Out of the Vein

Without his knowledge or consent, before Gene Norihito could pass on to the Other Side, he had been Altered.

Even within the seemingly infinite depth of the unfamiliar void, her presence still surrounded Gene. She haunted him. Exactly who she was became less clear with each passing moment however. The persistent lack of clarity continued to pull on him like a thread attached to a spool. However, the mental thread felt less like being unraveled and more akin to something being covering up; an unseen tailor attempted to stitch over a tear in Gene’s mind. As his frustration mounted, Gene systematically lost the complete picture of this mystery woman. It was even more distressing not knowing why she was so embedded in his memory in the first place. Her scent. Her touch. Her taste. Every sensation was gradually concealed and slipped from Gene’s grasp.

Even with those individual pieces gone, Gene sensed this young woman’s presence somewhere deeper in his mind. Or, perhaps she was beyond memory? Where would that place be? While the mysterious presence continued to fade away, another apparition drew near.

At first, Gene could only comprehend the weightlessness of the void.

Then, there was light.

Something terrible abruptly invaded his isolation. He suddenly became aware of his eyes as a forceful slap of white wrapped around his vision. Star white. Everywhere. Just a glacial slab of blinded light assaulted Gene from every direction.

Then came the noise; an agonizing whirring sound, like a legion of massive jet turbines rapidly coming to speed. He instinctively covered his ears with his hands, both of which he suddenly became reacquainted with. Feeling jolted through the rest of his appendages; arms, legs, and head. Sensation crackled through him with unwanted life. Gene rapidly and reluctantly became familiar with his body again in sharp, ceaseless waves of pain.

Equally as painful to the physical agony of being laid out on a searing slab of ice, was the pain of not understanding how Gene had come to be in the first place. He remembered feeling weightless just moments before. Nothing to see. Nothing to hear. Nothing to feel. No pain. What had changed that Gene now found himself being struck repeatedly by waves of hard light and monstrous noise? Physically, Gene felt as though he were pinned down on the shore of some arctic beach. Beyond the crushing gravity, the pounding weight of freezing water upon his body, Gene desperately craved relief from the pain of not knowing why.

Why couldn’t he remember anything from before the void?

Gene drew in a sharp breath, and he immediately began to gag. Cleaning solution, alcohol, pungent vinegar burned his nostrils. It took a moment to overcome the scent. Ignoring the turbine noise, Gene pressed the palms of his hands against the slick, frozen floor. Straining against the weight pressing down against him, he managed to stand. It took nearly every ounce of energy just to bring himself upright and not throw up.

The piercing, whirring sound began to dim. It was replaced by an equally intrusive, rhythmic klaxon alarm. Gene’s vision also began to return, and sharpen in waves. He blinked and rubbed at his pupils. The white remained, but it became more defined. There was a repeating pattern along what he now gathered was a wall about three meters in front of him.

Where was he?

Some Kind of hospital or medical facility? That hyper clean smell, dust free environment was partially familiar to his memories of what a hospital felt like. No. This place was worse. Unlike any hospital he could recall, there were no doors. The room Gene found himself in was simply a round room with a repeating and unbroken tile pattern. Above him, there was a grid of bright task lighting that spanned the entirety of the ceiling. Another sound, like a sharp crackle followed by a pop shot over the pulsating alarm, directing Gene’s attention to a thin window that appeared beside him.

Within the window, a woman, early thirties, screamed over the piercing siren, “I told you! I told you we were not ready to begin digital transfer without further testing.”

Beside her, a middle aged man, slick black hair and a sharp chin looked down, “Doctor Williams, reset the alarm. I want to examine the results personally.” The man’s lips formed the slightest of grins, “Open the Clean Room.”

Doctor Williams stuttered out in protest; “D-director, I strongly object-”

“Your objections are noted. Open the room,” the Director cut her off and disappeared from view.

