Ardring - Chapter 4
#4 of Ardring
He woke up in a slight sweat-- having had a dream of something he really didn't want to have. Something about tasers, about needles; the sheer thought of trying to remember what he actually dreamed about sent chills up his spine. He moved to get out of the bed that he'd been lain in at the hospital, but that motion made him realize something else.
He was in motion. Maybe not his body, but he could feel himself moving. He took a moment to squint, a bright light from overhead blinding his just awoken eyes. The walls were metallic, and there were no visible windows. Was this... a vehicle of some sort? They had cars on the farms, but none of them looked like this. He knew the feeling of this motion-- he tended to get that feeling in his stomach as if he were going to be carsick, but never actually vomited.
There was a sort of bed that he was on. Was this some sort of ambulance? Usually those had locked shelves of equipment inside, though. This thing was... bare. Like some sort of eerie moving van. Everything was just metallic, and a light above him reflected off at every angle. He tried to get up and look around, and realized he couldn't.
He didn't know why. His body felt numb, he couldn't feel anything. But he just couldn't sit up. He tried to crane his head slightly, and saw a strap. Over him? He was bound to this bed? Someone didn't want him to move.
He tried to scream out, and found that his voice was muffled. Gagged, and he couldn't feel that either?
He wondered if he shivered. He wondered if he was crying. His body had no feeling right now. He tried to look around. All he could see really, was the ceiling, and what little of the walls, or himself he could see. He didn't really have much head movement available to him.
He heard the sound of something sliding, and tried to look above him. At least, laying down, that's where it seemed to come from. "Hm. You woke up already?" A voice said. Raspy. Weak. Evil. That was the only way he could describe it. It was of those voices so uniquely toned, you could pick it out in a jumble of people talking. He heard footsteps on metal, and tried to look at whoever was walking at him. But he saw little more than a patch of fur, before there was a slight tingle in his arm.
He looked down to see a syringe there, and watched as a grey paw depressed whatever was inside into him. And before he could try and mumble past his gag, his eyes slowly started to droop, and he felt himself falling asleep again.
He woke up in a slight daze, and found himself free to move. He was in another bed though-- at least, he thought it was bed. He was laying on a sheet of some sort. But whatever mattress he was laying on was made of something that felt like cement-- or as hard as it. He groaned, his body stiff from having lain down for so long on whatever it was.
"Good to see you're awake." A voice said. His head swirled, as he turned himself to look over. He attempted to sit up, and suddenly there were paws on his body, helping him up. Strong, powerful-- he suddenly melted in them, and wondered why he felt that way.
Then again, being the kind of person that always told people he was able to do things himself, it had been a long, long time since anyone had offered help that he was welcoming. "Wh-who--" The ferret started, before there was a soft chuckle.
"The name's Guile. People call me Quickfoot around here. I'm your room-mate, I guess." The voice said, sitting the ferret up. The mustelid rubbed his eyes, looking around. He was in a bunk bed of sorts, having been lain down on the bottom bunk. It was pushed into the corner of their little "room", which reminded him moreso of a cell. The walls were stone, barren, and cold. Above them hung a light, encased in glass so thick, the light barely passed through. There was a small stall in the opposite corner, a toilet of sorts from what he could see under the door. A sink to the side of it.
He looked at where the voice was coming from. His green eyes met blue, as he stared into the grinning face of a cheetah. A strong, broad jaw, and yet fur that looked so soft, it would feel like cotton. Very short, black hair, spiked up a little (with god knows what, it looked like it just grew that way), and yellow fur matted in black spots (save for a white muzzle and neck). He was toned-looking, and wore no shirt. He had on what looked like used-to-be-white track pants, now a grayish brown from use and dirt. A little on the thin side, but not altogether bony. Just... underfed.
"Welcome to the institute # 122." The cheetah said, slowly sliding Zerrif's legs off the bed. "There's a lot to explain, and so little time."
"Little time? Before what?" Zerrif asked. The cheetah's eyes glazed over a bit, and his head turned towards the door, which Zerrif just noticed. The walls led to a single, metallic door with a large hole for a window, bars preventing escape out. The cheetah just carried him, his thin-ness betraying his strength as he seemed to pick up the ferret with ease, and he walked towards the door. Zerrif peered through the window, only to gasp slightly.
His gaze met a long hallway, with exact replicas of his door lining down both sides of the hall in both directions. He looked above a door just in front of theirs. 53454.
"We're on the 53rd floor of the institute, room 453." The cheetah explained, noticing where the ferret's gaze had gone. He just moved him back to the bunk bed and sat him there, before sitting on a stool. Apparently, they had a little stool and a desk-- which had pictures tacked onto it. Various pictures of the cheetah, it seemed. "You're here because you're a special person. You might not know it yet. What do you remember?" The cheetah asked. The ferret tried to listen, confused. But if this cheetah knew what was going on, perhaps listening and answering would provide insight.
"... An explosion. A bright light. A cloud. Then... here." He mumbled. The cheetah just nodded.
"So you're one of the unlucky souls to be subject to the Deus Bombs." The feline mumbled, his tail curling up into his lap. Zerrif noticed that the tail was horribly frayed and tangled, as if it hadn't had a brush in ages. "What's your name?"
"..." He forgot for a moment. "Zerrif. Zerrif Astaire." He replied after a while of thinking. His head hurt whenever he tried to think about anything. Even his name.
"Good. Don't ever forget that. They'll try to make you like everyone else. Your name is what will separate you." The cheetah said. He took a seat beside Zerrif. "They'll do things to you. Horrible things. They'll do tests on you to see your effects. They'll do even worse things to elicit responses from you. If they don't like you, or the results, they'll get rid of you." The ferret just looked up at the painfully blunt cheetah, who seemed to be a head taller just sitting-- he had to bend forward so that he wasn't squished.
"... I'm scared." Was all he could say. For some reason, what the cheetah said to him made a crude form of sense. "My parents--"
"Didn't know anything." The cheetah replied. "I assure you, I've heard the stories many times before. The government... they're doing things to people for their own gain. They're creating us. Testing on us. You'll find out why soon enough. I know I did within my first day here." He said. He just wrapped an arm around the mustelid, who started to shake. "I'll take care of you, I promise."