Chapter Text
paige woke up in pain.
she blinked twice, scanning the room, then quickly squeezed her eyes shut. her head was pounding, a dull, continuous ache pressing inside her skull. she tried lifting her arm to massage her temples and hissed immediately at the sharp pain that radiated from her elbow to her wrist. right, they had broken it yesterday. she’d forgotten about that.
her ribs hurt with each rattling breath she took as she tried not to panic. she wiggled her hand—her pinky and ring finger on her left hand were broken too, wrapped together in a thick white gauze. she could feel the bindings on her ankles and wrists cutting into the tender bruised flesh, tethering her to the bed.
waking up in a dingy gray cell two days in a row hadn’t been the greatest for her mental sanity—or her back. but today, today she woke up in a sterile room; pristine white walls, the pungent smell of disinfectant wafting around the room, itching her nose. waking up in an actual bed though, no matter how thin the mattress was, was a relief. perhaps today would be her last day here, and this was their apologetic send off for her departure into the big wide world. maybe they were done questioning her, done torturing her, and would toss her out on the streets to get on with her day and die of hunger and thirst as she wandered around lost and confused with no memory of her life or who she was except for her name.
paige bueckers.
she knew she was on planet W-N21, she knew the sky outside would be thick, heavy and suffocating from the smog, she knew 5 + 5 equals 10, she knew her name was paige bueckers, she’d somehow retained her innate knowledge of the world, except for how she existed in it. she was years old, she was from colony , her mom and dad were , and , and she loved to in her free time.
no matter how hard she tried—and trust, she tried very, very hard—she couldn’t pull anything from her mind to fill in those blanks. even being dragged up and off the dirty floors she woke up on by masked soldiers in all black with guns glinting menacingly in their hands, being strapped down to a rusted metal chair in a dimly lit room, a thin, incredibly bald man in a white coat with cold, calculating eyes sitting across the table as he questioned her with a single-minded intensity that left her sobbing and breathless after each crack of her bones—even all that wasn’t enough.
“paige bueckers,” she whispered hoarsely into the empty room. her name. her only source of comfort for the past two long, horrible days. she wondered about the people in her life, if she had any. what her name would sound like coming out of their mouths. what they would sound like. a woman, blonde hair like paige’s, sobbing and clutching her with the ferocity of a wounded mother, a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair, stoic in nature but tears slipping down his face as he held the back of her head gently, stroking her hair—her father.
maybe it was pointless to think of such things, but she couldn’t help it.
what else was she supposed to think about?
she let out a sigh at her own naivety. she had a sneaking suspicion that there was no one waiting for her on the outside, a depressing thought but one that persisted anyway. and of course, these people wouldn’t just let her go. they’d taken the time to dress her in a hospital gown, put a cast on her arm, and tied her to the stupid fucking bed. no, they were most definitely planning on keeping her. for what though…that was another blank she couldn’t fill.
a humming rose deep in the walls, then a great shuddering groan. where the slab of metal across from her bed used to be, there was now only an open space, and through it came two women in white scrubs, a wheelchair in front of them.
paige recognized the woman pushing the wheelchair. she was almost as tall as paige, maybe an inch or two shorter. her mousy brown hair was cut into a harsh bob falling right above her weak chin and below her thin lips. her green eyes were slightly downturned, the lashes lining her bottom lid dark and heavy, giving off the impression she had some kind of deep sorrow in her heart.
she was one of the ones from yesterday.
(“please, i already told you i don’t know!” she cried out. “i don’t know what the fuck that symbol is, i’ve never seen it before!”
her hand was throbbing, her head was pounding.
