, priming her own wrist gun at the Overseer. Her daughter was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she had fled in the chaos. “I can tolerate your twisted obsession with upending my experiments for only so long!”

“They’re meant to die anyway, why do you care?” Ascee argued. He pushed the barrel of his gun further into Hunter’s temple prompting him to groan in discomfort.

“I care about how they die,” Sylvie corrected. “Each death is meant to further our understanding of their physiology, their biology, psychology and how each variable affects them. We’re just retreading the same old ground when you bludgeon them into paste you miserable reprobate!”

“The Asura is nowhere to be found, and they somehow pulled it off,” the Overseer spat, still insistent. “The camera on their cell is completely fragged. The entire security might be compromised because of these karking fleshies.”

“Then find the breach in security and fix it,” Sylvie said harshly. “Don’t take it out on the experiments.”

Ascee looked uncertain, grappling between his desire to punish with his desire to be unquestioned. Then his eyes settled on the glass vials attached to the centrifuge, and a malevolent smile touched his lips.

“Is that what I think it is?” He breathed, dropping Hunter to the ground. Hunter gasped, grateful for the oxygen that now entered his lungs. Ascee stepped towards the centrifuge, almost tentatively, no, reverently, arms outstretched as if to take one of the vials in his hands.

“Yes, it is.” Sylvia replied with a hint of pride. At Hunter’s confused expression, she added, “Sickle Slime Necrosis. A deadly virus for the Remis; It attacks the membranous tissue that holds a Remis together, melting the poor things into sludge in less than a week. It can even infect us Unimus, causing our cores to leak out of our very frames. It has a 70% mortality rate when untreated

“And I’ve figured out how to transmit it to the other races.”

“That might have been the most beautiful thing you’ve ever said,” Overseer Ascee crowed, taking a vial from the centrifuge. He held it aloft, admiring the green fluid within, examining it against the light. The Overseer looked over expectantly at Sylvie, almost like a child asking for a gift he saw in a window store, and the chief scientist sighed in resignation.

Sylvie held out her hand expectantly, and Ascee reluctantly returned it to her. “I suppose it would work as an adequate experiment,” She conceded. Holstering her gun, the doctor proceeded to partially release Hunter, Mareel and Sloane from their restraints as the Overseer sauntered on over to a panel in the hallway just outside the doors he had blown off. Taking one last look to make sure there was nothing of value left for her in the room, Doctor Rosette pressed a button on the side of the vial, causing it to beep, and placed it on the ground before joining the Overseer in the hallway. With a few deft strokes on the panel, large security doors began to close, sealing the three off from the rest of the facility.

The beeping began to increase in speed. Its noise roused Mareel and Sloane from their slumber, who eyed the room with some disorientation.

“Have fun,” Ascee heckled as Sylvie rolled her eyes. “Try not to make too much of a mess!”

The doors closed.

The beeping grew more rapid.

Hunter gestured towards the vial. He tried to shout, to warn the others. Mareel glanced at the vial on the floor, more irritated by the noise it was producing than with the knowledge of what it would do to them. He glanced back at Hunter, and perhaps the desperation he saw in the Avis’ eyes convinced him of the danger they were all in.

The beeping turned into a long drawn out tone.

Mareel’s eyes widened in alarm.

Hunter looked away and prayed the end would be swift.

* * *

There was a grunt, and the jostling of gear right as the vial’s noise released its contents in a protracted hiss.

Opening his eyes, Hunter failed to feel any change to his body. Mareel, in some last gasp of strength and cognition, had thrown himself from the gurney, on top of the vial. The Aquarias Sith was huddled on the floor, gurney still attached and on its side.

“Lieutenant Mareel, are you alright?” Hunter called. He unstrapped himself from the gurney and forced his body to move towards Mareel. His legs screamed in protest, especially his left leg. It screamed with every step, threatening to lock on him, to go soft, to stab him with further pain with every step he took. The graft hadn’t finished setting, Hunter guessed.

