"Call him Sanguine.”
“Why?”
“By definition, the word means a ‘blood-red’ color. And after what we’ve seen him do, what we’ve made him do, it seems appropriate.”
“Should we give him any medication? He’s gone several days without anything and his powers are fairly limited at the moment. Aren’t you afraid that he might die?”
“He’s lasted this long. A couple more days won’t kill him. He’s strong.”
John shivered profusely; his arms shaking, sweat dripping off his brow, eyes completely bloodshot. He couldn’t struggle, there was no point. The bright white light of the room he was in burned his eyes, made his head want to explode, every sound was the volume of a freight-train. The cold, metal table he lay on send pricks of cold up his naked torso; it would have offered relief if it wasn’t so uncomfortable. While he waited his
mind attempted to recall anything beyond the last few days.
The last thing that he remembered was waking up at home, having breakfast, getting ready for work, and then answering his front door. Then he woke up somewhere and had no idea about what had happened. He only remembered…
Pain.
Whoever was doing this to him really wanted to know what made him tick, really wanted to know how he could do what he did. He’d never had so much blood taken from him at one time, and with his anemia, drawing too much blood was never a good thing. They’d pumped him full of vitamins and electrolytes and all kinds of other drugs but nothing to satiate his hunger; he was, quite literally, starving. They’d taken to calling him “Sanguine” which, after he heard two people talking about it, he found quite fitting. He would have even found it enjoyable if his brain wasn’t being poked around in. This went on for, what he could only assume, days but it could have been even longer.
Eventually he was moved, on a gurney no less, to a room where he was instructed to put on bright white clothing. He felt like a test subject.
But at this point he basically was.
He was then guided out a doorway into a brightly lit, off-white, corridor occupied by 3 other people. He didn’t make eye contact, believing it was some sort of test and if he screwed up he would have his brain prodded again. The walk seemed, to him, go on forever. Every step he took was like a hammer to his temples, his heart pounding in his chest – and not by his own accord. The hallway came to an end at a reinforced metal door.
‘Another holding cell…?’ He thought.
The door clicked open and buzzed, the sound was torturous on his ears and it made him almost keel over in pain. It opened up into another brightly lit, off-white room. From what John could tell, there were only two other people in the room: a young girl, curled up in a ball in the corner, and a woman probably not much younger than himself.
The startling feature of the young woman, which he refused to believe because of how he was being treated, was her massive black wings that twitched as they entered. He glanced to his right, feeling the whole world swim around him. His head was heavy; it reminded him of being drunk on whiskey except this wasn’t nearly as enjoyable. Come to think of it, neither was being drunk on whiskey.
“I know it’s probably not much consolation for all you’ve gone through but I wanted to welcome you to the project.” The woman said. “My name is Lilly, but most people around here just call me Raven for fairly obvious reasons…”
John tuned her out. ‘Great…another cheerleader.’ He thought. It hurt to think and trying to interact with anyone and formulate words would be futile. He stumbled over to the right of the room, trying desperately to find a wall to grab onto. He felt the side of the wall and tried to lean up against it but he misjudged the distance and tumbled to the ground. He thrust his arms out in front of him and managed to stop himself from falling completely to the ground but his weight was too much for his weakened state. John collapsed on the off-white floor and proceeded to pull himself along the ground the few inches that he had missed and leaned up against the wall.
‘Oh shit…’
He felt his stomach churn, his whole world spinning. John expelled what little was in his stomach onto the floor beside him, which wasn’t much seeing as how the only thing that had sustained him over the past…well…however long, were liquids. Strangely, he felt better after vomiting, but not by much. He felt good enough to speak even just a little.
“Food. When do we eat…?” He said weakly.