“the arm,” said the bald man. but he wasn’t talking to paige.
something moved behind her. she looked up to the side to meet green eyes as the metal contraption on the table was dragged closer, the screech of it grating against her ears. nimble hands undid the leather strap pinning her arm to the side of the chair. sweat trickled down the back of her neck as she swallowed down hasty breaths, the cold press of metal surrounding her arm.
and then there was nothing but pressure.)
that evil fucking bitch. paige knew better now than to think any of these people had even an ounce of kindness in them. they were closer to robots than they were to paige—unfeeling, uncaring.
the other woman in scrubs was much shorter, black hair pulled back into a tight, slicked-back bun. her mouth was set in the same neutral line as the taller woman. they worked together quietly and efficiently, stripping off the thin white sheet covering her body, uncuffing the metal restraints. then, with a firm grip on each arm, they hauled her up off the bed, depositing her in the wheelchair with a light thump.
paige let it happen. with the pain lighting up every nerve in her body from each movement she made, there wasn’t much she could do except accept her fate.
“move your arm.”
the sidearms of the wheelchair were fixed with the same leather straps as the chair, the bed. to keep her from running. they’d already fixed her good arm down, tightening the straps just at the point before it would cut off blood circulation. her casted arm was still tucked against her stomach.
she did as she was told.
—
they wheeled her through the hallway. red lights blinking atop the rows of thick metal doors bathed the narrow path in a soft glow, sending long distorted shadows across the gray concrete walls. the doors had no handles, only keypads to the side, no windows or any indication of what was behind them.
she counted them silently as she passed them. both sides of the hallway mirrored each other, 3 doors—that she could see at least—were beyond her room, 10 in front. so in total…28 rooms on the level she was on, she calculated. were there more people like her behind each one? no, probably not, she decided. her door was the only one with a green light above it. if the lights were any indication of the room’s occupancy, that would mean she was the only resident of the floor.
really there was no point to any of what she was doing. counting doors, guessing if there were other people there—what would it do, would it help her? would those people help her if she could miraculously break out of her room or the confinements or fight off the two women with her broken arm and fingers and maybe-broken ribs?
none of the information she had gathered was useful. she knew she wasn’t going to escape this place. but still, she kept the information with her.
she wondered, briefly, what happened to her clothes she…arrived in—she’d been wearing khaki cargo pants held up by a ragged string, and a muddy black t-shirt yesterday—probably all burned in an incinerator by now. but what would these people need from a girl who was wearing clothes that barely fit her?
her head was starting to hurt again from thinking.
they came to a stop at the end of the hallway in front of a wider door, two faded yellow stripes lining the sides of the metal, chipped and rusting where the gray was exposed. the taller woman, who paige affectionately dubbed ‘head bitch’, walked over to a small panel embedded in the concrete wall. paige watched as she pressed her thumb into the green glass and a thin shaky line of light shuddered it’s way down the screen. the door split down the middle, dragging itself open with a grinding screech.
she winced as they pushed her past the threshold into the elevator shaft, the uneven flooring jostling the wheelchair and sending small lightning bolts of pain up her body. the doors shut behind them with a thud.
the elevator was a skeleton—four corner posts and the grating underfoot, open on all sides to the building’s foundation. they left her facing the back wall. she watched the concrete seams slide past one by one as they descended, the cold radiating off the walls in waves. her thin gown did nothing against the chill, goosebumps prickled their way up her arms. she wished she could rub them. she looked down instead, through the oxidized grating beneath her. below was complete darkness that seemed to stretch on for infinity.
they jerked to a stop, and she was wheeled out into a new hallway. dread pooled in her stomach at the sight of it—still empty, but wider than the one upstairs, higher ceilings, whiter walls, a longer path forking into two at the far end. at the junction, crisp black lettering:
THE COMPANY
| ROOMS 20–42 | ROOMS 43–60 |
paige swallowed thickly. this was very bad. what kind of shit had she gotten herself into?
the wheels of her wheelchair squeaked intermittently as they continued down the hall. her breath quickened as she looked side to side, reading the plaques posted next to the doors.
RS ROOM 1 MT ROOM 2 RS ROOM 3 MT ROOM 4
okay, paige thought. it’s time to actually say something.
she cleared her throat, the sound almost startling her in the silence. “so, uh…” she trailed to a stop. her heart was hammering distractingly hard against her ribs. it was getting hard to think clearly. “what…what do y’all do here exactly?”
her question was met with silence, of course.
