R | Writing | Short Stories | Sleeper | Chapter 1

Only bits and pieces of the past year remained preserved in his mind. Blurred visions of pale, hawk-like faces peering down at him through a plastic barrier. Black-uniformed guards tapping on glass, the world around him was blue. From somewhere in the midst of his toxic-induced dreams, the sharp sting of an IV needle pushed its way into his arm. The distinct feeling of travelling - moving fast through space. There was shrieking, screaming...was it himself that was screaming? And then falling at light-speed, so fast it took the breath from his lungs.

He woke, gasping. The air that graced him, however, smelled and tasted like rubber and metal. The space around him was a translucent blue, as if he were in a swimming pool. Every so often a few bubbles floated up to the top of the tank.

'...Tank?'

He wanted to jump in a frenzy of panic, but all he could manage was a painfully slow spasm of his body. It hurt, it bloody hurt. A choked groan prompted more pain, and a shiver ran up his back. Where...? That was the question. Slowly, his eyes focused to peer at the outside.

Control panels and glass screens surrounded him, as if the technology were staring at him; viewing him like a corpse at a funeral. His lungs began to lose their stiffness and movement gradually became easier as he surveyed what was outside his prison. There was an emblem on the far wall ahead. Apollo's staff with six wings surrounding it against a black background.

Seraph Corps.. Yes, that's where he was. He didn't remember how, but he knew why. They'd learned of his service in the military and come to him to negotiate an agreement. Anything he wanted for donating his body to the "good causes" science. He'd had nothing to lose, and he still didn't, but something about this wasn't right. He wanted to get out.

And then a razor-sharp shock coarsed through him, quick and sudden. He let out a small grunt of surprise, and when it came again, the grunt turned to a gasp. Again, a stuttering cry. And when it came again, he threw himself against the glass of the tank, as if the cool chill of it would soothe his scorched body. Instinctively, he curled into a ball, though the pain had stopped. When he was satisfied that it wouldn't come again, he unfurled and cautiously took another look around. His suspicions were confirmed.

A man in a knee-length white jacket with a Seraph Corps. emblem on the breast. 'A scientist, obviously...' And obviously, a workaholic, like most scientists are. Greasy brown hair that wasn't too long, but it was clear that it hadn't seen shears nor a comb in perhaps months. Though, no glasses like one would expect a scientist to wear. The man was perhaps in his late fifties, yet still retained some marks of youth from his previous years. Far from attractive (and he knew what attractive was, considering the life he'd lived prior to becoming a test-tube experimentee) but not undateable for his age. The name on his jacket read, "Lasse". The gears in his head began to turn.

A voice, nasal and quite annoying spoke, "Mr. Saravok, you're going to experience a momentary pain."

He looked up. Mr. Lasse was tapping various images on the glass screen of a control panel.

The pain came again, only this time it was pure tortment. It shot through his body like wildfire, burning his muscles and ripping at his very spine. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't get enough air into his lungs, and breathing only set him into an even deeper state of horror. It felt like his skin was being jerked off, pulling at his fingers like one would pull at a glove when removing it. Slowly, his mind began to dettach from reality and drift gracefully (although his body was being torn limb-from-limb) into space, and a sort of nirvana came upon him. He saw the stars and clouds of old planet dust gathered in the distance. He was free-floating without any feeling, sighing with relief though he had no body. It wasn't anything like what was described by the Sleepers, or at least, the few who awoke to tell the tale. There were no neverending feelings of happiness or a place where dreams came true...it was just emptiness. Yet, that emptiness comforted him, and he felt at home here. But it all ended too soon.

Everything went black and his body felt cold and strangely heavy. It was like waking up all over again - he couldn't use his muscles at all. He couldn't feel his body, he was scared to open his eyes.

A weight was thrown over him, very light and yet he felt it distinctly. Soft, warm...a blanket. "Get up. Your muscles shouldn't be stiff, so you should be able to stand up on your own." And then receding footsteps. He felt his muscles moving and working beneath his skin, it was such a foreign feeling. He rose on sturdy feet and was soon stable and compleely awake, but he wished he wasn't. He wished he had died in that tank, alone, with no one to remember him and no stone to mark his grave.