Alone, nervous, Doctor Williams looked down at Gene from behind the thick glass window. Big doe eyes, a mix of fear and panic. That incessant alarm came to an abrupt halt that left Gene’s ears ringing. Clearing her throat, distorted by what was likely an intercom hidden somewhere within the room, the woman’s voice spoke nervously, “Hello? You there; can you hear me?”

Gene opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Instinctively, he reached for his throat. His fingers hesitated. Carefully caressing his skin, he found a length of scar tissue. He traced the scar up his throat, under his chin, and up and up to find it perfectly divided his face in half. Only a few millimeters in width, Gene’s hand began to quake as he discovered the scar continues to bisect his body from head to groin. Frustration mounted as that pain of the unknown tightened its fingers around Gene’s throat.

Giving up on a verbal response, Gene resorted to lying. Holding his hand out, he signaled a thumbs up to the Doctor staring down at him from the thin window. Everything’s fine here. Nothing to see except a naked man in a white room with a scar running down his entire body.

Doctor Williams also choose to lie; “Okay. Good. Don’t panic. We’re going to open the Clean Room momentarily. Stand by. Everything is going to be fine.”

He continue to stand. The gravity continued to press hard against his shoulders, but the burden had become increasingly tolerable by degrees. Ahead of him, a sharp hiss of compressed air coursed out from what was moments ago, a seamless white wall. Gradually, a doorway appeared, sliding outward in two equal parts. Beyond the door, was a dark hallway a few meters deep. Warm, accent lighting gently came to life and illuminated the corridor that lead to a dead end.

Doctor Williams swallowed and offered some meek encouragement; “Please proceed through the corridor. There will be a brief burst of decontamination spray, then we’ll open the main doors.”

Gene weighed his lack of options: one against zero. Taking an unsteady step forward, he proceeded through the corridor. Reaching the doorframe of the clean room, Gene tumbled into the wall. He pushed out his right hand to steady himself. He allowed his hand to guide himself along the cool corridor wall taking staggered steps forward.

With another pop and hiss, the door mechanism steadily closed behind Gene. A sharp pop followed as the vacuum seal to the clean room locked into place. The accent lighting flashed red before a puff of compressed air startled Gene. Nearly knocked off his feet, the dizzying effect of the gas subsided and the doorway ahead of him opened.

Gene recognized the faces of the two individuals standing before him. Wearing a lab coat, black pencil skirt, and a pair of white hightop boots, Doctor Williams caught her breath. She must have ran from the control room immediately after Gene entered the corridor. Traditionally attractive; her greasy blonde hair was pulled back in a short ponytail. A pair of thin black rimmed glasses perfectly framed, a face touched up with a discrete application of makeup. Professional, functional, and transparently nervous at the sight of Gene.

In stark contrast to Doctor Williams attempting to hide her panic, the man with the slick black hair stood with a smirk carved upon his rather wooden face. His suite looked expensive. His tie, wrist computer and shoes were equally as elegant. In addition to his lavish accessories, he wore a plastic badge attached on to his breast pocket that read, “Director of Operations: Stephen D. Jenkins II.”

Doctor Williams reached into her pocket for a datapad, still breathless, “Director, I have to reiterate this is against protocol. We shouldn’t let the asset out of the Clean Room.”

Ignoring her, Director Jenkins extended his hand out to Gene, “HELLO. I AM DI-REC-TOR STEPHEN JENKINS. WELCOME TO MY STATION.”

Gene grimaced, attempted to speak, but was still unable to do so. The strain of pushing an introduction out of his mouth only resulted in a violent coughing fit. He jerked his hand up to cover his mouth. A smattering of copper blood spurt out of his mouth and onto his hand. How embarrassing. Still unable to recall his past, surely there was something he learned about how impolite it was to cough blood on strangers. Gene was aware of how embarrassing his lack of speech and control was as the Director recoiled his hand violently.

Doctor Williams’ response was slightly more compassionate as she shook off her lab coat and draped it over Gene’s naked body; “Honestly, when in the history of everything has yelling and over annunciating been an effective means of communication?”