“right,” she exhaled shakily. she’d be wheeled into this as clueless as a baby.
they turned left at the fork. there, paige finally saw people. but they brought her no comfort—four soldiers posted at two doors, arms straight down their sides. but they didn’t have the same heavy rifles as the soldiers she’d seen before. their guns were small, black, strapped to their thighs. the taller woman pulled out a badge from her pocket, and the soldiers stepped to the side.
paige strained her neck as sneakily as she could, as far as she dared, for a glimpse at the numbers being inputted into the keypad. she could just make out the number ‘1’ being pressed, a small beep following it, but that was all she saw. she leaned back in her seat, her ribs thanking her, and watched the door slide open.
the new room was cramped. in the middle was a chair, reclined at a slight angle, black leather—clearly new, not a scuff on it—pulled taut over the frame. restraints were fitted on the armrests, an ankle bar bolted on the footrest. a thin-legged table was beside it, a metal tray on top, but she didn’t let herself linger too long on it once she noted the line of syringes arranged neatly resting there.
a tangle of wires ran from the table to a…machine behind the chair. paige didn’t know what to make of it. it was a large cabinet-looking thing, a beige-colored metal frame with a dozen dials and knobs underneath a dark screen. but the machine was clearly part of a larger system. cables snaked out of the back in two directions, one toward a television across from the chair—thick, wood-paneled, and boxy, the rest running to another series of machines pressed against the back wall.
each of these machines, three in total, had green display screens behind glass and a column of toggle switches down its face, connected on the sides by bundles of wires packed together. in the left corner of the room was the last part of the machine unit—a similar, boxy metal frame but it had no screens, no switches or dials or gears. instead, there were four fans embedded in the front panel, already running, filling the room with a low whirring noise. two thick tubes curved out of the top of it, running along the length of the wall and disappearing into the concrete right next to a wide, horizontal window.
she stared up at the window. the glass was tinted dark, but for a brief second, she thought she saw a flicker of movement behind it.
a loud click broke her out of her thoughts and she quickly turned her head towards the sound. a door she hadn’t noticed, a regular door, flush against the left wall opened and out stepped a thin, blonde, wiry-looking woman wearing a white lab coat. she looked up from the clipboard in her wrinkled hands, and her stern face arranged itself into a wide grin.
“finally! i’ve been waiting for you to arrive,” she said.
at first, paige thought the woman was talking to her. but when she followed the woman’s eyes, they were looking behind the wheelchair.
“everything ready?” said a scratchy voice.
paige almost jumped, realizing it had come from one of her two silent companions. she twisted backwards in her chair, ignoring the spark of pain that jolted up her spine, trying to discern which of the two had spoken.
“they finished the prep, yes. let’s get her into her seat now.”
the shorter woman nodded, glancing down at paige as she was wheeled toward the center of the room.
“wait,” paige murmured as they got closer to the chair. she looked around the room frantically before her eyes landed on the woman in the lab coat again. she was closer now, fiddling with the syringes on the tray, and paige could just make out small gray lettering stitched on the breast of the coat.
DR. C
“you,” paige said, voice a lot more confident than she felt. “doctor c.”
dr. c looked up in surprise. she tilted her head curiously at paige. “yes?”
paige swallowed down the lump of nerves in her throat. she was finally being addressed. “what are you gonna do to me?” she asked.
dr. c hummed, amused. “does it matter?”
“i wanna know,” paige replied, wincing internally at how childish she sounded.
dr. c put down the syringe, and picked up her clipboard. she walked over to the machine behind the chair, looking back and forth between the clipboard and the dials. the shorter woman was undoing the straps on paige’s ankles, and she had to fight the urge not to kick her in the face.
