August glared at his supervisor's back. It wasn't his fault that he had been late to work. He hadn't meant to sleep through his alarm, or get stuck in traffic, or get into an argument with Jemma from HR because he'd "stolen" her notebook. He hadn't stolen anything. Jemma's notebook was right where she'd left it. Well, maybe it'd been shoved behind a desk or two, but who was he to know? He had nothing to do with it.
But, of course, his supervisor wouldn't listen. Now he was stuck on robot duty, which sounded absolutely thrilling. He couldn't wait to check up on whichever boring project his bosses were taking an interest in and then get yelled at afterward for not doing it properly. He was practically on the edge of his seat.
Nyx stared at the metal ceiling only six inches from his face. He was encased in a metal pod. The only thing he could do was blink, and breathe. His limbs couldn't move. Wouldn't move. So he blinked. And blinked. And waited for something, anything to happen. He could hear and feel his heartbeat, the cybernetic heart keeping a steady, even beat. He tried desperately to access a file. Any file. But always, always the same message. Access denied.
August took the cyborg's file from his supervisor and left the room. He got into the elevator, pressed the button, and waited. Eventually, he got to the building's basement. He followed his supervisor's instructions until he finally found the door. It looked far more secure than anything he was used to. There was a place for him to scan his ID and his eye. And, on top of that, there was a camera in the corner, watching him. He didn't really get it. The file said the cyborg was a "willing participant in experimental surgery." They really didn't need this much security.
He opened the door, turned around and closed it. "Hello?" he said, looking around. There was a pod in the center of the room. Was the cyborg in there?
If Nyx had still possessed the ability to cry, he probably would have. His eyes flicked about as he heard a voice. Who's there? He tried to speak, but his mouth didn't open, and his vocal cords would produce no sound. He exhaled, closing his eyes. Those same cybernetic parts that he could never remove, that had saved his life…had become his prison. The portion that had replaced the damaged part of his skull and brain now kept him from doing anything without permission, now held him prisoner in his own body and mind.
"Shouldn't there be someone in here or something? Hello?" August walked up to the metal pod. He couldn't get in trouble for being curious, could he? He knocked on it. "Anybody home?"
He looked around. There was a button near the base of the pod. Maybe that would open it? As soon as he pressed it, the pod's door hissed. Steam released from it as it opened, blinding him. He coughed and took a step away.
Nyx's eyes opened as the pod slid open, and he looked up at the person standing nearby. He blinked again. Who is this? He isn't like the ones that usually come here… He wished he could move, speak, do anything. But without instructions or permission…he couldn't do anything but lay here, passive and blinking and hanging onto his sanity by a thread. He blinked quickly against the influx of light, focusing on this new person.
"Holy shit," August said, looking at the person. Cyborg? There were tubes and wires attatched and coming out of them, and they looked to be in pain. Worst of all, they were staring directly at him. "Are you okay? Is this– is this legal? What is this thing?"
Nyx blinked again, unsure how to signal that he couldn't do any more than blink. Morse code? Would this person understand him if he blinked in morse code? It was highly unlikely…if…he let out a sigh. If he ordered me to respond, I would be able to speak, but…I don't know if he knows that. I don't know if he knows… At the question of whether this was legal, he rolled his eyes a little. Legal? If this is legal…
"Did you just roll your eyes?" August huffed. He opened the file that his supervisor had given him. Most of it had been redacted, but one part stood out to him. Subject is extremely dangerous, the text read, …contact with the subject is prohibited. He looked back up at the person, suddenly wary. God, he was such an idiot. This thing could hurt him, even kill him. He should just close the pod and leave. Still, something didn't seem right. "What… what is this? What's going on here?" After a moment of silence, August spoke again. "You know you can answer me, right?"
Nyx blinked again. "Thank you." he said softly, voice a little scratchy and dry, rusty from disuse. "I…don't know where to begin in answering your questions." he remained still, only his mouth, tongue, and vocal cords doing anything. "But…my name is Nyx." he blinked, thinking. "I don't really know the answers to any of your other questions." he looked up at this person. He didn't know how long it had been since he had last spoken to someone that wasn't a scientist poking and prodding at him and taking him apart then putting him back together.