“What’s wrong with the asset?” Was all Jenkins said in response.

Gene felt Doctor Williams’ gloved hand press against his back between his shoulder blades. She applied a little pressure, guiding him forward along a subtly curving hallway. They only made it a few meters before she called back to The Director, “I’m taking him up to Medical.”

They continued their brisk walk along the curved hallway. The floor was a matte black steel surface, cool against Gene’s bare feet, but not freezing like the Clean Room. To his left, a pale-institution-green wall stretched on along the hallway. Occasionally the wall was broken up by a large double doorway. Gene recognized the print above each doorway: descending numbers, but nothing more to indicate what lie beyond each door. To his right, was a far more impressive view. Running from floor to ceiling, large glass panels reveal the vast and open darkness of space.

Gene remembered space.

Stars, a distant moon, and much closer to their present position was a gas giant. The planetary body took up the majority of visual real estate beyond the window. Surrounded in neon greens, aqua, and dark blues, it looked like the entire surface was wrapped within a thunderstorm. Chaotic gasses swirled and raced around the planet with oddly calming, almost hypnotic effect.

Broken from his trance, Gene’s ears tuned back to the one sided argument unfolding beside him.

“This is not up for debate,” the Director spoke matter of factly. “As project manager and Director of this station, I wish for the asset to be thoroughly studied within a natural environment where it can be monitored and contained.”

“That’s why I’m taking him to the medical bay,” Williams’ countered, exasperated. “We’re talking about basic human rights here, Director.”

They’d all arrived at an elbow at the top of the curved hallway. A small, unfurnished foyer sat at the head of what Gene perceived as a hallway that would eventually circle back to where he came from. Directly ahead of them on the north wall of the foyer was a bank of reflective steel doors. Director Jenkins reached out and pressed his plastic badge against a palm sized black rectangle that was set into the doorframe at about chest height. The black pad flashed green for a moment before returning back to its neutral state.

Refusing to face the Doctor, Director Jenkins spoke again, calm and devoid of emotion; “Doctor Williams, you will escort the subject to Habitation Ring One and secure one of the empty dormitories for the asset’s use. You’ll conduct your tests from there. Once you’ve run the standard battery of tests, we’ll determine what amount of human rights our subject is fit to receive.”

There was a metallic ding above the frame before the steel doors separated. The Director stepped inside the elevator. Before Doctor Williams could follow, Jenkins stuck his hand out, blocking her admittance; “Follow orders. Do your job.” Turning about face, Jenkins’ wooden grin had returned, “You may catch the next lift up. Thank you, Doctor, for your cooperation”

Doctor Williams jerked back from the Director in disgust. Her face was dark red. Livid, she opened her mouth to speak, but the steel doors slammed shut. The lift zipped upward. Her hand shook as she stretched it out and slapped her badge hard against the black pad. After an unnerving minute of silence, the metallic ding sounded again above the doorframe. She entered. Gene followed.

As the door shut, Doctor Williams growled, “Æger, lift to Medical Bay, deck ‘C’.”

A cold metallic voice replied, “Request denied. Unauthorized personnel detected within lift.”

Williams let out an exaggerated sigh, “Fine. Æger, add permissions to enter lift and enter medical bay for...” She paused and turned to Gene. He stood with the posture of a man who had recently been revived after having nearly drowned. His hand clutched the railing. A slight slouch bent his heigh as he leaned against the elevator wall. Regarding him with only a hint of sympathy, she asked, “Do you... What would you prefer us to address you by?”

Gene swallowed. Hesitantly, he covered his mouth while making a final attempt to speak; “G-gene. I am Captain Gene Norihito.” His voice was hoarse, and a fair amount of blood still trickled out the side of his mouth. Regardless of the difficulty, Gene was relieved to be able to communicate.