“well,” dr. c started once she had finished with the machine. “you’re my first research subject. my colleague wants something from you that you don’t currently have—your memories. this experiment is designed to bring them back. we’ll see how it goes,” she chuckled. her voice was patronizing, like she was dumbing everything down for paige to understand—which, in all fairness, it was probably necessary, but it didn’t feel good.
once the restraints on her wrists were undone, they lifted her out of the wheelchair by her armpits and placed her into her new seat, quickly strapping her wrists in place and locking the ankle bar in place. the idea of fighting back seemed even more pointless than it did before, with how weak she felt. she let herself lean back against the cushioned headrest, enjoying the small comfort it brought her, and closed her eyes.
they wanted her memories. or at least, that’s what the bald man wanted. dr. c seemed more excited about having a test subject more than anything. dr. cunt, paige thought, and smiled to herself.
paige felt conflicted. on one hand, she’d be getting her memories back—honestly, maybe some part of her was even excited about it. on the other hand though…she glanced to the side, eyeing the needles laid out on the tray. nothing about that was exciting. not to mention the amount of restraints they were using on her, like she’d be thrashing about during all this. and what was up with the television set?
“what’s the t.v. for?” she asked. might as well, since dr. c seemed to be chatty.
“you just have to look at it,” came the curt reply.
no longer chatty, paige noted.
she felt a presence at her side. the head bitch was holding a cotton ball in between her fingers. she pressed it onto paige’s forehead, swiping across the skin in an arc from each temple. it was cold and wet, but quickly dried, leaving her forehead feeling dry. paige struggled not to flinch each time she came close. a small white patch with a wire extending out of it was pressed to the middle of her forehead, a gritty paste sticking it to her skin. the taller woman applied two more, to each of her temples, before parting her hair in sections.
the process felt oddly intimate—though paige was sure it was less of a tenderness and more of a preciseness that led to the slow parting. but it was a softer touch than anything she’d experienced so far anyway. she felt fingers combing through her hair, the cool press of the cotton balls on her scalp, and the press of the white patches, until she was sure her entire head had been covered from ear to ear. the woman tilted her head forward, repeating the same actions on the base of her neck, before stepping away.
a loud beep came from behind her, and dr. c clapped once in delight, rounding to the side of the chair.
“okay, we’re ready for part two! now—” she looked down at her clipboard, “paige—no, no, eyes forward. all you have to do is watch the t.v., should be easy enough for you.”
paige bristled, but did as she was told. the shorter woman walked over to the t.v. and twisted a dial on the side. the screen blinked to life, flashing white before fading to black again. she heard rummaging to the side but kept her eyes on the screen. suddenly, she felt two fingers pressing into her neck until her heartbeat echoed in her ears, and then a sharp sting in their place.
paige watched the t.v., but it was still black, though the screen did seem to be on. she heard the flick of a light switch and the room was flooded in darkness, except for the faint light of the t.v. her head was starting to hurt, and there was now a continuous beeping coming from behind her, the pattern building into a low hum at times, then fracturing into slower intervals.
her stomach lurched painfully. saliva had started to pool into her mouth, was she drooling?
a hollow white circle flashed on the screen.
she blinked slowly. her eyelids felt heavy. she wanted to close them, but the circle had dots flashing in it now. four of them, also hollow. they flashed and filled themselves and her eyes were really starting to hurt, they felt almost loose in their sockets, ready to slip out.
was she alone in the room? she couldn’t remember.
the dots kept flashing in different positions around the circle. they glowed brighter sometimes, and each time she was sure her skull was shrinking, squeezing her brain, her entire head felt tight from pressure. something was building and building and building and she was starting to panic. it hurt to look at the screen, but she couldn’t look away.
she blinked again.
— —
it was noisy, but a good noise. it sounded good to paige. people were singing, it sounded pretty.
her hand was very small. and her fingers were very chubby.
there was red and green and blue and yellow glass around her. it looked nice. she reached up to try to touch it, but it was very far.
tears welled up in her eyes, and sound built up in her body, but hands picked her up before she could let them out.
the glass was getting closer!
she pressed her hand against it, it was very cold. maybe it would taste better than it felt.
“you’re not supposed to lick glass, paige,” a deep voice rumbled from behind her.
she pouted. why not?
her dad turned her around to face him. he was smiling and she smiled back.