"Why are you," he gestured to Nyx, "like this? This is allowed, right? My supervisor said I'm supposed to make sure everything's okay down here. Are you okay? Is there someone I should call?" August really wasn't supposed to be talking to him. But he looked horrible, like he was some sort of experiment and not something living, something with the ability to speak and breathe. Something that looked hurt. "Wait, this was an experimental surgery, right? Is this some sort of healing chamber thing?"
Nyx looked up at him hopelessly. "I don't know." he said again. "I can't remember." he tried again. Access denied. The same message as always. "I…" his eyes flicked around the pod. "This is to keep me from being…contaminated, I presume. Or maybe it's for healing, I don't know." he cleared his throat softly. Please don't close this back up. Please. He begged silently.
August wasn't sure how to help. "Dr. Blake is in charge of this project, right? Should I call him?" He stepped away from the pod and towards the phone on the table. He couldn't help but start to panic. What if this was a trick? The file said the cyborg was dangerous. "I think I should call Dr. Blake. He'll know what to do."
Nyx's eyes widened. "No, wait! Please!" he exclaimed. "Please don't. If you contact him he'll just shut this back up and I'll be trapped again, please!" his fingers twitched very slightly, the most movement he could manage without being instructed he could move. "Please." he said again.
(Sorry it's taking me so long to respond to everything. I'm kind of busy right now)
August took another step. His back was to the table. "What do you mean by "trapped"? Can't you move?" He wrapped his hand around the phone. Just in case, he thought, worriedly. Dr. Blake was a respected man, he wouldn't just do… this. There had to be a reason.
(it's totally fine, don't worry about it)
"No." Nyx replied softly. "Not… not without "permission". Because my body is owned by them. Because technically cyborgs don't have any rights once they're more than 50% cybernetic. Because I…" His voice cut off, and he closed his eyes. "It doesn't matter." He mumbled.
August stiffened. He remembered when that law had gone into effect. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, but now it seemed a lot more real. "So, if I say you can move, you can? Is that how this works?" He asked. He tightened his grip on the phone. How long was this supposed to take? Should he be back to his station by now? What if his supervisor came looking for him?
"Yeah. But no one is ever stupid enough to tell me I can." Nyx replied, eyes still closed. "So." He took a deep, slightly shaky breath. "Maybe it's best if you close this up again. Nothing is going to change, and…I don't want the doctor getting mad. At you or me."
"You can move," August said before he could stop himself. He immediately covered his mouth with his hand. Obviously, he didn't understand English, if he was disregarding the file so blatantly. What if this was some sort of test from the higher-ups? What if they were trying to see if he'd follow directions in this situation, or if his emotions would get the best of him? He'd definitely failed the test.
Nyx sat up immediately, wires popping off from him as he did so. He let out a breath, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. "Thank you." He whispered. "You have…no idea how much this means to me." He raked a hand through his messy black hair, eyes still closed. Sitting up, it was obvious that quite a lot of his body was not flesh. Was cybernetic, metal. Far more than half. Too much for him to have any legal protection for anything. Which meant that RTI and it's employees could do absolutely anything they wanted to him, and he couldn't tell them no.
August stifled a gasp in his hand. The table pressed against him, cold and metal–just like Nyx. His hand burned from holding the phone so hard. "You're–" he was going to be sick. RTI couldn't be doing this, right? He knew it was legal, but… they just couldn't be, right?
Nyx looked over at him, cocking his head a little. "I'm?" he asked, raising his eyebrows and looking over at August curiously. He opened his eyes, showing that one of his eyes was fake, cybernetic, as was evidenced by the pale blue line that bisected it.
August ran a hand through his hair. It slipped down to touch his face, to feel his skin. Had Nyx been conscious when they tore his flesh away and replaced it with machine? Could he still feel through the metal, or were all sensations gone? Why would he let RTI do this? "You don't make sense." August couldn't look away from Nyx, from the wires twisting along his body, from his inhuman eye. "RTI wouldn't just take someone off the streets to do this to. You had to agree to this, right? Why?"
Nyx frowned a little. There was a seam on his face where his real skin had been fused with a fake type of skin, a covering for the metal beneath. "I…don't remember." he said slowly. "I can rattle off the percentages of my body, if you like, but I don't remember anything." he replied with a slight shrug. "My memories are locked. I can't access them without the proper codes, which the good doctor has made sure I don't have." he spat the words "good doctor", a strange, almost hateful expression twisting his face.
(Is it okay if we have someone walk in on them, or do you want to continue the conversation?)