What was more astonishing to Gene, was that he remembered language at all. Speech, language, basic astronomical bodies, and a whole host of other information. His past, however and its finer details, continued to elude him. Gene Norihito. Captain. He knew his name and rank. He recalled what felt like a distant sensation of piloting some sort of craft. Beyond that? Nothing.

Doctor Williams too appeared to be astonished, but waved it off. Her anger out weighted her curiosity at present, “Gene. Nice to meet you,” she said flatly. “Æger, add user, Norihito, Gene, to Heimdall Station lift access to Medical Bay, Deck ‘C’.”

Æger’s detached voice again replied, “Request Denied. User, Doctor Williams, Hailey, does not have permission to add users to Heimdall Station.”

Gene nearly jumped as Williams slammed a fist against the side of the elevator, “Jenkins, you son of a bitch.” She looked to Gene, still dazed, then back to the wall. “Æger, lift to Habitation Ring One.”

“Compliance, lift to Habitation Ring One,” Æger replied with indifference.

Gene felt the lift rapidly ascend. Shafts of light streamed down in quick succession like water droplets down the corners of the elevator walls. Doctor Williams continued to open and clench her fists as she attempted to calm herself.

Slightly less agitated, she barked out another order at the computer, “Æger, page Doctor Kramer and meet me at Habitation Ring One.”

“Compliance,” replied Æger.

More silence followed. Gene desperately tried to piece together what little information he had about his environment. They were in space. There were at least three people aboard whatever this place was, and a computer interface that controlled some of this facility’s functions. Even the few basic facts felt like juggling bowling balls. Everything was so heavy and hazy. Gene desperately wanted to return to the dark. If only he could go back to the void. Maybe, if he could get back to the nothingness he came from, he could unravel the thread dangling in his mind: something about a young woman.

The lift doors opened to reveal an older man, dark grey beard with a touch of black left over. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail about a hands length longer than Hailey’s. With his arms folded across his chest, Gene could still read the name off the badge attached to this man’s lab coat: Dr. Joseph “Joey” Kramer.

“Where’d he come from?” Kramer asked, droll and drowsy.

Despite standing beside Gene, Williams lowered her voice, “He’s one of ours.”

Kramer looked Gene up and down, unimpressed; “Bullshit.”

Williams grit her teeth and nodded her head, “RAN Model 101. I watched the epidermal change myself. Complete surface restructure and manifestation.”

Doctor Kramer took a step back, peered over his glasses trying to get a better look at Gene, “Maybe he’s part of the next wave of volunteers. Jenkins said we’d be getting more.”

Doctor Williams was adamant and more animated to prove her point, “Kramer, I was there, in the room. Whatever is on the inside, isn’t stored inside Æger. It’s something else. SOMEONE else.”

The two doctors exchanged looks, then turned back to Gene.

For his part, the naked man held his borrowed lab coat closed tight and carefully delivered a simple request, “I’d like to lie down, please.”

As Gene was escorted down a similarly curved hallway to the ring he’d first arrived on, the two doctors competed to bombard him with a myriad of details. Jenkins’, the suit, was in charge of the facility. Gene’s feet felt the plush navy blue carpet beneath him. Heimdall Research Station, was what they called this place. Gene’s attention strayed back to the Gas Giant outside the window. Its swirling mosaic of colors gently rotating around the massive ball floating a few thousand meters away. They’re doctors, and want to run tests to see if Gene was, “Operational,” Kramer said. “Unharmed,” Williams’ corrected. Gene only mildly continued to express any interest in either of the two doctors.

“This must be some kind of anomaly. An accident,” Kramer said in a voice that had been diminished by what Gene recognized as the toll decades of cigarettes and alcohol.

Doctor Williams stretched out her hand and directed Gene’s attention to a faux-wooden door, “This is going to be your dorm for the time being.” She pressed her name badge gainst a similar sized black rectangle against the doorframe. Some mechanism within the door clicked and unlatched as the door gently swayed inward.

Gene continued to mind the effort it took to speak without coughing up blood, “Home.”

