Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Play Me Some More of that Old Blues ❯ Chapter 5 ( Chapter 5 )

 

Chapter 5

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Mr. Caulder watched as the woman was interrogated. He had seen the look of amazed fear on her face when she was told of what she carried. Even now, her grasp of what lay within her was feeble at best. Mr. Caulder himself was unsure of the exact properties of the nano-machines; he knew only that what they offered medical science, what they offered him, could not be measured on any scale. The slender man placed a manicured hand against the cool glass of the two-way mirror.

 

She was their greatest hope.

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“Damn you! And damn your stupid machines, and damn your stupid immortality bullshit! Now get me the hell out of here!”

 

Mathis stood from his chair, lightly dusting off his jacket. “I think that's enough, miss Valentine…”

 

Faye snarled. “And quit calling me that you bastard! My name is Faye!”

 

Ignoring her, Mathis looked up at the two-way glass above him on the second level. His small earpiece buzzed, and he nodded in acknowledgement.

 

“Miss Valentine, I'm afraid we're going to have to cut this short.”

 

Faye turned at the sound of an opening door. Looking back quickly, she saw Mathis disappear through another exit. Faye leapt to her feet, her hands small fists at her sides. Four people entered the main door. They were all dressed in white. The first two were large men, barehanded and roughly put together. The third individual stood behind them, an oversized restraining coat in his hands. Lastly, a woman entered, striding elegantly and packing a long needle that spouted a quick stream of clear liquid. Faye felt her breath catch painfully.

 

“Hey, I didn't know you guys were into the kinky stuff!” She barely recognized her own voice. She hated herself for the fear she felt within her at the sight of that needle. `What the hell is this, what is going on here!' She thought, looking around desperately for any sort of weapon. Her eyes fell on a stiff clipboard. As the foursome approached, Faye suddenly darted for the small plastic board. Snatching it up quickly, she turned and winged it at the head of the closest person.

 

It struck him squarely on the bridge of his nose.

 

While he grabbed for his face, Faye ran directly into the pack, kicking one guy in the groin while grabbing the wrist of the needle woman and hauling her at the other orderly. The two bodies struck with a dull smack, and Faye used that second of time to deliver a kick to the throat of the man she'd hit with the clipboard. She was just turning to run when something struck her neck.

 

Faye cried out, lifting a hand to find something small and metal sticking in her flesh. She tried to turn, and stumbled drunkenly instead. Falling to her knees, she looked up, and saw Mathis in the doorway, a small rifle in his hands. Faye tried to stand again, but instead felt gravity multiply, forcing her to the floor. By this time, the four goons had recovered. One wrapped meaty hands around her wrists, while another confiscated her ankles. Together, they returned her to the bed.

 

As the paralyzing effects of the drug slipped through her, Faye saw Mathis hand the rifle to one of the burly orderlies. Then, as her vision reduced, he spoke to the woman with the needle. His voice echoed strangely, but Faye could still hear what he said, though the words made little sense.

 

“Take her to the clean room. Have Dr. Wilde run his series on her. I'm curious to see how she matches up against our other guest…”

 

Her eyes slid shut, and yellow butterflies carried her into the void.

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There were hands again. They came all the time, touching, poking, cutting. He didn't associate the hands with himself. He couldn't smell, taste, hear, or feel. He was conscious, yet unaware of the activity and breath of the world around him.

 

He didn't know himself.

 

On some level, images wandered through his head, sepia toned watercolors that faded before he could identify the paintings. Everything was without sound. He strained to catch even the tiniest whisper, yet there was nothing. Not even the sound of his heartbeat registered.

 

He wondered, in some detached manner, if this was truly all there was to death. This white void, the empty wasteland where even the chronicles of memory were denied you.

 

Another glint crossed his vision, gone like sparkle of sunlight on water. He felt himself longing for its return. The nothingness was suffocating, he was desperate to draw air into his lungs. He tried to fight, but the lumber that made up his body would not respond. He fought harder, a familiar fear rising in him once more. He had to get out, now, now dammit! As before, the constricting bands closed around him. He could only sit by helplessly as the landslide buried him again, sealing him from escape. Once more, he was left with only one outlet in the wasteland of his mind.

 

He screamed.

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Dr. Wilde bent over the enclosed microscope.

 

Perfect.

 

Sample B was reacting just as it had before. The introduction of cells from the alpha subject was causing the same effects as before. He watched the mitosis for about another few minutes. Then, just as before, the division stopped, and the devices became inert. Removing the slide, Wilde made his way to the far door. Before entering, he donned a sealed environment suit. He checked the gauge clipped to his side. Good, there was enough oxygen for three hours. Entering through the doors, he stopped inside the small yellow box outlined on the floor. Behind him, the door automatically slid shut. The lights dimmed, and he felt the suit constrict around him as the air was exchanged. Through another doorway now and stopping again, this time to have his suit sprayed by a double dose of pink fluid; a neutralizing agent that scoured the suit for any contaminants. The next stage removed the fluid, then dried him with a cutting blast of cold air. After this final stage, Wilde could finally enter the clean room.

