DE:stroy

File 00

13 November 1903

He let out a small groan, that being the initial response he had, but quickly regretted it as a skull splitting headache followed not long later. The blinding light that greeted him was terrible, but what else is even new?

Seven lab coats - three brunettes, one redhead and three blondes – heartbeat monitor two steps away from him, seventeen wires hooked up on him, two needles and a scalpel sitting neatly in a metal tray ten steps away from him, and leather against his skin.

Yes, nothing was new.

Cold metal that locked him in place were pressed tightly against his exposed skin, the restraints on his neck preventing him from jerking forward even slightly were also something he'd often wake up to. That being the only thing he remembered.

He couldn't even remember his name.

A woman in her mid twenties stepped up from behind him – the blind spot preventing him from seeing her – honey colored hair swishing slightly from her tight ponytail, posture screaming authority and nothing else. He decided that she was the one calling shots.

His steel gaze watch her carefully, never once leaving her figure, as if analyzing her every weakness. With the exception of her clicking heels, the woman didn't seem like a threat, except maybe, the red splotches of what seemed to be dried blood that hung against her white lab coat. But that doesn't bother him much, as no one else seemed to be making any moves or showing any surprise.

Standing in front of him, the woman offered him a small smile that came out as a grimace instead, and even that looked strained. He wanted to ask, but knew better than to try anything they wouldn't approve of – which, was everything in general – so he'd settle with silence instead.

And they way the corner of her lips lifted up ever so slightly felt as if she was mocking him silently, laughing at his immobility, falling into the control of an unanimated object as simple as leather. It was almost laughable, at one point, yet pitiful as the man owned nothing. Not even his own limbs.

Control.

That was one word that could describe what she was feeling. And it fueled her further, prompting her to continue on with her work.

Stepping closer to the blonde haired man, she lifted up a vial in her left hand that he hadn't noticed was there before and swirled its contents slowly, as if admiring the small tornado formed between the liquid. At a proximity close enough for him to take a quick whiff, the blonde nearly gagged at the chemical and metallic smell, most likely from past chemicals and the dried blood at decorated her coat, but held back a cough.

For that one – brief – moment, he remembered it.

He remembered that metallic smell from the back of his head, pieces of shattered remnants of his past resurfacing slowly. But as soon as it flashed, he couldn't see them anymore.

"Good evening, Subject E22-1. I'm Dr. Lynn," the woman, Dr. Lynn, greeted slowly, as if talking to a newborn. "Are you feeling well today?"

Silence.

"I would take that as a yes, then," Dr. Lynn continued, chuckling slightly at his confused face. "Do you know where you are?"

More silence.

"Good," the honey brunette smiled, nodding at the redheaded lady a few steps behind her to take note of his behavior. Although the lady with the clipboard looked as if she were to faint on the spot with his piercing glare, she let out a small whimper but hurriedly scribbled on the paper attached to the board.

To say that he was intimidating even in his weakest state brought a larger smile to Dr. Lynn's face. He was a success, and he would be ready in no time.

"Do you know who you are?" Dr. Lynn pressed on, only to receive a blank stare from the blonde subject.

R —

"Unresponsive."

Following their one way conversation was a thick needle that was passed to another brunette scientist, his fingers trembling slightly as it neared Subject E22-1's exposed forearm. He was a rookie, a new one that had joined the group a few weeks ago, and most certainly one that doesn't have much experience with a highly classified subject.

He'd let the scientists poke at him, too busy trying to force his memories up to pay much attention to them. And if they claim to be helping him, then so be it.

The name, or, classification that the woman had addressed him as didn't ring any bells, not even any slightest twitch in his brain, so he'd leave it at that, accepting it. He couldn't remember anything, and thus, he'd take anything thrown his way.

Although, he was highly conflicted. He'd clearly remembered something, a letter even, of his own name. And when he'd tried to recall more, it vanished alongside the rest of them.

He couldn't tell which voice was telling the truth.

There was so many unanswered question that he would kill to know – the ones that he knew for certain that the woman in front of him would be able to answer – yet he was afraid to ask. Then, he'd merely pushed them into the list of answered he wanted, hoping that he'll forget through time.

"He's stable at the moment," Dr. Lynn reported, turning to the other busying scientists. He was far too valuable, seeing as they had invested most of their money into shaping him, and losing him would cause a huge mess. "But keep an eye on him. We don't want any unnecessary accidents happening again."

The honey haired scientist threw a final, short glance at the helpless blonde, her eyes almost showing a hint of pity but vanished as soon as it appeared. Her work here is done, and as long as it's still in plan, she wouldn't need to be appointed here anytime sooner.

Staring at the retreating figure of Dr. Lynn, the young sandy blonde man couldn't help but keep a steady eye at the small part of metal wall outside the room, longing to set foot out there himself. Blocking out the screeching sound of the rusty metal hinges, he let himself tear his gaze away from the cold door, placing them on the group of scientists that crowded him instead.

A pale blonde neared him nervously the moment he switched his gaze on him, or rather, the object in his hand. Glaring at the syringe filled with bright green liquid so roughly, he could almost imagine the man holding it piss his pants in fear of him glaring a hole through the thin plastic while the chemical ran down his arm.

And that brought a little bit of satisfaction to him.

Knowing that he couldn't avoid the pointy creatures any longer, he didn't bother resisting, his actions proving to be futile.

"Initializing phase II," was all he heard before agonizing pain coursed through his body, setting in – figuratively – on fire, drowning him in the sea of dark thoughts.