Kramer chuckles, “Yup, home sweet home. At least for until we figure out who fucked up.”

Shaking his head, Gene clarified, “I want,” he paused, drawing in a breath, “Want to go home.”

Both doctors attempted and failed to hide a sense of growing discomfort.

Doctor Williams’ made a plea to end their interaction, “I understand, but for now, we’ll do our best to take care of you until we can arrange for you to return home.” She shot Doctor Kramer a less than subtle look of irritation. He shrugged.

Once again, Gene was left to weigh his options. Suppose he could get back to the White Room? Could that place send him back to the void? How much energy would it take to force himself to walk the two hundred meters back to the elevator and down to the deck they came from? Gene concluded, the effort would be considerably more taxing than what he was currently capable of. For now, he’d accept these stranger’s hospitality until it became less than hospitable.

“Pants?” Gene asked and gestured sheepishly, forcing a weak smile.

Doctor Kramer returned Gene’s smile with a toothy grin, “Sure. Seems only decent to present yourself decently. I’ll have one of the RANs’ shuffle on down and set ya up with some clean digs. They won’t be stylish, but ya won’t be buck naked either.”

As Gene entered the dormitory, ambient lighting embedded in the ceiling brightened the room. Divided by a half wall down the center, the thirty square meter space was decently furnished. Nothing extravagant, but by all accounts genuinely comfortable. Sofa, desk, bed, everything detailed with faux-wooden accents against a minimalist color pallet of three different shades of blue.

Gene hobbled towards the bed, which, to his relief, was surprisingly soft.

Doctor Williams cleared her throat, “Try and get some rest. We’ll be back in a few hours to see how you’re doing. Okay?”

Gene nodded. He watched Doctors Williams and Kramer leave and the door close behind them. He heard that same mechanical lock within the door clasp shut. He noticed the lack of a handle on his side of the door. Gene wouldn’t panic. Not yet. If they intended to keep him prisoner, they wouldn’t have bothered with such comfortable accommodations. On the other hand, they may simply want to give the impression that they weren’t keeping him prisoner. Gene convinced himself that he’d discover their true motivations in time. Right now, he was content to dive face first into the soft mattress before him.

Gene would have let himself immediately drift off to sleep too, but the door to his comfortable cell swung inward. Forcing himself to stand back up, Gene gasped at the presence entering his room. With its arms outstretched, holding a set of folded clothes, a man with a rubber face and red glowing eyes swiftly approached.

Clenching his fists as the ghastly being drew near, Gene reluctantly relaxed. It wasn’t a man. It was a machine of some sort. An android, was the term that popped into Gene’s head. With surprisingly natural motions, Gene watched as the humanoid machine walked over to the desk and gently placed the handful of clothes on top. Wearing black work boots, dressed in dark blue coveralls, with the exception of its face, the robot nearly blended into the background of the room. It’s head was completely covered in starch white rubber material. It’s facial expression was neutral, but painfully inhuman; like a child’s drawing of what a person’s face might look like. In that respect, its appearance was both innocent and also unsettling depending on the angle. As the machine righted itself back into a standing position, it turned to face Gene and waited.

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence between the two.

Gene gathered the machine might be waiting for additional orders. With a stiff voice, he gestured to the door; “That will be all, thank you.”

The robot’s single LED red lights didn’t blink or offer any other sign of life behind those hollow looking eyes. Instead, a neutral synthesized voice replied, “We are RAN. We live to serve.” Turning on its heels, the robot marched toward the door which swung open and closed in time with the android’s step.

Again the locking mechanism clasped itself shut.

Once again, Gene was left alone.

The only thing that remained with Gene was that old familiar pain. It was the pain of the unknown and the forgotten. As he lay back upon the bed, Gene tried to grab hold of that loose thread just out of reach in the deep, dark waters within his mind. What would happen if he pulled that thread?

What was concealed within that spool of thread beyond his grasp?