Chapter 2: Intermission 1Mature


"Dr. Galloway," the assistant said while motioning his hand to usher him to his side.

"Yes, what have you found," spake Galloway with a stern voice down to his assistant.

Probably just angry that this one might die as well, thought the assistant.

"His brain overall brain activity has spiked," the assistant told Galloway without eye contact. "The reader's picking up on some of it, but it's pretty fuzzy."

The reader, scientifically dubbed Cogitatione-Lectorem (literally translated to English means "thought-reader") is a device that accesses the patient's current thought, be it idea, memory, or any other cognitive process.

Both men then proceeded to view the reader and what they saw was a compilation of random images with the occasional instance of the screen going completely black.

"Freeze the next upcoming image," said Galloway.

The assistant's hands flew across the keyboard typing commands for the computer. After he finished this a few moments later, the reader suddenly stopped on the image of a fiery explosion with a gate and tall streetlight in the background. He recognized it; it was the explosion he incited because of that one curious peacekeeper.

"H-How can he remember that? He was still unconscious," he stuttered.

"Subject 48 is obviously developing an advanced cognitive function. Move to the next image," said Galloway unto his assistant.

The next picture to appear was that of a young woman in a white gown on a hospital bed. She was screaming intensely, while a man looking slightly older than her clasped her hand. There was also a doctor nearby clad in medical attire who was seemed like he was ordering nurses this way and that.

"Go through the primary database, and get a facial recognition on that woman," demanded Galloway.

Minutes later, the assistant pulled up two files. One of them being about that same woman.

"It says here that she's 'Mrs. Amelia Deckard, maiden name "Leland."' Her birth date is-," but he was quickly interrupted by Galloway.

"So it's his mother. Alright, and the other man is his father?"

"Yes, according to his file here." He brought up the other file he'd loaded. "So he's looking at a memory of his birth. Maybe the reader's just picking up a stray memory?"

"No. It's only his current memories. As in he viewed this very recently. And the black-stops that keep occurring are from the reader's failed attempts at keeping up with him. It's not the reader, it's him. His brain has already changed this soon. Give me a few minutes to think..."


Galloway walked out of the laboratory, across the hallway, and into his office. He looked at the wall adjoining the entryway and noticed the faintest dab of long-dried blood; his blood. His mind wandered, thinking of when he was standing in the exact same position a month or two ago when his former assistant had run him through with a large scalpel. His paranoia bested him, and he took a hasty about-face. The hallway was empty, all except for a door slightly ajar leading to the lab. He then sat in his chair, sighing as he did so, and rolled to the window. As he gazed out into the beautiful day, a quartet of birds flew across his office on the 18th floor that brought him to attention of his purpose as to coming to his current location, so he began to ponder.

I wasn't expecting this to happen so quickly... We're going to have to be more frequent in our observations of him. Whatever abilities he may develop that can aid his escape of such containment, I'll have to stop the tests as soon as they reach genesis. I'd rather study the corpse of one who accomplished instantaneous cognitive teleportation, than search up another one to test after he escapes.


Several minutes later, the assistant stumbled into his office, eyes squinting in pain often and brain throbbing as he did so.

"Sir..." the assistant managed to get out through the winces.

"My gosh, what's happened?!? Has he escaped," Galloway bellowed while simultaneously rising from his chair.

"Something... Agh," he said as he fell to the ground, "something's in my head!"

Galloway had a sudden gasp with his eyes growing wide and jaw, agape. Before his assistant could tell him anymore, he, the assistant, doubled over in pain and slid into unconsciousness. Galloway then began to feel another presence enter his mind; no words being sent telekinetically or anything similar. Just a powerful presence of something else within his mind.

He began to cringe, stumbling to the lab in the same manner that his assistant had into his office. The second party in his mind was ever-growing and becoming increasingly more painful to cope with.

I have to get to the Lab, he thought. There I can stop this!

He fell unto the cold, hard linoleum floor as he entered there. Not possessing the wherewithal to stand, or even bend at an angle, he hurriedly crawled to the lab's main control station. As the force grew more present in his mind, he became all the more persistent to reach the controls.

After a small time that felt like that of many ages to him, he had finally reached the controls. He pulled himself up to their height using the bolted chair and edge of the panel, and looked upon a dazzling array of colored buttons, switches, and levers. After another passing of many ages to him, he had been able to muster enough strength to stand. He clasped the bright orange lever and tried to pull, but to no avail. The lever was to be used in only the most horrible of emergencies, and so there was a weight weighing many pounds set with it underneath the panel's surface so that it might not be pulled accidentally.

The force had grown to such enormity in Galloway's mind, that he lost control of some motor skills. Urine trickled down his leg as he began to slide into an unconsciousness that, if left alone for a small amount of time, would ultimately result in his death. As he began to fall backwards, his right hand refused to abandon its grip on the lever, just like how he refused with all his might to surrender this fight for his life. Once he became equidistant to the control panel and the linoleum floor, the lever gave way. However, before Galloway could celebrate any form of victory, he went comatose.


Several hours later, Galloway awoke from his slumber.

Galloway stood, his legs wobbling, and walked in very slow strides to his office, falling once or twice. Once he entered, he looked upon his assistant who had foam dripping from his mouth and a painting that lie smashed on the floor.

That was all too close, he thought.

After checking on his assistant's body, he noticed that heartbeat and breathing patterns were the same, as well as his pupil dilation after using his minuscule flashlight, but that he had become a vegetable. The force had been too present in his mind and the result had been his current state. Galloway sighed after this realization.

Well, I can't be responsible, he thought. I had no idea that Subject 48 would develop such a powerful telekinetic skill this fast. Wonderful thing that I'd been able to induce his sleep before I'd turned the same as my poor assistant here.

"I guess I'll put you in Cryostasis," he said said while sighing again after. "You can at least be Subject 49 if Subject 48 doesn't work out. Shame, I liked you; you didn't ask question. Question that wouldn't get you killed, anyways."

Galloway proceeded to use the phone lying upon his desk.

"Security, I've got someone for you to take up to Cryogenics immediately."

"No problem," the woman said.

"Thanks." Galloway hung up and called one of the lower levels.

"Excuse me, but you're the level experimenting with clothing fibers, correct?"

"Yes," the voice on the line said, "what's your purpose of this call?"

"If you wouldn't mind, could you bring up one of the dress pants you've been working on? There's been an unfortunate accident with mine. I'll pay quite handsomely, I can assure that."

There was a pause... "Very well, we have an old article of dress pants that we've fully experimented with and need no longer. I'll have them sent up."

"Thank you."

Galloway walked (the wobbling in his legs was gone) to the window of his office and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one and lifted it to his mouth, thinking,This specimen just might be the one.

The End

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