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Chapter 7: Machinery

Reposting this because people weren't getting the notification.

Dear Wattpad, get your shit together.

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Chapter 7: Machinery

~E L L I O T~

Similar to the warehouse at the midpoint of our journey, cool air curtains my sweaty arms and causes me to shiver. I let myself feel relief for only a moment before looking around the room.

It reminds me of a doctor's office. It smells like one too; sterile and slightly minty. There is a bench pushed up against one wall; cabinets and a mass of expensive looking technology on another. Another heavy looking door is against the opposite wall. Harry stands alone in the middle of the room, a gun lodged in his belt, and with some sort of flat device in his hand.

"Hello." Harry says slowly. I almost expect him to mention our little game outside. When he gives me no indication that we had any sort of interaction, I think for sure I must have dreamt it. The heat must have gotten to my head. No Corrector would ever do that.

He stares at me for a moment as if waiting for a response which I won't give him. What does he expect me to say?

When it's clear I'm not going to speak, he clicks a pen-like object and looks down the contraption in his hand. His green eyes are momentarily obscured by his hair which he quickly swoops it out of the way with his fingers. He moves the pen across the device's screen as if it were paper. Surely the ink would damage it? I crane my neck to see if I can get a better look.

I had always been fascinated with technology. In fact, I think I've seen this device a couple times before back home. Jade, Norton's supervisor, had one. You can touch the screen with your fingers. When I was little, she let me write my name on the virtual paper in the device. I briefly wonder where Jade is.

Harry continues to write on the device. He looks up at me every so often. I shuffle nervously. What is he writing down?

He seems to sense my nervous fidgeting because he looks up from the device. "No need to be nervous. Nothing bad is going to happen. Nobody is going to hurt you." His voice sort of trails off at the end. The unspoken "yet" is hooked onto the end of his sentence.

I swallow. "What is this then?" I speak for the first time since I've entered the room. My voice sounds weaker than I want it to be. I haven't spoken much since we got off the train. That feels like so long ago. He seems surprised that I talked at all, giving me an odd look before responding.

"Think of it as a check up." Harry simply says, he looks back down at the device. I nod in partial understanding. I guess its better than cluelessness. "Identification?" All he has to do is mutter the word and my left arm flies forward, palm up. It is an instinct I've grown accustom to, having been prompted like this my entire life. Looking at my wrist, my skin is still a little pink around the barcode recently imprinted on my skin. Harry sets down the device on the bench before walking over to where I am, still planted by the door.

Harry's hand gently takes hold of my arm at the elbow. His hand is large and warm; callused fingers tenderly pressing into my forearm. He examines my identification number for a moment-a moment longer than he could have. I watch curiously as he gently runs his thumb over the new black marks on the flat side of my wrist. He seems almost awestruck by them, even though I'm positive he's been looking at them all afternoon.

After a few moments too long of staring at my wrist, Harry clears his throat. He shakes his head slightly and cracks his knuckles. He grabs a machine on his belt and runs it over the bar code. The familiar beam of red light goes over the black markings. The machine makes a beeping noise and he releases my wrist. My arm drops uselessly to my side.