Project Halo Part II

The continuation of the story I wrote for my friend.

“I never thought I would feel good seeing white walls. It was too plain of a color for my eyes. It was too dull and too bright at the same time. But now those bare white walls that I had come to loath felt like a comfort…or maybe not.”

 

            Flashes of black and white hit Cameron hard. Panic rose in his chest and his breathing felt deep and heavy as if he had just inhaled a lungful of smoke. Cameron eased himself up onto his elbows and looked around. The room was shrouded in darkness and a small sliver of light crept in from underneath the door crack. The room was windowless.

            “Hello?” he called to the room, hoping for a response of some sort. None came. The only sounds that reached him were the beeping of the machines around him and his harsh breathing. He wondered if he had the strength to even climb out of bed.

            He swung his legs over the side of the bed and his feet touched something soft. Carpeted floors, he thought as he slowly pushed himself into a standing position. The room was cold. He looked down, only to realize that he was dressed in a hospital gown. Cameron reached behind to scratch the back of his head and gasped when pain exploded at the back of his head like needles.

            What the hell did they do to me? He thought. He didn’t remember his head getting hurt. The doctors had told him—more like discussed it as he drifted in and out of consciousness—that he had a few broken ribs and nothing more than that. He decided to ignore the stabbing pain in his head and search the room for his clothes.

            He found a closet near the door and wrenched it open. His clothes were inside on hangers, a bit torn from bits of glass from the accident, but still decent enough for him to wear. At least they would provide comfort and warmth, unlike the hospital gown. He tore the gown off and winced at the sudden movement. The damage to his ribs was worse than he’d imagined. Cameron threw on his clothes, smoothed back his hair, and then peered into the closet.

            His gun holster was there and he grabbed it on instinct, buckling it around his waist. Now he really looked the part of a gunslinger. His hand automatically reached for his gun, but it wasn’t there. He knew the hospital had a “no guns” policy, but he was a cop for crying out loud.

            Cameron spun in the direction of the door, but before he could take one step forward it burst open on its own accord. He jumped back when he saw someone standing at the threshold, taking in the room slowly, as if seeing it for the first time.

            “Saint?” a male’s voice called. It was his commander. His left arm was in a cast and his head was bandaged.

            “Commander, what are you doing here?”

            “Seeing if you were still asleep,” the commander replied. “You nearly get shot by a psychotic terrorist and then you decide to go and walk in front of a moving car; do you have a death wish, kid?”

            Cameron smiled sheepishly, and then remembered the strange aching at the back of his head. “When I was drifting in and out of sleep, the doctors said the only thing they found wrong with me was a few broken ribs, and they bandaged them. But I think they did some brain surgery on me.”

            The commander frowned. “I didn’t give them informed consent to perform surgery,” he told him.

            “So they just decided to experiment on me, then? Am I some sort of lab rat now?”

            His superior shrugged. “One, I don’t think this is a hospital, because I haven’t seen one doctor all night, except for the medic team that brought you into this room. There are no other patients, and I haven’t seen any nurses. The receptionist’s desk is empty.”

            Saint almost choked on his words. “What is this place?”

            “Whatever it is, it’s certainly not a hospital.”

            “They took my gun,” Saint said. “I guess they thought I’d break out.”

            His commander reached inside his coat awkwardly with his right hand and tossed him something. Cameron caught it in his hand and saw that it was a gun. He looked up at his commander. “Are you armed?” he questioned.

            “I can’t shoot with this damn cast on,” his commander answered. Cameron nodded silently, taking note of the cast once more, and holstered the weapon.

            “Let’s go.”

            The hallway was empty, devoid of life. Cameron spotted a camera down the hall, obviously designed to watch for intruders…or escapees.

            “You wouldn’t happen to be able to shoot that camera from here, would you?”

            Saint shook his head. “No. It’s too far. We’ll have to edge along the wall. Once we get closer, I think I can take it out.”

            The commander nodded and they pressed their backs against the wall, sliding along its solid surface like snakes slithering through tall weeds. The camera was swiveling now, trying to detect who the two escapees were.

            Cameron took out the gun and fired. The tiny iron round smashed into the camera, shattering the lens. He pressed himself flat against the wall, praying silently that no alarm would go off. When nothing happened Cameron nodded at his commander and they took off down the hall, toward the door that would hopefully lead to their freedom.

            He burst through it only to see a bunch of people dressed in white lab coats sitting at a long table that spanned half the length of the hall.

            “Our project is awake,” one of the lab coats said, standing. His face was covered by a surgeon’s mask, but Cameron guessed that the man wore a smirk on his face.

            “I didn’t give you the option of surgery!” the commander shouted furiously. “I demand that you tell me what you did to him!”

            “I’ve reprogrammed you,” the surgeon said icily.

            “You…what…?” Cameron was at a loss, staring at the surgeons in disbelief, all of them staring back with hard looks, their expressions hidden by the white masks.

            “We’ve genetically altered your bone structure and placed a tracker in your brain,” the surgeon explained.

            “What the hell for?” Cameron raised his hand, pointing the gun at the surgeon.

            “We healed you,” the surgeon muttered. “If we hadn’t performed surgery, you’d be dead right now. That car accident did more than just break a couple of ribs, Cameron.”

            “I’m not just going to give you guys the okay and let you experiment on me,” Cameron shouted. He could see the surgeon’s lips form a wide smile through the mask.

            “You don’t have a choice, Saint,” the surgeon replied. “You’re part of the Halo Project now.”

Reviews

[Natalie]

O.O Come on, where's the next part? You can't put this part up without putting the next part and the next part up, it makes the reader mad... ;) Better hurry up, or I'll have to hurt you.