Saku no Akumu ( Pastel Nightmare )

eureka ; three

╳ T H R E E ╳

It hurt.

It hurt.

There wasn't much passing through Eureka's mind as they strapped her to the table, the cool metal pressed against her back. She had no thoughts on the matter at hand, just a never-ending sensation of dread that curled her stomach and made her heart race. It was, however, nothing compared to when she had first been taken and when the others had shared their stories. She hadn't thought that she would be picked so soon. She hadn't thought she would be picked at all.

Wide blue eyes—two, two, let there be two—stared up into a blinding white light and all she could think about was nothing. Her genius was lost in that very minute, as time drew on in seconds that felt like years. She anticipated the worst, all without truly thinking it, but she felt it. Deep inside her she knew there was nothing good in losing. There never had been, and never would be.

And then they came. The guards that had strapped her down has deserted in the dark room with the one bright light, gone as if the placed was plagued. But there she remained until the people in white coats appeared. Doctors? They looked like doctors, with blue gloves and an air of practiced mutilation around them.

She screamed, and they shoved something in her mouth. She couldn't get sound past the object, that was now being forced down her throat. A tube—that's what it was, she realized. Something cold and metallic pressed against the tops of her eyes, holding them open. Clips, strong and unforgiving, held the bright blue eyes open to the light and to the figures about her, clarity lost in her panic.

But she would never forget the green of the eyes above her; or the brown, or the gray, or the way they stared at her steadily as they decided on who would be first. They didn't speak, just exchanged looks with one another until the decision was made, and the one with gray eyes nodded in acceptance.

She didn't know what it was, but it looked like a spoon. A curved bowl with a handle, no bigger than her eye. Oh, god. A melon baller; what ever would they be using that for? Her thrashing started up once more, violent and fierce. The gray-eyed one jerked back while the other two proceeded to hold her down further. A prick in her neck, and slowly she could no longer move.

All she had were her tears now.

The gray-eyed one set back to work, melon-baller coming closer. And then things went black in her left eye as he positioned his instrument. She could feel it—pressing up against her the bone of her eye socket and the sensitive nerves of her eyeball. Jerking and jittering, all she can really think of is that she can't move. She's lost every avenue of escape, except the one that lay deep in her mind. But even then, as she recalls this, it is too late.

The wait, the dread; it feels likes hours pass as the instrument slips further around her eye, pressing the cool metal against her heated bundle of nerves. And then the gray-eyed one is scooping it out. If she could have screamed, she would have done so. She would have wailed so hard her throat would have bled.

Having an eye scooped out with a melon-baller had never been in her life's plan. She had intended to graduate early like her adviser had been saying she would. She was supposed to cure cancer. She was supposed to—pain, pain, pain, pain. She was screaming again, but she couldn't hear it. Couldn't feel it.

Every last one of her nerves were on fire as her eyes was lifted from its rightful place in its socket, slow and steady. Coherent thought left her, just a husk of instinct reacting to pain. Her screams had become silent around the tube in her throat, her breathing raspy. The world faded, not in the gradual way she'd seen in the movies, quick and like she was falling down a dark pit.

When she awoke once more, she was back in the arena. It would seem that her player—Lana, Lana, fucking Lana—still wanted more of whatever this was. But that was the catch: they never really knew what this was until it was too late. Just as it was for everyone. Well, everyone who hadn't just been stuck in this game at random.

The pain came rushing back as she gained consciousness further. Her throat was hoarse and scratchy but she persisted in her pitiful wails. Hunched over, quite nearly in a fetal position, she'd never thought she'd stoop so low again. That she'd be brought down to this basic pain and fear and confusion. Eureka was supposed to be the one who knew everything. People looked to her to answer, older or younger. But here was she nothing more than a game piece to be moved by something in her sending signals to her brain.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder, long fingered and unblemished. Immaculate nails and clean digits were not what she wanted to see right now. Eureka was aware that Danika had chosen this even less than she had, and her clothing was only a sign of status. To win was to live, and Danika had done plenty of that.

Eureka's shrugged the dark haired girl's hand off, stepping away from her. She was no more than a reminder of her own failure. She had won, and she had lost—and now she was left with this bleeding, gaping reminder of it.

"Trust him."

What?

"Trust Alexander." Her voice something close to reverent, like she was rousing herself for some spiritual awakening.

"Why?"

"Because he has a plan; he always has a plan."

"You mean—" Eureka had to stop, had to catch her breath; it was getting difficult to say anything past a word and she felt like she was going to pass out again.

"That's not what I mean. My time here is over." What was she saying? "He's going to make sure you both live; trust him."

// before you ask: yes, this is vital to the story. now you know what happened during that wait screen. any guess as to what the plan is? speculations, observations, curses, and any other commentary is encouraged. votes, remember, are vital to character lifespans. Want another preview of the next chapter? It'll need ( 5 ) comments and ( 10 ) votes. cheers, rem