Atomic Wasteland/Bad Dreams
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
“Hush baby girl. It will be over soon.”
Cold. White. Sterile. Bright.
“I wanna go momma.”
Warmth. Hold. Soap. Rose. Welcoming. Safe.
“Why can’t we just go?”
“Well, they have something that will make you better, baby.”
Fingers. Touch. Hair. Soothing.
“Then we can go home momma?”
Lips. Up. Smile. Sad. Eyes.
“Yeah baby girl. We will go home.”
Click. Door. Open.
Man. White. Coat. Gray. Hair. Eyes. Cold.
“You do know that this might do nothing at all. Though we hope it will do as we planned.”
Cold. Cold. Eyes. Smile. Gray. Man.
“Anything to help her. To let her live a normal life with her family.”
“Of course, of course.”
Hold. Tight. Tighter. Don’t. Cling.
Touch. Pulling. Pushing. Back. Away. Down. Lie. Bed.
“Hush baby girl. The doctor will help you.”
Smile. Teeth. White. Gray. Eyes. Cold. Cold.
“Only a tiny prick, then you will be...better. I promise Isabella.”
Cold. Gray. Fear. Away. Run. Now.
“Cross my heart, my dear child.”
Eyes. Hand. Hold. Tight. Shiver. Fear.
“Be brave baby girl. For mommy.”
Nod. Head. Silver. Needle. Glow. Green. Pain. In. Cold. Red. Swirl. Mix. Black. Vanish.
“Now...it might take a few days for anything to happen.”
Sleepy. Heavy. Rest. Sleepy. Tired.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
Confused. Look. Gray. Moving. Leaving. Smile. Grow. Colder. Shiver.
“I just feel tired momma...”
Face. Worried. Eyes. Searching. Hand. Touching.
“Your burning up!”
Look. Door. Click. Click. Fear.
“Doctor! What is going on!?”
Hair. Falling. Falling. Bumps. Skin. Yellow. Red. Green.
“Oh god! What did you do to her!?”
Reach. Out. Grasp. Pull. Weak.
Lips. Twisted. Eyes. Red. Tears. Red. Lips. Red. Noise.
Noise. Twitch. Jerk. Red. Red. Red.
Fall. Floor. Wet. Thud. Red. Blossom. Growing. Halo.
Isabella Delacroix bolted upright on the make shift bed. Already the suit that contained her fully was processing the cold sweat, turning it into water for her to drink later on. But her bare face felt the cool air as it danced over the beads that ran over her brows. Golden yellow gloves moved to curl about her face, holding it for a moment. The metal was a welcome change from the almost putrid cloth that covered a lump of a pillow.
The nightmare had haunted her since it happened. The drug was suppose to cure her. Or so the doctors had said to her mother. But they had other plans for the young child from Three Mile Island. She was a test subject, and their only success. But at the price of her mother’s life. And perhaps the last part of her that felt compassion for her fellow man.
Eyes flick to the floor between metal clad fingertips. It didn’t surprise her to the body of a man there, his blood pooling around him in a sick twisted halo or aura. From the marking upon his leather vest, he was part of the Skulls. They littered the Isles like rats, so one that happened upon the room of a female that could kill just by removing any part of her suit wasn’t going to be missed.
Pulling back on her mask, eyes now looking through thick glass, she couldn’t help but wonder.
Would his mother miss him....