Mareel didn’t answer him, only waved him away, still huddled to the floor. His skin had long ago lost its translucent hue common to his aquatic subspecies, but the sweat now coming off of him looked a convincing substitute.

“What happened?” Sloane slurred, still on her gurney. She was looking at the both of them with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. “What was that noise?”

“Its some kind of biological weapon,” Hunter unstrapped her, helping her to her feet. Sloane cried out in agony, clutching her right arm. Blood wept from the sutures; she must have been the last one to undergo the surgery. With both Powers’, and Henderson’s arms attached, the rest of her looked downright diminutive as a result. “Said something about being capable of liquidizing slimes, and that they wanted to test transmission to the rest of us.”

Sloane’s eyes went wide. “You mean we’re gonna turn into soup?”

He shrugged and pointed his thumb back towards the lieutenant. “We might have caught some of it, but Mareel took the brunt of it I think. Threw himself on top of the device.”

“So we might all be dead,” Mareel said, pulling himself off the floor. The very act seemed to drain him all energy, his breathing was already labored and heavy. “Or maybe just I am.”

A cursory examination of the room revealed to them that the operating theatre’s sole exit was through the sealed door. Above them, glazed windows sat, no doubt showing anyone inside a perfect view of them while maintaining the anonymity of anyone watching. Hunter wondered if Sylvie and Ascee were up there now. On instinct, he threw a gesture towards the windows, but there was no reaction.

The three of them sat against the sealed door, Mareel separating himself from them to recline against the left side, while Hunter and Sloane sat on the right. The Aquarias Sith made some grumble about feeling tired and needing a nap, leaving them to each other.

“So we just wait?” Sloane asked, glancing over at Mareel. The Aquarias Sith looked worse now, patches of scales were starting to flake, and his breathing continued to remain haggard. Inversely, she and Hunter only had minor sweats, but were otherwise fine. “I thought diseases took a long time to affect the body. How long will they keep us here?”

Hunter glanced back up at the windows. He shrugged in resignation. “I wouldn’t put it past Sylvie to engineer it to be more fast acting. It would make sense from a logistical point to make it be as quick as possible. You can’t wait weeks or months after dropping it on a fort for it to do its work when you’re in a warzone.”

“That’s a fair assumption to make,” Sloane agreed. She glanced over at Mareel, and barely repressed a shudder. “I just… I thought we’d all go quickly.” The human gestured all around them. “Not like this.”

“I’m surprised I even lived long enough to enlist,” Hunter smiled, making light of their situation. “There were so many times I thought I’d bite it, growing up.” He glanced over to Sloane. “So how did you get dragged into this shithole?”

Sloane grinned without mirth. “Ah, that’s an unpleasant memory.”

“You don’t have to,” Hunter replied.

“No, no, it’s alright.” She demurred. “It’s not like we have anything better to do.”

As if in emphasis of that fact, Mareel began to snore.

“I grew up in Oro,” Sloane began. “Was always curious about everything. Was never satisfied with anything. As I got older, it made sense to become a journalist. That’s when I met my husband, Gilad.” She smiled softly at some memory only she could see. “He was my photographer. We would always fight about work, about deadlines, ethics. We argued about everything, and then the next thing I knew, we started fighting about who would pay for dinner, who’s house we’d be staying the night at, or who’s in charge. He was the best thing that ever happened to me. For the first time in my life, something satisfied my curiosity.”

Love. Hunter liked to think he knew what that was. He had a girl back home, a beautiful Sith with lovely antennae, compound eyes and dusty wings. He had wanted to marry her before shipping out, only for her to demand he come back first, insisting that she didn’t want to lose a husband to war. A few other Siths, and even some humans had an eye for her too; Hunter hoped she still had room in her heart for him if he ever made it back.

“The war had started when we got back from our honeymoon,” Sloane went on. The levity in her voice had faded, and now a weight pulled her back down to reality. “We immediately wanted to go, but then we found out I was pregnant. That was the worst time of my life. I wanted to go out, I wanted to to cover everything, and I was stuck on bed rest going crazy. I needed a distraction, I needed something to make it all worth it.