 

There was only one other individual in the room. Though she didn't wear an environment suit, she was protectively sealed inside a clear, coffin-like structure. Her eyes were closed, her breathing stable. Wilde had been concerned at first, but the once livid bruises on her neck had faded to almost nothing against her pale flesh. Tapping a few buttons on the containment unit, he assured himself that everything was normal.

 

Wilde took a cleansing breath. He had to be absolutely positive he made no mistakes in this next step. With his mind clear, he stepped up to a small knob sprouting from the side of the containment unit. The knob was actually a narrow tube, connected to a stout needle inside the unit. Wilde slipped an empty vial inside the channel, locking it in place with a gentle push. The subject's arm was just beneath the needle's tip. Using the clean gloves mounted beside the needle, Wilde positioned the subject's arm to make sure a vein was exposed. Carefully, he slid the needle into the soft flesh at the crook of her elbow.

 

Excellent. The vial quickly filled with a sample of her blood. In a few seconds, Wilde retracted the needle, taping a patch of gauze over the tiny wound to stop the bleeding.

 

Removing his hands from the gloves, Wilde retrieved the blood sample. On the other side of the room now, Wilde opened a refrigeration unit and selected a shallow dish marked `Alpha 1'. Moving to the counter, he carefully laid out his collection. With practiced movements, he lifted a culture from the petri dish. Placing the culture on a slide, he dripped it with a tiny amount of blood from the vial. Placing the slide under a microscope, he held his breath, then dipped his head towards the lens.

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Jet shredded the remains of his cigarette between his large fingers, bits of tobacco and paper dropping at his feet. His inquiry with Bob had been fruitless; the officer had no information on Faye's disappearance, or any other similar cases for that matter. Disposing of the rest of his smoke, Jet stood, feeling his knees pop as he started moving again. He'd definitely been sitting in the Hammerhead for too long.

 

Lifting the hatch of his ship, Jet decided his next course of action would be to attempt to track Faye's location via her communicator. Granted, the device wasn't on, but with any luck the signal was still… “Damn!”

 

Useless.

 

Either the device was destroyed, or she was out of range. Either way, he had no way of finding where she was. Jet found himself remembering what it was like before he'd met Spike. “Nobody to worry about, clean up after, or feed. No whining, complaining, or bullshit. Why the hell did I ever let any of them on my ship…”

 

He rubbed the top of his smooth scalp, concern blurring his features.

 

“Where the hell are you Faye…”

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Her head hurt. `Gnnnaaaaayyy… how many times do I have to wake up in a strange place with a headache?' She thought, attempting to rub her pounding brow.

 

Her arms wouldn't move.

 

Faye opened her eyes, and realized they were the only part of her that responded. Sweat broke out on her brow, and sudden terror washed through her. This wasn't like other times she'd been held against her will. Those times, it was either because she owed money… or she was just a bargaining chip. Actually, she'd only had to play that role once as far as she could remember.

 

“You mean you're really gonna come for me?”

 

“It's possible, I've got my reasons, so don't take it personal…”

 

He's saved her then, but it had only been an afterthought, a means to an end. But this time, there was no debt, there was no demand for ransom. She was a just a thing to her captors, a vessel… a means to an end…

 

Faye tried to bleed calm into her veins, tried to still her wildly beating heart. It was useless, she'd never been the calm, rational type. She wanted to break something.

 

The claustrophobia tightened around her, and her eyes widened in anguish. `This is torture! How the hell am I gonna get out of this one! Jet, Jet are you out there? Do you know what happened to me?' The thoughts in her head were as tormenting as the rest of her situation. Faye would have screamed had she the ability to do so.

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Mr. Caulder was at his window again, watching humanity pass beyond the glass. His distorted reflection stared back into the room, a washed out version of himself, translucent and fragile. The moment the sun hid behind a cloud, the ghost vanished.

 

A soft knock at the door.

 

“Come in.” He didn't turn, only listened as the door opened and shut behind him. The sun came out, and a ghost of Andrew Mathis stood behind him.

 

“You have news?”

 

Mathis remained where he was, tugging once at his tie, a miniscule sign of his excitement. Mr. Caulder waited, watching the lives below.

 

Mathis cleared his throat. “It's about the new subject, Faye Valentine.”

 

A flock of birds rose on an updraft of air, shining white in the bright sun. “Yes.”

 

Mathis pulled his tie again, his hands restlessly adjusting his clothes. His voice sounded almost breathless when he finally spoke again. “We have it.”