Mist of Doom

22. The Breakout

Soothing coolness coursed through Brandon's body. His eye fluttered open, and he saw a lot of white. A mahogany desk rested beside his bed, atop which a stack of books lay. Four IV stands stood around him, a half-full blood bag hung on top each of them. The crimson fluid traveled into him through the IV lines that were connected to each of his limbs.

Brandon recalled what his creator had told him. Unlike humans, he could receive four bags of blood at once without suffering fever or other side effects of transfusion; hell, he only needed at most thirty minutes to take in all the fluid. He and blood were like a car and gasoline, but unlike a car, lack of blood would spell doom for him.

Brandon slowly sat up and stretched, bringing with it a series of cracks. Then he scanned his body down to the toes. Hmm, he was just wearing boxer shorts right now? Oh, well, at least the lack of proper clothing let him see everything clearly. All the burns on his legs and torso had disappeared, as if the explosion had never hurt him.

Scutum, you're back in shape, aren't you?

No answer. Ah, not that his life depended on Scutum's barriers anyway.

"You're finally awake? It's 3AM right now."

Brandon turned. A chubby bespectacled man in a lab coat walked towards him with a smile. A desk full of test tubes, microscopes, and petri dishes lay behind him.

Where's Mika? Brandon looked around frantically, only to find folded wheelchairs and unoccupied beds across the spacious rectangular room. She never leaves me alone whenever I'm injured.

"Something's missing?" the man asked.

"Did you see a silver-haired girl around?"

"A silver-haired girl?" He stroked his bearded chin. "Oh, I know her. She's still waiting in the lobby."

Brandon smiled. "Can you call her? She must be worried about me."

"Sorry, but the lab is off-limits. We're afraid that outsiders may break our tools by accident."

"She has been living with me for years. I can guarantee that she won't break anything."

Smile fading from his face, the chubby man replied, "But rules are rules, Mr. Grave. No outsiders are allowed in the lab."

"Can you at least take me to the lobby? I want to let her know that I'm fine."

"I can relay your message."

Why the hell was he dragging everything? Glaring at the fatso, Brandon asked, "She always wants to be sure, Sir. Please let us meet each other."

"Um..." The fatso's face paled.

Brandon quirked an eyebrow and took a closer look at the man. Upon spotting beads of sweat and shaky limbs, he snarled. Damn, why had he been so weak earlier? He shouldn't have fallen asleep; now, he didn't even know what was wrong with Mika.

"Give me a sec." The fatso ran towards the exit door and opened it. "I'll ask the dean if we could make an exception for her." With that, he dashed out of the room and slammed the door shut.

Folding his arms over his chest, Brandon stared at the door. At least the fatso couldn't hide his nervousness, but how could he find Mika then? Would the liar have the guts to come back, take off the transfusion sets, and face his wrath?

Wait. Why would he need someone to remove the apparatus for him? To prevent infection? Scutum would easily ward off those microorganisms when they entered his body. To minimize blood loss? His regeneration would seal the wounds shut within a split-second.