“We were going to name her Natasi,” Sloane murmured. “She would have been… She’d be almost four years old now, if we hadn’t lost her. I’d be home with a daughter and a husband who would still be alive if she hadn’t tossed and turned too much, strangling herself to death inside me.”

“I was a dumb kid, and grew up romanticizing the idea of war,” He confessed. “Thinking I’d go in, and single handedly turn the tide of a conflict. Show the enemy the error of their ways. That notion died the moment we touched down for the battle of Phon. I started losing my squad, and we took the city. I thought it was acceptable losses. Then they refused to give up and we kept fighting each other, repelling them, losing the city, taking it back again, losing more and more of my team with each battle.”

“We’ve both lost something from this war,” Sloane said, taking his hand in hers. Hunter appreciated the gesture.

Something told Hunter they’d lose a lot more before the war ended, however.

Time was hard to grasp in the operating theatre. All they really had to gauge its passing was Mareel, who’s health continued to decline. After rousing himself from sleep, blisters began to form in patches all over his body, and the Sith’s skin had changed from its ordinarily oily blue color to a sickly green hue.

As his condition continued to deteriorate, Hunter and Sloane began to edge further and further away from him, as if he were a ticking time bomb ready to blow. A part of Hunter felt bad for doing so. But the paranoid part of him justified it with the idea that Sylvie would be sadistic enough to make the disease transmissible following the death of the carrier. Comparing them with Mareel seemed to at least confirm that Mareel had been infected with the entirety or brunt of the pathogen, which meant that he and Sloane were either resisting infection, or completely clean. And seeing the lieutenant suffering made the possibility of them surviving filled Hunter with guilt.

Whats worse, is that it seemed like Sylvie and Ascee had prohibited them from receiving any food. The further time continued, the hungrier they became. Basic actions started becoming harder, and before Hunter had even realized it, he and Sloane had lost track of all time after sleep began to rob them of all understanding.

At some point, Mareel’s flesh finally began to loosen, giving the lieutenant a thin gaunt look as his skin began to droop. Blisters continued to pockmark his skin as lesions slowly began to burst. A hideous smell began to accompany Mareel, making Hunter and Sloane gag.

Death continued to elude Mareel however, almost as if the virus was prolonging the inevitable, savoring the anguish the Cait Sith was undergoing. A part of Hunter wondered if he should just put the man out of his misery. Would Ascee and Sylvie try and stop him? Or would they hope this would happen as they had previously attempted to incentivize friendly fire?

It wasn’t like Hunter could do anything if he wanted to. He supposed he could, if he managed to rouse enough energy from within. But Sloane might not agree, and even stop him. She had a strength of will that had surprised Hunter, and in their weakened states, could possibly even outlive him.

When death finally came, Hunter could barely believe it. One moment, it had been the three of them, trapped in the room. The next, a visitor, kneeling next to Mareel. A woman, her features hidden by the hood of her cloak and a staff sitting beside her, inspecting the lieutenant. Mareel’s haggard gasps for breath were barely discernible as she held a hand to his forehead. Every part of her radiated sadness at the circumstances, and as she put a solitary finger to his lips, the breathing stopped, and Mareel slumped over.

Had Hunter had any energy, he would have been frightened or aggressive. Instead, all he managed was a barely audible “Thank you,” as the Shepherd took Mareel to his place of eternal rest.

The woman turned towards him, and Hunter felt his heart quicken, almost as if looking at her was energizing his failing body. She retrieved her staff and studied her surroundings, almost as if in doubt.

Stepping towards him, the woman inspected both the sleeping Sloane and Hunter, a wan smile on her face.

“Please,” He pleaded. “Save us.”

With tears in her eyes, the woman shook her head. “It is not your time, yet.” She apologized. Reaching out to caress Sloane’s hair, she added, “However, it is almost hers.”

The revelation startled him. As he began to protest, the Shepherd closed his eyes, and sleep overtook him.